Should you travel to Saint Sarong,
take it from me, don't linger long,
and fall for a girl with eyes that flash
beneath each long and lovely lash.
She'll kill you for a song.
...and, yet we all have to die,
I say, philosophically, and sigh -
and I'll tell you, just so you know,
there's no better way to go.
The man in the elevator said, as to everyone's dread,
their stomachs all dropped, and the lift suddenly stopped,
"Let's philosophically think, though our situation might stink,
we don't have to work for our boss, that dumb jerk".
Yet, privately, he thought, "I've got a great spot,
next to this buxom beauty. You bet your patootie,
I'm happy as a clam in this tight jam. If we're rescued, I don't give a dam*".
I asked my wife, what is the purpose of the married life,
She answered philosophically, "The goal is to turn Mr. Wrong into Mr. Right".
I asked my wife, why you need so many dresses,
You only wear them once and hang them in antiquity,
It is not the dress, but what goes in the dress, defines the beauty,
Her answer, "As a man, you would not understand".
I wondered why it takes you so long to get dressed for a party,
If you had only a few dresses, you would not be so confused,
Why get color coordinated, men can spot the beauty even in rags,
She replied, "As a man, you would not understand".
When I ask my wife a question, I often wonder,
Should I ask in a positive or a negative sense,
I am afraid the answer will be opposite of what I say,
As a man, I agree, I do not undestand.
When you grow extremely old,
accept what can't be controlled.
You must think philosophically
every time you need to pee.
Years and nighttime trips? Don't count -
too hard to reckon that amount.
My eyes wandered through an old photograph.
Pausing suddenly, I dissolved in tears,
remembering how, the first half of half
of my life, you were with me all those years,
and how my young love, bonny, bright, and fair,
stroked you with fingers, delicate and soft,
as well she styled you, "beautiful blonde hair",
and admired you, as wind bore you aloft.
So, bitterly, I asked, why did you leave?
Slowly, bit by bit, I was abandoned,
to sadly mourn and hopelessly to grieve.
Yet, I struggle hard to understand and,
thinking philosophically, I say,
drying my tears away, "'twas only DNA".
An age-old dilemma,
Sages and humanity wonder aloud,
The death will get us the deliverance from the body,
But how would I set my soul free?
Scientifically the day we die, everything ends,
The ashes to ashes we meet, the life ends.
Philosophically we wonder, is there a life after death?
Whatever the soul is, would it find a refuge?
Sometimes I wonder, what should I do to get the deliverance?
Writing love poems with feet dangling in the grave, is that an answer?
Reading Holy books and visiting holy shrines, would that be the way?
Helping people and sharing their pain, would deliver my soul.
Answers people have sought for centuries,
No one has shown a clear way,
If we knew, what kind of deliverance we seek,
The soul would find its way of seeking Nirvana and peace.
It is a million-dollar bet,
You have a list of things to get
On that once-a-year date
And then weighs in your fate,
You get what you get, just like that.
___________________
Happenings |02.01.2025| humour, Christmas
Poet’s note: Waiting in line to meet Santa Claus, two kids were exchanging notes on gifts received on Christmas. One explained, rather philosophically, why gifts received always fall short of expectation.
I was created
in the image of God, I
Imago Deo
But I am in a
class of my own, I am a
Mathematical
set of one, we all
are a token, Socrates
or me and yes, you
I am a type, which
belongs to a class, but still
I am in a class of
My own, the class
Class identity of me
I think therefore I
Am (it’s not a good
Translation from the Latin)
Cogito Ergo
Sum, even though it
begs the question, it is a
Cartesian set
Je pense, donc je suis
In French, cogitatio fit
Thinking, occurring
Would better describe
this mess, but how would one prove
somebody’s thinking?
Brainwaves? Synapses?
