Toastage

For the wind was contrary

2011-07-16T22:59:00.005-06:00

The wind had tossed, the night was rough

But now the seas had calmed

The moonlight bathed the sea in glass

A shining orb, embalmed

Across the glowing surface they,

Amidst reflected light,

Would cast their weary sailing eyes

To contemplate the night

And as their contemplating grew

A shadow in the distance rose

Each eye towards it fearsome drew

Each heart of hearts in each man froze

Upsprang the Wind with violent rage

As Lightning fired across the sky

Sang Thunder quaking all the stage

'Neath which lay crushed, a fisher's cry

Who fought against all nature's will,

Against, with arms, a troubled sea,

A shadowed spirit nearing still,

With fear and trembling, battled he

Then penetrating all the noise

Through darkness insecure

He heard the voice, he heard the voice

so soft, so calm, so sure

While billows tossed and tempest raged

Impulsive, yes, but unafraid

The voice had so his fear assuaged

He leapt, just as the Master bade

But as he crossed the space between

The fourth watch wind crashed all around

And while he sank with frightened mien

He prayed that he might not be drowned

______________________________

Thirty Six

2011-06-29T19:48:00.002-06:00

She swept across the silent night

So swift and smooth, she slid

Upon the eerie breeze she crept

And in the shadows hid…

She brought the darkness and the cold

That speak for her malaise

The one engulfs the weary soul

A cumulescent haze

As dark as night, as black as hell

Her suffocating gaze

The other cuts through skin and bone

As if the blood were ice

She slivers through with burning cold

To force, if not entice,

To rip, to scar, to shatter then

To grip in excess vice…

I will not of myself thus be

Destroyed beneath her breath

Oh Jesus, Son of God, mercy!

And loose these chains of death

______________________________

The Existential Deconstruction

2011-06-29T19:44:00.007-06:00

Where light and darkness cease to be

There sit upon their sofas three

Our trio painted every gray

But with no exit from their play

They sit sometimes in reverie

In quiet, loathing what they see

At other times they shut their eyes

And tell each other courteous lies

But in their room there is no sleep

So courteous lies become too steep

For even blind men to believe

Who given time are undeceived

And since here time hath said farewell

Then surely others must be hell

So drop the spade, you've dug the hole

If others live within your soul

______________________________

My Last Lover

2010-09-04T22:06:00.009-06:00

I think that poor Porphyria

Hath had her blame enough elsewhere

And so, my dear Cytherea,

I've taken extra special care

To shift the blame for you to bare.

Now as Hephaestus, that's my role,

I hatched a plan to catch the thief,

And forthwith to my smithy stole

To smelt a brazen net motif

And thereby grant myself relief.

Within that cave of forges wrought,

I called upon the Cyclops aid

And with gold maids whom gods had taught

Began, and other work forbade:

A hero's arms were to be made.

It took sometime to dig the hole.

I dug it by that old pear tree

Among whose leaves you oft would stroll

To set your struggling passion free,

I dug it deep enough for three.

And as the rain set in tonight,

The sullen wind came out to play.

They spattered me with all their spite

As if my plan they would betray

By all the mud in the hallway.

But with this muddy trail's begun

The final stanza I shall write

So let the mud be like the sun,

Old Helios, that kindly light,

To lead all here, for I invite

With bitter pen and bloody hands,

From now into eternity,

The nymphs and satyrs of all lands,

The gods and all the world to see

Me grant you immortality,

The gift for which Achilles died,

Preferring glory over life.

I think it was his selfish pride

That ere the arrow, plunged a knife

Into his heart. But now, dear wife,

Tonight I watched as Somnus crept

Into our room to pay his debt,

Then silently, as you both slept,

Beside the bed myself I set

And wrapped you in my brazen net.

So do not stir, but lie quite still

And feel my knife so gently pressed

And set with long awaited skill

Against your supple skin and breast,

The blade still warm from its last quest -

For Ares' blood still soaks the blade

And drips upon your precious skin,

While lifelessly, his debt now paid,

Beside you, flowing from within,

His blood engulfs the sheets in sin.

I slip the covers from the bed

And run my fingers through your hair.

A tear upon your cheek is shed,

Your clothes lay scattered everywhere

And perfume floats upon the air.

In this last moment, let us stay

Engraven by my poetry.

Since I was naked for a day,

Thus shall it be eternally:

Your naked skin, this knife, and me.

______________________________

For Once, Then, Frost

2010-07-28T00:01:00.005-06:00

Dear Mister Frost, I find myself

In need of that deep well,

At whose own curb you once would kneel

To see what it would tell.

But having once at well-curbs knelt

And found to my chagrin,

I had to look so far beneath

The well-curb bruised my chin,

Thus, though in summer heaven, I

so godlike did appear,

I did not have the chin to be

What you might call, a seer.

But now, dear Frost, I'm back again

To see what I can find:

A pebble, or a piece of quartz,

Or something of that kind.

I seek the wisdom of the well

Who once gave something back.

A well, as far as I can tell,

Who never yet did lack.

Beyond the surface, dear, old Frost

I seek to counsel deep,

Yet all I've see are rippling jests,

That lulled me off to sleep.

Now in this hour of great distress

Beneath the shimmer dwell

The answers to my golden quest -

Oh, please entreat that well!

For truly, Frost, I know you saw

For once, then, something there,

So let no drop nor puff of cloud

Impede what you can share.

The shining water, all too clear,

Reflects back only me.

And though I try to see beyond,

I'm all that I can see.

______________________________

If it be thou

2010-07-24T01:27:00.001-06:00

The waves rise up and toss against the boat.

The storm and tempest rage.

Not just from fear, I hide amidst my coat,

But also from his wage.

The wind will not, as much as I refuse,

Relent its vicious cry,

But thunders on, in vengeance and abuse,

My battered soul to try.

And to accuse, the rain and sleet and hail,

Descend upon me now.

With untold force, they crash against my sail,

They will that I should bow.

So in the deep, as lightning strikes with pow'r,

I sink into the sea.

Just praying in this last and lonely hour,

That He will rescue me.

______________________________

Sonnet 10

2010-07-21T00:11:00.001-06:00

Today I met a girl with pretty eyes,

Dark hair and something shining from within

But often pretty eyes tell pretty lies

That lead one in the ways of wanton sin.

Now, as a man, of course, I paid no heed

For pretty eyes can ne'er my heart deceive

And so as Reason left upon his steed

I could not, from her presence, take my leave

Nor wished I to, not now nor e'er again.

Instead I reached my hand up to her cheek

And brushed her hair back from her eyes to gain

A deeper look, to see if they would speak,

And speak they did, those pretty, pretty eyes,

They told me only lies and lies and lies.

______________________________

I don't know what the intention of this was.

A Mite

2010-07-15T22:23:00.004-06:00

I thought I would write…

I wanted to write

But no words came

Except to indict.

I thought I was right…

I may still be right

But the words are the same

And blacken the night.

I thought of the rite…

Was there a rite?

But the words are a name

That blinded my sight.

I thought of my right…

Yet it was no right

But the words to my shame

Brought darkness to light.

And now that I write…

The thoughts that I write

My words, in their aim,

Are worth just a mite.

______________________________

This isn't great, but it's something for now.

Water

2010-03-10T21:15:00.005-07:00

The water sank into the rock

And both were set aflame

The water then began to freeze

As winter slowly came

And as she froze, she split the rock

Who never once cast blame

For to the rock the water was

A sacred, holy name.

And while the water trickled from

His bruised and battered frame

She felt that she'd been joined to him -

That they were both the same

For as she spilt upon the floor

She saw with utter shame

By mixing with the holy rock

Her pallor red became.

______________________________

Legends of the Fall: She was like the water that freezes inside a rock and breaks it apart. It was no more her fault than it is the fault of the water when the rock shatters.

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

2010-02-27T01:05:00.004-07:00

Alone, one afternoon I read

The tales that Ovid used to thread

Of girls and boys and birds and bees

And all their metamorphoses.

But when I found his words too deep

I drifted gently off to sleep -

To sleep, to die, perchance to dream

A dream is all that it may seem,

But dreams are dreams, as love is love

The both of which come from above.

Thus did I find myself upon

The road, I think, to Avalon

For Avalon it must have been

As such a garden ne'er was seen

With fruit and flower of every kind

And not an one was yet maligned.

Methought this could be paradise,

But paradise -

I feared the price.

The price

The price -

The cost to stay

Perhaps it's best to stay away

For there I was somewhere between

The garden and where'er I'd been -

Where'er I'd been I do not know

I think it had been pleasant though

And thus I wavered for a while

On how in this there could be guile

With some distrust I looked around

For any signs that could be found.

The name engraved and glistening

That bid me there to enter in

Was raised above the entrance way

According to the old cliche:

The Isle Pomorum welcomes you

It said, but with an evil hue

At least, it so appeared to me

Inspiring the urge to flee.

But looking 'round I could not find

A reason for my state of mind,

For though the sign had made me quake

I longed that i might still partake

Partake -

It seemed a hopeless dream

A dream, to die, to sleep, to seem

But yet abounding did I see

No knowledge grown on bough or tree

Nor good or evil fruit was there

To tempt or otherwise ensnare

Not even was a flaming sword

Aglow campaigning for its ward

And as I sought that one last thing

I saw the most appealing spring

Which glistened as it flowed along

And was to me a siren's song.

But still I wavered at the gate

And shrunk to enter the estate

When all at once, like Socrates,

I heard a voice speak on the breeze

Or in my mind, I cannot tell,

But to my heart its message fell

And from that place I felt to run

To run -

It glistened in the sun.

