Best A Priori Poems
STARGAZING
I have seen forever, friend,
Written across dark skies,
In the planets, stars and galaxies
Whose light endlessly abides.
With mind as finger I trace the lines
The length of human history,
Yet, still the lights appear o’er head,
No universe a priori.
What stories might they tell us,
If we could only hear;
The sordid things that happen at night,
The secrets that we fear.
Lovers trapped in passion renewed
And dreams that wet the pillow.
Meteor showers and borealis,
Stolen kisses under the willow.
Many are the stars that shine
Through a punctured dome
And many are the souls they harbour
Who have no other home.
Gazing at the stars above
In cosmic darkness, snug,
Like gravity she draws me in.
I feel her tug, her gentle hug,
Yes, I have seen eternity
Written across dark skies
But never witnessed anything
Like forever in her starry eyes.
4/17/17
'...tell Sid, "The Big Picture."'
(from the Movie 'Creator,'
starring Peter O'Toole)
Bioethicists will claim
the moment when a blob awakes
there's living, breathing, sentient life!
(they're molecules, for heaven's sakes!)
Telemetry and test tube babies,
scientific miracle?
who's to say and who is right,
a priori or empirical?
We're getting more sophisticated,
bio-engineering's next;
stamping genes with pre-formed coding,
who are we to write the text?
We climb the mountain, ever striving
for the answers, right or wrong;
we'll find upon that far horizon
God's been waiting all along.
Gravity keeps our feet on the ground,
Stops us from slapdash flying around.
This force of attraction ‘fictitious’ gives weight
And makes all fall down at equivalent rate.
(Albeit in flights of fancy it seems
That gravity follows the laws of dreams.)
Relativity caused Newton’s view to shatter,
In positing spacetime to be curved by matter.
So objects will take a particular path
That must correspond with Einsteinian math.
(The upshot is bodies have odysseys
Appropriate to their geodesies.)
Gravitons, a gravitational source
Of controversy, are seen as a horse
Of a quite different color altogether.
But then scientists aren’t birds of a feather.
(Some sit upon their a priori-based fences
And come up with theories defying the senses.)
Weak or strong, short or long, what is this thing
Called gravity? Wide hypotheses swing.
There are those who suppose that it’s this, others that.
Maybe someday, they all just might have it down pat.
(Meanwhile gravity, though we resize and shape it,
Will still have its own way— for who can escape it?)
– Harley White
Seven Years Rachel*, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Sept ans Rachel by T. Wignesan
For seven years Rachel remains sealed
By the kiss she received from Jacob
For seven years she keeps her eyelashes lowered
Under the impact of their unique encounter.
When he saw her on that one occasion
He was reduced to tears,
So very much of her sweetness was revealed to him
The blue tint of the nocturnal sunset
Reminiscent of God.
There’s no love without nostalgia
When will I seize what has gotten hold of me ?
You’re as beautiful as the fleecy Rachel
When the immense army comes together.
You shine on up there like a moon-like pebble
At the bottom of a well.
You are unreachable further than the stars
An a priori hint of Him.
From the moment your gaze comes to rest on me
It lights up the fires of Bethel.*
I have seen God enthroned in your pupils
And all the exit paths in the world
Converge upon you.
The désert which has pursued me close upon the heels
Hardened roused till it reaches you
Until my return to the fold
That was a spiraling tearing apart of the fire
Hatched from beneath my entrails.
O ladder which consumes me O flame
The dwelling by whom my insides burn
You are the native home of the soul
You are the mother’s smile come to rest on the child
Yours is the infancy of God over this world
Virgin speech like God’s own gaze
The unruly smoothness of fire.
(from Jacob, O.C. t. II, p. 62)
*The poem alludes, draws and constructs itself on the imagery relating to the « legend » of the biblical Jacob’s dream and the ladder, recorded in Genesis, key symbols in the interpretations of Judeo-Christian and Islamic religious concepts and history.
• Bethel : (Lit.) « House of God »
© T. Wignesan – Paris, October 17, 2014
Another walking among seasons and holy beads
As our thoughts moves clouds in a grey sky,
And paint the leaves above our heads;
With a priori color of serenity, your eyes try
To open the white gates of transparent joyous morning;
The air got the scent of hot apple pies, the smile -a meaning
Of what the fingers are touching and what they are dreaming;
Are those our guardian-angels who silently walk by?
The rain of the morning tea falling from heights;
A new painted bench seemed to be almost dry;
White statues sit on the grass near the brave knights;
Two angels with glass wings have just learnt to fly.
But, leaves` procession under the kiss of the wind;
Buds of faith and hope live in philosophical mind.
The Groom of the Stool
(Two meditations on an ancient post: see below)
I.
The Groom of the Stool needs some time
To commit his experience to rhyme.
This commodious peer
Detests diarrhoea
But thinks constipation sublime
II.
See where the philosophic King
Sits Rodinesque upon his “throne”.
The patient Groom stands wondering
And draws conclusions of his own.