So, we are all in a class
Of our own (imaged)
Philosophically
Personal identity
Is not an option
To a worldview
That is consigned to matter
And motion, no potion
No cerebral bend
Or mental gymnastics can
Account for abstract
Entities, such as
Identity over time
In a class its own
Free Verse: Vulnerability
Philosophically, and ideally,
I believe I should be myself,
Which makes me feel vulnerable, unsafe, and insecure.
Practically, and actually,
My philosophical ideal is eclipsed by fear.
So, I protect myself
By hiding my identity, or disguising it with a false identity
To feel safe, secure, and invulnerable.
But, what is my identity?
It's how I feel and act - now,
Not what I was was yesterday,
Not the story someone wrote for me,
Not what I plan or hope to be tomorrow,
Not what my driver's license or resume says.
It's how I feel and act - now.
There's my homework
Let my actions and outward expressions
Honor what I feel is right
Which is me -
Now.
Diamante: Vulnerability
Real -
Vulnerable, Unsafe
False - Safe, Invulnerable
I must be real -
What I feel
Is right -
Now
Trying to gel
Thoughts dwell
Mind swell
Tapping a rhyming well
Skills fell
A rusty tell
A weak sell
Heating coils smell
I went to the well and found it parched
Shake me awake for the long march
Forging ahead slowly through the land
No pen or notebook in my hand
Drinking in the sights for inspiration
Hoping for a rebirth or continuation
Moving ahead in the journey
Deciding if I am road worthy
The next stop is unknown
Words stitched and sewn
Will this advanced lens work for me
Can I recover philosophically?
are philosophically...
a
full loss of 'fees' knot...
and
be a full loss of why...
some
phil lost sophie...
with
his being too diction airy...
stan
See the recumbent lion,
it yawns, mouth stretched open
a wide silence – he is not tired,
just philosophically bored.
It is a yawp
as much as the startled jaw
of a newborn kitten
is a visible caricature of surprise
for having arrived and survived.
Sparrows yawp in the beaks of raptors,
raptors yawp also in the frozen mandibles
of a relentless winter
but pity the man or woman
that does not yawp
at least once in a lifetime
their lips will become sewn tight
and an innocent horror
locked in forever.
I asked my wife, what is the purpose of the married life,
She answers philosophically, " The goal is to turn Mr. Wrong into Mr. Right".
I asked my wife, why you need so many dresses and sarees,
You only wear them once and pile them high in antiquity,
It is not the dress, but what goes in the dress, defines the beauty,
Her answer, "As a man, you would not understand".
I wondered aloud, why it takes your so long to get dressed for a party,
If you had only a few dresses, you would be not so confused,
Why get color coordinated, men can spot the beauty even in rags,
She replied, "as a man, you would not understand."
When I ask my wife a question, I often wonder,
Should I ask in positive or negative sense,
I am afraid the answer will be the opposite of what I say,
As a man, I agree, I do not understand.
To produce a logic table
Clearly in your mind
Other possible worlds
The purpose of your find.
It's not empirical truth we seek
Only a Gedanken experiment
Knowledge that we cannot show
Proof that makes us sentient.
The greatest happiness or the moral right
Kant verses Mill
Empiricist or Rationalist
An argument of will.
So choose your dialectic
As Plato was taught
Because a life without philosophy
Is a life without thought.
The holiday cabin smelled of wet pigeons
but it was lakeside and cheap.
The lake was not popular,
too deep and weedy for swimming,
too shallow for docking boats,
yet it suited our make-do mindsets.
Of course,
we were romantically attached at the hips,
feet glided upon air
as we wandered upon the pebbly beach
fingers entwined in a dank mist.
Graham crackers and marshmallows
were unpacked
alas the firepit was soaked
with too much leafy fog.
A desultory fire was sparked
in a damp bed beneath a mildewed roof.
We had only tomato soup, tough bagels
and a pack of Marlborough.
We had not planned for chills and hunger.
Inevitably the vacation
grew lukewarm.
Runny noses and sneezes,
the cheesy smell of wet footwear
all seeped deeply into our gestalt,
philosophically
we bailed on the quickly drenched dream,
and each other.
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