Ionesco Rhinoceros still occupies
The stage that is offered so kindly
So there he is, with his weak sighted eyes
Staring at me rather blindly
Don’t worry my dear, soon we’ll be forbidden
I belong to the countless minority
My act in your play was so poorly written
You need others to feed your authority
This civilization, where everyone’s lost
Blamed for inappropriate views
Clashes with me, cause I’m paying my cost
Only for things that I use
I don’t make excuses, I always agree
With slander and hatred I get
I'm taking for granted their thoughts about me
It’s cheaper than arguing all that
May your Rhino restrictions be harder than ever
All satires of the past become real
I find myself punished through trial and error
Empirically off the deal
Red geranium leaves by my doorstep I see
The winds from Atlantic blow cold
The Rhinoceros people jog on around me
It seems that they never get old..
HANDLING THE PARADOXICAL
eliding
syncretic
conceptual
attitudes
presented
processed
published
thus
articulated
schematics
empirically
impress
&persuade
radical
conception
there is no fire in the lavender skies of February
it is as if all that exists with warmth, light and desire
has fled to the future
it is here that the white swans muse and ponder
slowly stirring in hapless meanderings
through a stoic sluggish pond
it is here that I find myself coming to belong
nestled in the cold casket of a wind still winter
spring has shown its face with flowers
soiled, stagnant and sour
nature cultivates somber green to justify the incessant gray
the mossy sludge of rains fallen in my desolate pall
where there are no colors in my empty heart
for I have imprisoned hope and lost the key
somewhere in the dire fog
this catatonia speaks tones of wretched gloom
that paralyzes with foreboding dullness
its ghastly numbness buries the ghosts that haunt
for gray gives my soul a vapid and sullen vacuity
I tread bent and worn in this wasteland
seeking a sojourn with deathly swans
I am empirically lost in the shroud of shielded gray skies
hiding myself in the mists of passionless pain
The abstract is creative confusion,
Both infinite and void with its form.
Compartmentalized by any illusion,
Then broken down before any storm.
These pieces seem to only grow smaller,
As if invisible to a passing naked eye.
Yet they exist to a realm without limits,
Only imagined when we look to the sky.
This journey seeks to define a mountain,
By its integral simplicity, to a grain of sand.
Where time adds to the calculation,
Through erosion and complexities master plan.
Mankinds quest has always followed,
The need to know our placement, among all the rest.
Leading some to accept godly answers,
Though others look to empirically test.
While there's universal appeal that's growing,
A faithful vision resides to keep pace.
As the search for those quantum levels,
May provide understanding and ultimately, grace.
The Agent Intellect…
God speaking loud
Aquinas his servant,
empirically proud
Action is needed,
the soul lies in wait
The body left wanting
—new pearls for the gate
(Villanova University: December, 2021)
A long time has passed while these spectacular seasons
continue to renew themselves unlikely dormant awareness;
images of the past clout me on the head
and rebuke me for having failed to use
more shrewdness and applied more sense:
many pitfalls and grievances I would have avoided!
My ideas were empirically estranged from reality,
no egotism was meant to underestimate pity;
frailty was a sign of vulnerability and confined
my thinking that wasn't clear but hypothetical,
endless times I sat down and pondered how pathetical
I seemed to bellow in self-doubt, being unhindered!
Is hindrance an obstacle or a warning to safeguard?
Is indulgence a pleasure or a condemnable sin?
Not using more shrewdness is a definite sentence
that will make life a wreck, not a paradise instead;
would one rather be unblemished or show a frown?
Only buffoons embrace idiocy and adopt pretense!
She lay on a hospital bed like a pale rose wilting on a pillow sham
done were her days of counting every morsel of food and gram
they told her if she stopped eating she would cease to live and die
feeding tubes inside her nose, she stared into an anemic blue sky
knowing that her final breath was near, she took her mother's hand
as tears spilled on her hair of gold, she whispered, "mom, I can't "
the girl who removed the chaff from the wheat no longer had to eat
they placed a large sheet on her tiny frame and tiny little feet
later as she lowered to the ground all of life just went askew
an invisible waif had flown away without a change or point of view
scent of green tea, honey, vine, moss and fruit, finally empirically ground
flower songs of beauty, she ate and drank, without making a single sound
as she lay on a cloud and watched the sun go down, it was the final call
she felt thin, she felt beautiful, she wasn't hungry, no, not at all ...
April 30, 2021
Today i am writing
lyrically satirically
no not a miracle
empirically panegyrical
clovened hoof maybe
i am
Descent
The engram in our genes
has found
the opposing thumb and descent from trees
empirically sound,
but being pragmatic denies Kultur
an Imprimatur.
NOTHING SUBTLE WORKS
is Nature's theme,
though guile improve Aesop's fox
and men are warned by dream,
that still saves the paradox--
Success and failure are narrow views
rigorously pursued.
I never met dear Granpa,
He died,over the sea-
Granma's love-letters are though,
Proof enough for me.
I've never seen a baby born,
or heard that first cry of life-
I trust instead,upon,
the testimony of my wife.
I've never seen a miracle
or God's voice speak loud to me-
Since Jesus' knock upon my door
Peace and Joy,for sure, have now,made me-me.
Inspired by Emily Dickinson's no 1052 'I never saw a Moor'
http://brianspoetrybio.blogspot.com
The brain processes logically, the mind explores empirically and instinctively while the
heart pressures insistently.
If possession is nine-tenths of the law
entirely, you're mine
though cosmically, empirically
we lack the ties that bind
For naught these thoughts
escape me through the river of the day
while every beryl and burst of you
contain me as they stay
And while the very air we breathe
is cycled through our distance
I know that even air succumbs
to love in sweet resistance
If possession is nine-tenths of the law
then what am I to do?
for obligingly, surprisingly
I now belong to you.
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