As often at such times as these,
He thinks of Plato, Locke and Kant
And their epistemologies —
And of his own ingenious slant:
“His Majesty – though no-one’s fool,
A veritable Marc Aurel –
Rises still wiser from his stool.
From which it’s possible to tell
That wisdom comes not only a priori,
But also, sometimes, a posteriori.”
Note: These two tasteless pieces were prompted by a colleague’s discovery of the post of “Groom of the Stool”.
This was a highly-placed courtier in 16th Century England, whose prestigious task it was – I regret to say, gentle reader – to wipe the Royal Bottom, at least according to some sources:
* https://www.tudorsociety.com/groom-stool-sarah-bryson/;
* http://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/king-toilet-attendant-england?utm_source=facebook.com&utm_medium=atlas-page
We fell – as one would – to speculating about the philosophical and poetic potential of this post....
deja vu
we've seen it already, it's not new
a priori
there really wasn't much to see, sori.
Apart from all the silence,
And never-ending tolerance;
Together with a vague shout,
And without any creeping doubt;
In feeling all the spiky nudges,
Taking my energy like sponges.
I am by your side and all’s fair.
I truly love you and I dare:
From my lips to your honey smile,
Along with baggage in a pile,
I take thee being so excited;
I contemplate you quite delighted.
My words are feeble as my ankles.
My adoration comes in bundles.
You whisper sweetness in my mind;
You are too lovely and too kind.
I wish for dreams to become real,
Ponder to rip fantasy’s seal…
Alas, you are departing in slow pace;
Yet, I could not see your angelic face.
Perhaps another soporific path
Would get me to enjoy your divine laugh.
Maybe a daydream will suffice,
For me to kiss you at least twice.
My lashes gently touch each other,
Hoping this romance would get further.
The squares in jelly water interchange,
With shades in an eerie, blue-grey range,
I am trapped in the open space of fear,
Solution: I long for you just near.
However this subconscious game may end,
Through all the hallways of my inner blend,
Along comes hesitation and the dance
Of passing to the next level of chance.
This road of forbidden wishes cradles
The vanity of my nothingness veils.
I am so liberated from my rage,
But chained, a priori, to this worldly stage.
You are projection and my camouflage;
Forever my shackles, prisoner and judge.
Although you are with me when I’m awake,
Leave you in dreams I have to, for my sake.
Isabelle Falque-Pierrotin
will never balk at an a priori win
has established new rules
resents being told they are for the obedience of fools.
Inaki Urdangerin
can we be sure of the danger he's in?
his wife the Princess
ensonced in a typical Spanish taxation mess.
Mississipi roast
should be apportioned on neat squares of french toast
thus preserving the culture
while eschewing the habits of the predatory Northern vulture.
in intriguing little crime scene
we have here eh Inspector Marsupial
a freeway overpass whore's
cardboard box and mattress
and a paperclip necklace
juxtaposed on a dissecting table
at some point a losing strategy
has to be examined
even if the last conclusion is
that we are here to be punished
for being here
Marsupial searched his pachinko readout
acting on the assumption
that in at least one setting
he could juggle us a grand total
even if the light was sub visible
which you don't see every day
bottom line you're here growing scared
blame enough to go around
manipulators of fear with a plan
wreckers of civilizations
is there anything in us that is inviolate
he was a master of pedestrian insights
with a repertoire of a priorI assumptions
packaged for the pop psych tabloids
his mouth flapping like a puppet on a string
the official Government spokesman
for the natural state of man
comrades these are troubled times
but not like before
during the really troubled times
so relax it’s an alchemist's contraption
made from bed springs and spooge
proletarian gyro-chemistry in action
every atom wanting to go its own way
cause beyond knowledge or even sense
the problem with categories is that
some blank out and obliterate the others
the banana daiquiri
had apparently reached his thalamus
clean your spoon son
that's government chow
and so began the long loud logomania
you have before you now
my rabbI assures me this is therapeutic
inductive in deductive out
forehead wrinkles along for the ride
knowing what is out of place
dawn and the bust of Aristotle
juxtaposed upon a toilet seat
shoot me I said juxtaposed again
it's not the circus of consensus it used to be
last I checked slapstick is still dead
I'm pretty sure everything
can be described by numbers
there are enough of them for the job
wheel chairs killed the fashion show
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
COPLA 79 INVOCATION: This Bad Guy World
Whatever the Law behind Nature
Naturally flow ways of life:
Come seasons go
Each in his time must grow mature
The fruit that ripens ripens strife:
Must Justice know
Is what’s Immuable thought out
A priori or accidental:
Reason must reign
Nothing’s made of nothing throughout
Everything began in the middle:
Think not in vain
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Behind every difficulty
Look deeply for a solution
Never think it will be easy.
Sometimes it appears so tricky
To be worthy satisfaction
Behind every difficulty.
Sometimes you try best as can be
Rolling over resolution
Never think it will be easy.
Sometimes you take the task lightly
Without a priori caution
Behind every difficulty.
Sometimes you show little worry
About making a decision
Never think it will be easy.
