Ok, maybe I will select one . . .
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A Poem Thread
- Thread starter Angelus
- Start date
Ok, maybe I will select one . . .
Cryptical lyrical
Azonal aloneness suppresses the leeching callings of the parakeet nations,
Forth comings of red white and blue flow forceful through the milieu of timelessness,
Sources of fullness cannot feel the plague’s spread,
Can I can you follow the suits of us-busters,
Do we not follow our thoughts in our writings,
Eruptions of alchemical callings do not sway our wind,
Listing in the divine helps our selves heal,
Sometimes the leading is the following,
Sometimes the following is the leading,
Confusing to follow yourself or some unknown agent within,
Different rules do not apply themselves as self governance doesn’t exist,
“Call we what to will me forth,”
Why understand when you can just feel and vent into creativity,
This isn’t funnelling but flowing directly frictionless,
Cryptical lyrical,
I feel full, and the door is so rusty,
Do not understand, hold strong and make someness accountable for its own train,
The conventions are strong within us but don’t fight them,
Or at least do not seek to fight them just weave in difference,
In what way are we limited by what we know?
Freshness falls to all men and boundaries are met and agreed, adhered to in brokerage,
The lines have to stop forming, there has to be an illimitable ending,
Or maybe I ran out of paper.
Azonal aloneness suppresses the leeching callings of the parakeet nations,
Forth comings of red white and blue flow forceful through the milieu of timelessness,
Sources of fullness cannot feel the plague’s spread,
Can I can you follow the suits of us-busters,
Do we not follow our thoughts in our writings,
Eruptions of alchemical callings do not sway our wind,
Listing in the divine helps our selves heal,
Sometimes the leading is the following,
Sometimes the following is the leading,
Confusing to follow yourself or some unknown agent within,
Different rules do not apply themselves as self governance doesn’t exist,
“Call we what to will me forth,”
Why understand when you can just feel and vent into creativity,
This isn’t funnelling but flowing directly frictionless,
Cryptical lyrical,
I feel full, and the door is so rusty,
Do not understand, hold strong and make someness accountable for its own train,
The conventions are strong within us but don’t fight them,
Or at least do not seek to fight them just weave in difference,
In what way are we limited by what we know?
Freshness falls to all men and boundaries are met and agreed, adhered to in brokerage,
The lines have to stop forming, there has to be an illimitable ending,
Or maybe I ran out of paper.
WHY THERE’S SOMETHING ALWAYS
Echoes of our conversation run through this. Very nice.
The cup rocked,
but the air inside was still invisible.
I knew it was there because someone told me,
and we trust unto each other.
The ultimate cooperation moving towards standardisation.
Either that or the play station.
Life tick-tocks me,
flips me like a penny,
a new one with infinite sides;
makes my mind want to hide.
But I know it has to fall somewhere.
And it landed in the cup,
with a plop;
the air having replaced itself by decaffeinated tea blend.
It made me feel cold as the non-caffeine took hold,
but I knew it was just a deeper meaning
as burning feels cool when it doesn't destroy.
12/03/11, 18.20 gmt
but the air inside was still invisible.
I knew it was there because someone told me,
and we trust unto each other.
The ultimate cooperation moving towards standardisation.
Either that or the play station.
Life tick-tocks me,
flips me like a penny,
a new one with infinite sides;
makes my mind want to hide.
But I know it has to fall somewhere.
And it landed in the cup,
with a plop;
the air having replaced itself by decaffeinated tea blend.
It made me feel cold as the non-caffeine took hold,
but I knew it was just a deeper meaning
as burning feels cool when it doesn't destroy.
12/03/11, 18.20 gmt
THE PURSUIT OF MERCURIA
For some years I have pursued that lovely
Greco-Roman woman named Mercuria;
I’ve yearned till I could no longer reason.
Once, just her sight would have pleased me;
But now, at whatever cost and downfall,
I must taste of her fiery passion;
At whatever risk I plot her every move.
When the time is right, I’ll be seeing her;
It will be just us, while the world’s asleep.
The problem is that she’s a fast woman
And is quite difficult to even sight,
Much less capture, entrance, embrace, and kiss.
And I can only have her for awhile;
Before dawn: if I linger with her long,
We’d soon be consumed by a rising fire;
After twilight, we’d be lost in darkness.
Yes, I have courted her many times,
But she’s so elusive, fleeting, and small.
Once I waited for her just before nightfall;
All was perfect—’twas the best time of all.
There was the calm of a windless sunset,
Then the brief brooding of twilight’s gloaming,
And the promise of a slow sultry night…
Clouds arrived—and so I missed her again!
She strayed not far from her fiery lover.
While I may have glimpsed her (I wasn’t sure),
She slid toward her master’s gravity,
Condemned to whirl about his light;
However, I was quite determined;
‘Twas the thrill of the quest that kept me strong.
I planned to surprise her just before dawn…
I crept onto the frosty roof, near slipping,
There waiting. Damn! Clouds were boiling along
And blocking the view of her beauty rare.
Suddenly the clouds cleared, and she was mine—
Just over the eastern horizon was
The planet Mercury—dear Mercuria—
I stayed with her as long as possible,
Naked in the night, until, to blazes
She went when the sun arose; however,
Memories remain of those precious moments
And now she belongs to me forever.
Venus is too easy, Mars is always there,
Jupiter ever-present, Saturn bright,
The Earth under my feet, Pluto underworlded;
King Neptune, Queen Urania?
Where are you?
For some years I have pursued that lovely
Greco-Roman woman named Mercuria;
I’ve yearned till I could no longer reason.
Once, just her sight would have pleased me;
But now, at whatever cost and downfall,
I must taste of her fiery passion;
At whatever risk I plot her every move.
