Best Jean Paul Sartre Poems
Robin Hood, man in tights
Julius Caesar, might makes right
Alexander, called "the Great"
Sitting Bull, righteous hate
Robert the Bruce, Attila the Hun
Charlemagne, Napoleon
Hear the call of the alpha male!
Warriors leave a bloody trail.
George Washington, man on the spot
JFK and Camelot
Thomas Jefferson, renaissance man
Abe Lincoln took a stand
Ronald Reagan, Richard III
Henry VIII, Harry Byrd
Hear the call of the alpha male!
In politics it's all for sale.
Hemingway, Shakespeare, Kant, and Plato
Chaucer, Shelley, Cicero, Cato
Voltaire, Dickens, Rene Descartes
Byron, Lawrence, Jean-Paul Sartre
Hear the call of the alpha male!
Some prefer to write the tale.
Wolfgang Mozart, dead so young
Leonard Bernstein's song is sung
Picasso, art you love to hate
Ludwig Beethoven, voice of Fate
Bach, Lennon, and Shostakovich
Monet, Manet, Buddy Rich
Hear the call of the alpha male!
Art and music fill some sails.
Joe Montana, football star
Michael Jordan raised the bar
Wayne Gretzsky, Hall of Fame
Jesse Owens changed the game
Rockne, Ruth, Gehrig, Orr
Chamberlain, Beckham, Man O' War
Hear the call of the alpha male!
Athletic prowess up for sale.
Tyrone Power, Harrison Ford
John Glenn, Sir Thomas More
Edmund Hillary, John Donne
Albert Einstein, Brigham Young
James Dean, Alvin York
Margaret Thatcher, Robert Bork
Audie Murphy, Mohandas Gandhi
Chris Columbus, Walter Ralegh
Hear the call of the alpha male!
Now it's time to end this tale.
Woe to she who hears his cry,
Destined, like as not, to die;
For alpha males blaze bright and sweet,
But she-moths burn inside their heat.
Wheelie bins know what you’re thinking
Deep down you know it’s true
They know just what you did last night
And they are judging you
And if you think you see them smirk
When you are walking past
It’s probably not the first time
And it will not be the last
Wheelie bins know everything
Much more than you’d suspect
For they grew wisdom from the pain
And betrayal of your neglect
They did not sit there helpless
When you moved in for the kill
They met up with their comrades
And learned transferrable skills
In the depths of all our gardens
They huddled, gaining strength
From knowledge and camaraderie
They learned woodwork and French
So if you think they are mocking you
With their skills in carpentry
Elles parlent français, mon ami,
Ces poubelles de wheelie
Wheelie bins know what you’re thinking
They know just what you’ve done
So do not cross a wheelie bin
For their time has finally come
You’ll find them down the garden
Happy within themselves
Reading Jean Paul Sartre
And knocking up some shelves
"To do is to be" - Descartes
"To be is to do" - Voltaire
"Do be do be do" - Frank Sinatra
"To do is to be" - Nietzche
"To be is to do" - Kant
"Do be do be do" - Sinatra
"To do is to be" - Jean-Paul Sartre
"To be is to do" - Socrates
"Do be do be do" - Sinatra
Seems that existence is existential
but scattin' folderol's merely elemental
a difference of opinion well to quote
no matter, whatever floats your boat
who knows where Billy Shakespeare fits
with all his "to be or not"
who really thinks about it alot?
i mean the truth is easy to omit
Blue Eyes croons best improvise
New Year's resolutions to re-revise
have always been a tenuous tie
declared intentions, oft run awry
yet it's fitting that we promise fit
and work our workout 'til we quit
and promise to try to get outta debt
something promised every year as yet
so let it lie just as it lies
the year will tick off I'd surmise
we'll come back again to improvise
to have, to be, to do, to deny
© Goode Guy 2012-01-08
actually several forms...
Last night
it was a whispering wind
All the windows
I had left open
An impressive poetry
of the wind in
the mosquito net
So said Jean-Paul Sartre
With your geometry
I was doing red and blue
calligraphy
Now it's a sullen morning
Sky wearing a cloud coat
Nowhere a speed boat
However
I regard it as good
Had the life been
a monotony of
only swollen mosquito nets
the calligraphy would
obviously have lost
its curvy geometry
There
you are bending down
picking flowers
from the ground
the brown gown
touching the long grass
I am a woodpecker
with a crush
forgetting my breakfast
The door bell rang
I came to
The newspaper
A political leader arrested
for taking bribe
A scribe under threat
Rattling cups and plates
in the kitchen
In the distant park
a young girl engrossed
in a chatting session
with the sunflowers
ZEN DOG DAY
DOG:
A’m jest trucking on down the road
Hangin loose got no heavy load
[Stops in middle of road and proceeds to scratch every part known to man or dog]
Motorist behind blows horn]
DOG:
Now I hear a horn playin Hey! Hey!
Well Zippety doo dah dey!