Sometimes there’s animosity
Which makes assorted division
Behind every difficulty
Never think it will be easy.
Messed up room and untouched books ariled by dust,
Branded cards specially bought
To bring out yips,
Last year’s Questions
Cut-short by hazards,
Next day’s paper
To prove the intellectuality in us.
Gabfest few minutes and
Gambling with the Joker for few hours,
A priori minds
And the counterattack,
A checkmate came after
When we realized
Only a night left thereafter.
Tension free four noetic minds
Held back for the bid,
Contributions pulled together
For the set paper to reach us.
Selected essay types and unsorted small questions -
Difficulty aroused to find out the answers
For the latter ones.
A yawning start and pages on count
Serious four minds
Now settled to start with the easygoing ones.
A Night-tea break and counting the part left
A great deal to follow, Unlaxed mood yet.
Cut-shorts answers on the way to close
Six month’s at one night
Now to face a three hours of fight.
Smiling four faces and head surging legion
Final bell rang and papers distributed.
Eye balls bulged out,
Heads started to itch,
Last night bid paper
Appeared a son of a b(i)tch.
Experienced four minds
Now to prove their intellectuality –
They followed the same old tricks.
Mugged up answers allotted
To the questions appeared from the same chapter,
Few were filled up
By their inborn self author.
Three hours to end
And we finished an half before,
We just followed the same old theory trick
Never leave the field blank
Or else to choke.
-------------x-------------------
A minor typo found this fanatic spell binding hound to resend a poem posse sub bully dashed off in a huff (past the hour) if nothing else than fur his spurt full of peace, bot tee, and mind.
Thus this Norwegian bachelor wannabe (most closely aligned with said status closely attained unmarried state by pledging my Unitarian troth) tilled, sown, and furrowed spirit nsync with the missus sleeping in close proximity.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
dog tired this day - march 29th, 2018
no matter this dawg gone pup
took numerous one after another cat nap
his utterly fatigued
body electric still ragged
as if he went without sleep for a lifetime,
ensnared within a time warp,
espied that aggravating "aw SNAP"
(error code instead of a webpage
indicating Chrome happens to be
experiencing problems loading)
or, simultaneously
caught in a narcoleptic parent trap
thus, while a burst of energy
temporarily doth prevail
(a priori which extreme fatigue
of body, mind and spirit -
more troublesome, and worse than -
getting crucified
with a rusty nine inch nail
alleviated with deep sleep finds
much more tiredness
than usual quotidian sleepiness
bruiting this male)
being imprisoned (for high
gram matt tick crimes
and misdemeanors) such as: comma, splices,
dangling a modifier, splitting an infinitive,
unnecessary parenthesis (), et cetera
which landed me punctually,
proverbially, and squarely
in the slaammed shut jail
fed thin gruel with grubs that didst flail
nauseating pluperfect revulsion
each time hide exhale
which, many hours long rests did restore
for a bit of time only for totally tubular
exhaustion to come roar
ring back leaving me tour
charred as if...i fought in every major war.
PROLOGUE
Biographies are for men who have a need to cry
To spell out what we remember is to subtract all
We forget, for knowing then nothing knew, a lie
Conjured by history, there's no a priori here at all
If you will not abuse my love
I will dive for you deeper forgotten things, bring
Up from bottom hate to prove
To be a better god we gladly, boldly took the sting
And could not have merely comprehended joy until
Our serpent made the safe-God to repent of his will
Here is my life strands of sands upon your windy palm
I'm the syllables of every gospel, beginning at the Psalm
Proverbs skinned like rice from the shaft, seeking balm.
History immaculate pristine in no myth ever shall sleep
Introspection vigils struggle between words and memory
Philosophy is a dream, not I, who numbers days urgently,
The sleeping dog will sleep, but my promise let me keep.
i
IDENTITY
I do not even know how it began, night or day
Rain or shine - nor what season they had interplay
I only know that nine must have been too long since
I overstayed my time and made her grimaced, grunt
And groaned to push me out. So of course, I wince
Privy to so much uncertainty. I have a given month
A date, but what is time alone for anyone's beginning
I want to remember the pool I paddled in the flesh
The long rope that called my navel a primal mouth
The red tide of mud from her veins which so much clout
I was hooked on it, around the perimeter where I thresh
So much more can come from a real truth of beginning.
I mean, how comes we have no control over our beginning
And you expect me in the middle to give you meaning
I will not buy the lie, I choose allegiance but know not how
The end shall fufill its promises of me. The air burns still
Like an acrid vapor on the lungs, and not yet I shall spill
The anger from the fumes of air, nor low ever can I bow
Before the hand that slapped my butt and told me scream.
You say indecent, I say unjust, for he proved no love so
Soon nor knew of me any wrong. The conspirators team
Around a common cause: a man must cry so they know
He has life; my kicking legs were not enough. The water
Suddenly left me swaddled in air and just a little laughter.
I do not take kindly to being whipped, nor did I protest then
About my eviction, and the sudden weight of many things.