When the time is right, I’ll be seeing her;
It will be just us, while the world’s asleep.
The problem is that she’s a fast woman
And is quite difficult to even sight,
Much less capture, entrance, embrace, and kiss.
And I can only have her for awhile;
Before dawn: if I linger with her long,
We’d soon be consumed by a rising fire;
After twilight, we’d be lost in darkness.
Yes, I have courted her many times,
But she’s so elusive, fleeting, and small.
Once I waited for her just before nightfall;
All was perfect—’twas the best time of all.
There was the calm of a windless sunset,
Then the brief brooding of twilight’s gloaming,
And the promise of a slow sultry night…
Clouds arrived—and so I missed her again!
She strayed not far from her fiery lover.
While I may have glimpsed her (I wasn’t sure),
She slid toward her master’s gravity,
Condemned to whirl about his light;
However, I was quite determined;
‘Twas the thrill of the quest that kept me strong.
I planned to surprise her just before dawn…
I crept onto the frosty roof, near slipping,
There waiting. Damn! Clouds were boiling along
And blocking the view of her beauty rare.
Suddenly the clouds cleared, and she was mine—
Just over the eastern horizon was
The planet Mercury—dear Mercuria—
I stayed with her as long as possible,
Naked in the night, until, to blazes
She went when the sun arose; however,
Memories remain of those precious moments
And now she belongs to me forever.
Venus is too easy, Mars is always there,
Jupiter ever-present, Saturn bright,
The Earth under my feet, Pluto underworlded;
King Neptune, Queen Urania?
Where are you?
Luckily, English has many synonyms to help with the preciseness of our attempted conciseness, but, still, down deep, sometimes, there may surface wordless thoughts which can only translate as ‘ugh’ or some foggy feeling that some notion feels great or true, again in some vague and unworded speechless way; so, then we must interpret and even sometimes invent the rest of the story as best we can.
Even in poetry, in which we force ourselves to be precise, to get the message across within the constraints of the form, we might only get across a general interpretation of the “soul’s” feelings. In fact, this presentation of all that is possibly not so readily apprehended as truth is the very purpose of poetry. Poets translate the “soul’s” thoughts and feelings into words and attempt to send them forth finely dressed for others to read.
Is this the end of it—the poetic words? Did we really write a total poem? No, not necessarily, for the poem must induce the reader to then translate the words back to the depths of the soul feelings of its sometimes speechless mode. It is only then that one can say that one has written a successful poem, that is, only if the reader’s soul is responsive to it.
Even in poetry, in which we force ourselves to be precise, to get the message across within the constraints of the form, we might only get across a general interpretation of the “soul’s” feelings. In fact, this presentation of all that is possibly not so readily apprehended as truth is the very purpose of poetry. Poets translate the “soul’s” thoughts and feelings into words and attempt to send them forth finely dressed for others to read.
Is this the end of it—the poetic words? Did we really write a total poem? No, not necessarily, for the poem must induce the reader to then translate the words back to the depths of the soul feelings of its sometimes speechless mode. It is only then that one can say that one has written a successful poem, that is, only if the reader’s soul is responsive to it.
THE END OF THE EARTH
The Asphodel sustains the Dis dwellers,
Where they rest beyond that fatal river—
There the wretched shades drink forgetfulness,
And to oblivion sink without distress.
Fireweed grows from Hell’s sulfurous embers,
As does Purple Loosestrife—dead men’s fingers;
But wildflower air revives the dead—and then
Those happy souls can thrive on Earth again.
Charon was withered, wan, and skeletal,
Although eternally grateful for his immortal life
And steady job of ferrying the dead across the river Styx
In their transition from life to death to forgetfulness.
As Earth was the only planet he’d come across
With such promising higher life forms,
Charon had grown rather fond of its inhabitants,
Even though he only saw but the worst of them;
But, even from this he could extrapolate
To the qualities of the best.
Charon did his job well, professionally,
Although it was ever so dreary
With the endless darkness of wasted lives
And the grim and gloomy skies all around,
For this land always had
That same gray and leaden feel.
He ferried on, though,
For his own life was precious to him.
The soon-to-be really really dead never said much,
For what was there to tell after an empty life
That had often turned to deep regret;
So, Charon did not prompt them for information,
For this was not the thing to do
At the time of their passing,
So he was always most
Courteous and kind to them,
Even to the most evil of the darkest,
Doing his task as well as he could.
It was not that Charon was afraid that
His undersized master of the underworld,
Pluto, might be watching,
But that he had the extreme clarity
To duly serve the task at hand,
A testament to his character.
Charon had been quite alarmed lately—
What with the numbers of the hellish-souls-to-be
Climbing into the millions in such a short time,
But, he had been through this kind of rush before,
With the doomed and damned of other planets
That had been consumed by their suns
Or had undergone other such catastrophes.
He just used larger boats
And patiently took his time,
For he had all of Eternity.
Of course,
Charon could and did feel deep sadness,
But he didn’t show it outwardly,
Even when the numbers from Earth
Increased a thousand-fold again.
A few of the now billions of depressed Earthling souls
Had enough energy left to mumble a few words
And so he was able to glean from them
The latest happenings on Earth.
In 2012, the predicted exponential surge
Of melting ice from global warming
Had quickly inundated all of the coastal cities,
Many of them large centers
Of population and commerce.
Everyone who could possibly make it
Had to retreat inland,
Creating the largest mass exodus in history.
As the heat rose to unbearable levels,
Many had begun living in their basements
As the Earth’s infrastructure
Began its eventual collapse.
Millions eventually headed north
Towards Canada and Siberia,
But had to retreat when the ice caps totally melted
And formed the great Ocean of the North;
Most did not make it.
