Faith in Nothing

 

 

 

Faith in nothing

Rather than faith in God

Is a moronic belief acknowledgement

I can’t help but appal.

 

And to base such

On the scholarship of science

Is to climb to the dizzying heights

Of appalling nonsense.

 

When did nothing

Stop becoming something

And start reproducing itself

As simply nothing?

 

Faith in nothing

Rather than faith in God

Does not make any kind of sense

At all, at all, at all.

 

And more incredibly,

Scientists actually believe this

And often frown on theists

And God dismiss!  

 

The heavens declare

And scientists should see

That nothing could not be credited

For this reality.

 

Faith in something

However nonsensical it may be

Has considerably more going for it

Than a nothing reality.

 

 

When nothing is the matter

Then anything can be

And when everything is nothing

This is insanity.

 

Need I say more

Regarding faith in nothing?

No, not until such faith adherents show

Nothing producing something.

 

Faith in nothing?

Rather than faith in God

Is like a self-made computer

Built from nothing at all.

 

Stewart Russell © May 23, 2024

 

Moored to Oneself

 

 

To what are we moored

In this pluralistic time

Where everything seems relative

And jelly is spine?

 

No difference, it seems,

Between sand and rock

And one can pass for the other

Like dress and frock.

 

Nothing is steadfast

And we just float around,

Same difference, some would say,

Whether up or down.

 

To each his own reality-

That’s how he sees it,

No reference point or benchmark

Informs his habit.

 

Moored to myself

Makes me feel free

And it really does not matter

If I drift aimlessly.

 

No beginning, no end,

All one continuous bend

Riding the world’s merry-go-round,

World without end.

 

No reference-point

Nothing by which to gauge,

The entire world is just a stage

And I am its sage.

 

It’s me and me alone

Accountable to only me,

And my truth is as good as anyone’s

So, set me free.

 

 

 

Nothing is absolute!

Bear this in your mind,

One man’s freedom, my friend,

Is another’s bind.

 

It’s nothing topsy-turvy

If it works for me,

I am the centre of the universe,

And I am free.

 

My beauty is my beauty,

My truth is my truth,

Thus, my values are my values

And I am my proof.

 

My reason to be here

Is my own purpose,

It has nothing to do with anyone

Hence, it is just.

 

The survival of the fittest?

Call it what you may,

This means of all there is, I succeed

While all beside me fail.

 

 

 

I am moored to me:

Distinctly myself and I

And don’t you dare try to change me;

Don’t even try.

 

And so, I present to you

The world’s dilemma,

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

And each book its cover.

 

Thus, all things of beauty

But no distinctive beauty,

No benchmark by which a judge

Can perform his duty.

 

Many varying values

But no moral plumb line,

Morality and immorality are the same

Together combined.

 

 

 

A myriad of truths:

Yours and mine and theirs

But no truth by which to measure

What is just and fair. 

 

Different purposes

But no defining purpose

That rightly informs all of humanity

On his return to the dust.

 

From dust created He us

To dust we will return

And the sooner we understand this

The more we will learn.

 

God is the only absolute

By which all can be measured

And to ignore His divine blueprint

Is to miss life’s treasure.

 

Truth is at the top

Forming value and beauty,

Out of these emerges our purpose

That informs our duty.

 

 

 

Moored to the Rock

Though adaptive to change,

For to be moored to oneself

Is to be deranged.

 

Stewart Russell © September 17, 2025

 

My Mirror Image

 

Today I looked in the mirror

And I saw an old man

And unlike the distant past

There was nothing grand.

 

Maybe, except of course,

The conviction of my age

And this was a little disconcerting

At my senile stage.

 

I shuddered to think

Of days so long ago

When very little was beyond me

And I was on the go.

 

Back then I could run

And I could hop and skip

But now, for the present reality,

All that was clipped.

Braggadocio was gone:

One of my names long past

And trying to look like back then

Was an impossible task.

 

Lines were setting in,

Not of the youthful kind

For these had long passed away

With the passage of time.

 

But definitive lines

That arrive with old age

And with such lines the memory

Of a long-passed stage.

 

It was my mirror image

That I dare not deny

When it said to me, “You are old,”

And it wasn’t a lie.

 

The one thing, though,

My mirror could not show

Were the years of experiences

I had come to know.

 

My mirror-image

Is the reality that I see

But even at this present stage

There is more I can be.

 

For one, I can share

How I managed my life

With the help of Almighty God

In the midst of strife.

 

 

The many times I fell

But never declined to rise

Just like the proverbial vessel

On the swelling tide.