I walked along the garden's edge

Surrounded by a little hedge

But kept my eyes upon the spring

To listen to the sirens sing.

Approaching with delight I saw

The hedge upon the spring did draw

And as I reached this blessed spot

All prior warnings I forgot.

Enthralled by such a priceless scene

A place no man had ever been

My gaze just then did fall upon

The loveliest flower in Avalon:

A lily at the river's side

With starry gaze my gaze espied

And there I stood from hour to hour

In worship of that sacred flower

Until at last I heard her call

To me as eve began to fall.

Then to my horror and dismay

That one last thing came out to pray

To prey upon my holy shrine

'round which he did himself entwine

'ere I could my beloved save

The fiend had sent her to the grave

And from my grasp he did escape

Delighting in his fruitful rape.

I knelt where she, now broken, lay

And raised her as my lips did say:

Talitha, please, I beg, cumi -

Then from my dream I was set free.

______________________________

Probably need some revision, but let me know what you think first, if it makes sense, etc. This is a Chaucerian trope.

Sonnet 9: Not 116

2010-02-17T20:34:00.007-07:00

Why should I not admit impediments

When I speak of the marriage of true minds?

Could one recall love's many elements

While alterations he so eas'ly finds?

If love does not with the remover bend

Nor move along a fix'd mark to remove

How swiftly then would tempests greet love's end

As wandering barks a pair of lovers prove.

If time and sickles drive love to the edge

Should love not bend instead of alter not?

But unknown worth is standing on a ledge

While yet to know true worth is worth a lot.

Although I err, it cannot e'er be proved

For I can't write, but once I may have loved...

_______________________________________

Still Joseph Dreamed His Dreams

2010-02-16T23:31:00.004-07:00

The faded colors, torn

Stained and bled

With patterns of red

By the blood they bore.

Cold crept in around him

And he reached for his coat...

His coat... below the rim,

The sun... then he awoke.

It was still dark... still dark

He could see shadows though,

At least, alternating:

Darker, dark, darker, dark...

The bars and blackness flowed

And he was alone, waiting.

And the torn colors bled

Through the blood stain'd screams

Of the belov'd boy's dreams

The faded pattern, red.

But what of his dreams?

He tried to recall:

He tried... Stars? Sheaves?

Where? How? Did he fall?

Thick darkness gather'd 'round

But, he fled... got him out...

Another coat ripped away

And bound, again... again, bound.

Wherefore, didst thou doubt?

What did their mother's say?

And the colors ran red

While the pattern faded

And the thorns were plaited

Dreams... torn, stained, bled.

______________________________

Something I was thinking about... hope its not too incoherent.

My Verray Sonnet Eight

2010-02-11T13:20:00.006-07:00

From quainten town he privily doth hail

Yet doth his mistress wend from grete citee.

And 'midst the reek of cheap perfume and ale

A singer sangen through the smoke, pardee.

For met they then upon the midnight road

Ne here ne ther, yclepped by some cross.

And so it goes as doth that gentil ode

Where harte is yven, broken, bled, yloss.

Albeit that he wearen crimson cape,

Not half so boldely can ther no man

With knife and guile awaiten for to rape

Ne swere and lyen as a womman can.

Tho' beest thou black as hell and dark as night

I sware thee fair, for I have thought thee bright.

____________________________________________

This is not a serious poem, I just thought it was fun and ridiculous, don't read anything into it.

Thought I'd add some glossary notes maybe (Generally the words mean just what they sound like) :

quainten = quaint

grete citee = great city

sangen = sings

pardee = just a word, like by God or something

ne here ne ther = neither here nor there

yclepped = called

gentil = noble or genteel

harte = a pun meaning heart or prey

yven = given

yloss = lost

wearen = wears

awaiten = await

ne swere and lyen = Neither swear and lie

From My Twisted Brain

2010-01-28T18:44:00.002-07:00

In the early morn

Midst the rising dawn

Like a failed rhyme

Chained I follow time

Creeping along the lawn

And as I slowly fade

The progress nightly made

Slips by my Chrysanthemum

Erased at Apollo's whim

As light infects the glade

Unable to abide

His arrows burn my side

A victim of the day

A safer place to lay

Beneath my Lily to hide

_______________________

Something from my twisted brain - I didn't feel like thinking of a title.

I No Longer Stare

2010-01-28T18:31:00.004-07:00

I used to sit behind you

You had pretty hair

Still do I suppose

At which I used to stare

There was nothing else to do

But I stare no more

Actually I do...

But not at you.

I stare into space

Space you no longer fill

Empty space filled with

Filled with not you

I stare at the tables and the chairs,

Some people, a window

Yes, a window, I stare out

Not at that soft, silky hair

I don't even notice you anymore

I look out the window

I no longer sit behind you

I sit far away actually

On the other side

At the back

The chairs, the people, the tables

They're what I see

Separating where I used to sit

Behind you, staring at your hair

I no longer stare...

Well, I do

But not at you

Out the window

I can barely see you

Sitting in the front

I sit in my own space

Which I chose

At the back

Away

Alone

I don't even remember you.

I stare away

Alone.

________________________

I have a lot of boring meetings. This one needs a lot of work.

In the Silhouette of My Pen

2010-01-28T18:25:00.003-07:00

This is my pen

it cost seven yen

made by ten men

who practice the zen

at home in their den

but lacking the ken

of the art of the zen

these seven men

each earn ten yen

each time I then

make use of my pen.

__________________

This was written in the shape of my pen that I traced out over my agenda at a meeting... better than slitting my wrists I think.

My My My, Why Why Why?

2010-01-28T18:20:00.005-07:00

Do you see as you stand

in the door in my hand

the flickering shadows

presaging the gallows

the which my good knife

with the soul of my wife

is warm in my hand

will send as you stand

in the door with a smile

does it fade 'ere a while

with the sound of your laugh

as you twitch in the bath

why such bewildered eyes

at me stare from your lies?

_____________________

Ask Tom Jones about it.

The Lamentations of Mark: Ode to MLE

2009-12-12T09:19:00.002-07:00

It's sad to say

I'd rather be

Alone, at home

With MLC

If you could see

How MLC

Has set me free

From ennui

Then you would say

It's not so grey

To sit and play

This everyday

Although at home

A little gnome

Is free to roam

And steal my tome

And yet to be

So far away

From MLC

Stuck in this play

My brain's not free

It turns to foam

Like on the sea

I slowly roam

Without a quay

Or a key

'Cos all alone

I'm not at home

So I'm not free

to MLC

______________________________________________

I wrote this during a boring meeting at the request of Mark to see what I could rhyme with MLC... You can put MLE in there too as you study for that, Mark :) The poem probably needs a little work, but it kept me busy for a little during a boring meeting and that's what matters.

A Napkin Rhyme

2009-11-10T21:56:00.002-07:00

once upon a time

I wrote a little rhyme

a little time

to make my rhyme

is all it takes

not much at stake

except my mind

as marching time

ticks on and on

for once upon

a time, a rhyme

is left to break

a world at stake

my little mind

a little rhyme

to pass the time

would be just fine.

Love Letters

2009-03-26T22:26:00.000-06:00

I wrote for you

a letter today and

threw it on the pile.

I don't know why

But I just do.

There's 10 or 12 by now.

Perhaps for hope, but

Hope for what? Only

I know what they say

Only I will read

The words as they fail

To explain.

I guess that's why -

It's just for me.

_____________________

This is also just another thought.

Reading

2009-03-26T13:43:00.004-06:00

I was reading today,
Well, "reading"

The stairs distracted me

Each creak,

I looked up

And waited

I miss you today.

_________________________
This is more like just a thought. The formatting sucks, sorry.

Limericks

2009-03-25T22:42:00.010-06:00

I write limericks in classes and meetings when I'm bored just for fun, so they probably aren't very good.

While I sit in this meeting of stats

I think to myself, "What's that?"

My brain is so bored

I wish for a sword

To cut through the excess of fat.

As I sit in my desk behind Katherine

I watch her shoot hoops in the dustbin

Her hair is so long

I think of a song

And wish we were both out a fishin'

III

I pay no attention to Ryan

I can tell all he's doin' is lyin'

He's just seventeen

But that's kinda mean

My attention is once again dyin'

There's a prettyish girl named Rachel

I wish for a rhyming with Rachel

We never yet spoke

But there's always hope

I still have no rhyming for Rachel

White noise elocuting from Whiting

A signal in R I'm not finding

If I knew his tricks

I'd build a matrix

And then we'd see wicked, cool fighting

There is a cute girl by name Rachel

I sit nearby her when I'm able

We never yet spoke

But still I can hope

If only we'd go on a datal.

VII

Mark has a creepy, cool mustache

If it grows anymore he'll earn fast cash

He looks like Old Lou

His wife will soon sue

And so he will need to bust some ass

VIII

If this meeting wasn't so boring

Then I wouldn't spend it all snoring

Although I don't mind

The aesthetics I find

My mind is on other planes soaring.

IX
There was a composer named Ludwig
Who bought crystal meth at a Who gig
He ended up deaf
His wife is bereft
Now he's Fi'ty's lyrical big wig.

X
Whenever I come to this meeting,
The toll in my head starts beating.
My brain might implode
From the dearth that erodes
And happiness goes off afleeting.

XI.1

As I stare and I stare and I think,

I could probably use a strong drink.

She is fantastic

I'm over dramatic

I'm entranced by this lady in pink.

XI.2 - Anti-limerick

As I stare and I stare and I think,

I could probably use a strong drink.

She is fantastic

And I'm a tool.

XII

As I try hard to be more succinct,

Coherence and Hope become extinct.