No one but the ignored physicist mathematicians
Had predicted that the end
Could come into sight so quickly.
Then came the dreaded polar shift
That made global warming seem but a small note
Compared to this new and Darker Symphony.
The Earth was thrashed with storms
The likes of which it had never seen;
Electricity was completely out all over the world,
But for a few nuclear powered areas that didn’t last.
No one could drive very far,
Even on their last tank of gas,
For the roads had melted,
Along with the tires of the vehicles,
And, if the vehicles stopped,
They’d find themselves mired
In the meltdown of the asphalt.
Food would no longer grow very well,
Even in once lush gardens,
In the amounts that were needed,
And, as the heat rose further,
Into the 140s, plant growth ceased altogether,
Although a new but rare
And expensive form of food pill
Extended life for some of the rich
For a short while.
Charon, had, of course,
Seen much of this kind of thing before
From the many other solar systems
And galaxies on which life had formed;
But Earthlings seemed to have
A special charm and hope
Above and beyond the other alien races;
So he rowed and ferried
And deposited them on the far shore,
His job and life forever continuing
In a place with no color,
No joy, and no future—
On the shore of the land
On the edge of oblivion.
Charon had depths of compassion,
But many passengers might
Many thought him stoic,
Although they were mostly
Beyond the capability.
A sign on the opposite shore said:
Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here
Billions more arrived
In the gray land all too soon
And Charon learned that
Either madness or desperation on Earth
Had caused a nuclear winter all over the planet,
Bringing on a deep freeze that few could escape.
Perhaps they were trying
To combat the ultimate heat,
Which would have been
But a cool breeze in Hell.
The polar shift had greatly
Added to the deep freeze.
A few of Charon’s still speaking
But chilled customers
Even expressed a longing
For the legendary warmth of Hades.
Charon, stalwart and reliable, rowed on steadily,
Ever steeling himself to the misery.
Finally the masses slowed and dwindled
To a few dribs and drabs over a few years
And then there was no one for several years.
A lone man appeared on the shore near the ferry dock
And Charon readily approached the man,
Something he had never done before.
They had a long and hearty talk,
For the man was animated
And not at all like any of the other wretched souls.
“How is it,” inquired Charon,
“That you are full of life and seem to be a good man
But have been sent here?”
“I am not a bad person in any way,” the man replied.
“Actually, I just spent some time in Heaven.
I found out there that my sweetheart
Was sent here to you,
For she was a suicide
And so was destined here;
However, I had promised
To be with her forever,
So I chose this place
Over Heaven out of my love for her.”
“Extraordinary,” exclaimed Charon.
“I knew the Earth had
A few good men and women—
I’ve not seen very many clues
Of that elsewhere in the universe.
Did you colonize space—
Will your species continue and flourish
After your Earth bids farewell?”
“I’m afraid not,” replied the man,
For too many needless wars intervened
And this greatly delayed our space program.”
“A shame,” said Charon,
But is there any hope left on Earth,
I mean, are there any others still about?”
“I am the last,” the man answered slowly.
The first tear of Charon’s long life
Rolled down his cheek;
Nothing had ever made him cry before:
Nothing had ever made him weep.
(Rewritten from Lord Dunsany’s brief sketch)
The Asphodel sustains the Dis dwellers,
Where they rest beyond that fatal river—
There the wretched shades drink forgetfulness,
And to oblivion sink without distress.
Fireweed grows from Hell’s sulfurous embers,
As does Purple Loosestrife—dead men’s fingers;
But wildflower air revives the dead—and then
Those happy souls can thrive on Earth again.
Charon was withered, wan, and skeletal,
Although eternally grateful for his immortal life
And steady job of ferrying the dead across the river Styx
In their transition from life to death to forgetfulness.
As Earth was the only planet he’d come across
With such promising higher life forms,
Charon had grown rather fond of its inhabitants,
Even though he only saw but the worst of them;
But, even from this he could extrapolate
To the qualities of the best.
Charon did his job well, professionally,
Although it was ever so dreary
With the endless darkness of wasted lives
And the grim and gloomy skies all around,
For this land always had
That same gray and leaden feel.
He ferried on, though,
For his own life was precious to him.
The soon-to-be really really dead never said much,
For what was there to tell after an empty life
That had often turned to deep regret;
So, Charon did not prompt them for information,
For this was not the thing to do
At the time of their passing,
So he was always most
Courteous and kind to them,
Even to the most evil of the darkest,
Doing his task as well as he could.
It was not that Charon was afraid that
His undersized master of the underworld,
Pluto, might be watching,
But that he had the extreme clarity
To duly serve the task at hand,
A testament to his character.
Charon had been quite alarmed lately—
What with the numbers of the hellish-souls-to-be
Climbing into the millions in such a short time,
But, he had been through this kind of rush before,
With the doomed and damned of other planets
That had been consumed by their suns
Or had undergone other such catastrophes.
He just used larger boats
And patiently took his time,
For he had all of Eternity.
Of course,
Charon could and did feel deep sadness,
But he didn’t show it outwardly,
Even when the numbers from Earth
Increased a thousand-fold again.
A few of the now billions of depressed Earthling souls
Had enough energy left to mumble a few words
And so he was able to glean from them
The latest happenings on Earth.
In 2012, the predicted exponential surge
Of melting ice from global warming
Had quickly inundated all of the coastal cities,
Many of them large centers
Of population and commerce.
Everyone who could possibly make it
Had to retreat inland,
Creating the largest mass exodus in history.
As the heat rose to unbearable levels,
Many had begun living in their basements
As the Earth’s infrastructure
Began its eventual collapse.
Millions eventually headed north
Towards Canada and Siberia,
But had to retreat when the ice caps totally melted
And formed the great Ocean of the North;
Most did not make it.
