Diogenes Poems | Examples

Death for Dummies by a Dummy

"We come into the world alone and we die alone." ~ Diogenes

What was that, Diogenes?
Speak a bit louder if you please.
I'm old and hard of hearing,
and I fear my death is nearing.

Well, anyway, I've never died,
so, I couldn't tell you if I tried,
but I heard Death's pretty skinny -
meat on his bones, he hasn't any.

On that sad day your number comes up,
and he's at your door, don't give up.
Bar the windows and lock the door.
Disguise your voice, try to ignore

him, but you know he'll get 'ya,
and everyone will soon forget ya',
which I suppose is just as well.
You'll have worse problems down in Hell.

When you die, it's really a shame,
but you only have yourself to blame.
You didn't have to eat it all,
but you never worried 'bout cholesterol.

I hope God will hold my hand,
that really would be mighty grand;
and I ask for His forbearance.
Please don't send that angel Clarence.

What's that Death?  I can't hear ya'.
You look all scary, but I don't fear ya'.
Come again some other day.
I think I'll go outside to play.

When It Comes To the Travails

when it comes to the travails
of the human heart
logic is a poor study
as Diogenes' wisdom gathers a lantern
searching in vain
there is a deeper reasoning
among the bats gathered in the belfry
ratiocination resting on a slippery slope
grasping at a coherent balance
amidst a pyroclastic flow
and although it makes little sense
it never really had to
the sensory faculty never met
with any goal other than
leap before the bottom falls out
and why Vulcans put forth their take
live long and prosper
it keeps the children coming
as well as the undying poetry written
in song as DJs are given to say
this tune is dedicated to
the one that got away

   Oregon   10/23

Philosophizing

"philosophizing"


agog
a god
a dog

taking 
a piss
as if 

Diogenes

Diogenes and Alexander

Diogenes, philosopher in Greece,
was said to be a dawdler. "Devil finds
some seedy work for idle hands, don´t fleece
our youth!" He saw the walls in people´s minds

who all declined his odd and frugal life.
He lived on bread and water, beans and fish,
without belongings, even without wife.
King Alexander promised a free wish:

"Ask anything of me, so make your choice!"
Got speedy answer: "Stand out of my light."
The famous king confessed with lowered voice:
"So eastwards now, the Persians I will fight.

But if I were no king I´d seek your peace,
Diogenes, philosopher in Greece."





May 13, 2022
Orphan Sonnet Poetry Contest, sponsored by Emile Pinet

Orphan Sonnet with a rhyme scheme of  Abab - cdcd - efef - aA, 
10 syllables per line in three quatrains, and a final couplet 
with the last line repeating the opening line.

Best Poem Ever

Sitting outside with loose papers on my lap,
a gust blew the top two pages away.
It was a poem that contained some creatures
and the usual clouds and mists
and how fossils feel about mountains.
Like a Borges story, it contained the past and future
and how time distorts yet fuels our ability to love.
I jumped up and chased it down the road,
the poem containing metaphysical doubts
about existence, my own and yours,
and how everything doesn’t mean anything.
There was a buzzing hornet 
and Diogenes’ mordant laughter
and it listed the questions that answer themselves
–  Will I be born? Do I crave applause?
But it was gone, my best poem ever,
eaten by cactus or the wind.

Curiosity's Footprints

Walking in curiosity's footprints,
I wander through life like a beachcomber.
Placing wit above life's trinkets and chintz,
I seek thinkers and poets like Homer.
Many peg me as a shiftless roamer,
but I am anything but commonplace.
The cosmos gave me a glimpse of God's face,
and my soul knew that there was so much more.
Humanity defines the human race:
godlike, with a predilection for war.

I value my memories more than gold,
flashes of how it felt to be alive.
For recollections can't be bought or sold;
they're private places where emotions thrive;
shifting conscious thoughts into overdrive.
I don't follow fools who would burn witches;
I've more respect for those who dig ditches.
Diogenes searched for an honest man
amongst the schemers, hoarding their riches:
and though he couldn't find one, I'm still a fan.

What If

Archimedes slipped in the shower
          Diogenes drowned in a barrel 
                    Thor shook in his thunder
		              Ariadne lost her thread

Pinocchio had a broken nose
          Rapunzel sported a wig
	            The Little Prince had no transport
		              Aladdin no fuel left in the lamp

Spinoza bereft of lenses to grind
          Descartes left without doubt
	            Socrates no market place
		              Plato caved into shadows

Sleeping Beauty with insomnia
          Cinderella barefoot forever
	            Little Suck-a-thumb had a thimble
		              Jonny looked into a looking glass

1984 was mere fantasy fiction
          A Brave New World had courage	
                    My Lord had run out of flies
		              The Never Ending Story stopped		

What if the planet was flat and politicians told the truth
          Jesus played Balderdash with Mohammed and Siddhartha
                    The rising sun set in the East by a pot of tarred rainbows  

          I would still love you to the moon and beyond my princess
Go to the end of the earth as long as you will hold my hand

28th November 2019

Diogenes

"Blushing is the color of virtue."



You're done.
You melt like a sigh
 on the lips of angels.
You've drained
  the paleness of injustice,
your own hands tangled up,
aw, the square stare of the truth,
 impassable duel of the pupils.