Now she floats away

And keeps me at bay

My battleship lies beneath sinked.

XIII

Why is it i can't find distraction?

I'm strangled by her to inaction.

With every new thought

To her back I'm brought

There must be some fatal attraction.

XIV

So I followed you into the street

'Cos I thought that maybe we'd meet

I may not be stalking

I wish we were talking

Can I follow a couple more feet?

XV - Dirtier than intended... sorry... Thanks, House.

I said that I like your new shoes

What I meant was your legs light the fuse

It's all just a ruse

how 'bout some more clues?

Your skirt and your blouse are my muse.

XVI

There once was a girl I called Sarah

I never yet met someone fairer

But I miss so much

The feel of her touch

The ground is now getting much nearer.

Katherine V

2009-03-25T21:09:00.010-06:00

Konsider all the rhymes I make with Katherine
As I metrifikate in perfekt diktion
Though suns set on a thousand homely women
Her beauty is beyond my rhyme's deskription
Even so, I attempt to make a token
Rhyming on, that my verse remains unbroken.
I sit here at the well-kurb in reflektion,
Not just idly swept away in vision
Enough then! She is e'er my drug: vikodin.

_______________________________________________

This poem is actually freakin' awesome, although it probably needs a little more work to get the meter a little better. This is modeled on the poem labeled number 5 by Catullus (Catullus V). It includes in it allusions to Tennyson's "Hendecasyllabics" and Frost's "For Once, Then, Something" which are also both modeled on Catullus V. The meter may seem weird 'cos it's Phalacian Hendecasyllabic - and I say that to sound smart. It also has some other stuff in it... Feel free to bask in my glow.

Unless

2009-03-25T21:09:00.008-06:00

He sits in the desert
By the tracks
Waiting
Trains come by, but
They don't stop
They won't stop
Not just for him
Not unless he finds a station.

He sits in the circle
Waiting
The candles lit
The signs drawn
The potion ready, but
They won't come
Not to him
Not unless he calls them

I sit beside you
Waiting
But you won't
Not unless I

Distracted

2009-03-25T21:08:00.002-06:00

To pay attention is a struggle, but
Distracted, how can I?
Voices, raging in my head, struggle.
Not voices, thoughts.

She pays attention.

In front, behind her, I copy the words.
Annoyingly, not in my head, a voice
Monotonous, it bores.
My eyes, along the stripes, follow
The contours of her shirt.

She shifts.

Her hair, golden, brushes my hand
Parts are, by pink folds, swallowed.

Because There Were No Graves in Egypt

2009-03-25T21:06:00.003-06:00

As he ran, he looked back
The salt saturated the air.
The earth trembled.
Chariots and horsemen, all the army.
Behind them he could barely see
Through the dust, the pyramids.
At the shore,
he stumbled
His chest
burned.
The sun
scorched skin.

Sand.
Sweat.

The Sea...

Dead.

He stood still and watched:
No longer did he fear, but willing
To die in the wilderness.

Motus Animi Continuus

2009-03-04T23:23:00.006-07:00

Darkness lurks at the window,
As black as hell, stifled by the candles.

Their scent

Obsession

And decay seeping from the kitchen

Brew.

My eyes burn.

I drain my glass, recrossing my legs.

The dryer's chorus drones.

Staring at my phone on the floor,
I watch it reflecting the flames.

_____________________________________

This is my new one, it's a work in progress... like all the rest. Hope you like it, let me know what you think it's about. The title is Latin for "constant agitation of the mind" It's from Thomas Mann's Death in Venice and is partly meant to invoke some of that story. Also, the blog publishing screws up the format, so it's not really formatted the way it's supposed to be.

Christmas

2009-02-24T11:37:00.007-07:00

The assignment is: Free verse which has a logic that governs the structure. I tried my best to format it how it's supposed to be, but formatting on this stupid blog sucks... The format came out mas o menos (so, so) - not too bad.

Christmas

I decorated the Christmas tree.

Not sure why really. I just did.

I clean my plate and set it to dry

In the dishwasher. I never turn it on.

I put some logs on the fire.

It's not really cold, but I light it anyway.

I sit at my baby grand, my fingers on the keys.

I can't really play much.

But, I like their feel under my fingers

I like to slowly press the high notes.

I worry that my glass will stain the finish

But, I like the ambiance.

Sitting there, I watch the snow fall outside the window

The river is frozen.

Families skate along.

There are lots of them.

Past the houses the river disappears into the distance.

No one follows, but I, through my window.

(Now and Then There's)

2009-02-09T21:32:00.007-07:00

I sit staring at the tickets,

My phone beside them.

The TV flashing.

The tape ticks over

(Elvis sings on)

The chairs in the parlor.

I slouch into the sofa

and loosen my tie.

Also: There's a prize for figuring out (explaining) the title.

Hint: There's a clue in the poem.

Waiting

2009-02-05T00:44:00.002-07:00

A tick, it's just the clock

I need to think, but I'm waiting,

Waiting for her knock. The candle,

The wick is almost gone. I start

to walk, up and down. I lick

My lips. The room begins to rock.

I feel sick. Is the door locked?

I kick my toe. A rock? No a brick.

From the dock. A trick. Dumb jock.

My sock feels slick. I talk in

Epic shock, quickly, the clicking

blocks the thick mocking. Tick-tocking, tick-tocking.

The intent of my poem is to make it sound like a clock ticking as the person waits for someone to arrive. He israther anxious about the arrival and as the anxiety increases the ticking gets closer together and louder, invading his thoughts. I’m also reading Ulysses in my modernism class, so there’s some stream of conscious influenced stuff in there, I think.

Piano

2009-01-27T00:05:00.003-07:00

This is what I'm kinda working on right now - thought I'd post it as a teaser.

A delicate ting in the empty room

I run my finger slowly down the key

Idly, lightly my left hand brushes

The black, the white

softly

Quivering light from the candelabra

Flickers in the half filled flute glass

A cork lies near the edge of a water ring

In the dark wood finish, the stain retreats

Beneath a slender green bottle

I shift my slanted posture

Following a peeling panel my eyes

Find the dots and slashes on the page

The flurry of pen strokes jostle, they breathe

In and out

My stare falls to my fingers on the yellow ivory

I absently, deliberately arrange them

Sonnet 7: A Song for Atlas, not Alone

2008-10-17T20:55:00.007-06:00

Sweat trickles down his face, as faltering

He steadies once again his tired arms

And thinks back to that day's dark succoring

When first he was betrayed by horrid charms.

In ten years' war with virile did contend

Impious rule against which to prevail

The works of gods he mightily must rend

That delicately thus, he locks to fail.

Yet stumbling, allured by dainty worth:

How fallen art! Where naught can thus assuage

Without support to stand midst sky and earth:

Supplanter of the sun, a man of Rage.

Tho' staggering, he groans under the weight

But burden bears and shrugs not his due fate.

The Poet and the Madman

2008-09-02T21:30:00.004-06:00

I wrote this in about 7 minutes. Something I read inspired me and I wanted to get the idea down before I forgot. This will for sure be rewritten sometime, but for now, hope you get and like the idea.

Incensed he stormed into the den

And grabbed some paper and a pen

The words like fire razed from his heart

As lust and passion tore feeling apart

At home he sat beside the fire

Lost deep to thoughts which do inspire

With long broad strokes he chiseled in

The feelings which pure love doth bring

His friends all cheer his raw emotion

As Hollywood hales in grand commotion

While home he sits without caprice

And locks away his masterpiece

Ten thousand years have come and gone

One is a hiss and one lives on

Sonnet 6: To a Chrysanthemum

2008-07-29T11:42:00.009-06:00

Unfinished fragment:

Beneath the tree a shadow hides his pain

From mem'ry's sting; He shivers deep within

Across the way he sees amidst the rain

Chrysanthemum adorned in Summer's grin

He creeps along the darkness of the day

In his attempt to reach her pleasant gaze

But petals pure and golden pollen play

In warmth and light where shadows only raze

To gain such beauty though it be his plight

Is something which his soul he would forsake

But darkness cannot change itself to light

And still remain; for light his life would take.

Through that dark glass the shadow now doth see

But hopes one day that she will set him free.

He Stares at Nothing in Particular

2008-07-03T00:34:00.005-06:00

Musing, thinking, lost in wonder, he stares

At nothing in particular, but dares

To let the dream which dances through his mind

Come closer as the clock ticks, marking time.

Beside him sits a table robed in white,

Two knives, two forks, two plates are placed just right

And in their midst two candles stand unlit

As on he stares contented just to sit

A sweet aroma spills into the air

Escaping from a tasty love affair

And flutters on the whims of fantasy

Which set a soul meticulously free

To soar unbound by curiosity

Above the silence of an empty chair.

He does not stir, still lost in reverie,

But calms his nerves with effort mentally

He plans what he will say once she's arrived

With words pronounced that will not sound contrived.

"How do you do?" he thinks it best to start,

The host - he must control his pounding heart.

He takes her by the hand and leads the way,

"I hope you had the most exquisite day."

Each word, with the precision of a clock,

"Your beauty sends the poet into shock,"

Is practiced to perfection in his mind,

Still he forgets the staid hand, passing time.

As on his thoughts fly to a gorgeous scene

In which he sees her incandescent mien.

Her flawless skin that glistening defines

Each strand of hair that falls across her eyes

And trickles down her phosphorescent cheeks

To touch the lips that tongue cannot bespeak.

He contemplates, just then, what he should do,

How should he act, alone, with only two.

How should he touch her, if he should at all,

Or how to stand, why can he not recall?