No one but the ignored physicist mathematicians
Had predicted that the end
Could come into sight so quickly.
Then came the dreaded polar shift
That made global warming seem but a small note
Compared to this new and Darker Symphony.
The Earth was thrashed with storms
The likes of which it had never seen;
Electricity was completely out all over the world,
But for a few nuclear powered areas that didn’t last.
No one could drive very far,
Even on their last tank of gas,
For the roads had melted,
Along with the tires of the vehicles,
And, if the vehicles stopped,
They’d find themselves mired
In the meltdown of the asphalt.
Food would no longer grow very well,
Even in once lush gardens,
In the amounts that were needed,
And, as the heat rose further,
Into the 140s, plant growth ceased altogether,
Although a new but rare
And expensive form of food pill
Extended life for some of the rich
For a short while.
Charon, had, of course,
Seen much of this kind of thing before
From the many other solar systems
And galaxies on which life had formed;
But Earthlings seemed to have
A special charm and hope
Above and beyond the other alien races;
So he rowed and ferried
And deposited them on the far shore,
His job and life forever continuing
In a place with no color,
No joy, and no future—
On the shore of the land
On the edge of oblivion.
Charon had depths of compassion,
But many passengers might
Many thought him stoic,
Although they were mostly
Beyond the capability.
A sign on the opposite shore said:
Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here
Billions more arrived
In the gray land all too soon
And Charon learned that
Either madness or desperation on Earth
Had caused a nuclear winter all over the planet,
Bringing on a deep freeze that few could escape.
Perhaps they were trying
To combat the ultimate heat,
Which would have been
But a cool breeze in Hell.
The polar shift had greatly
Added to the deep freeze.
A few of Charon’s still speaking
But chilled customers
Even expressed a longing
For the legendary warmth of Hades.
Charon, stalwart and reliable, rowed on steadily,
Ever steeling himself to the misery.
Finally the masses slowed and dwindled
To a few dribs and drabs over a few years
And then there was no one for several years.
A lone man appeared on the shore near the ferry dock
And Charon readily approached the man,
Something he had never done before.
They had a long and hearty talk,
For the man was animated
And not at all like any of the other wretched souls.
“How is it,” inquired Charon,
“That you are full of life and seem to be a good man
But have been sent here?”
“I am not a bad person in any way,” the man replied.
“Actually, I just spent some time in Heaven.
I found out there that my sweetheart
Was sent here to you,
For she was a suicide
And so was destined here;
However, I had promised
To be with her forever,
So I chose this place
Over Heaven out of my love for her.”
“Extraordinary,” exclaimed Charon.
“I knew the Earth had
A few good men and women—
I’ve not seen very many clues
Of that elsewhere in the universe.
Did you colonize space—
Will your species continue and flourish
After your Earth bids farewell?”
“I’m afraid not,” replied the man,
For too many needless wars intervened
And this greatly delayed our space program.”
“A shame,” said Charon,
But is there any hope left on Earth,
I mean, are there any others still about?”
“I am the last,” the man answered slowly.
The first tear of Charon’s long life
Rolled down his cheek;
Nothing had ever made him cry before:
Nothing had ever made him weep.
(Rewritten from Lord Dunsany’s brief sketch)
I like the combo of myth with modern. I would love to see what you would do with a magnified extrapolation of this. Maybe mythical character viewing the distant future of life in the universe.
Luckily, English has many synonyms to help with the preciseness of our attempted conciseness, but, still, down deep, sometimes, there may surface wordless thoughts which can only translate as ‘ugh’ or some foggy feeling that some notion feels great or true, again in some vague and unworded speechless way; so, then we must interpret and even sometimes invent the rest of the story as best we can.
Even in poetry, in which we force ourselves to be precise, to get the message across within the constraints of the form, we might only get across a general interpretation of the “soul’s” feelings. In fact, this presentation of all that is possibly not so readily apprehended as truth is the very purpose of poetry. Poets translate the “soul’s” thoughts and feelings into words and attempt to send them forth finely dressed for others to read.
Is this the end of it—the poetic words? Did we really write a total poem? No, not necessarily, for the poem must induce the reader to then translate the words back to the depths of the soul feelings of its sometimes speechless mode. It is only then that one can say that one has written a successful poem, that is, only if the reader’s soul is responsive to it.
Yes, I fall down with some of my poetry because it can be very cryptical and more like song lyrics than poetry. I'll post something a bit more transparent next.
Overall I like your delicate use of traditional diction. I have been spurned in the past on contemporary poetry forums for using such language, but I enjoy reading it.
FROM TOE TO BEING
AND FINDING MEANING THEREIN
Why & How
Nonexistence can’t be, nor could something
Make itself or always have been perfect,
For, before definition is the possible—
Lawless–formless—the options were open!
What, Where, Who, Then, and When
‘What’ matter stabilizes in ‘where’ space,
Begetting the appearances in motion as
‘When’ future moves through the ‘now’ to ‘then’ past—
This “spirit of life” granting our ‘who’ being.
The Forces
The strong force facilitates stability;
The weak force allows changeability;
Electric action, leading to magnetic motion,
Facilitates the movement of appearances.
The TOE to Being
The TOE has to explain origin, method,
And life, and, so, this does, the key being
That movement of appearances begets
Changes in time, showing in our life’s realm.
Universal Answers
Since there’s no rhyme nor reason for existence,
We’re free to make our own meaning of it;
If we don’t, then it’s really meaning-less;
If we do—it becomes the ultimate!
Luck Happens
Asteroids swept away many species;
Two chromosomes fused, leaving chimps behind;
RNA remembers all survivors;
Good fortune smiled on Homo Sapiens.
