Dialogue 1
Plato: Dog one, did you know that the moon you see is not the perfect moon?
Diogenes: The moon shines or shies away, twice a month. What a wonderful clock!
Dialogue 2
Plato: A perfect city exists where human perfection is achieved.
Diogenes: I am still looking for one good man. The forest suits me fine.
Dialogue 3
Plato: Dog one, come and join us in drink and merriment.
Diogenes: The fields are in bloom.
Dialogue 4
Plato: Precisely, man is a featherless biped being.
Diogenes: Here is this plucked chicken; your man.
I wonder what that sparrow thinks of me,
As it flits so easily from branch to branch on tree,
While I’m stuck here earthbound, decried to strut all day.
A silly flightless biped with arms that only flap and flay.
Humans are naked beasts with clothes worn forlorn except at the beach.
Birds are ornately adorned in beautiful feathers, all over they reach.
Birds call and serenade each other with songs, chirps and trills,
With no need for endless verbiage and debate about bills and wills.
Birds thrill in joyous flocks soaring and swarming in formation,
While humans gather in angry crowds for fights in condemnation.
Somehow, I think that birds love to belittle and mock me,
For they're the ones, free to fly and frolic in fountains, carefree.
Fresh and serene droplets rest in galore
As the dawn smiles on them to adore
The tiny prettiness in spectral mode
Downs from out of the heavenly abode ;
In dainty drips and drizzles the elixir
Enlivens and recharges the aqua-spur
Beyond the brim and out of norm
It sinks the floater and defaces the firm -
Mounds or mansions,weed or tree
Huge or little - are all toppled free ;
Strange are the ways of the cosmic strain
Be it the wind ,fire,tremor or rain
Atop the floating debris and decay,
The self-centred biped strides astray
With a whimsy wand and febrile chill ,
Streching the vicious arm for infinite fill
Of the precious trash ,never for any use;
Yet as ' trade ' - the imbalancing ruse.
It came as lightning
It came as lightning
thunder and fire it had not
but the terrible made surveillance
cows it saw grazing,
touched them and rejected
birds sat on trees singing,
looked at all and ignored
blades of nature sang sweet music to it
smiled at them and moved away
trees bend and whispered in its ears
heckled at them and pushed on
then it came to a brainy biped
there it sat amused
but not as a fool
Now hear this tale of Planet Earth
And how it was robbed of its worth.
From a species of quadruped
There evolved a novel biped,
A new species with arms and hands
And versatile for new demands.
The biped learnt to wield a stick
And found many a hunting trick.
Thus came the age of weaponry
And a species most predatory.
Now hear this tale of Planet Earth
And how it was robbed of its worth.
These creatures ruled with cruel might
And did great wrong and little right.
On others these new ones did prey.
Twas slaughter, butcher, day on day.
They travelled worldwide on the make
And left destruction in their wake.
They had a mind of little wit
And worthy not of this planet.
Now hear this tale of Planet Earth
And how it was robbed of its worth.
The new species bred at a pace
And so it had to grab more space.
In terms of profit it did think.
From higher thoughts its mind would shrink.
Twas surely clever, but not wise.
Of trickery its mind comprise.
It worked in ways based upon stealth
To plunder more for its self wealth.
There goes the tale of Planet Earth
And how it was robbed of its worth.
Black grass dances in the warm winter air
And furry quadrupeds run wild with the
Shackles of instinct.
The metallic creature gives spontaneous birth
To bipeds who desire to kill for sport;
Two worlds and instincts collide.
A Million worlds and a
One-in-a-million meeting
Beneath the glow of a red moon.
Hunger for pleasure,
Pleasure for hunger,
And the reason; existential desire.
In the midst of a pack of quadrupeds,
A hairless creature limps;
Forelegs short; hindlegs long.
A lamed quadruped sees a biped,
Stands on hind legs, and
Breaks the shackles of instinct.
A fish crow has tan-
blue sparkles; pearls coat the sky.
A resting brook
is melting chocolate,
it flows through lime-green sprouts.
A burning orange
is the sun;
yet a rock can wears
its hue. A stick curves up from
the water- a night
colored alligator
that spares biped shades of dusk.
A plastic liqueur
bottle is stepped
over; its dirt stained shape an
empty night, open.
The psychology of the sun is strange...
The violinist's taupe
strapped sandals, color of beach
sand, burning, slap tiles
with embedded grime, like
the charred plaster walls of a Syrerian
merchant. Anytime...a fear:
bombs dropped, scarring
an isolated biped life.
Morning edges spill
light the tint of egg-
whites commixed with the yolk, brewing
the dream that souses
the intangable
permeation of the air;
imbued rose colors
of birth; or a prom's
carnation, white tinted blue
like the cottony sky
draped over the fringes
of liminal lives cast onto
the arcane stage
of a paralyzed
mortality. A need
of warmth for the flower,
the snug petals that breach
an infernal cut into
the animus in life.