Should he just smile and not say very much

To fill a silence words cannot quite touch,

But then how should he make it known to her

The feelings deep within that she doth stir...

Still musing, thinking, wondering, he stares

At nothing in particular, but dares

To let this dream which dances through his mind

Come closer as that clock which ticks, now chimes.

A Toasty Tale

2008-06-22T22:24:00.004-06:00

As the screaming and commotion all around grew with intensity, I smiled to myself, feeling thankful to be the driver. My small, white, toaster-shaped car, aptly referred to as the Toastmobile, was not equipped to handle more than a small group and with eight people crammed tightly in, continuously fighting over radio stations and seat positioning, it was somewhat unstable. Yet, as she slowly plodded along, rocking on her axis, due partly to the enduring game of twister in the back seat and partly to the deafening, distorted rock music blaring from her fragile speakers, I applied pressure to the brake pedal, ensuring that her four wheels all remained firmly on the ground as we tilted around a corner. Although not the most spacious or sturdiest of cars, the Toastmobile was tough and we had tremendous faith in her. We had spent many memorable evenings in such a manner, under her protective watch, and this was certainly no exception.

It had come to our attention that one of South Africa's local, apparently extremely talented, rock bands was to be playing a concert at one of our local bars and, perceiving ourselves as somewhat insightful music experts, it was this information that had enflamed a desire, deep within our adolescent psyches, to pay homage to a place, no doubt, infested with the most dangerous of vagabonds. Thus it was that our pilgrimage led us to the heart of the beast's lair.

Somewhere, within the midst of the ensuing chaos, there seemed to emanate a growing sense of excitement, which seeped though the tangled bodies and slowly began to saturate the air. I could feel the excitement emitted from my fellow crusaders, permeate my skin, creeping tacitly along my spine, playfully tempting me. An overwhelming desire to completely embrace such an emotion engulfed me, yet, a familiar, perhaps despised, feeling of apprehension, whispered silently into my soul, evaporating all traces of contentment. I felt uneasy and slightly frightened, yet remained calm and placid, praying that none of my comrades would sense my vulnerability and seize the opportunity to unwittingly humiliate me.

The road along which we traveled was, by no means, straight, nor was it narrow and, as bodies tumbled around in the back, it took great effort to follow the desired path, yet, through many, barely discernible directions, volunteered by those who had previously travailed, we reached our destination.

The scene which greeted us outside was, doubtless, a representation of the horror which awaited us within the pit of darkness. With much trepidation, I guided our troupe through the raging torrents, searching for an area from which we could safely disembark. Discovering that such a place was housed only within the shallow desires of the carnal mind, I navigated our way through the bedlam to the most secure place that I could find and, as we drew to a stop, doors burst open, enthusiastic buccaneers tumbled free and the Toastmobile's protective sheath vanished. My associates glided swiftly into the den. I was, however, more cautious, deliberately dawdling in my dismount, slowly gathering my thoughts and emotions, while simultaneously attempting to appear calm and relaxed, even though all inklings of such composure had long since fled.

We ambled into the labyrinth and, as my apprehension grew, I felt that all were staring at me. Just barely eighteen and still enrolled in high school, it was not illegal that we were there; however, our presence was not entirely kosher. As I looked around the smoke-filled room, feeling nauseous and certainly unwelcome, a scantily clad woman grabbed my arm, stamping my hand as she glared at me, no doubt wondering my age. Along the left wall ran a counter, full to capacity, where damnation, in liquid form, could be purchased. Tightly packed, from wall to wall with little space for movement, were wooden tables where the ignorant consumers of darkness reveled. A stage, flanked on either side by dozens of powerful speakers, loomed in front, above our heads, while revelers danced just below it and deathly frightening music impeded any possibility of realization. Following my friends, who seemed quite comfortable with the entire situation, I weaved my way through crowds of people, some friendly, some frightening, some sober, some not so much, yet, as I was led through the maze, I noticed that all seemed in a daze, uncertain of why or if they even existed at all. This was all very new to me and, as we somehow stumbled our way over to an empty table, I found myself confused, not comprehending this room of strange faces. I think I was afraid. Perhaps by willfully entering this festering pit of degradation, I had allowed myself to be ensnared, becoming trapped, a desperate wonderer, to be numbered among the lost sheep of the fold. Drowning in my fears, lost among a sea of faces, I searched for something... anything - just a glimmer of hope somehow affirming the existence of sanity. Overwhelmed by the noise and commotion, I stumbled, dropping my head and looking to the ground, attempting to find myself amidst the confusion. As I lifted my head, feeling a renewal of strength and more hopeful in my ability to deal with such pandemonium, I felt my heart stop cold. My eyes, endlessly scanning the room, had come to rest upon something that caused my entire being to shudder.

That unmistakable, dark hair, falling just off the shoulders; that smooth, tan complexion and those thin, penetrating eyes, awoke a terror deep within my soul that had long since slept. I felt the whole room close in around me, engulfing my entire frame, while everywhere, the mindless sheep ceased their activities and stared down into the depths of my very soul, as if it had been laid out plainly for all to see. My soul seemed to be hurling itself from within, against the sides of my body, trying desperately to escape and causing my whole body to tremble as if it were vibrating. Climaxing in my head, which began to throb and become tremendously hot, it settled exactly between my temples, causing a sensation somewhat similar, I would imagine, to that felt by Vesuvius, just before she buried the entire population of Pompeii. Fearing the imminent implosion of my skull, there flashed through my mind, the memory of this stunning beauty which had so gracefully slipped into my gaze, calling back the most sinister of ghosts from my past.

As an innocent preschooler, I happened to find myself in the presence of one, beautiful, friendly girl, who instantly held me captive. I was smitten and being the suave, sophisticated, young charmer that I was, I swiftly set about to melt her heart, that the love which she possessed might magnanimously wash over me, entwining our souls permanently. It was not long before I obtained my objective and her emotional fortress was breached, permitting all the affection held therein to flow freely, thus welding us together - soul mates for eternity. In the many years to come, we would share every experience of growing up - chasing each other through the playground, sleeping over at each other's houses and, occasionally, sneaking an innocent kiss behind the shed. Yet, things were not always to be this way.... One seemingly typical day, with no warning or apparent reason, she thrust a dagger deeply into my spinal cord, twisting it, as she proceeded to reach deep into my chest, tear my heart from it's cavity and let it fall to the earth, tramping over it, as she mercilessly walked away from my life. I was bewildered and utterly confused. I shut myself within walls that could not be penetrated, pretending that I was indifferent to the betrayal of one so dear and immediately buried my emotions deep within. I became a rather shy, quiet individual, unaware of the shattered pieces of soul which lay in the nadir of my being. As the memory of what once was, lay torn in shreds, I lost all confidence and my chalice of youthful charm drained into a crater of insecurity.

Fearful of all things emotional, it took me years to realize the value of what I had lost and had only recently begun a very slow, painful recovery, when upon her in that dark place, I stumbled, unleashing the memory of that moment which so powerfully grips and haunts me, unceasingly. Feeling exactly as I had felt in that moment, I shrank at the confrontation, while it seemed that numberless pairs of eyes burned the flesh off my body, stripping it to the soul, revealing all that lay buried within its depths. In the most vulnerable of positions, I tried my utmost to protect my fragile soul.

Our eyes met for only a moment before fear overcame me and I withered at her gaze. I pretended that I had not seen her, however I felt desperate and vulnerable. I shifted my position ever so slightly, placing myself just out of her view, yet although my actions were subtle and barely noticeable, it seemed that all looked upon with contempt, discerning my intentions and the reason for my discomfort. Trying desperately to recover from such a painful onslaught of emotion that mercilessly ravaged my soul, I sneaked a glance, through the menacing hordes, at the girl who had, so severely hurt me and so greatly molded the personality I had developed. Staring at her strategically created image, I noticed a brown bottle in her hand, the contents of which I was certain - many, once cherished, allies had been taken captive by this vice. I again looked up to her face and stared deeply into her eyes. In that moment, all energy drained from my body and I felt as if I had tumbled down the rabbit hole, into the pit of despair, where hope, now only a myth, was lost forever. I saw, in her glazed eyes, that sad, pleading look which was common among all the lost sheep who had slithered into this hollow. I realized that during her absence from my life, she had been sucked into this realm of self-loathing and was trapped, held by invisible bonds which she could neither break nor comprehend. My shattered heart swelled with sorrow for the fate of one who had once been loved so deeply. Regretting my fearful reactions of the past, I felt a great desire to ignite even the tiniest flame of hope, which certainly lay buried, deep within her soul, thus reawakening our forgotten love and healing the emotional scars which I shamefully bore. Yet, the absolute fear of humiliation which she had, so many years before, etched into my character, gripped me tightly and being unable to prevail, unable to move or even speak, she slipped from my presence - my eyes never to behold her again.

Some weeks later, two days before I was to leave the place of my birth, the only town I had ever known, to attend university in the United States of America, I found myself alone with the Toastmobile, our destination unclear, yet I felt calm, encircled in her protective shield. As we lazily strolled along the road, I lost myself within the content reminiscence of my mind, thinking back through the ages which came before. When awakened from my peaceful slumber, I noticed that we had come to a halt, directly across from the home which I had known so well as a child - the home in which I had learnt of friendship, pain and ultimately love. I sat for a moment, staring at the home in which I knew the love of my youth still resided. A mixture of emotion washed over me, then calmly, I said farewell and continued, at my own leisurely pace, through the world which I had created.