The Balance Sheet
Life on Earth is death’s borrowed debit;
We spend this life on good fortune’s credit;
We’re not God’s puppets, but free of the strings;
Dispensing with angst, we’re free in being.
We Are What We Are
Unintelligently designed, humans
Were a lucky accident of nature,
A haphazard Rube Goldberg ‘invention’,
With a nervous system ruled by ancient times.
The Lucky State of Us
As an accident of evolution,
We have the ultimate freedom of choice—
No “God’s will”—we’re beyond instinctive;
We’re free to grow and evolve, through learning.
Difficulties Abound
Emotion often bypasses the intellect;
Many stand at the brink of insanity.
Only education can save the world—
We’re at the turning point of history.
Wishful Thinking
Pride: Ego exaggerates self-importance
To claim that we’re specially created,
Deserving a divine destiny.
Humility: we’re electrochemical.
Unfortunately…
Those who can’t or won’t learn are doomed to stay
As their robot selves, living the sitcom life,
But, learning disperses the myths of old—
We make our own way or stagnate and die.
Meaning—or Not
Direction arrives or one goes nowhere;
Growth happens or one vanishes to null;
Creation comes or reaction destroys;
Planning makes a life or it collapses.
Coming Full Circle
Searching for the ultimate happenstance
Of how we began leads to exploration
Of within and without, a rewarding quest;
Upon return, we know the place for the first time.
AND FINDING MEANING THEREIN
Why & How
Nonexistence can’t be, nor could something
Make itself or always have been perfect,
For, before definition is the possible—
Lawless–formless—the options were open!
What, Where, Who, Then, and When
‘What’ matter stabilizes in ‘where’ space,
Begetting the appearances in motion as
‘When’ future moves through the ‘now’ to ‘then’ past—
This “spirit of life” granting our ‘who’ being.
The Forces
The strong force facilitates stability;
The weak force allows changeability;
Electric action, leading to magnetic motion,
Facilitates the movement of appearances.
The TOE to Being
The TOE has to explain origin, method,
And life, and, so, this does, the key being
That movement of appearances begets
Changes in time, showing in our life’s realm.
Universal Answers
Since there’s no rhyme nor reason for existence,
We’re free to make our own meaning of it;
If we don’t, then it’s really meaning-less;
If we do—it becomes the ultimate!
Luck Happens
Asteroids swept away many species;
Two chromosomes fused, leaving chimps behind;
RNA remembers all survivors;
Good fortune smiled on Homo Sapiens.
The Balance Sheet
Life on Earth is death’s borrowed debit;
We spend this life on good fortune’s credit;
We’re not God’s puppets, but free of the strings;
Dispensing with angst, we’re free in being.
We Are What We Are
Unintelligently designed, humans
Were a lucky accident of nature,
A haphazard Rube Goldberg ‘invention’,
With a nervous system ruled by ancient times.
The Lucky State of Us
As an accident of evolution,
We have the ultimate freedom of choice—
No “God’s will”—we’re beyond instinctive;
We’re free to grow and evolve, through learning.
Difficulties Abound
Emotion often bypasses the intellect;
Many stand at the brink of insanity.
Only education can save the world—
We’re at the turning point of history.
Wishful Thinking
Pride: Ego exaggerates self-importance
To claim that we’re specially created,
Deserving a divine destiny.
Humility: we’re electrochemical.
Unfortunately…
Those who can’t or won’t learn are doomed to stay
As their robot selves, living the sitcom life,
But, learning disperses the myths of old—
We make our own way or stagnate and die.
Meaning—or Not
Direction arrives or one goes nowhere;
Growth happens or one vanishes to null;
Creation comes or reaction destroys;
Planning makes a life or it collapses.
Coming Full Circle
Searching for the ultimate happenstance
Of how we began leads to exploration
Of within and without, a rewarding quest;
Upon return, we know the place for the first time.
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I am 31 years old now. This was composed around 15 years ago
Into the Dark
Slipped to blackness,
In the distance a light,
The shine of which comforts,
The thought of its sight,
The feeling of loss,
Is lost in its glow,
Growing bigger,
Enveloping slow.
Faintly a calling,
Is heard all around,
Sweet divine singing,
A song without sound,
Wings spread upwards,
An embrace soft and kind,
No sense of loss,
For what’s left behind.
Gone is the flesh,
The soul has flown,
The purpose accomplished,
The seeds are sown,
And now a judgement,
All of its own,
A test to see,
If your soul has grown.
From celestial shoulders,
Two voices divide,
Conscience battles,
Angels decide,
One from the dark,
One from the light,
One showing form,
The other night.
Questions unending,
Coming from them?
Or is it your conscience,
Judging again?
Was existence worthwhile?
Did life run its course?
Was a meaningful purpose,
Imposed by its choice?
Has a cold barrier grown,
Since the womb?
Or does enlightenment sit on your throne?
Inner fulfilment?
Look deep inside,
Is your heart open?
Or do you hide,
The goodness captured,
Flowing within?
The test is nigh,
Weighing of sin.
The voices a figment?
Maybe but true,
For the next world is based on subconscious review,
Your fate unknowingly,
Decided by you.
Affray is over,
Judgement is called,
Darkness ascends,
Divine light falls,
A hand reaches down,
Caressing your own,
A claw grabs your heel,
Cutting to bone.
Into the Dark
Slipped to blackness,
In the distance a light,
The shine of which comforts,
The thought of its sight,
The feeling of loss,
Is lost in its glow,
Growing bigger,
Enveloping slow.
Faintly a calling,
Is heard all around,
Sweet divine singing,
A song without sound,
Wings spread upwards,
An embrace soft and kind,
No sense of loss,
For what’s left behind.