 

I could tell of the highs

And chronicle the lows

When I could adapt very fast

Though now slow.

 

Mirror image changes,

The physical one, I mean

But one still remains oneself

Whatever the scene.

 

Don’t be dragged down

By the image you see

But when the physical declines

See what more you can be.

 

Be a benefactor then

Rather than a beneficiary

And spare someone the suffering

You were forced to see.

 

Stewart Russell © September 18, 2024

 

A Wreck on Life’s Highway

 

 

I was motoring down life’s highway

At quite a crazy clip

Negotiating some difficult turns

Not even caring about a slip.

 

Oh, I was a fantastic driver

With quite a bit of skill

And knowing just how great I was

There was no chance of a spill.

 

In my early years there was challenge

With quite a few in the home,

So many mouths to feed

No television, no piped water or phone.

 

At primary school I was avoided

As though I were the plague,

At secondary school I buckled down

And those memories became somewhat vague.

 

I did really well at school

Though I never came first in tests,

But whenever the scores came back

I was always among the best.

 

University was not as easy

But I adjusted to the task

And when I graduated,

My achievements were all first class.

 

On leaving school I landed a job

That paid a good salary,

That was the beginning of the trend

That changed my reality.

 

I really began to enjoy life

And motored towards my dream,

I left that initial poverty

Way back in my slipstream.

 

Out of the turns and into the straights

I motored on with ease

Steadily increasing my speed

Enjoying the rush of the breeze.

 

The rough time I had growing up

Was a far and distant memory,

The thrill I now enjoyed

Was a thing of rarest beauty.

 

My family I had left behind,

So were the church and Sunday school,

That kind of controlled life

Was for the poor and wretched fool.

 

I was fast into my groove,

This was what I had dreamed about,

Dollars flittering through my hand

And carrying a lot of clout.

 

Then I was really somebody,

I was held in great respect,

I was well to do and held my own,

My past was my only regret.

 

In the circle where I moved

Were the persons that were rich,

They were born into wealth galore

And never fell into the ditch.

 

They often boasted of their past,

Their present and future were secure,

I had to put up with their lengthy boast,

To me my past was a bore.

 

Occasionally I would hear or read

Of the passing of a relative

But that would filter through my mind

Like the proverbial sieve.

 

I had no time for such,

Sometimes I would send a card

But to attend, no way!

Those memories were already quite hard.

 

I really wanted to forget

My horrid growing-up past

Even though among my company

I did not belong in their class.

 

They merely tolerated me

For what I could do for them,

The jobs that they could never do

It was I they would always send.

 

They had the wealth but not the brains,

I was the lawyer in the group

But to maintain my membership

To their every request I would stoop.

 

To me that was a small price to pay

For the reputation that I enjoyed,

Where they went I was also seen

I was one of their envoys.

 

Money… there was more than just enough,

Friends in high places… more than a few,

Dignitaries, celebrities, the rich and famous,

All persons that everyone wished he knew.

 

These were all known to me,

They were at my fingertips,

I was having the time of my life

Just being with them on their trips.

 

What a drive as I motored along!

What a scintillating experience!

Compared to the struggle that I once endured

This was a desirable variance.

 

As the dizzying results reached my head

My foot responded in kind,

To the floorboard I pressed life’s pedal

And enjoyed the passage of time.

 

I took an extreme delight

In many a poor man’s plight,

The fact of the matter really was,

His nighttime was my glowing light.

 

As he suffered I prospered,

His discomfort added to my gain,

His representation was to my benefit

Even though it caused his pain.

 

I was my superiors’ puppet

But the poor was under my control,

And every one that I deceived

Took me closer to my goal.

 

To be rich and wealthy was my aim,

Nothing else could satisfy,

Whatever it cost to stake my claim

Nothing or no one dare deny.

 

I may be a puppet on their string

But I also had a plan,

At some point along the way

I would play the ace in my hand.

 

I should have slowed to take that curve

Instead my foot had remained flat,

I showed what I thought had been an ace

But it was the joker of the pack.

 

My journey came to a grinding halt,

My car would not respond,

I cranked the engine again and again

But there was not a sound.

 

I looked around for my support,

None of them was around,

They had set me up for this hard fall

Now I was prison bound.

 

I was smart but they were smarter,

At the time I could not see,

What they had I really wanted,

I did not care what it would cost me.

 

And as I hurtled down life’s highway

My ace was from their deck,

Too late I realized I had been fooled

Now I am a total wreck.

 

A wreck along life’s highway,

Another wreck by the side of life’s road,

Intoxicated by avarice and greed,

I ignored the highway’s code.