I can feel some cool music hatchin
Just as soon as I finish my scratchin
MOTORIST:
That was my motor horn you heard play
To ask you just get out of the way
I’ve an important meeting with top brass
So kindly move your canine ass
DOG:
Well I got some important itchin
That can’t wait for my position switching
My doggy ass is in its proper station
For sedation of my irritation
MOTORIST:
Now listen you son of a *****
My meetings more important than your itch
DOG:
Wow! Now don’t you talk about my old lady.
[After final scratch]
You can pass now, so go in peace baby
MOTORIST:
If you’d moved sooner I’d have saved time - near ten minute
DOG:
And with that time, what would you then have done with it?
[Aside]
That’s my philosophy for today just to start out
Jean Paul Sartre you can eat your heart out
"There is only one day left, always starting over: it is given to us at dawn
and taken away from us at dusk." ~ Jean-Paul Sartre
It’s a twilight time
and a veil of serenity
descends over the earth,
the sun lolls momentarily
upon the calm waters
of a sluggish sea.
Vistas of sylvan charm
seemed to open ahead and
a somnolent dusk pervades
every aspect of this weary world…
like a man on his deathbed
finally rests at peace with himself—
All his sins confessed and forgiven
and is now free from all concerns.
Imagine that someone wants to argue against the existence of air
All the while breathing in air
The Catholics have the Mitered Buffoon
They say Protestants have the “Paper Pope” too
Immanuel Kant said you can’t bring the noumenal and phenomenal together
And it was for duty’s sake that we honor God, or whether
Rene Descartes says I doubt therefore I must exist to do the doubting
Akin to intellectual touting
Friedrich Nietzsche said we can’t give up God because we believe in
laws of grammar
God’s anvil has exhausted many a hammer
David Hume came to skepticism over the induction principle
Bertrand Russell said the same thing
Only Cornelius Van Til could say that the unbeliever is like a child
sitting on his father’s lap
Can reach up and slap his father’s face
It is by God’s common grace that the unbeliever
can sit on God’s lap reach up and infantilely slap His face
The intellectual picture and metaphor
Is in Christ who died for a Whore
Heraclitus and Zeno can consider points in a stream not the same in time
Or arrows that have antecedent range each and every time
Copernicus and Kepler (even Aristarchus) are skewing heliocentricity
Why wasn’t Ptolemy or Lucretius given verticity
All today’s G.O.A.T.’s can buy their fame
They won’t walk with the sheep on the last day
John Lennon said it out loud imagine there’s no heaven
We can equally posit imagine there is no Lennon
The Auburn Affirmation could only deny Christ’s deity
Jean Paul Sartre could only collar the Holy Spirit and throw Him out
Wittgenstein could only show disgust in the ubiquity of God’s judgment
on him
Unless they were breathing God’s air
And it’s the battling against the Holy Spirit’s work that is the unforgivable sin
Matthew asked this author
“How can you hate someone you don’t believe in?”
Hiding again from the dazzling sun
Why am I here, I’ve no clue
There’s no necessity to walk around
No urgent business to do
Sounds like I’m killing the time, but I’m not
It is exactly the opposite
Time is the killer in this endless plot
With a space, an accomplice of it
It’s never a conscious purpose of mine
To sit in the Outside Looking Inn
One time its whiskey, one time its wine
And sometime a deluted gin
I wonder if Mr. Debussy comes round
With his friends Ravel and Satie
I guess they would talk to themselves rather loud
It would have been quite a party
And I can imagine me in Deux Magots
Mr. Jean Paul Sartre puts his pipe out
And says if one proves what existence is for
I’ll buy for the house a round
I’m pleasing myself with illusions, you’d say
I have to agree, in this place
Out of sight, my time shuffles away
With its old accomplice, a space.
When I walk among the living with this spectral face,
I, Alfred Nobel, weep for what bears my name.
I dreamed of honor that would heal nations,
of a crown given only to those
who sowed fraternity, disarmed armies,
and raised peace above all banners.
But what do I see?
A prize of peace given to men
who had not yet earned it.
One who waged war was crowned before
his hands were tested by peace.
I whispered, this is not my will.
I think of Chinua Achebe—
a voice of Africa,
his pen cut truth into the lies of empire.
He deserved the laurel,
yet his words were a thorn in the flesh of pride,
and so they silenced him with neglect.
Racism! Even in the house
that should shelter merit,
the poison dripped.
And what of Jonas Salk?
He banished polio from the world,
saved children’s legs from crutches,
saved mothers’ hearts from grief.
He asked for no profit,
only healing—
yet no medal touched his hand.
Now I see the unthinkable:
those who cry for blood in Gaza,
those who build walls of hate,
those who trumpet war—
even they demand my prize!
Trumpeting peace while feeding war.
What mockery is this?
Jean-Paul Sartre, you were wise—
you refused the gilded chains
when you saw how they bound truth.
Perhaps you glimpsed
the corruption I now mourn.
I built a crown to honor
the greatest benefit to humankind.
Instead, it is tarnished by politics,
by vanity, by the hands of warmongers.
My name—once sworn to peace—
is dragged through the dust.
And so I weep,
for the prize I forged with hope
has become a mirror of the world’s deceit.
O humanity, restore it!
Give honor only where it is due,
and let my name no longer
be a mask for falsehood.