Parabolic Pedanticism: An Airbrushed Adventure

2008-06-18T00:58:00.010-06:00

The old sage stood boldly, as if in a foreign land, surrounded by his enemies, he held a divinely constituted army in his palm. When he spoke it was from a seeming tower, warning an incredulous mob against an invisible enemy. His voice, clear and certain, penetrated the atmosphere.

“Once, in another time, as I meandered about town, I passed a fast food establishment which shall remain unnamed. Feeling somewhat peckish, I glanced at the menu and was instantly mesmerized. The meal which greeted me looked so delicious that I had to fight the temptation to taste the actual photo. It would in fact be folly to attempt to aptly describe the deliciality which simmered before my eyes like an oasic mirage in an alimental desert; suffice it to say I ventured in and laid my money down. With the efficiency of Batman’s utility belt my order was placed before me looking rather like a cheap, trashy Elvis impersonator. Although tolerably tasty, my feeble imitation failed to deliver the ambrosial satisfaction prophesied by its airbrushed counterpart. Following this disappointment, there ensued a nuclear war in which my innards surrendered faster than an Italian in Northern Africa and faced merely with the prospect of another encounter raised the Parisian white flag, echoing the resounding sentiment of Patrick Henry, “Give me gourmet or give me death!”

Being by now polyphagially challenged I scraggled my way home, collapsing in front of the tv. I was aroused from my stupor by the sight of the most perfectly edenic being I had ever before beholden in my life, prancing about on the television screen. Adorned in strategically designed, figly apparel and sporting exquisitely airbrushed skin framing immaculately proportioned, photoshopped cosmetics, she fluttered about in a celestialized conception of eidetic imagination.

At this moment, there rumbled through the door an adjectively innocent maiden whose seemingly thunderous footsteps emphasized my hypnosis while accentuating her less fortunate figure and elementally photoshopped countenance. Due to my krameric reaction, I found myself contemplating the ceiling, back to the hard floor and one leg creeping over the back of the couch while the other flailed helplessly in a desperate attempt to find grounding on the couch’s arm. Gaining, at least partially, control over my body, the voices sped frantically around the inner circumference of my head in search of my splattered wits. As the search and rescue team began to bring in survivors, my optical guerillas peered cautiously from their position between the backrest and arm of the couch and reported sightings of skin seeping through a crackling, fig colored blouse, vacuum-packed to the shape of an ordinary female body. The stragglers now began to return and I lifted myself from my conditioned bunker to politely embark on a verbal voyage of tactful inquiry. The timbre of an out of work siren intimated the dawning of a digestive apocalypse forcing the recollection unit to confirm this prior engagement. Consciously timorous I endeavored to persist.

As we drove down Thunder Road, casing the Promised Land, we were assaulted by an ostentatious barrage of perfectly contrived, deceptive temptations in the form of imposing, salient advertisements, billboards, gonfalons, oriflammes, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Overwhelmed by this petulant sea of illusory degradation and trapped in a cycloptic cave, I felt like a lone, armored seaman sinking into the depths of Charybdis while Scylla swept from the rocky, Messinaic cliffs in her depraved pantophagal debauchery; another swimmer in the alimental desert. Seeing through the glass darkly, a vision of recessed chaos glimmered delicately as it cut meekly through the shallow, self-promoting savory famine.

Like an unobtrusive, but penetrating beacon it stood, somehow detached and independent. In the surrounding snafu, it exuded deific calm.

Led by iron volition, I endured the milieu until landing, through much telluric travail, safely beneath the arborous gaze of an unpretentious edifice. We disembarked and entered, void of visual testament, clinging only to the diaphanous hope of refugial escape from visceral Armageddon.

A pleasant ambiance greeted us as a genial hostess showed us to a modest, unencumbered table. A rather plain menu presented a white page, neatly speckled with a quaint, typed font. Again, with no iconic validation, we ordered. In a cordial manner our culinary venture appeared and, as charming conversation ensued, a sapid restoration dawned on the eastern horizon of the trophic wasteland.

As he concluded his lengthly narrative, the crowd began to stir in riotous misunderstanding, but before the mystified hoard could adequately voice its failed comprehension, he raised his hands in a plea for silence. He then continued, “With eyes to hear and ears to see, he who finds shall seek and he who opens shall once more knock.”

He brought his hands slowly together, his large sleeves dangling to his waist, inclined his head slightly and turning from the crowd, vanished from sight.

Fragmentation

2008-06-06T17:36:00.003-06:00

I think that often we forget about the cultural and social implications of globalization. We are quick to praise the advances in technology and communication and hail this new era of global trade and cooperation as world economies grow to sizes never before even imagined. Of course all this as the potential to bring about an equally unimagined enormity of good as the human race becomes a more and more tightly knit family, yet as we create the human family it is important to remember that families are based on certain principles which determine their success. It is therefore most crucial that the correct principles are set in order for this world family to succeed. One needs not look very far to see the commonly accepted, unacceptable failure of so many families throughout the world today. (By unacceptable here, I refer to the horrifically high rate of family failure and by no means do I wish to communicate that the failure of an individual family is unacceptable.) If the members of our global family have such a difficult time holding their own immediate families together it becomes even more crucial that we set the correct principles as the foundation for our global family and that we stick to them rigorously.

With that said, I do not wish here to discuss what those principles are, but rather I would like to point out upon which road, it seems to me, globalization is traveling.

It seems, or I have not heard much spoken about, the effects of globalization on culture and human relations. So, what is the effect?

Almost every country in the world now watched American movies and listens to American music. Of course there are other movie and music industries, especially the European entertainment industry, but can we deny that they are all inextricably linked, feeding off each other, highly influenced by the American entertainment culture and moving toward the same destination?

My observation is that almost all cultures around the world are moving toward the same American entertainment culture. In other words Hollywood and the American entertainment industry is shaping every culture around the world into whatever culture they choose. Most especially in the US and I would say in all European based cultures, media is the ruling force. Everything is about media. We even work to earn money to spend on entertainment which is largely media based. This influence by itself is not a bad thing, especially if it creates a wholesome, healthy world culture, but the real question is, “What kind of culture is it creating?” for this is the foundational principle on which the world family rests.

I do not wish to discuss the horrific music which permeates the radio waves which saturate the air, nor do I wish to discuss in much detail the movies and tv shows being exported from studios. If we briefly look at a typical movie, and let’s say a nice G rated romantic comedy which seems to have as its most dangerous quality the power to provide a warm, fuzzy feeling for girls and a cozy nap for guys, yet what actually takes place in the movie? Guy meets girl, guy likes girl, they go on a fun date, they sleep together, they fight about something, they resolve it and then they live happily ever after. Sound about right?

How many real life relationships follow this pattern?

Elder Holland speaks of moral debauchery:

“You must wait--you must wait until you can give everything, and you cannot give everything until you are at least legally and, for Latter-day Saint purposes, eternally pronounced as one. To give illicitly that which is not yours to give (remember--"you are not your own") and to give only part of that which cannot be followed with the gift of your whole heart and your whole life and your whole self is its own form of emotional Russian roulette. If you persist in sharing part without the whole, in pursuing satisfaction devoid of symbolism, in giving parts and pieces and inflamed fragments only, you run the terrible risk of such spiritual, psychic damage that you may undermine both your physical intimacy and your wholehearted devotion to a truer, later love. You may come to that moment of real love, of total union, only to discover to your horror that what you should have saved has been spent, and--mark my words--only God's grace can recover that piecemeal dissipation of your virtue.

A good Latter-day Saint friend, Dr. Victor L. Brown, Jr., has written of this issue:

Fragmentation enables its users to counterfeit intimacy. . . .

If we relate to each other in fragments, at best we miss full relationships. At worst, we manipulate and exploit others for our gratification. Sexual fragmentation can be particularly harmful because it gives powerful physiological rewards which, though illusory, can temporarily persuade us to overlook the serious deficits in the overall relationship. Two people may marry for physical gratification and then discover that the illusion of union collapses under the weight of intellectual, social, and spiritual incompatibilities. . . .

Sexual fragmentation is particularly harmful because it is particularly deceptive. The intense human intimacy that should be enjoyed in and symbolized by sexual union is counterfeited by sensual episodes which suggest--but cannot deliver--acceptance, understanding, and love. Such encounters mistake the end for the means as lonely, desperate people seek a common denominator which will permit the easiest, quickest gratification. [Victor L. Brown, Jr., Human Intimacy: Illusion and Reality (Salt Lake City, Utah: Parliament Publishers, 1981), pp. 5-6]

Listen to a far more biting observation by a non-Latter-day Saint regarding such acts devoid of both the soul and symbolism we have been discussing. He writes:

Our sexuality has been animalized, stripped of the intricacy of feeling with which human beings have endowed it, leaving us to contemplate only the act, and to fear our impotence in it. It is this animalization from which the sexual manuals cannot escape, even when they try to do so, because they are reflections of it. They might [as well] be textbooks for veterinarians. [Fairlie, Seven Deadly Sins, p. 182]”

This of course refers to sexual relations, but I have no qualms about generalizing this to all cultural aspects of human relations. I feel like we live in a fragmented counterfeit culture. We make jokes about the US not having a culture because we say it is inferior and below our sophisticated European culture, but the sad news is that, it seems to me, this culture that is over running the world is in fact not a culture at all. (I do not wish this to be thought of an attack against American culture because it is not, I refer to the culture portrayed by the entertainment industry) The absence of culture here is that the culture precipitated by the entertainment industry is fiction. It portrays a culture that does not exist, nor can exist because it is only fragmental. And this is the culture taking over the world.

