Best Savants Poems
"Not everyone who drinks is a poet ... some of us drink because we're NOT poets" - Dudley Moore, "Arthur"
Not all poets are lonely and envied, apart,
Broken, dark souls straining for light, outspoken and proud.
Not all musicians struggle with substance,
Or the need to be introverted exhibitionists, misunderstood.
Not all artists are quiet, brooding spirits,
Searching for answers in the intoxicated arms of promiscuity.
Not all bards are creative genius savants,
Pressed to the pulse of passion, fools for a provocative smile.
And not all multi-talents dance for demons
Under the wan of a mocking moon, resolving life with ellipses.
But if you look, feel and listen very closely ...
There are still, for stasis' sake, a foolish few of us, remaining ...
outside the fire
you go left
not from fear, but roots
that stretch far beyond
the reach of family ties
inside the fire
I go right
and pray our heirs
find the wisdom of savants
much more to their liking
these sides have risen
a gap has been formed
the wedge between us
cries out for breast milk
Once I called all poets to come, they came
And sat in judgment upon me
With my silence I hid their shame
And watched them toasted their misery
Tell me, did then the vision of the poet failed?
Can human only know their own history
Was the larel of our friendship quailed?
Are we but blind savants of prophecy?
The maggot was an egg when the fruit was green
The ripening gold seduces its birth
For all love’s glory let me walk between
The flowering grass and the dew of earth
“There are enormous possibilities for one to improve in life, as world is a great university and we are taught through text books of life’s experiences with sagacious sages and savants as our teachers and the precepts of great men who have left a great legacy behind.”-- ~By Poet~
As New Year dawns, promising a fresh start,
We pledge to see the graph of life rising in our chart.
At this time when all make resolutions many to be won,
I have boiled down my resolves to a single one.
All I wish is to be a better person in body and mind
To love others, forgive my enemies and be kind
This is something I have been striving all my life,
Get along even with my detractors without strife.
Train myself to be considerate to all without exception,
Be compassionate to the needy without expectation.
Live my life smooth without many a nagging care
And never let my heart sink into dull despair.
Scrub away all my glaring imperfections clean.
Bring healthy practices everyday into my routine.
Admire nature and tend it in all its attendant glory.
Add memorable and sweeter episodes to my life’s story.
Be a loving partner in whom my man can spy,
An ocean of love surging in my dewy eye.
To my children, ever remain as an adorable mother,
A confidante, a friend and guide, giving them succor.
Through words and deeds, show them the miracle of love.
Teach them to be thankful for the blessings from above.
Thus enact my role as a wife and mother in the best way possible,
Accepting, for my success and failure, I alone am responsible.
No Particle Theory can ever be Unified –
for there is always the space between...the
unknown that separates while binds us
in a matrix of primitive wonder. Dark
Matter is only dark to those accustomed to one
light...for those whose eyes adjust to the
thin horizons of others who have passed
before them – and not the endless expanse within,
the heart and soul of a boundless Universe. So,
we slowly peel-back our outer layers, those of
earth and moon, the illumining stars, limiting
skins of meagerly defined senses. Without God
there is only Science...
hopping from one physical rock to the other, skimming
over the depth of spaces,
stepping cautiously into shallow pools
as yet to explore the unimaginable realms
of a far greater Spiritual Sea.
(More Context)
We are observers...consciousness existing
in an elevated dimension of reality. Difficult
to imagine, yet our thoughts are entirely
separate from our physical senses and their
body sources; we truly, not figuratively,
look in or down upon the many instances
and vehicles of manifest substance.
There can only be
one Unified Theory: it must be a Continuity Theory,
where separation is merely an elaborate illusion:
In fact, all we see and seem are Wave effects
propagated through a flexible yet solid dimension,
driven by vibrations or shivers (so to speak) –
Waves collide, and those peaks or points
of collision become our physical reality –
these are the pixels our eyes and minds interpret
and assemble in the likeness of recalled
references, desires and predilections – We look down,
look in, look out, but always from positions independent
of the objects of our inquiry. Mind, Consciousness
is entirely independent of the physical. This
explains the phenomenon of Savants. Our
brains are not developing receptacles of
knowledge – but, in fact, developing
gateways. Who we are, where we come
from, and how long we live progresses
far outside our experiences of birth and
death.
Sweet September, see how splendidly she shines!
Subtlety submitting seasonal splendour, she
swamps summer’s splendiferous sights,
by stealthily shrouding splendid scenery,
with suffused sensuous, sybaritic, scenarios!
Sublimely serene, she spatters and splashes
slivers of saffron, sepia and sienna shades,
slapdash over the sedentary summer scene, sending
sightseers silly! Soon, spooky spectres sporting skittish
shadows, surprise and startle singularly sensitive givens,
seeking soothing solitude someplace. Suspicious solo
sentient stalkers, suspecting solo sailors sometimes, shiftily seen
spying on sequestered sibylline, spectator savants, stay silent.
