Consider all the unconceived, they neither toil nor spin

Till called upon by selfish act of grossly unoriginal sin.

You read those lines and smile, perhaps, at whimsy’s gentle play

But Human Rights’ first law should be: ALL life may life gainsay.

By inference those who have reached cognized fertility

Should bow before the unconceived – the being yet to be.

And just because this noble truth employs enigma’s guile

Remember paradox and life upon each other smile.

Go forth and multiply with care, there is no greater sum

Than man and woman’s conjoined parts that add another one.

And what is more our infant is brought forth scarce half made up

With primal needs as yet unmet – not even half a cup.

Thus, here again, the Human Right to mother’s nurturing

Stands pledged in blood since two indulged conception’s roistering.

 

 

The Devil’s helpmeet Mother Nature never crying halt

Has youth respond to hormone drives, and fertile by default

But Mammon’s take on children changed, since chimney’s finger beckoned

He stuffs with silver, mother-mouths, it stops them being fecund.

Connivance by society, devalues mothering

Potential mothers wed the job, and take the bovine ring.

Led by the nose they seek to be more dumb by far than men

To strive and strain in his domain to be as dumb as ten.

They buy with birthright, Mammon’s beads, and do not heed the signs

Success feels good (or does it) as fertility declines?

At last they can afford a Nanny - and the IVF

Mechanic’ly some laboratory grants that ‘late-conceived’ first breath

Lactation is eschewed - it interferes with Mammon’s plan

Big Pharma dries her up - the more - with profit and élan.

 

 

Gestation’s bliss leads on to birth - at best calamity.

As parents sought a home, now newborn craves security.

The debt to this new life is way beyond all mortal measure

Secure Attachment of the child should be the prime endeavour. 

But mother must return to proper work, not mindless nurture

The anxious child must learn to cope respecting mother’s future.

If God intended mothering why would he have made minders?

They see to children’s needs beyond stay-at-home mother’s blindness. 

Be sure: multiple substitutes are better than just one!

While stuff bought with mum’s earnings, ensures life is well begun.

Security, in time, will be transmitted by osmosis

Prime time with drained, yet fulfilled, mother, fends off all neurosis.

Thus will the child take in truth, that ‘income maketh man’

And pays for pills and therapy, affording ease of pain.

 

 

At two the Nanny State aligns with Mammon’s master plan

To master any tendency to be an also-ran.

The child now part-acclimatised to part-abandonment

Adds to its repertoire the skill of school without consent.

School ‘uniform’ surrounds the child with institution’s drape

That, if resisted, gathers in, until there’s no escape.

Here self-awareness and self-worth are gently ill advised

Each generation in their turn is institutionalised.

And no one now can understand that ‘school’ means but ‘to gather’

So many have gone through the mill, real thought is too much bother.

Much stuff is learned, designed to aid the doing side of life

But Husband Studies languish, and none learns to be a Wife.  

And so it goes: as heavens turn, we spiral down in expertise

Life-skills abandoned, usher in, a nation ill at ease.

 

 

Maturity is dead and gone dragged down by cleverness

The balance tipped too far, its kilter now beyond redress.

Condemned to die still juvenile - by wants and needs consumed

Mankind quite blind to his own plight, exuberantly doomed.

Philosophy not currency, psychology short shrifted

And ‘wood from trees’, brings ‘Mote and Beam’ especially to the ‘gifted’.

Quite disconnected from the Earth, polluters, decadent;

Pursuit of leisure rules, yet insufficient to repent.

And loud the un-conceived cry out for undivided bliss

They wring their un-configured hands, craving connexion’s miss

Will bind them in Nirvana, spurning three score years and ten

Unbloodied and unbowed without so much as half a yen.

Perhaps it’s with the unconceived, lies Wisdom’s gift to know

That we are just a rotten shoot The Tree needs must outgrow.