As an aside, it seems to me, that the culture in which I grew up in South Africa no longer exists. With the “liberation” of the country and the advancements in global entertainment over the last 10 year which we take for granted, it seems that the now rising generation behind me has been indoctrinated with this same Hollywood culture as the rest of the world. I feel as if the culture which I grew up in and loved has disappeared.

The world now seeks out the fragments (especially sexual) which are portrayed through media which they believe to be, as stated above, acceptance, understanding, love, but find that they are not.

That’s what I wanted to say and I wish people would become more aware of this and do something about it in the own lives that will take them from fragmented pieces of an incomplete unhappiness to a full, enriched, complete happiness.

Thoughts on Atheism

2008-05-26T18:02:00.002-06:00

I saw this atheism group and couldn't help but write down some of my thoughts... These are not completed thoroughly explored ideas, just what came to mind and perhaps could use some more thorough exploration and explication:

"A man's ethical behavior should be based effectually on sympathy, education, and social ties; no religious basis is necessary. Man would indeed be in a poor way if he had to be restrained by fear of punishment and hope of reward after death."

--Albert Einstein

"Faith is a cop-out. It is intellectual bankruptcy. If the only way you can accept an assertion is by faith, then you are conceding that it can't be taken on its own merits."

--Dan Barker, former evangelist, author, critic

It is a lamentable pity that one of the greatest scientific minds to have influenced the world and cultural direction would be so uninformed, or if informed, so misunderstanding, confused or perhaps just ignorant of what exactly is religion. It may be true that no religious basis is necessary to dictate ethical behavior, but why? Without religion who is there to say that this is good and that is bad; have sympathy for this person, but not for that, etc. Perhaps education or social ties? Yet who determines which education? which social ties? Perhaps we might entreat Mr. Einstein to ponder an ethical world based on nazi education or mafia social ties. What I am sure Mr. Einstein intends is that ethical behavior be based on putting oneself in the shoes of others, what might be called a moral education, brotherly social ties... all concepts taught explicitly in Christianity and yet even non-Christians recognize as good and wholesome. Perhaps it might then be reasoned that the innate goodness of God is innately in man and that is the true nature of religion. An extremely naive view of religion is to reduce it solely to fear of punishment and hope of reward for it is much more than that. It is the pursuit of perfection in it's entirety, ethical, social, scientific, all-encompassing, complete which thereby precipitates lasting peace and happiness for the world and individuals in it's entirety, ethical, social, scientific, all-encompassing, complete. This is true religion. This is true Christianity and the inadequacy of imperfect people to perpetuate this in their religions or the corruption thereof should not be used as an excuse, especially for those of great intellectual stature, to dismiss it as unscientific for this is truly the definition of either a closed mind or one who refuses to seek truth for fear of its implications. Faith is not a cop-out. It is not intellectual bankruptcy. If the only way you can accept an assertion is by faith, then you are not conceding that it can't be taken on its own merits, you are merely conceding that you do not as yet fully understand it. This does not mean that one merely gives up trying to solve the riddle it simply means that I do not understand exactly how it works, but it does work and I will continue to fire up my bunsen burner, I will continue to take my samples, run my tests and do my calculations, I will continue until I come to a perfect knowledge. Is this not science? Is this not the exact scientific process? Just because faith is not tested in a laboratory can a truly open, scientific mind honestly dismiss it? As human beings we are not all knowing, we do not have all the answers before us, we are however under obligation to seek them out and this is what makes up the history of the world. One needs only to cast his gaze to the evolution of science for this quest for perfect knowledge to reveal itself and it easily does. How then can a truly honest open minded scientist so easily dismiss religion?

"Atheism is not a philosophy; it is not even a view of the world; it is simply an admission of the obvious. In fact, "atheist" is a term that should not ever exist. No one ever needs to identify himself as a "non astrologer" or a "non-alchemist". We do not have words for people who doubt that Elvis is still alive or that aliens traversed the galaxy only to molest ranchers and their cattle. Atheism is nothing more than the noises reasonable people make in the presence of unjustified religious beliefs. An atheist is simply a person who believes that the 260 million Americans (87 percent of the population) claiming to "never doubt the existence of God" should be obliged to present evidence for his existence-and, indeed, for his BENEVOLENCE, given the relentless destruction of innocent human beings we witness in the world each day."

--Sam Harris, "Letter to a Christian Nation"

Holy cow, I was not aware of the fact that atheists were just as insecure and defensive as most Christians. For atheists and Christians alike, there is no need to be insecure and defensive about your beliefs rather your beliefs should speak for themselves. You are of course obligated to express and share your beliefs with others for if you believe that you are absolutely correct you should feel obliged to help others onto your same path however you should certainly not force others into your religion, be it atheism or any other religion, neither should you oppress or persecute those who, heaven forbid, think differently than you do. I say this however I see by the second half of Mr. Harris' letter that he is rather shamefully misinformed about the nature and character of God and religion and thereby unfit to pass judgement as to his belief in the obvious and condemnation of the unjustified.

"When I became convinced that the universe is natural, that all the ghosts and gods are myths, there entered into my brain, into my soul, into every drop of my blood the sense, the feeling, the joy of freedom. The walls of my prison crumbled and fell. The dungeon was flooded with light and all the bolts and bars and manacles became dust. I was no longer a servant, a serf, or a slave. There was for me no master in all the wide world, not even in infinite space. I was free--free to think, to express my thoughts--free to live my own ideal, free to live for myself and those I loved, free to use all my faculties, all my senses, free to spread imagination's wings, free to investigate, to guess and dream and hope, free to judge and determine for myself . . . I was free! I stood erect and fearlessly, joyously faced all worlds."

--Robert G. Ingersoll

Mr. Ingersoll speaks of becoming convinced which lead me to reason that he was once a member of some religion. I feel sorrow for anyone who belongs to a religion which imprisons its believers and shackles them in iron manacles dictating to them their thoughts and feelings and actions for this is not religion. Religion is to be free--free to think, to express ones thoughts--free to live ones own ideal, free to live for oneself and those one loves, free to use all ones faculties, all ones senses, free to spread imagination's wings, free to investigate, to guess and dream and hope, free to judge and determine for oneself. The only cautionary is ones own ideal. Religion does not eradicate ones freedom to do anything, however, were one left only to his own ideals where would the world be? Am I just in lying? cheating? stealing? murdering? If these are my own ideals am I justified? Am I justified in the oppression and destruction of others if it sets me "free" and brings me "joy". Of course not, religion does not remove freedom and dictate actions, religion encourages righteous use of freedom and benevolent action. True religion should never force and restrict, men are always free to do as they please. True religion encourages men to free themselves of the petty worldliness of the base and spread their wings and fly on the dreams of hope to a higher, better plain.

"Although the time of death is approaching me, I am not afraid of dying and going to Hell or (what would be considerably worse) going to the popularized version of Heaven. I expect death to be nothingness and, for removing me from all possible fears of death, I am thankful to atheism."

--Isaac Asimov, "On Religiosity," Free Inquiry ††

The world is already in a sad state, how infinitely worse it would be if all believed or expected death to be nothingness. Think of the rise in lying, cheating, stealing, murder and all manner of heinous crime. If all were to ascribe to this absurdity there would be no reason for goodness, love, charity, peace. All would be selfishly united under one philosophy: Me, myself and I. If there is naught but nothingness to come, all I seek is to maximize pleasure and why would I or what would impel me to care for others? The only reason which would remain that may entice one to do "good" is fear of social repercussions. I am afraid to wrongfully accuse you or to lie, cheat, steal or murder to get gain because society will destroy me. Thus my motives for ethical behavior are naught but selfish. And you should society destroy me? Because each person realizes that if I am not halted in my taking advantage of others, what is to stop me taking advantage of you and thus only the strong are satisfied. Thus society unites for each individual to precipitate for himself the most possible happiness. Society hereby is therefore based on fear of punishment or persecution and hope of reward... is not this the very thing Mr. Einstein deplores? True religion should not fear death neither should fear be anywhere contained therein. Is it not death merely a continuation of life in a different form? Is not true religion meant to enhance and improve individuals and precipitously society?

"You do not need the bible to justify love, but no better tool has been invented to justify hate."

--Richard A. Weatherwax

Have you ever read the bible? I have and you obviously haven't read the same one I read.

"Why should I allow that same God to tell me how to raise my kids, who had to drown His own?"

--Bertrand Russell

Do these people even make the tiniest effort to be informed about religion, or at the very least have a correct basic 4 year old understanding of it before dismissing it all and making such idiotic comments?

It seems that there is some heinous, predatory religion out there which has oppressed, persecuted and robbed atheists of their freedom to think and act for themselves. To these great pioneers who have broken free of such oppression and fought their way to freedom I say hooray! Thank God that you have finally gained the freedom to think for yourself, the freedom to be an agent unto yourself, to act for yourself, to choose good or bad. Live free, use all your faculties and senses, spread imagination's wings, investigate, guess, dream, hope. Stand erect and fearlessly, joyously face all worlds. This is true religion, embrace it. Discover truth, find happiness, dream of better things. Open your mind and honestly seek. You will find, then you must follow. This does not imprison, this is not oppression, you will find your freedom and capacity for love and joy and happiness expanded, you will find amazement, wonder, intrigue, you will truly be free and you will truly be as God.

Ramayana

2008-05-23T17:13:00.004-06:00

Bala Kanda: The Beginning

The Sage

Along the river bank the sage Valmiki in deep thought pondered,
When all at once a soft, sweet singing into his ears wandered.

He raised his head from whence to find the voice that filled the summer’s day
And saw a pair of curlews in the sun’s bright, innocent ray.

Enrapt in awe he watched their play just as the gods upon us gaze,
When all at once from world unseen a hunter ripped through in a blaze.