Your hands are filled with the face of our tragedy,
witherering among the sidereal flowers,
 a cursed sunset,
a lamp lit in the wee hours,
no truce is better than advancing to the edge of yourself,
  throwing yourself into the fire of the stars,
 crossing the hard core time;
with flimsy memories 
 descending into a blessed hell.

You want to die with the lamp lit,
not talk about anything that gives you away
when you smoke compulsively,
 tramontane and bold,
you know how pliable is the scroll of fear.

You are bad, Diogenes,
with your airs of moldy poet,
twitching the neurons of those who feel
that Truth is even more pliable,
Come here, my ox, my friend.

A Tortoise

A  Tortoise
By Stina Lu 


You keep silent,
In all seasons.
Like the Buddist, 
Meditating 

Even your breath
seems redundant.
You reject everything
 Food or water.

Your are blind
Smell the direction and danger
You desire for nothing 
Not care life or death 

You're Diogenes,
Stand in Plato's Utopia.
You represent the beauty and justice of Socrates,
Your shadow is the absolute Geist of Hegel.

You're a little philosopher
On my balcony

Cry For Our Democracy

Oh Diogenes if you breathed today what would you have to say about our politicians to wealth do their conscious sway and fall pry. That still small voice barely a whisper heard. Democracy she cries out to our noble land is there one amongst you that can say I am an honest man!

Reluctant To Climb

Diogenes sought an honest man,
appalled by Man's path to destruction.
And searched Athens by lantern at night,
casting light on lies and corruption.

He concluded his search was fruitless;
integrity could be sold and bought.
And Man's willingness to sell His soul;
proved an honest man was vainly sought.

When the hungry specter of greed feeds,
its appetite offers no relief.
And circumvents inconvenient truths;
under the guise of a shared belief.

Man's conscience can discern right from wrong;
yet His morals fell short over time.
And after having fallen so far,
He's corrupt and reluctant to climb.

What's Sacred

Truculent trucks advert young minds; raging down roads breeding new gods as pompous, glitter covered idols carved from primordial blades of fear. Meanwhile pious pieces of magnesium stone get chiseled out of focus, branded by labels of complex empirical realities, numerically based shrines too impenetrable to worship. Help! Is the cry of objective cynics still rumbling in earthenware, readily retracing faint footsteps of Diogenes. Jumping in a wormhole of subjective garments to escape an ill-fitting, elementary pipe dream of unified ideals, gargled then spat from archetypal lips. Blowing away the dandelion fluff to catch a glimpse of act 1, scene 1; unrevised. Before curtains close the gap, leaving a thinning tightrope walk between me and we. Strutting back inside homes where a novelty Christ hangs on drywall masking punched holes of pain, wagging fingers pointing to his prescribed solvent, waiting for tomorrow to unlock today’s faith. When will they point at the mirror wading in dark nooks of conscience’s blurry frame? For he who searches, will seldom find peace beyond arms reach.

Diogenes In Search

Diogenes holds a lantern
Hypnotized- the faint light
Eyes search all nooks and turn
Desire in them makes them bright

Drank no voda only lie and deception
Hegemonized- lost- sick of hunger
Pathologized- TRUTH the only medication
Unconscious he is with thirst growing stronger


But, egregious- incorrigible or glib
It’s all he finds- the chronic liars
The consummate and congenital lie lay down deep
Inveterate they are unconscionable buyers

He’s finished his search in Athens
Hope’s alive! The hill thus flattens

Listening To Joan Baez

I sat with rum and Joan Baez the other day
Writing up three poems in Bombay
One short  another crooked
Yet not quite a disaster
The other long and sad
Not very bad but still not much more
Than a chinchilla whore
In her teens, plump, with baby fat
Still around her cheekbones, shoulders, waistflesh

Trellised eaves
A tooting car on Cadell Road
Dusk falling, friends out on a binge,
I alone in the darkening flat
Joan Baez on my knee her voice from the cassette recorder
Blurring the border between voice and flesh
And letting them enmesh
Wafting out over lonely streets
Climbing the Pali Hills
Sidling in stealth by private yew hedges
To caress like silk the legs of a party
Falling to pieces at only six-thirty

Prosaic, proselytizing like Diogenes in the bin
Beard straggling all over an obdurate chin

Breathe in the voice let the pictures go by
Looking for a conjuror in the sky
And confused, return
Dreams back to ashes, ashes to the urn
Quiet in the knowledge that ashes don’t burn.

They say  some  poetry
Is coming out of me
Juice wrung out by iron teeth
From the tender heart  of a slender tree.

Black and White

Maybe things just had more meaning in my childhood days
We knew the law and we could see the error in our ways

We didn’t need an interpreter for telling wrong from right
The laws were clearly written, like our old TV, in black and white

The lawyers took our rights and moved justice too far left
To be a C E O, you need a P H D in theft

Promises from politicians, we never get a fair shake
Talking to a lawyer is like talking to a snake

To be elected a congressman, it’s really no surprise
You need a B S in bribery and a Masters degree in lies

Diogenes searched for an honest man in Athens, until his feet were swollen
If he had moved his search to Washington, his lantern would have been stolen

If Washington were a ski resort then Bush would fit the bill
He seemed to be an expert at taking things down hill

Reagan lied about the Iran Contra deal. He was a movie star
Clinton said under oath. It wasn’t sex. It was just an old cigar.

Lawyers and liars and political desires are too far from the right
We should have our say and change the gray back to black and white.

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