Gone is the flesh,
The soul has flown,
The purpose accomplished,
The seeds are sown,
And now a judgement,
All of its own,
A test to see,
If your soul has grown.
From celestial shoulders,
Two voices divide,
Conscience battles,
Angels decide,
One from the dark,
One from the light,
One showing form,
The other night.
Questions unending,
Coming from them?
Or is it your conscience,
Judging again?
Was existence worthwhile?
Did life run its course?
Was a meaningful purpose,
Imposed by its choice?
Has a cold barrier grown,
Since the womb?
Or does enlightenment sit on your throne?
Inner fulfilment?
Look deep inside,
Is your heart open?
Or do you hide,
The goodness captured,
Flowing within?
The test is nigh,
Weighing of sin.
The voices a figment?
Maybe but true,
For the next world is based on subconscious review,
Your fate unknowingly,
Decided by you.
Affray is over,
Judgement is called,
Darkness ascends,
Divine light falls,
A hand reaches down,
Caressing your own,
A claw grabs your heel,
Cutting to bone.
THE SHORTEST POEM
Sunshine, fresh air,
Existence everywhere.
The above is far from being
The shortest possible poem.
Me,
Thee.
This is short, but probably
Not the shortest, as it has six letters.
Is this the shortest rhyming poem,
Especially about the TOE?
I,
Why?
How about
Me,
We.
Well, that ties the record
So now we need a three letter poem.
Aye,
I.
This again tied the record,
And it still makes sense,
Which of course is always a requirement.
How about?
Hi
I.
Is it not significant enough
Because it is only the start
Of a lower-higher self conversation?
Or do we know that from that?
Or, like at the Cheech and Chong show:
I
Hi.
or
By,
I.
Now we must reach
The two letter poem of two lines of rhyme…
I
“I”.
Meaning, for some,
That I am the same as “I”,
The soul or consciousness?
Or to question it the other way around?
I
“I”?
(But they both suffer from the flaw
Of the rhymes being the same word.)
W,
2.
Not in the IRS sense but, double you, too.
Then, finally,
There is the 0-length letter poem entitled
“The Zen Poem of Nothing”
(Hey, it’s not there, but it really is,
Since nothing rhymes with nothing,
Plus the poem has a title,
Which makes it qualify as real.)
Sunshine, fresh air,
Existence everywhere.
The above is far from being
The shortest possible poem.
Me,
Thee.
This is short, but probably
Not the shortest, as it has six letters.
Is this the shortest rhyming poem,
Especially about the TOE?
I,
Why?
How about
Me,
We.
Well, that ties the record
So now we need a three letter poem.
Aye,
I.
This again tied the record,
And it still makes sense,
Which of course is always a requirement.
How about?
Hi
I.
Is it not significant enough
Because it is only the start
Of a lower-higher self conversation?
Or do we know that from that?
Or, like at the Cheech and Chong show:
I
Hi.
or
By,
I.
Now we must reach
The two letter poem of two lines of rhyme…
I
“I”.
Meaning, for some,
That I am the same as “I”,
The soul or consciousness?
Or to question it the other way around?
I
“I”?
(But they both suffer from the flaw
Of the rhymes being the same word.)
W,
2.
Not in the IRS sense but, double you, too.
Then, finally,
There is the 0-length letter poem entitled
“The Zen Poem of Nothing”
(Hey, it’s not there, but it really is,
Since nothing rhymes with nothing,
Plus the poem has a title,
Which makes it qualify as real.)
Satan reached out and up from his cell of ice in the center of Hell and pulled you back down to Earth?
I suppose it is a bit like your +/- theory. During the process of dying ones own mind will judge itself. I suppose the ending is just a reflection of the nature of humans. There is no perfection, just greys of a good and bad mix.
The sixth stanza is telling. It is all illusory, the mind hallucinating during death, shutting down of the mind. I suppose a believer could read it in a different way. Poetry (in fact any art) can often only have the meaning the reader/examiner wants to take.
I must admit I do like the imagery angels embody for me. They seem to be freemind incarnate. I am a saggitarius. We value the reality/illusion of freedom.
THE SHORTEST POEM
Then, finally,
There is the 0-length letter poem entitled
“The Zen Poem of Nothing”
(Hey, it’s not there, but it really is,
Since nothing rhymes with nothing,
Plus the poem has a title,
Which makes it qualify as real.)
You forgot the full stop/period. I reckon if it had one then it would definitely qualify as a poem, though it may detract from its nothingness.
This one is even older, it won a prize at school when I was early teens. I redrafted slightly when I was around 18, just made it a bit tighter:
Hiemo cum sperare
Rise of sun, Sing of song,
Wondrous beauty, summer throng,
Full of splendour, divine in light,
Enlightening softly all in sight,
Be it beast, leaf or stone, radiance shines delight,
To each of which subtly loans, refuge from the night.
Sadness dwelleth, ever strong,
For the hands of winter surge along.
Scatter of dew ‘cross grassy land,
Freezes stiff as if to stand,
Like an ancient army deadly,
Ice stalactites at the ready,
Armed to crash with reveric trees,
Drooping branches as if to freeze.
Awoken from a summer borne slumber,
Creak of bark, shudder of timber,
Trees forest an almighty host,
Mustered to drive back ice and frost,
Annular battle must ensue,
Neither force willing to lose.
A crash of bough,
With bite of snow,
Quick as a dream the silent throng froze,
With eaves to proclaim dreadful woe,
And wintry trumpets to summon more snow,
Bleak and bitter winter wins,
Trees reduced to skeletons.