From bended bow a swift arrow flew through the air with fated blow
As two small curlews unawares were parted in such bloody woe,

And torn to pieces both mates and sage in pity the prophet sang
A curse upon the hunter laid as new verse to the heavens rang.

Hearing this new verse called sloka the god Brahma now appeared
And bade the poet that he write the story that would be revered.

The story is of Rama’s way inspired by the gods on high,
Now told to all that they might learn and faster on to heaven fly.

Unbalance

In heaven do the gods all hear from earth the feasts of sacrifice,
And to their will they must all bend, the broken law thus to suffice.

There lived three brothers all of whom obeisance to the gods did burn.
Ravana the most pious was and through this worship he did earn

A boon from the great Lord Brahma: Ask what he will and it shall be.
He needed not much time to think, he wish’d for immortality.

Denying thus, it could not be, Lord Brahma bade him wish anew.
His ten heads did refuse to see the pride that now did turn the screw.

His wished to be invincible, o’er demons, gods and spirits all.
He prayed that none of these could be the master of his own downfall.

Contempt he held for one and all but most severely toward man,
Thus of this wicked boon exempt, man must destroy the evil plan.

Ravana with his new found pow’r set out to gain all that he could,
The heavens, earth and in between learned that he could not be withstood.

From Lanka’s heart he ruled all spheres, in evil wrath he reigned with fire.
All worlds were thrown to disarray and life was rolled into the mire.

From far and wide all did complain at Brahma’s feet they did recoil,
Yet Brahma knows the tale of time and feared not this mighty toil.

Lord Vishnu was to balance bring the order of the broken law,
Through glorious, but simple means all creatures would in marvel awe.

Birth

In the land of Kosala lived a king most noble and upright.
King Dasaratha is that king who fair Ayodhya holds in sight.

For sixty thousand years he ruled, but time is master of all men
And as his days began to wane he sought a son to rule after him.

With no posterity he sought to offer sacrifice and ask,
The gods to bless him with a son that could fulfill this heavy task.

Rishyashringa his chiefest priest performed the sacred ritual rite,
And once the offering was ripe, he led all to the holy light.

The remnants of the off’ring were, between the three wives of the king
Divided that they each might eat and thus a royal son forth bring.

Lord Vishnu did to earth now hie in human form the world to save,
As Dasaratha’s loyal sons he came to balance out the knave.

Four sons in fair Ayodhya born, the eldest son to Kausalya
This was Rama, most dutiful. The second son was Bharata,

Born to the youngest of the queens, Kaikeyi who the plot begins,
And last of all to Sumitra were born a pair of loyal twins.

Lakshmana, most devoted man, to Rama was a right hand man,
While Shatrughna to Bharata, an equally devoted fan.

Marriage

He loved his sons so well the king, but Rama was his favorite one,
Thus when Vishvamitra did come and beg the king to send his son,

To slay the demons in the woods who did disrupt their holy pleas
That driving off these rakshasas they might be left in quiet lees,

The king was somewhat hesitant and feared his favored son to send,
But Rama filled with valiance did soon his fathers will ascend

That he and Lakshmana did go with the wise sage, the wood to purge
Of all the demon rakshasas so that with heav’n each sage might merge.

The purging done, the sons were blessed and on their head the sage bestowed
Magical weapons fit for gods and led them on to a new road.

The kingdom where fair Sita lived was the kingdom of Videha,
Ruled over by a goodly king who was her father Janaka.

A godly bow he did possess and promised to whom it could bend
The hand of Sita in marriage, but none was found whom it could rend.

Strong Rama came and tried the bow. He raised it up with one great arm
And with no effort seemingly, he did the bow the greatest harm,

He pulled the string with the other and the god’s bow began to crack
The godly Rama filled with strength, broke the bow with a deaf’ning snap.

In delightful matrimony, Lord Rama was to Sita wed
And home to Ayodhya returned with joyous for all to spread.

Ayodhya Kanda: In Ayodhya

The Two Wishes

As age lingers on, joy abounds. The king seeks now to crown an heir.
All hail great Rama the new king who rules in justice blind and fair.

The world rejoices but not all, a cunning hunchback takes offence,
And to Kaikeyi swift in flight, she speaks and makes evil commence.

She preys upon the poor queen who, through slippery words she deceives
And thus her means she brings about through the third queen who stands naïve.

In times past fought Dasaratha many battles on foreign field
For truth and righteousness he sought and never once his will did yield.

Yet once in midst of heated war, he fell and was it seemed to die,
But in that time his charioteer did quickly to his rescue fly,

And from a mortal wound was saved the king, to rule and fight again.
That charioteer who saved his life he made his queen with him to reign.

Now as his third queen Kaikeyi does reign beside midst shining moons
And this he promised he would give to her as she did please, two boons.

Straight to his side again she flew when news of Rama’s crowning soared.
She to her husband’s mind did bring and those two boons humbly implored.

The king was duty bound to give what long ago he then had vowed
To Kaikeyi with deepest fear, of him two boons he thus allowed.

She begged that he, her son enshrine upon the his throne to rule the land.
And next that Rama should be sent to woods thus from the city banned.

With sorrow in his heart, obeyed the king afraid not to follow
All people of that blessed land, lonesome in the mire to wallow.

Thus Rama and fair Sita go with Lakshmana the faithful one,
Into Dandaka’s forest dark, a duty which has to be done.

Exile

The citizens of Ayodhya refuse to see poor Rama go,
Into Dandaka forest then with him their loyalty they show.

But Rama the most dutiful arises early in the morn,
And with his faithful wife and kin sets on before the dawn.

His people are with one accord forced to return with heavy heart,
And mourn the loss of their new king as home in mourning they do start.

Bharata, brother true, denies to rule in Rama’s rightful stead,
To the forest he goes in search to bring some sense to Rama’s head.

But duty bound he won’t return and Rama stays for fourteen years,
To live life as an ascetic and then to govern all his peers.

To place upon the vacant throne Bharata meekly takes his shoes
He swears as steward he will rule ‘til Rama has paid all his dues.

Thus fourteen years the forest held as captive that wise example
Who taught the way that we should act - this piece of his life to sample.

Aranya Kanda: In the Forest

Sita’s Aduction

Fourteen years have now gone passed and his return is awaited,
As they journey to the kingdom another path seems now fated.

Ravana to the world lays waste and promised Vishnu must restore
The balance that was overthrown when evil into the world bored.

As he flew in fine Pushpaka, across the sky in search of more,
The demon’s eye on Sita fell, her beauty struck him to the core.

Devising thus a wicked plan he sent through woods a golden deer,
Maricha, lowly rakshasa, was forced the wheel of fate to steer.

Through the woods as a deer he ran across the path of Sita’s gaze,
Who was enthralled with such a sight and found her senses in a daze.

She begged that for her Rama would, that golden deer kill as her prize,
But Rama wisely refused her ‘til he could no longer bear her cries.

Then in Lakshmana’s able hands he left her as he flew to find
That golden deer that he might slay to thus appease his wife’s in kind.

Thus deceived he hunts the demon, but Sita soon impatient grows
And through much feminine coaxing sends Lakshmana to chase the foe.

Exposed now to the demon king, alone she stands with no safeguard.
And from his chariot up high he swoops down to the earth now marred.

After much attempted swooning, by force he steals another’s wife,
While Rama and Lakshmana hunt, poor Sita struggles for her life.

Jatayu that most noble bird, who always does what should be done,
Sees from the sky this evil deed, so swift to aid and evil shun.

He tears at Ravana in flight and mars and maims him with his might,
It seems that this great bird will win and so as well will what is right.

But in a moment of great rage, Ravana pulls free his sharp sword,
And lashing with his twenty arms he cuts right through a wingly cord.

Defeated to the earth he falls, Jatayu that most noble bird,
Dejected he there lies to die as evil could not be deferred.

Disabused of their deception, our heroes now return to find,
That Sita is no longer there, a dying vulture left behind.

Jatayu, that most noble bird, relates to them all that occurred,
And Rama now filled with remorse lets loose a cry ne’er before heard.

Now as Jatayu slowly dies, in search of Sita off they set,
Reborn again as vulture king, the balance promised will be met.

Kishkindha Kanda: In Kishkindha

Hanuman and Sugriva

Through the forest went the brothers in desperate search of Sita lost,
When they came upon two monkeys who seemed down trodden and storm tossed.

Once introductions had been made, the monkeys’ set to tell their tale
How, Vali, their evil brother had given them great cause to wail.

Sugriva was the rightful king, but Vali in a jealous rage,
Had from him his sweet bride deprived and heavy war upon them waged.

Now Hanuman, raised by gods, remained a brother at his side,
The only monkey in the earth who would not from duty hide.

A pact was made betwixt them there that Rama would his crown restore,
And having thus regained his place, Sugriva would the search explore.

So to vanara they all went to wage upon a wicked king,
A war that would presage the peace that Rama would forever bring.

Vanara

As they arrive in Kishkindha, our heroes here are forced to hide,
That Hanuman and Sugriva might subtly reverse the tide.

Barred from ent’ring the monkey cave Sugriva calls a challenge in,
That Vali’s pride cannot deny and out he goes to face his kin.

But his wise wife doth counsel give that he should quit while he’s ahead.
Yet as a wicked king he fails by prudent warning to be led.

On to face in mighty combat, the fierce warrior Sugriva,
Yet Vali too a tough soldier, they fight as destructive Shiva.

Both seasoned veterans of the fight, it looks as though neither can win,
The upper hand no one can tell as in a blur the spin and spin.

