Long Hubris Poems
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Written: June 22, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Silent One
Quote: Your name is upon my tongue, your image is in my sight, your memory is in my heart. Where can I send these words that I write ? By Rumi
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Remember Me—
Not as a wimpy palimpsest pressed in dust,
but as a melodic requiem
Swelling through sycamores,
a voice that thrums in amber air.
Stands out as brilliant, warm, and vivid—
candles in our memories for days.
I was your hubris and nemesis—
your panacea of song,
a sylphlike sigh whispered
woven in the welkin’s velvet veil
pure awareness of your heart.
Do not shred me into ephemera,
nor replace my passion—
with forgetfulness
I am the obelisk in your memory’s scope
the oculus through which eternity gropes.
Since death may alleviate with deceit,
Since shadows unravel the nexus of our days,
my love wincing, scintillating—
a sumptuous aurora
that presses the stygian night.
Remember me—
in the whispering calyx of summer blooms,
in the susurrous lagoon
where cicadas chant,
in every wistful whisper of wind
that morphs weariness into wonder.
I am not lost,
but vestigial luminous flame
a perpetuum pulse
a virtuoso of silence
hunting for your sapphire necklace
everlasting will,
singing still—
commit me to your memory.
Her reemergence into my relatively reclusive reality
was tantamount to the scary sensation a victor perceives shortly prior to victory,
the feeling that you could prevail if time would just evaporate suddenly,
extinguishing the crowding curve that an opponent may still win,
the situation wasn't that dire,
Nevertheless,
Embers became fire,
flames transformed into dangerous desire
and wishes remained whimsical,
we began by ignoring the unpreferable past like it was dissolved ice
that watered a now open and fertile steppe ready for horses liberty,
she spoke vaguely, happily, and with a young athlete's hubris,
I clarified things comprehensively, I was encouraging like lost songs heard within,
Aleksandra said that she was in love with life itself,
I mentioned that I was in love with survival,
seemed to me that there was a compatible appraisal,
one who loves life does so because life appears to them as a kind beauty
a perfect preachment that exists for their edification,
one who loves the survival of life perceives life as a pitiless perfection,
a brutal beauty endured with dignity for a fiercer freedom commitment,
we each received relic epiphanies from the echoes
of our elastic hopes & heartaches which suggested risk is a ransom of romance,
cute chance,
briskly, like a chill of the dusk,
we ended the endeavor of escapade,
the dictates of our friends, families foes and freedoms would not finance -
J.A.B. 2007
When I was young, I didn’t have much.
Which means I didn’t worry
About it being taken away.
Didn’t worry about robbers, private or public,
And didn’t care about changing the world.
That wasn’t the brand of hubris I was born with.
Now that I’m old and retired there is a lot to lose,
My life and family, savings, property and stuff.
So I pay more attention to those who preach
The doctrine of redistribution, hope and change.
It’s easy to get caught up in it all
Since it’s always in the news.
But it’s also easy to forget there's an easy way out,
A simple and sure way out of hoping
And worrying what change will come.
And that is to simply sit,
On your own private cushion, or better yet
Beside a dog.
But best of all, outside, amid the greens
Under the clouds in a sky of blue
And let the sounds and sights of nature
Give you all you need.
No need for hope or worry about changing a thing,
The world is doing just fine within you and without you.
(9/10/26)
I know this sounds like theater
of the absurd,
but I wonder if healthy role play
might be left-brain's work ethic
inviting right-brain's first and last impassioned word.
We might pretend our LeftWing
loves to play
irresponsibly back and forth repositioning
while RightWing
is crazy busy with win/lose economics
and disempowering politics
of arduous fragmentation,
Where God would paradise play
with roles of humane-divine
mutual infatuation,
cooperative ego-deferment
unto obsequious giggles
of "Oh no, you first.
I gracefully and divinely insist."
AntiGod does hard vocational work
to teach pagan pilgrim players
and idle, irresponsible nature worshipers
to get back to harvesting souls
to be drained of daylight hours
manufacturing need and greed
to build our deadly war machines
and our ever higher and mightier towers
of anthro-hubris Babel.
Babel sounds like a healthier place to play
with natural sounds
and spiritual languages
for hide and seek with God
as scriptured, sure,
but also unscripted role play
between too autonomous to be realistic Egos
and too interdependent to be ungooey-theistic EcoLogicians.
I hear lose/lose ecopolitics
of hard work polarization
sounds dramatically absurd
while I continue to listen more imaginatively
to ego-eco
inside-outside
co-passioning play
Muse of RightWing stern capitalistic vocations
underplaying Win/Win co-arising
LeftWing wealthy health re-creations.
9/ 11 the cruel aftermath
Dented western hubris, the mirror cracked
self believes shocked the vanity foundation.
How dare they we are the top predators
our rage will be swift and massive.
Falluja, the western army killed anything that moved
my thought went to Palestine a state of olives
and goat herding, who paid the ultimate prize.
Propaganda is the mixing of truth and deliberate lies
there are those who say Palestine never existed
but old maps tell a different story.
The wheel of the future is ruthless, Israel is tolerated
as the new province of the Caliphate.
The 9/11 is for you to avert your eyes and forget
the mass murder of the indigenous people of Palestine.
