Long Plato Poems
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. for public domain
( liberally inspired from Socrates' "second best account" from Plato's dialogue Phaedo )
Up the road a little and beside a pond,
with a view of dew which she grew so fond,
where she shed her Grace after her demise,
and a lifetime of forgiven lies,
near a wooden cross, a throw from an Oak,
a Preacher preached with tears as he spoke,
"We shall miss her kind voice, her soft embrace,
miles of smiles from her pretty face,
Though none of it real, we needed the show
of what Life could be, and not what we know.
To her old age, from the time of her youth
she gave no care for low gestures of truth.
So let us give praise for she who would lie,
who faced Life truly with a heave and a sigh,
but always looked Upwards for the Gift of Grace,
and let that Truth shine from a suffering face."
Plato was dazzled by the numbers' dance.
Their interlocking rhythms made a song
which must have come from God, since they alone
stood unmoved in the welter of the world.
The flushed and youthful flank, the glancing eye
articulate with desire, and quick response
to fly or flutter near, that so engaged
passions so deep they had to be eternal,
all withered to the slack and fusty dugs
of each day’s lying truth, that drip the sour
after-mockery of joy gone stale.
But in the reasoned frenzy of proportion,
strong as steel and delicate as fire,
he found a lust refined of all corruption,
the rapture of the body in the mind.
---------------------------------------------------------------
The logical possibility to jump over the moon,
make sense when considered its cheese eaten with a spoon.
The same cheese became famous by Mozart composing Cinderella,
melted in on bread called Mozzarella.
The milks fat has its meaning by matter of form,
as one can pull it gently in its use to be torn.
The essence of man by Plato is conceptual confusion,
Aristotle’s answer was the rational animal conclusion.
The death is one of two things and metaphysical,
hypothetic nature in grammarless forms of being radical.
Abstract concepts to the point of phrase,
indefinable logic to stay confused in philosophical pace.
Nothing divided by nothing to multiply the zero,
trading and selling golden mirrors portraying the hero.
The hypnotic ability of linear verbal communication,
overwritten melodrama and its cultured sensation.
Caffeine clicking clocks in commercial wars,
to safe the astounding audience aspiration from taws.
Intensified intuitive balloons matching the color of the eye,
illustrative animated slices with the cherry on top pie.
Vulnerable velocity by vanity loosing lips largely,
absurdity with distinction established ambiguity fiercely.
Falsity and truth before sense and nonsense,
thinking one knows what is not known in essence.
Philosophical poetry may be with or without rhyme,
but it is never without reasons of confession in time.
San Francisco Soulmates
You discovered the ever-seeking soul in me!
Looking for truth, for all of mankind to see!
Unaccepting of all common, unquestioned beliefs.
Ignorant, educated dullards brought to me,absolutely no relief.
Late, late into the foggy evening’s very last twinkling, summer star,
Plato and Aristotle, greedily we devoured, while riding on a cable car,
And, although you now are insensate and in an impenetrable grave,
See my soul, my sweet, for truth, it rants and in my poetry, madly raves.
Tribute to my Late Husband
With Deepest Gratitude
11/4/2022
Inspiration:” When You Are Old”
Author: W.B. YEATS
The smell of French bread baking, seeps through the kitchen roof and the women wearing aprons of assorted colors and fine knitted hat kneading stiff dough in big pudding pans.
They kept moving for oven to oven taking out baked trays and replacing them with new ones. They had a hundred thousand orders to fill and it kept them on their feet all day.
They kept changing shift but they could not complete the orders on time, they worked all night drinking coffee to keep them steady and sweet doughnut to keep up their energy.
The sweltering heat in the kitchen wets her face and soaked her body but she continues to knead the dough for the evening show .
More than a hundred women in the kitchen bustling with activities and each of them has a different assignment that coincide with mine. They had to deliver four thousand breads before three.
Five thousand people are sitting on top of the mountain, waiting for manner to fall from heaven; they have been there for five days, listening to the Greek oracle and the story of zeus and his life on mounts Olympus.
He controls the skies and carries the signal of thunderbolt, the eagle. the bull and the oak, he gets his energy from the east and carries a scepter with a decree.
He was called by numerous names but Plato knows that he is always the same epithets is one of Zeus surname.
I walked quietly into the multitude to hear what the lecture was all about and someone spotted me in the crowd and starts to shout, “I ‘m hungry” she cried, “did you bring me here to die,?” “Zeus has five children”, she said so give me some food before I drop dead.
See them standing in the breadline holding long French bread from the divine, the multitude on the mountain has not been fed and you have to deliver five thousand French bread before Zeus emerge from the sky.
The smell of French bread has opened my appetite and the women in the kitchen has bread galore to fill up all the bread store; place your order before you go through the door.
While taking stock of the library
Here in my home today, I found myself
Considering all the pages throughout the years
For which I’ve dearly paid. Voluminous
Paragraphs, chapters and verses from
Adam and Eve to Zen like prayers;
Trying to count the cost of so many books
Makes me wonder why I care. About
Astronomy and astrology, connections
Between all things; cosmology,
Biology, psychology and dreams.
Alchemy and metaphysics,
Landing on the moon;
Plato and Pythagoras,
The Wizard of Oz and Dorothy flying
Back home in a balloon. Still turning
Pages of ancient history, Egyptology,
Mythology and man’s search
For meaning within;
Aristotle, Shakespeare, Newton, Einstein wondering
What’s the secret to the universe and how
Did it begin?
Quantum physics, alien visits,
Lost without a clue;
Plants and flowers, greed and power
And why the sky is blue. Light and darkness,
Love and hate,
The Crusades and other wars;
The vanity and insanity of
Whatever we’re fighting for. Still more
Encyclopedias left to read before I’m through,
Having hardly skimmed the surface of what
Good books are meant to do.