Sugriva seems about to win, when Vali to our great dismay,
Strikes him with a hefty blow and Sugriva is about to slay.

At this most pivotal moment from the forest deep inside,
An arrow from a hidden place through wispy air to Vali flies.

Deep in his back the arrow sinks and to the earth villain falls,
Sugriva now is king again and to order his kingdom calls.

The Search Begins

Allegiance now to Rama pledged he calls a meeting of all beasts,
From far and wide the armies come to counsel while they sit at feast.

The search for Sita is their goal and how to save her is their zest,
The animals of all the earth to Rama pledge their ablest best.

Armies sent in all directions scour the earth in desperate searching,
Man and beast ‘gainst demon opposed shall bring to pass a godly thing.

Sundara Kanda: The Beautiful Book

The Search Continues

Toward the south and Lanka was sent the army of Hanuman,
Among the leaders of this group was the bear ruler Jambavan.

In everywhere along the way they searched for clues, but all in vain,
‘Til to a cave they duly came and entered in hope to attain.

But this was Maya’s cave of trees and once inside they were deceived,
Unable to escape they cried for someone to their plight retrieve.

Swayamprahba their cry did hear but only then for Rama’s sake,
Aid them in their sorrowful state and show them how they might escape.

Free from the cave they found themselves upon the sands of vastless seas.
In anguish once again they cried and felt to die upon their knees.

In Vanara all had returned save one last army Lanka’s way,
A month had passed and time up, the search had failed to light the day.

Yet Hanuman was still missing still and all wondered what could be wrong,
The journey through the cave had been, unknown to them a whole month long.

Hanuman’s Adventure

Upon the shore with all hope lost they found a vulture almost dead,
This was Sampati sunly scorched, the brother of Jatayu bred.

For many years he had lain there, unable to rise from searing heat,
Ravana he had barely seen, to Lanka’s gate fly in retreat.

With joyous shout the army sang, but worried how to cross the sea,
Then Hanuman his power showed and leapt across as only he,

Trained of the gods could hope to do, as mighty in his leaping bound
For Lanka ‘til he did arrive and safely land upon the ground.

All through the city despairing in search of Sita he did go,
‘Til hidden behind the castle, Sita he found in sacred grove.

He tried to take her off with him, but this was not in his mission,
Return to Rama with this news as was his divine commission.

Before he left some havoc caused and with his strength killed many guards,
But Indrajit with magic bound him with invisible wax cords,

Before Ravana he did stand and sentenced to be burned alive,
From his iron chains he ‘scaped with flaming tail he survived,

But set, as from Lanka he flew, the whole city ablaze with fire,
And laughed to see as he leapt, home the city in a plight so dire.

In triumph back to Vanara, as he and all his army came,
A scolding king did meet them there, but soon aware did laud their name.

To Lanka then they all did set to save poor Sita from despair,
All mortal beings from far and wide, did venture forth for this affair.

Yuddha Kanda: War

The Bridge

Not all as Hanuman could jump across the vast and raging sea.
Therefore the animals did build a bridge that spanned elegantly,

The raging waters of Lanka which surrounded the demon’s lair.
All animals with one accord did aid from squirrel up to bear,

Until the mighty bridge was done and Lanka was attainable,
Then the army crossed waters to begin the battle fabled.

The Battle

From within the hidden city rakshasas poured ready to fight,
As man and beast fought side by side: the darkness thus against the light.

The war was exceedingly sore as soldiers fell on either side,
But greater far the demon’s fell, as evil’s power began to slide.

Then desperate to hold his reign, to Indrajit Ravana flew,
And begged his son to use his pow’r to Rama’s army thus subdue.

Then Indrajit with lightning speed into the battle skies he took,
Upon his chariot he flew, invisible to all that looked.

From there he rained down magic spells that wounded all within their path,
And soon the battle field was still with nothing but a bloody bath.

None stirred except for Hanuman who possessed immortality,
And up he rose to jump again to Himalya across the sea.

The healing mount upon his back he raised and to the battle field,
Returned with healing in his wings and would not vict’ry to death yield.

As Rama rose Ravana feared and counseled with Vibbhishana,
Whose counsel he refused to hear, but would rather ‘gainst Rama.

For Sita he would not set free and on to face Rama he went,
But Vibhishana wiser was and before Rama did repent.

The demon king came out to meet, arrayed in warfare’s thick armor,
The godly Rama, king of men, to fight over each’s honor.

Each struck mighty blow upon blow and each refused at all to yield,
When with pow’rful, searing strike, the sword of Rama struck the shield,

And into cinders it crumbled to leave the demon’s flesh laid bare,
Yet still he fought with vicious zeal and anger in his eyes did flair,

‘Til Rama made the fatal strike as through the demon’s flesh sword seared,
The end had come for Ravana who mortal man had never feared.

Fair Sita was returned to him and balance once again restored,
But only by much blood being shed and through the horror of dark war.

Back to Ayodhya they travel and hope that evil’s at its end,
The city, overjoyed, sings praise as hope and peace Rama did mend.

Uttara Kanda: The Last Chapter

Dissent

For many thousand years he ruled with Sita, queenly, at his side,
But dissension ‘mounst his people he could hear from him did hide.

To Lakshmana he begged answers, whence he could handle it no more,
He learned the virtue of his queen was the issue of such discord,

Though he knew her to be faithful, for his people he dispelled her,
And from thence in misery lived ‘til death upon him would transfer.

The Poem

Queenly Sita who wished to die, the good Lord Brahma sent to me,
Where Rama’s twin sons she did bare, I am the poet Valmiki.

I wrote in this spontaneous verse the story of Rama’s great way,
And on the morrow Rama comes to hear it sung all through the day.

As Rama heard his twin sons sing, he wished for Sita once again,
Who then returned before the crowd and pled her innocence from sin,

But biting arrows from the mob to Rama’s plea refused rebirth,
Thus Sita proved her faithfulness and called upon the Goddess Earth,

Who from within below did then arise and to her bosom Sita went,
Her faith was proved and there to stay ‘til Rama for her could be sent,

And this only when more years passed and Rama’s time on earth expired,
No more to do but leave man be and from this earth he then retired.

But still lives on his legacy as all men might this story hear,
In this great poem of Rama’s way, may teach us how to live each year.

The End.

A haiku

2008-05-23T17:01:00.013-06:00

The broom tree appears
From afar he approaches
Which captures his prey?

~ about the Tale of Genji

Soneto 5: De Mar a Mar

2008-05-23T00:05:00.011-06:00

De mar a mar, errante, la gente
Busca andando en noche de luz,
Mas anda buscando de cruz a cruz
Lentemente, la gente, creyente.

De siglo tras siglo todo gira.
Mundo Redondo, dan alabanza.
Mundo Plano, alaban en danza.
Gira, gira y nada se mira.

La mujer sobre aguas reposa,
Con cadena mas sin licencia,
Nos enseña esposas... esposa.

Reposa la Duena Ciencia,
Se presenta esposa lujosa,
Y ya ciencia... creyencia

Sonnet 4: The Bitter Cup

2008-05-23T00:05:00.010-06:00

A distance from the sleeping crowd, alone,
Enshrouded in the darkness of the night,
The garden gloom embraces all my own
And shadows taunt the silent, waning light.

Despairing, broken, shattered, torn apart,
I stumble to my knees with anguish'd cries.
The pain you left seeps through my bleeding heart
And silent tears fall from defeated eyes.

Beneath the weight escapes a pleading sigh
Which trembles in the Winter's growing cold.
A gentle light approaches from on high
And tender arms my battered soul enfold.

A warm voice softly whispering, "My son,"
And then, "Fear not; My will, not thine, be done."

Sonnet 3: One Day, One Room

2008-05-23T00:03:00.004-06:00

Through the door of that room I watch you leave,
As entrances and exits all around
Stand still, unnoticed, in the room's dark eve
And waning dreams from crumbling walls resound.

Conflicting Voices, new and old, becry:
Experience from this to thee shall come,
'Tis for the best, His hand in this doth lie,
Why waste your time when nothing can be done?

From room to room I linger in that one,
Alone in crowds; afraid to lose what's lost,
While Reason seeks to succor his sad son,
Yet fails to bind the broken and storm toss'd.

A tear falls from my eye for 'tis enough
That once in faded room we were just us.

Sonnet 2: To Audrey, the Bathshebas, etc.

2008-05-23T00:01:00.004-06:00

Atop the roof, as night begins the sin,
He slyly struts: the wolf out on the prowl
He spies the moonlight glisten off her skin
In distant woods he hears the darkness howl

Amidst that gloom another twists and twines
It seems the gods his journey do oppose
As lightning strikes only her beauty shines
His course maintain'd on to bestow that rose

Now at her feet one patiently implores
The other with the tongue of Sinon mocks
Through tangled lives of choices she ignores
Out seeps the life of one who is no fox

While poor Will sleeps in streets of scoff and scorn
The fool returns from roof to court at morn

Sonnet 1: Ode to an Hotdog

2008-05-22T23:42:00.007-06:00

When first we met 'midst gold Elysium,
Beneath the arches of Semele's son,
I heard the fool upon his lyre strum
And felt unrest within my breast undone.

I reached to kiss the glove upon thine hand,
For one small taste enflames a thousand more,
Yet from my sight you flew to trojan land,
Where I for thee to Nestor did implore.

Betrayed as Rome's now shrunken legacy,
The Mayan bell which tolls doth beat my prayer.
From sea to shore I hop in quest of thee
'Til Arthur's table round comes to be square,

For love's sad lust doth Contradiction aid:
With or without your love my soul doth fade.