Days grow shorter,
Darkness falls,
Life halts in branch-ed halls,
If they hide, beasts should survive,
Cold limbs clamber, scrape and strive,
All retreat through fronded tunnels,
Winter wreaks its blasting pain,
Slow, old and weak are funnelled,
And at the point all are slain.
All that will, all that are left,
Return to find forest fraught with death,
In woodland clearings the wounded ground shows,
An imprint of fauna and their deathly throes.
Fog rolls ‘cross grassy glades,
Stretching out its ghostly shades,
Taking in the frozen land,
Smothering, choking, humid hand,
Enveloping quickly tree and grass,
Omen of a break in rootly fast?
Itch of bark,
Change of wind, of leaf,
A thermal firm brings relief,
Overcast grey, disperse, cease,
Faint globe emerging from yonder peaks,
Cloud reduced, now lonely strands,
This long tail discarded the rising sun stands.
Melt of snow, ice and tundra,
The banish of winter from the land,
Glorious summer,
Trickle of water,
The smell of springtime O’ so grand.
Hiemo cum sperare
Rise of sun, Sing of song,
Wondrous beauty, summer throng,
Full of splendour, divine in light,
Enlightening softly all in sight,
Be it beast, leaf or stone, radiance shines delight,
To each of which subtly loans, refuge from the night.
Sadness dwelleth, ever strong,
For the hands of winter surge along.
Scatter of dew ‘cross grassy land,
Freezes stiff as if to stand,
Like an ancient army deadly,
Ice stalactites at the ready,
Armed to crash with reveric trees,
Drooping branches as if to freeze.
Awoken from a summer borne slumber,
Creak of bark, shudder of timber,
Trees forest an almighty host,
Mustered to drive back ice and frost,
Annular battle must ensue,
Neither force willing to lose.
A crash of bough,
With bite of snow,
Quick as a dream the silent throng froze,
With eaves to proclaim dreadful woe,
And wintry trumpets to summon more snow,
Bleak and bitter winter wins,
Trees reduced to skeletons.
Days grow shorter,
Darkness falls,
Life halts in branch-ed halls,
If they hide, beasts should survive,
Cold limbs clamber, scrape and strive,
All retreat through fronded tunnels,
Winter wreaks its blasting pain,
Slow, old and weak are funnelled,
And at the point all are slain.
All that will, all that are left,
Return to find forest fraught with death,
In woodland clearings the wounded ground shows,
An imprint of fauna and their deathly throes.
Fog rolls ‘cross grassy glades,
Stretching out its ghostly shades,
Taking in the frozen land,
Smothering, choking, humid hand,
Enveloping quickly tree and grass,
Omen of a break in rootly fast?
Itch of bark,
Change of wind, of leaf,
A thermal firm brings relief,
Overcast grey, disperse, cease,
Faint globe emerging from yonder peaks,
Cloud reduced, now lonely strands,
This long tail discarded the rising sun stands.
Melt of snow, ice and tundra,
The banish of winter from the land,
Glorious summer,
Trickle of water,
The smell of springtime O’ so grand.
Yes, UD, that on is worth a prize. Very seasonal visual.
This may be in a similar vein:
SEASONINGS
Nature Springs from Winter’s tomb,
The bloom already in the seed,
The tree contained within the acorn.
Surging sprigs sprout from the soil;
Spring showers make the Summer flower.
Summer wakes from Spring’s dying kiss,
Blooming when the rose does,
Sunning after the Spring’s running.
Summer reigns upon the land,
Eventually fading in the night.
Autumn Falls as Summer leaves,
Harvesting its sum of days,
Seconding the rose of Spring.
The smile meets the tear—
Fall’s embers last through December.
Ice winds stalk the weed flowers,
The ghosts frosting the dead stalks,
Snow crystals barring all that grows.
Winter is death cooled over;
Melting snows feed Spring waters.
This may be in a similar vein:
SEASONINGS
Nature Springs from Winter’s tomb,
The bloom already in the seed,
The tree contained within the acorn.
Surging sprigs sprout from the soil;
Spring showers make the Summer flower.
Summer wakes from Spring’s dying kiss,
Blooming when the rose does,
Sunning after the Spring’s running.
Summer reigns upon the land,
Eventually fading in the night.
Autumn Falls as Summer leaves,
Harvesting its sum of days,
Seconding the rose of Spring.
The smile meets the tear—
Fall’s embers last through December.
Ice winds stalk the weed flowers,
The ghosts frosting the dead stalks,
Snow crystals barring all that grows.
Winter is death cooled over;
Melting snows feed Spring waters.
VIOLATING UNIVERSAL NATURAL LAW
You will always be caught,
So don't even give it a thought.
The violation of universal natural law
Is the cause of our problems, all,
Of everything that becomes rife
And plagues individual and national life,
These stresses only leading to more strife,
From lowlifes leaving their wife for the wildlife
Of nightlife to cutting someone with a knife.
So stem problems of national health,
Crime, the economy, education, wealth,
And the black environmental sins,
All of them having their origin
In a widespread law violation
By some portion of the population.
Universal Natural Law is very terse
In governing the entire universe,
It being the orderly principles
That regulate physical events/processes.
Science defines the universal law of nature,
A precise description of how nature nurtures.
Universal law pervades everything,
Of all that is in passage and being,
From the motion of particles
To the evolution of life’s articles—
Operating at every scale:
The subatomic, atomic,
Molecular, biological, geological,
Astrophysical, and cosmological.
The universe is structured hence
In these many layers of existence
As worlds within worlds,
Distinguished and not only furled
By vastly different time and distance scales,
But that every level has its own set of details;
For example, an electron/nucleus system
Is not analogous to that of a planet/sun.
The more superficial macroscopic levels of nature
Can be seen as fragmented expressions, for sure,
That are manifested from the more unified laws
Governing deeper levels with their scrimshaws—
The reflections of the dazzling symmetries
Of what once were inaccessible mysteries.
