I wanted to write a poem about the fleeting brevity of life: about the tiny moments that made us and still do.
“You could not remove a single grain of sand from its place without thereby … changing something throughout all parts of the immeasurable whole.”
— Fichte, The Vocation of Man (1800)
Uttoxeter was instrumental in helping a small boy from yesterday, now an old man of today, realise that life is a mayfly flutter ... (aka an Utcheter Flutter) so this this one is for you old home town.
Life’s a Mayfly
Life’s a flit, a skit, a flutter
A gasp, a rasp, a grasp, a splutter
Life’s a wink, a blink, a wiggle
A tick, a flick, a lick, a wriggle
Life’s a bang, a clang, a quiver
A splash, a crash, a dash, a shiver
Life’s a hop, a pop, a burble
A flap, a clap, a snap, a gurgle
Life’s a sip, a skip, a rumble
A breeze, a wheeze, a sneeze, a stumble
Life’s a grin, a spin, a sprinkle
A swing, a sting, a wring, a wrinkle
Life’s a poke, a croak, a ripple
A phrase, a craze, a gaze, a stipple
Life’s a sob, a blob, a blunder
A file, a smile, a while, a wonder
Life’s a blot, a dot, a trickle
A speck, a fleck, a peck, a prickle
Life’s a twitch, a glitch, a glimmer
A dream, a beam, a scream, a shimmer
Life’s a note, a quote, a favour
A hemi demi semi quaver
Life’s a whir, a blur, a splutter
A mayfly wing, a fling, a flutter
Mark Bird
