To cross the street Herr Biedermeyer
made a firm election:
the spot was safe – Gefahrengasse -
strictly one-direction.
But, looking south and stepping out,
he got a sharp surprise:
a car, approaching from the north,
was hidden from his eyes.
It knocked him in the air, and soon
had sped away and gone.
Herr Biedermeyer had a lot
to muse and ponder on.
No bones were broken, no blood shed:
no blasphemy, no oaths:
he knit his brow in thought, and frowned,
and dusted-off his clothes.
The German mind’s a splendid thing
(think Schopenhauer, Kant):
but nimbleness is not its bag –
it’s no-one’s corybant.
“The street’s one way, and thus,” surmised
this latter-day Von Papen,
“nothing hit me. I’m immune.
No accident could happen.”
Categories:
schopenhauer, satire,
Form: Ballad
If tomorrow
She’s not there
I will live
A life
In despair
I would fall
Away
From her hand
Deflated
Flat
No light
Could I bare
I would wallow
In my sorrow
Exist
Only
In my self-pity
Yet
One tiny part of me
Would see across
The plain
Of my self-loathing
And that tiny part
Would start
Slowly
To build a scaffold
Bar by bar
Dawn by dawn
Slowly
Build me up
And direct me
To where
I need to be
I would seek out
Words of wiser men
Then me
Schopenhauer
Nietzsche
Aristotle
And more
Their words
Would turn me
A flat, deflated
Self-pitying
Nobody
Into a God
Into A devil
Into a philosopher
And I would find
Happiness
Again
But different
Not external
But
Internal
I need no one
To create happiness
By their presence
I find it
Inside
By understanding
The human psyche
And the traps
The masses
Leave
To tare you down
For they are scared
And envious
That I
Am able
To move on
But still
I dreamt
And still do
As tomorrow
She’s not there
Categories:
schopenhauer, life, loss, lost, love,
Form: Free verse
French proverb: L'habit ne fait pas le moine.
English equivalent: You can't judge a book by its cover.
My interpretation: The work one does is not always an accurate indicator of the kind of person he…or she…is.
Most strippers can't do more
Than just "bump and grind",
But I know one who reads
Every book she can find.
From Dr. Seuss to Schopenhauer,
She devours volumes by the hour.
She plays a bibliophilipic role
As she swings 'round that phallipic pole,
Which adds a high degree of class
To an act that's mostly t**s and ass.
And while she's raking in the tips,
She's turning pages as she strips.
As those who scoff at her soon find,
Her brain's as big as her behind,
And then they whistle and applaud
And all her attributes they laud,
For she's no intellectual fraud,
Nor is she some tawdry bawd.
I know her name is Ermentraude,
But on the grand marquee out front, she's "Maude,
A broad with a broad, broad mind."
Author's note: Remember, dear P. Soupers, reading is fundamental.
Categories:
schopenhauer, humor,
Form: Light Verse
In Tchibo Germany,
enjoy a cup of coffee,
idea from Schopenhauer to Nietzsche
Categories:
schopenhauer, confusion, dark, lost,
Form: Haiku