Hello. Since I last posted a thing on here, that part of my free time which has not been spent performing old poems to appreciative audiences has instead been spent writing new ones and being unable to finish them. I've finally broken the block, and have finished writing a thing which I'd like to share with you. It's called "Sophrosyne" and goes thusly:
Sophrosyne
The other day I was sat in the pub,
Just sitting and thinking,
Not really drinking my beer,
Which, me being me, and given my location,
Was sat right near.
A drop or two in blessed moderation,
As taught to us in Latin verse,
(The Horation, not the Lucretian)
Can be just the thing to calm taught nerves.
Do, though, try to keep your view even.
For Bacchus can back us or attack us,
He can unpack a map for the fast track to relaxation
Or he can splash us with flak 'til our foundations crack
And we crash from Olympian elevation.
Booze, that gift of the twice-born son of Zeus,
Is best in moderation.
This is the link between what I was thinking and my bar-room location.
The key to life seems to be Sophrosyne,
That is, the middle way,
Not too little, not too much.
You don't need a tower carved from sunlight,
Whose height makes heaven yours to touch,
But a stout floor - something to lift you out of the mud - is a must.
You see, once you're free from the dangers of poverty,
Material goods rapidly lose their novelty.
If you don't enjoy the journey,
How you spend your earnings
Will never summon the sun;
To quote Noel Coward,
'Good work is more fun than fun.'
It's not just me reporting this kernel of truth,
It was also in
The Wall Street Journal.
There's a roof to how much happiness you can buy,
And, by-and-by, purchased peace fades.
So, before Death comes and smothers the last of your days,
I'd suggest you spend them helping and engaging with others,
Which is statistically shown to help your well-being improve.
To conclude:
Don't chase that unreachable ceiling,
Chase chairs and the energising chats to be found sat there.
One hopes you're well,
yrs,
ADWoodward
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