If we take the time to sift and find
The nuggets of treasure within;
The price of a book can be priceless
And make a head and brain like supernova stars
Splendiferously spin.
Choice Suspended
There is no winning
just an upper hand
The scoreboard fluid
as change commands
The odds on fire
to win or lose
With choice suspended
— the moment skewed
**
Flows A River
Why in the world
would you care
And if you did
would it matter
Our differences
vast
And incongruence
shatters
Diametrically
opposed
With a canyon
between us
Where truth
flows a river
Never filled
— by consensus
**
No Quarter
The arrogance of
importance
Plato
staking his claim
As thought
gives no quarter
Where truth
— is proclaimed
**
Death Sentence
Meandering
through life
Our consciousness
bought
A capital
sin
Forgiveness
— is naught
**
Lip Service
I approve the better
but follow the worse
Entitlements hostage
— alone in the hearse
**
The Magic Within
Music has no borders
and no axe to grind
Love has no labels
but seekers must find ...
The magic within
both the sound and the heart
To change what an army
— must yield in their rout
**
Fair Winds
The #1 indicator of good health
— nothing happens
**
Bestowed
When diffidence
takes precedence
over enlightenment and fact
All confidence
in abeyance
every gift is abstract
To believe is
confirmation
of what the spirit will know
Giving credence to a memory
more than gifted
— bestowed
**
The Moment Upon Us
Resetting
your watch
the end coming soon
Ignoring
the ticking
whose bomb will bring doom
The sands
running thinner
the hourglass clear
The moment
upon us
— when doubt turns to fear
**
Nerve Endings
The one thing
I know better
than anything else
Is myself
plain and simple
— viscerally felt
**
Ballast
The more you learn
the less you need
Your burden lifting
— as lessons free
**
My granddaughter asks what music is—not how
it works but what it is and I realize
I don't know. I tell her what I've learned
Plato says it's the cosmos tuning itself
Aristotle teaches it's virtue in training
Schopenhauer explains it's the will made audible
Nietzsche proclaims it's the reason we endure
Adorno touts it's the last room the market hasn't bought
Einstein calculates it's what we do when equations fail us
But the truth? Music is my mother crying
Music is my uncle's calloused fingers
Music is the subway violinist's beautiful mistake
Music is my wife pirouetting on the grit of dirty floors
Music is the kid beatboxing in the tunnel
Music is Einstein scraping Mozart across catgut
Music is the thing we make when we can't speak
and the thing we make when speech isn't enough
the thing we make when we need to remember
we're animals with opposable thumbs and auditory cortexes
and this strange compulsion to score sound
into patterns that hurt us and heal us and
make us want to live another day
So I tell my granddaughter: music is the question
you just asked. The wanting-to-know
The orchestra isn't in the concert hall
it's in your chest when the song
moves through diminished chords to major resolution
something lifts. It's in the breath
before the downbeat. It's in the silence
after the final note when we're
listening, waiting, still hoping
there might be one more measure
And there is.
There always is.
The song doesn't end
we just stop
hearing it
a jolly darling right angle went straight out of the lateral box
fed up with grinding a living on the periphery of pure reason
he thought back to his square roots and longed for a change
his strict Dad Monty Pythagoras had been rather level headed
had equated logic premises and conclusions with happiness
a refined man steeped in knowledge in search for great virtue
his Mom Pi however never lived up the promise of her name
strayed from her calculated path of predetermined precision
abandoned caution and boredom and soaked in a bubbly bath
Archimedes my **** I can’t throw the baby out of the water
had a fling with Plato in his cave and settled for the kitchen
made the best strawberry crumble from recipes of her aunt
Little Monty Pi enjoyed whipped cream and emotion much more
than obedience and hypothenuses and left mere equations behind
licked off the whisk and dreamed of the perfect circle for good
vanilla emotions danced with sweet sugar candy mountains as
his feelings submerged into a fantasy world coated in cinnamon
he was warned that he might have eggy intuitions on his face
for shells would easily crack and ovations weren’t perfectly round
but his world was not flat anymore and he wished for perspectives
of a different kind than sitting in the lost corner at ninety degrees
if you can stand the heat you should remain in the bakehouse
savour cookies or condensed milk tarts for such exquisite cuisine
beats mere cognition and the dour fragrance of stale rationale
Mum chuckled while Dad despaired and took out his slide rule
proposed that life was no honey pot and cooking was effluvium
misleading and not up to the fine task of consequential virtues
but like most kids he would only listen to what he wanted to hear
put Nirvana on the headphones and closed his mind to objections
eventually he learnt that life was really a giant rigged rollercoaster
maybe the strawberries were laced with psychedelic truth serum
or the icing on the gateau was to abandon forethought and planning
most of all that he was neither circle nor angle and just needed to be
30th August 2020
Plato to Aristotle….”you made your bed, now sleep in it”
Aristotle to Plato….”if you lie down with dogs expect to arise with fleas”
Plato to Aristotle….”Ekphrasis makes strange bedfellows”
Aristotle to Plato….”never wake a sleeping blog”
Plato to Aristotle….”no matter how you slice it, it’s still baloney”
Aristotle to Plato…”sleep tight – don’t let the bedbugs bite”
Plato to Aristotle…”ever slept on a bed of roses?”
Aristotle to Plato….”required some thorny removal”
Plato to Aristotle…”let us remove ourselves to the fireplace
and look at some pictures”
Aristotle to Plato….”Yeah, but don’t go asking them any questions”
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