A stygian gash
insufferable like a pompei
brain cooked into glass,
a fossil the tinct
of diabolical eyes. An
appollyn rises
to seize the sun's foxy
neutrino, more easily
snared than bombs.
fair glinting gold
light shining bold
this I saw
for my 'flaw' is to be
not of your world
Into the breech I was hurled
before your times were told
ere I was an aeon old
I changed Universes - yet
here, I was in darkness jet.
when again I rose
in biped pose
to complete the task
began, before your form thought to ask
Whence came we here?
Your light came just in time
shimmered thru deepest despair
A human mind gave to me
a beckoning seed of desire to see
another day, in limited heartlost society
Whence before was only my desire to flee.
The E(n)dge
I leave damp mudprints
there where I met the shore.
The dragonflies' dances,
the goslings scrammed,
and I for now (or 'lo, for once)
exhaled. Edges do that.
A turtle somewhere spied me
not spying a frog; quick to leap.
And splash! My eyes follow my ears.
A biped clown, here at a threshold.
A stronghold of thrushes.
And red-winged blackbirds...
briefly visiting tufts and reeds.
When I go I think it likely
no memory of me will remain
no indication, no story, no song.
But where my callous kissed
the muck.
Invert puddlings, concentric whorls.
A fish somewhere, like I,
determined to visit an edge.
Marks with its 'foot'prints,
lips breaking the tension,
A visit to the start of Sky...
now gone.
We each leave our prints.
We leave each other's
memories,
in time.
Kingfish sat tall in the boat.
His baited hook trolled behind,
To entice lurking humanoids,
He would fillet before he dined.
The ocean had schools of bait,
Swimming humanoids could not resist—
Drumsticks, hams, and candied yams.
Ham on hook seldom missed.
Zingo! The reel screamed sweet music!
Smiling, Kingfish braced his fin.
The blue-bellied biped put up a fight,
As the hook held fast to pull it in.
He yelled to his friend, Catfish,
“This one feels real big!
I may need some help.
Better grab the gig!”
But Kingfish and his buddy,
Failed to get him in the boat.
So they towed him to shore,
Tied tight with a rope.
Perch and minnows ran beside them,
As they hauled their catch up ramp.
“This one has class,” said Bass,
As he viewed him in camp.
Fish family friends looked on.
Happy Herring watched amazed.
For either fried or broiled,
Humanoids were the craze.
“We will never weigh him,”
Wise Walleye wails.
“In the old days we could,
But now we’ve lost our scales.”
COPLA DIECINUEVE : This Bad Guy World
All biped animals aren’t Men
Some are elves, fairies and witches
Others yet thugs
All are born to play roles given
Time Place Parents Beliefs Glitches:
The fate each lugs
Guys good and bad make up charade
Tug of war levels out with time:
If bad guys lose
When bad guys gang up to invade
Other guys living in good chime:
Charade red glows
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
The Planet of the Mice
By Elton Camp
Imagine if mice should gain the upper hand
It’d be a world people wouldn’t think grand
Cheese would become the main food around
Only to bait mantraps would pizza be found
Lady mice would jump up onto a chair
And say, “Eeek, I see a person right there.”
Biped poison would be sold in the store
Where mouse killer had been before
Mice for the Ethical Treatment of Man
To eliminate glue traps does all that it can
And the device that moves the cursor about
Would be called a “human” without a doubt
Let’s hope we’re the most fit and will survive
And humankind, not mousedom, will thrive
i wonder why we are always plagued by the sense of disappointment
with others
everything can float with currents so nicely and then
a gesture
a statement
an intonation
entropy rears itself into the equation
this longing for a prefect match
instilled with wit and calamity
is a hobo's dream of sleeping on train tracks
with only roller skates riding on the rails
can we move beyond our sense of reproach
when it comes to judgement
there are many stories far more entertaining than those we fancy
as conversation worthy
yet the strangling tangle of intertwined intermittent word chunks
interferes with the perpindicular angle we need to connect
the parallel lines of thought have proven to be
perpetually disconnected
so what does a biped do to prevent the disorder of a bifurcated soul
how does a sloth rip the talon off the ghost bird
when we speak as limbic wisps clinging to an energy flux
the songs of the forgotten choir are spilling through outstreched digits
reverie of long passed friends who hear the cloud orchestra
gives me the hope that i can move through all of this
with the grace of a child kissing a promise
in this there is infinity
Not the sleek modern skyscrapers
Fragile, slim, standing tall
Catwalk queens of present times
But squat, imposing, solid built
Dowagers of a bygone age!
Forgotten memorials
Screaming, unheard, unseen
Proclaim of valor
In faded wars.
Winged griffins,
Gargoyles, Gods, Goddesses
Look down and stare
Mute remnants of majesty.
Verily Ozymandias comes to mind.
The lanes littered
With the birds, the bees and the beasts,
Kids both biped and quad
Suck hungrily at vestigial teats.
Pups latch on to a mother
Who’s long forgotten her own.
A crow feeds on the feast
Of rodent tripe.
And the statuary smiles on!
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