Such suppressed servile sophisticates, spotting smart
Seedy Senators, sitting sloppily slumped - some silently
supine - send sensual suggestive signs to sexy secretaries, as
subdued sartorial suitors stand speechless. Some, sober and staid,
state spasmodic spates of salacious, and sometimes sanctimonious, statements.
Seemingly superfluous, scores of servicemen and seniors suggest
specific superficial senile support services, should shut shortly!
Studious spokesmen suggest scads of spurious suggestions in September,
send scrambled signals, since severely symbolic sentence structure,
should seek speedy severance from sedulous speculative stricture, and
stimulating scattered sophomore senses and sensibility is senseless!
Since scathingly scanning this alliteration, it seems successful!
Hopefully a fun filled frolicking folio with ‘fin-esse?’
Rhymer. September 6th, 2016.
Oh my beautiful Daughters
what have you done to the men of the Earth,
turning the roar of men's' love into notes of shame and whispers,
discoloring the gallant glow of trust with untempered lust for popular worth,
I made you to be embodiment of something sacred,
a steadfast source of Divine sincerity in the chaos of Man's struggle to be heroic,
to soothe and inspire His hope for honor, to be the hand he could hold in the tremor of dread,
in the Begining you did this much and more, exceeded the seed of my dream, making Them historic,
But you, my remorseless and rabid Girls
sought to be worshiped as a cult of marauding maidens of madness,
a horde of haughty harpies wanting glory your own, thrones tailored from supine bones,
pleasured as predators of Princes and paupers
saddistic seducers of troubadours and savants,
making " high minded " heros helpless on the cliffs of your thrills,
Oh my ravenous Daughters what have you done to the hearts of men,
what have you become with speared touch and rough laughter,
warm in love sport and cold in lip lies,
the Furies have your fame and faces framed in black flame
the day is soon when your beauty will become ashen, charms unmet with passion,
and the Furies will befriend you
adorn with thorned fashion, feed you a vulture's ration,
Nemesis is on your terrible trail of predatory travail
She to unveil the wail of your reward's gale,
my lovely Princesses, my girls of gnarled gain
a wind storm of lovers' cries flies towards you
a punishment Holy in it's honor and horrible in It's hit,
bite you shall, sixfold from Humility's tit -
J.A.B.
The Bishops bathe in Babylon
while Princes, prancing on the lawn,
watch Queen deflowered, pale and wan.
The King dares not defend her.
The Horsemen, holding broken reins
the Morning of the Hurricanes,
sigh “it’s no use, it’s all in vain,
the Saints will soon surrender”.
They wonder why they ever came,
they have No One whom they can blame,
they have no face, they have no name,
and even less, a gender.
The empty-handed Vagabonds
smoke stale cigars, stroke faded Blondes
while waiting at the walls beyond,
but kneel as Chaos enters.
They’re gazing through the window panes
in hopes that distant Hurricanes
will twist and break their iron chains
defying life’s tormentors.
The Fantom of the Opera frowns
as feeble minded Cleric-clowns
mouth hollow hurdy-gurdy sounds
when blessing doomed dissenters.
The Pirate wields a wooden leg,
with pupils dull and visage vague,
and if by chance he spreads the plague,
it really doesn’t matter.
His Princess, pale, no longer feigns,
foresees instead (down ancient lanes)
the coming of the Hurricanes -
the Stones stir, staring at her.
And Jackals scrape the river bed
as Savants soothe the underfed
and Crows, collecting scattered bread,
adorn, with crumbs, the platter.
The Jokers Wild and One Eyed Janes
weep, winding up in rundown trains
mid whispers of the Hurricanes,
and Priests refuse to christen.
They’re fleeing from the Leprechauns,
the cuckoo birds, the dying swans;
while pitching pennies into ponds
their eyes opaquely glisten.
The spectral Clocks with spindled spokes
remind the Mimes to tell the Folks
the time of day and other jokes,
yet No One looks to listen.
The Hunchbacks with contorted canes
galumph before the Hurricanes,
in melted sleet, in frozen rains,
in bruised and battered sandals.
Their Groans engulf the land of gulls,
the land of stones, the land of nulls,
and lurk between the blackened lulls,
for Nighttime brooks no candles.
Their prayers to Dogs and Nuns and Dukes,
(and other long forgotten Spooks)
are more than random crazed rebukes,
though taunting to the Vandals.
Continued in Part 2
Cast a glance to the comet up high
with a name sounding awkward and dry
(in the stellar marquee
it's marked 'six-seven-P')
and a motion that's hard to descry.
As the comet continues to fly,
caught in gravity none can defy
(yes, it traces ellipses
through solar eclipses),
we ask 'does dark matter comply'.
So, we sent the Rosetta to pry
and I can't help but wondering why
(once in orbit) we spun it
so close to the sun, it
is likely to sizzle and fry…
But before, we may soon verify
that the comet's a custard cream pie
made of green cheddar cheese,
like the moon, if you please
(though that's gospel the savants deny).
When receivers no longer reply
(at the end of their solar supply),
we won't seek to debug 'em,
instead we'll we unplug 'em
and turn off our spy in the sky.