Dear Mr. Pound,
Your holiday in Italy
Has besmirched your legacy.
Your Cantos, they plead,
But don’t exonerate,
Not as far as I can see.
Dear Mr. Pound,
Did praise from Hemingway
Whet your narcissistic thirst?
As an ex-pat abroad,
Did you assimilate
What enlightened nations curse?
Dear Mr. Pound,
You made Il Duce smile.
There’s evidence that proves it.
Was your Republic of Utopia
Bi-polar by design?
Or was it simply hubris?
Dear Mr. Pound,
You strain my intellect
With your imagery of life,
And turn my conscience
Hard on itself
With a keen, dissecting knife.
Dear Mr. Pound,
Your lyrics sing to me,
But your politics offend.
You peddled fascist ideology.
If you want my true opinion,
I refuse to condescend.
Written: November 22, 2025,
***********
I cherish the solemn stillness of the night,
where veils of mist cloak the moon's pale face.
Its threadbare curtain, a tiara slight,
of sanctity and shadowed grace.
There, catharsis prowls in whispered tone,
a voice that has faded yet still unabated.
Though death has seized its throne,
hope's luster gleams, amaranthine, fated.
Wretchedly wilted, the petiole lies,
hubris humbled in dismal decay.
Yet dreams, those viceroys of disguise,
transform burdens into light’s array.
And only sleep, at fate’s silent behest,
Unbinds the soul’s relentless, stubborn chain.
From hecatombs of grief confessed in chest,
To wisteria’s bloom, soft peace regained.
Our impulses does civilisation set out to control
Regulation rules.
Let slip society's commandments
And the feral runs riot.
Between the rational and the visceral
There is a constant struggle
Identified so starkly in The Heart Of Darkness
Where unmoored from the diktats of custom
Kurtz his moral compass loses.
This same lesson does Lord Of The Flies
Try to inculcate
And the horrors of tribalism
Does indicate
With sadistic cruelty
Buttressed by the strength of power
Today the internet with all its temptations
Anonymity,images of perversion
And the hubris of the individual
The shackles of constraint sunders
To drive the individual
To explore
The dark side of human nature.
It is a deeper belief
That within one must reside
A bulwark to throw up
Against the rising tide
To hold back
The wrecking waves
Imperilling
What the Good Lord set out to save.
Failed humans
The forest he traveled had many paths
there was always something new to see
like a white tree that once wanted to be
the tallest one in the forest, but hubris
had made it to lose barks and naked stand
He thought of Israel, this foreign plant
among tall coniferous
In the glade where rabbits sit to catch
the morning sun, a group of people had
occupied their leader was an enormous
woman with fake blond hair, her man
was hateful, suffering from stomach
ulcer for all slight received when he
was a boy of nine, by his mother
there was also the tall man with three
legs wore a jester hat and told jokes
There was nothing funny about him and
his prop revolver, but he dreamed of
going into show business
in the clearing sat a group of unshaven
shopkeepers trying to sell dreams and
stolen inventions, enticing big bears
with a bunch of carrots
finally, under a bush sat three cooks
who failed the catering exam because
they had overcooked Idaho potatoes
They were the result of a mad god's
attempted to create new humans on
stolen land meant for olive trees and
vines, with a soil too dry for cabbage
In the afternoon, the failed humans had
disappeared what was left, a carpet
of white butterflies and three frogs
Humans seem rather peculiar
amidst all the species out there;
reason, language, high emotions,
from romantic love to despair.
But one thing you always notice,
regardless of where you might go,
that all our tribes and nations have
established their own moral codes.
These differ from hierarchy,
the kind you’d see in a wolf pack,
such things are built upon power,
the deeper thinking they all lack.
Wolves don’t ask, ‘Do I believe this?
Do I think, in essence, it’s right?’
They go along mostly through fear
of what happens if they lose a fight.
This holds true for most animals,
all lacking our reasoning skills,
we tell ourselves we make these codes
to ensure we don’t harm or kill.
As if we all sat down one day
and said,’We’ll do this to survive,’
or we say that it comes from God,
Who is watching over our lives.
Now I won’t speculate on that,
no human mind can think that large,
but I wonder, is it hubris
to think that nature took no part?
To say that it all came from us,
when we’d evolved up to this state?
I know humans can do so much,
but have we ever been that great?
A thought that’s been nagging at me
when I see the animal realm,
all species seem to have a check
so that they do not overwhelm.
The predators are limited
by the abundance of their prey,
they can never outnumber them,
or they’d starve with nothing to slay.
The herbivores are limited
by the predator's claws and teeth,
so they don’t grow and crop the plants,
like the endless deer in the east.
We’ve long known of nature’s balance,
but when looking at human kind,
it seems something more is needed
to restrain advanced human minds.
Because when it comes to killing
most admit, we’re a class all our own,
the reason that has propelled us,
makes us the cruelest ever known.
Bears that are ten times human strength
run in fear of us at mere sight,
tigers that once ruled the jungle
barely even put up a fight.
Small pox that killed millions of us
was purposely wiped from the earth,
we could glass this entire planet,
and make its very atoms hurt.
How does evolution check this?
What keeps these skills from running mad?
As we’ve seen from sociopaths
an unrestrained human is bad...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.