 

 

Lying on my back on my prison bed

My view my prison cell ceiling,

A lifetime incarcerated here

And not a hope after appealing.

 

Freedom is a precious gem

And liberty a pearl of great price,

The love of money is snow on life’s road

And avarice is like black ice.

 

My driving days are over,

My license has been revoked,

My friends are rollicking with laughter,

I am the butt of their joke.

 

Time after time I pinch myself

To stir me from this dream,

But then I hear the clang of a gate

Or hear a prisoner scream.

 

O how I wish with all my might

I could turn back the hands of my clock,

If only at best to my early past

That’s far better than this prison block.

 

If you are young and being care free

Don’t drive, rather I advise, take a trek,

It’s a better way to travel along life’s road

And avoid becoming one of life’s wrecks.

 

Stewart Russell © 2015

 

Transfixed

 

 

Hey, watch me!

See how fast I am moving?

You may think I am stuck here

But really, I am grooving.

 

What you think you see

Is not what is happening,

You perceive I am motionless

But I am actually moving.

 

A lot of trans going on

And in some cases, legally so,

Woman today and man tomorrow

Never mind the pappy show.

 

The law is about trans too:

Trans from sense to nonsense,

But I just want to be who I am

And I mean no offense.

 

Just like you want to be you

Leave me as me, please,

Transfixed you can call me that

And I don’t mean to tease.

 

I really fear for our children

Especially the innocent ones

For by the time they grow up

Reality will be gone.

 

 

Trans-reality will be rife

Nothing will be wrong or right

Absolutes will have disappeared

No difference re day and night.

 

Two plus two will be whatever,

Ten minus six will be it depends

And a thing may be laying down

And at the same time upend.

 

Me? I will be transfixed

Meaning what that really means,

Motionless, even hypnotized,

Not as some may deem.

 

Transfixed as in spellbound

At the nonsense going on,

Not trans-present as in while here

But yet still I am gone.

 

 

“Your honour, it was a man”

“But how can you be sure?”

“He was bearded and muscular,

Need I say more?”

 

“Not forty years ago

But surely in this modern day,

For back then a man was still a man

Even though he was gay.

 

Everything is changing,

Even transfixed means moving,

Transman is really a woman

And this is really confusing.”

 

So, see me? I am transfixed,

Meaning definitely staying my ground,

I have the reality that up is up

And down is truly down.

 

It used to take a magician

To confuse one’s reality,

Now it takes an elected politician

To legalize one’s stupidity.

 

I repeat, I fear for our children,

Especially those at risk

Who being robbed of their childhood

Will continue to drift.

 

Called on to make decisions

As though they were already adults

And the nature of these decisions

Is nothing more than insults.

 

 

Exposed to a biology

That in no way relates to science

And a proposed family structure

Viewing the Bible in defiance.

 

I frown on this scholarship;

This so-call scholarship it seems

That seeks to uphold human rights

And yet human life demeans.

 

Transfixed, I call this poem

To play on the popular trans

That has an entire world fascinated

As the LGBTQ executes its plans.

 

Here is a call from me to you

To remain resolute and fixed,

Transfixed may be a tad confusing

But you can focus on the fixed.

 

Stewart Russell © June 12, 2023

 

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

 

 

Between

The devil and the deep blue sea-

Swimming either way spells fatality,

Yet World politics promotes this lunacy

For its citizens to accept as their reality.

 

We sing the praises of world leaders

Setting store by what they say

And argue fiercely with one another

Which pontificates the better way.

 

This one is smarter than the other

And talks a better argument

And it does not matter the eventual outcome

It is really about the intent.

 

As long as the intentions seem good

To that world leader we can relate,

It matters not what he sequentially does

At least, he clearly won the debate.

 

 

With world politics

Precariously hanging from this plain

This brings me to the wonderment

Of one Mark Twain.

 

He pondered on two types of leaders

At the time when he did write

And when I contemplate his considerations

Neither appeared his approval type.

 

I have reserved the following verse

To give you his word-for-word quote,

Follow with me very closely

As I give you exactly as he wrote.

 

“Sometimes I wonder

whether the world is being run

by smart people who are putting us on,

or by imbeciles who really mean it.”

 

For surely you now see the reason

For the chosen title of this poem:

“Between the devil and the deep blue sea”

For indeed we have a problem.

 

 

“Smart people” speaks of those politicians

That are as cunning as the devil

And “imbeciles” connotes the other type

That in constant evil revel.

 

Whether run by smart people or imbeciles

There is no hope either way,

For if we choose the former we are damned

And if the latter,

We won’t see the light of day.

 

Stewart Russell © April 6, 2021