If it's certain Rosetta will die
then, oh lordy, I surely will cry
if we land it like Philae
behind the sun, shyly,
before I can whisper goodbye.
Limerick crochetés: Once Tamil Promotion Director
Once Tamil Promotion Director
Excised wise Japanese co-founder
Called him names like rogue thief
Set himself up as Chief
All Dravidian Tamil Editor
He posed as the Royal Ancestor
Even of the Chola* Emperor
Slave-drove workers in fief
Used savants make belief
Such the Tamil Highness Publisher
He caged talents the Money-Maker
Poised as Conference Organiser
Preyed on Buddhist belief
On Chan and Zen mischief
To lard his own family bunker
Ideas he plucked from the Other
Made as if he put up with bother
Tamils to lead as Chief
No matter what the grief
None see his pen as plagiariser
All helpers rough-rode he the Miser
Shed them shorn one after the other
Damn not this common thief
Just his penchant for Chief
For Tamil knowledge made he Server
[* The Chola dynasty (among other South-Indian reigns) of the 10th to 12th centuries C.E. extended Tamil culture and civilization over the better part of Sri Lanka and Southeast Asia without having recourse primarily to conquests and/or of maintaining colonies.]
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
I recently watched a documentary on savants
In particular, Daniel Tammet, whose mathematical abilities
As well as other astounding mental capabilities
Will not only blow your mind
You'll probably say to yourself, “this is some kind of trickery
What he does is impossible for the human brain to comprehend”
Yet when matched against a computer
He is able to do calculations up to 100 decimal places in his head
Without a single number out of place
He is also able to learn a new language within a week
And then appear on television and carry on a conversation
In that language with ease to the utter astonishment
Of those conducting the interview
I'm aware there are skeptics out there... but THIS IS REAL
At twenty-something he possesses extraordinary mental abilities
That defy all logic or comprehension
If you're interested in watching this amazing documentary
The URL is https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z22H89rIMHk
If you saw “The Rain Man” starring Dustin Hoffman
You'll realize how accurate Mr. Hoffman's portrayal was
IT'S A MUST SEE!!!
© Jack Ellison 2014
Villanelle: Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon
for the author - male or female, prince or pauper, playboy or priest - of the
THIRUKKURAL*, the reputed "bible" of the Tamils, the principal Dravidian race credited with having engendered the first literary heritage of the Indian sub-continent. Only one thing might be said of him with certitude:
he tamed the language like none other and was more alive to his "times" and his literary, inter-personal, romantic, religio-philosophical and political environment than any prince, philosopher or priest ever since. In my view, whoever he may have been, he was an unjustifiably oppressed individual like King Wen who wrote the judgments on the hexagrams and provided the explanations of their images and the Later Heaven arrangement of the Yi Jing, the Canon of Change.
Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon
Words come asunder blown on road side-table
Debris of wanton collisions intone
Long-gone ages singe the stylo his work shone
Who knows what diamond crumbs spill disable
Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon
Sans case-endings morphemes participial pun
Regimented feet in seven steps enable
Debris of wanton collisions intone
Who confined meaning in drumbeat phoneme moan
Lest envy upper-caste knowledge expose enable
Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon
None know who he was nor what age saw he sun
Savants pat cheeks his lines to render readable
Debris of wanton collisions intone
While lordly conferees seek to feather nests own
His sculpted riddles tease meaning and jumble
Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon
Debris of wanton collisions intone
* Thiru=Sacred; KURAL, meaning "short" or epigrammatic composition in the form of couplets (1330: ten kurals allotted to each topic in three books with a short introduction), composed and ordered according to the rules of a strict classical prosodical pattern: the "venba" metre while adhering to complex rhetorical features, such as, alliteration, assonance, initial-rhymes and ellipses. The author was known as Thiru-VALLUVAR. One of the earliest commentaries on the Kural, still extant, was made by a Tamil scholar PARIMELALAKAR during the 13th century.
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
Dogs, are man's best friend
who's most endearing quality is
an unbound willingness
to do our bidding
Cats, are like prodigies or savants
who's most endearing quality is
an unbound resistance
to do the same
Hey there now, hi
Me see you’re new
Playground time is no fun alone
Pepe and I
best buds since two
But, imaginaries have no real home
They say that I’m
a special need kid
Socially, I can’t keep up, y’know
One hundred times
test me they did
Teachers IQ’s are much too low
Mom said to Dad:
strange I no cry
Said third word heard on day one
They get so mad
when I don’t try
Me just stand still while others run
I notice things
what most can’t see
Some heads they have a halo glow
My heart did sing
like flower to bee
When you said me be your new friend-o
Fun brain tease: Explain last line in fifth stanza.
Make me proud you poetic savants.
Clue is in the first two lines of the fifth stanza
The paths are many and varied
To suit every seeker’s psyche
Which but lead all to the Supreme
And, the Ultimate destination, ONE.
The sages and savants have sung
Hymns in multitudes of tongues
But ended up praising One and
Only the praiseworthy, ONE.
So let there be no confusion
In our minds, whatsoever
For the ONE Absolute is the
Lord of everything, we adore.