The outer ‘becomes’ are based on inner ones,
The only fountainhead of all the rhythms.
(And the converse is not true.)
Nature’s governance is maximally efficient,
For it is frugal, and not a spendthrift—
It following The Principle of Least Action
In all of its action and protraction.
This is why a ray of light refracts
When going from air to water’s tract,
Minimizing the time
And saving every dime.
From this maximal economy of nature,
All classical behavior can be scriptured.
Entropy is a count of quantum states
Accessible to a macroscopic system’s estate,
This available number ever increasing;
The nature of life is to grow, ever reaching.
The path of least action’s welcome
Is just the macroscopic outcome
Of the simultaneous superposition
Of multiple coexisting paths’ auctions
At the microscopic level,
The outcome ever of the least income.
The law to which all must succumb.
All is rooted in the verse
Of the Constitution of the Universe.
Life takes advantage and cause
Of the universal natural laws,
Even such as in merely walking,
Which is an immensely complex undertaking.
We employ technology in all of its variety.
Everything that we fail to accomplish
Is but due to the total failure
To apply universal natural law effectively,
This being the source of all difficulty.
In the absence of knowledge of a lever,
The simple task of moving a boulder
Becomes complex and arduous to the shoulder.
Not learning gravity has caused unmild
Injuries to many a young child;
The old uses of radiation caused cancer tumults;
The use of DDT had many adverse results.
Smoking cigarettes, heavy drinking, being out late,
And other addictive obsessions surely violate
Universal natural law, at whatever rate,
Resulting in negative consequences,
While psychological violations dispense
Stress directly as a sequence immense.
While fulfillment of desire can bring happiness,
It also raises the scope and standardness
Of future desires, making the duress
Of frustration an inevitable process.
Over time this causes psychological stress,
Which in turn impairs creativity’s success,
Stalling future desires
By watering their fires
And also leads to problems of health,
These then causing further stealth
And violations of universal natural law—
Resulting in the nonsense
Of a life out of balance—
Leading to aggression, anxiety,
Impulsive violet behavior, hostility
And substance abuse—
A vicious cycle of refuse
That, among other effects,
Fills up the prisons to correct.
You will always be caught,
So don't even give it a thought.
The violation of universal natural law
Is the cause of our problems, all,
Of everything that becomes rife
And plagues individual and national life,
These stresses only leading to more strife,
From lowlifes leaving their wife for the wildlife
Of nightlife to cutting someone with a knife.
So stem problems of national health,
Crime, the economy, education, wealth,
And the black environmental sins,
All of them having their origin
In a widespread law violation
By some portion of the population.
Universal Natural Law is very terse
In governing the entire universe,
It being the orderly principles
That regulate physical events/processes.
Science defines the universal law of nature,
A precise description of how nature nurtures.
Universal law pervades everything,
Of all that is in passage and being,
From the motion of particles
To the evolution of life’s articles—
Operating at every scale:
The subatomic, atomic,
Molecular, biological, geological,
Astrophysical, and cosmological.
The universe is structured hence
In these many layers of existence
As worlds within worlds,
Distinguished and not only furled
By vastly different time and distance scales,
But that every level has its own set of details;
For example, an electron/nucleus system
Is not analogous to that of a planet/sun.
The more superficial macroscopic levels of nature
Can be seen as fragmented expressions, for sure,
That are manifested from the more unified laws
Governing deeper levels with their scrimshaws—
The reflections of the dazzling symmetries
Of what once were inaccessible mysteries.
The outer ‘becomes’ are based on inner ones,
The only fountainhead of all the rhythms.
(And the converse is not true.)
Nature’s governance is maximally efficient,
For it is frugal, and not a spendthrift—
It following The Principle of Least Action
In all of its action and protraction.
This is why a ray of light refracts
When going from air to water’s tract,
Minimizing the time
And saving every dime.
From this maximal economy of nature,
All classical behavior can be scriptured.
Entropy is a count of quantum states
Accessible to a macroscopic system’s estate,
This available number ever increasing;
The nature of life is to grow, ever reaching.
The path of least action’s welcome
Is just the macroscopic outcome
Of the simultaneous superposition
Of multiple coexisting paths’ auctions
At the microscopic level,
The outcome ever of the least income.
The law to which all must succumb.
All is rooted in the verse
Of the Constitution of the Universe.
Life takes advantage and cause
Of the universal natural laws,
Even such as in merely walking,
Which is an immensely complex undertaking.
We employ technology in all of its variety.
Everything that we fail to accomplish
Is but due to the total failure
To apply universal natural law effectively,
This being the source of all difficulty.
In the absence of knowledge of a lever,
The simple task of moving a boulder
Becomes complex and arduous to the shoulder.
Not learning gravity has caused unmild
Injuries to many a young child;
The old uses of radiation caused cancer tumults;
The use of DDT had many adverse results.
Smoking cigarettes, heavy drinking, being out late,
And other addictive obsessions surely violate
Universal natural law, at whatever rate,
Resulting in negative consequences,
While psychological violations dispense
Stress directly as a sequence immense.
While fulfillment of desire can bring happiness,
It also raises the scope and standardness
Of future desires, making the duress
Of frustration an inevitable process.
Over time this causes psychological stress,
Which in turn impairs creativity’s success,
Stalling future desires
By watering their fires
And also leads to problems of health,
These then causing further stealth
And violations of universal natural law—
Resulting in the nonsense
Of a life out of balance—
Leading to aggression, anxiety,
Impulsive violet behavior, hostility
And substance abuse—
A vicious cycle of refuse
That, among other effects,
Fills up the prisons to correct.