Ism isn't right, it's spite which stems from deep emotion
Welling up within the soul when we confront the notion
That someone somewhere is receiving what we think is ours
Bestowed on us from somewhere we think's written in the stars
Blacks as a whole
Are not as intelligent as Whites
Let alone Asians, but so what!?!
You may object, and resist
Even call it “racist” to say,
But it’s a fact of Nature.
Being less intellectually refined
Is a good thing though
Because it makes one better
At communicating
The simple bottom-line truths.
Truth, after all, isn’t about intellectual acuity,
It’s about what simply is,
And that’s something everyone can appreciate
Because it’s the truth.
(3/16/26)
Idling between abstract and realism.
I strive to strike a fine balance.
Implicit trust in the process.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
(“Utopia and Terror Merit Badge”, 2010, original oil)
Ideal and real exist in opposition
Like two children on a playground teeter-totter
Two children who will grow
To be completely different adults.
Idealism is the default of all infants
And is what all mature humans grow out of
Sooner or later, all too often much later,
Perhaps for some
Not until the moment of death.
It feels good after all to want what you want
And even expect to get it!
But realism sees beyond such wants
To what is.
Realism is the philosophy of accepting
Simply what is.
While idealism wishes for what can be
It may even seem noble
Yet is in-fact the ultimate intolerant view,
And taken to the extreme
Has led to the worst atrocities
In human history.
Does realism sometimes lead to atrocities?
Perhaps, but to the realist
They would just be necessity.
So idealism is the philosophy of infants and tyrants,
While realism makes do
And gets along as best as can be.
But this doesn’t have to be a morose fatalism
As there is always a bright side.
There is always a new day dawning
Somewhere at this very moment.
That isn’t idealism
That’s very real.
(1/30/25)
“Living with the war no one talks about”
I wake in a trench no one else can see,
landmines of thought exploding in me.
Smiles are my helmet, jokes my gun,
but the war in my head is never done.
They call it coping, I call it the fight,
a battlefield burning all through the night.
Each breath is shrapnel, each step a lie,
and victory’s just learning how to die.
this is what it is
blue sky sparkles in dry eyes ~
rain clouds deep within
this is what it is
pretense spreads calm shine on smile ~
fierce storm inside
Monoku Prayers
Those who live in grass huts speak no prayers for rain, but do bless the dew…
S.Y. Eslinger 12/28/2024
This basic wish
Is the wish of every mother and child
The wish for things to be safe and fun
For everyone to smile
And not push and shove, yell and fight.
It’s the wish that drives them like sheep
Into the beautiful green pastures over there
Just beyond the bounds, always
Just out of reach.
It’s the wish to unite
Form a one world government or religion
Or circle to sing kumbaya
To hold us all together
Keep us safe in the night
And fed in the morning.
It’s also the wishful dream that fades
When Sun rises on another day
And it’s time to once again
Simply care
For all things we need to do
The bitter and the sweet
Made better by the fact
Adversity builds something
Nothing else can.
(11/22/24)
No question is harder than this alarming dialogue
must I completely forget each joy given to me?
Fear is the adversary; it suggests I remain free:
no vision is equal to this imagination so vague!
It's a disadvantage to express beliefs that are rejected
by the masses manipulated by contrasting science, not faith;
they become invalided by bizarre minds lacking worth,
and they affect us with their derogative philosophy of creed!
When untruths are perceived as facts and truths as misconception,
we run the risk of irrationality and stand on the brink of confusion;
where's the authentic sense of reason that connects us to reality?
Be transformed by all invisible forces and you'll lose your sanity!
No prospective is clearer than the one that's ever present
and deviates us from the right course taken by old wisdom;
will we err by irrational wish, by naive reaction or foolish intent?
In this circle of extreme folly, we choose allusion over realism!
I'm Just Slow
Absolute Truth
Takes F'ing
FOREVER
To figure out.
Out. Out. Out.
Yes, and that needs some
Cleverer
Adjective above.
Insistent Bottlenecks.
Hang on...
I'll get it.
-Gray Squirrel
my dreams have always been of flowers and birds
in a garden fairytale
but life is no fantasy
it is full of tears
sometimes, I will hang my head like a dying flower
at times, I will flutter with joy like a butterfly
can dream a real nightmare
or a beautiful garden
born with imagination
when my life is falling to pieces
since a girl I just retreat
into fantasy
safe and protected
my words are weapons
but like a flower
my beauty, also
she could not handle the truth
easier to live a lie
just the truth the whole truth nothing but the truth
does it still exist
when none believe reality its still truth
if all believe lies they are still falsehoods
authenticity captures facts that exist
cold hard facts metaphorically speaking
how do I substantiate its actual
is there a magic formular to follow
do I trust my instinct can it be misled
if its verisimilitude can I trust
being lifelike cannot be the whole answer
fakes can seem more actual than authentic
verifying requires a masters degree
some anomalies are true world or true life
says true fruit would they put fake fruit in the can
corporeality surely must exist
a physical body a truthful being
must be believed actual
"If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe," ... Carl Sagan
Subtle crafts soundly, using euphemisms,
yet cluelessness dealt a sheltered abyss.
When one confront internal mechanisms,
whatchamacallit ... orphaned hit-or-miss.
A conundrum conspires an endowed soul,
behooves postmortem liken achievement.
Where'er wits helix baptism, buried hole,
an urchin crawlspace, be I foundling sent.
Newborn bid birthright a pardoned envoy,
of mature absence deemed as uncharted.
Internals blueprint designed, bad employ,
indeed, tunnels end--will be lights outed.
Rare conscientiousness temper unknown,
infiltrate hallmark translates as dethrone.
a la Courbet
social realism
sans inhibition
Over the confines of the cliffs
in a cloud of crystalline haze
in the midst of a tsunami of whistling
skyline shadows in golden amber
hues ooze into the ocean
triumph against craving
waves of fairy spirits
Pearl stone sparkles in sundrops
flying is my passion
I'm diving again
in a wide chasm
sapphire knitting
chromium marble light
optimums prime
upheaval toward verisimilitude
you and my floating rhyme
with an increasing susurrus
a gentle melody is heard
tonal fuzziness
reverberations of rainbow hues
a scarlet choir of classic lullabies
Written: April 24, 2023
A Brian Strand Premiere No 1211 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
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