"aurelius" poems
*“Whatever anyone does or says, I must be emerald and keep my colour.”
(Marcus Aurelius; Meditations)*
As many of you may already know by now, the above quote by Marcus Aurelius has been my motto in life. But today I raise a question for all of us to think about! What happens when one day someone comes exploding into your life and already knows that you're an emerald? You have spent your life keeping your color; despite the fears, betrayals, disappointments and hurts, then what if one day somebody falls down from the assembly of the gods and simply knows you through and through? Your color, your worth... the fact that you are emerald! The question is: how do you stop "keeping" color, when all you have left to do is simply to "be" emerald? No more fear. How does one begin to cope with the sudden loss of fear? Certainly it is the very best thing that can happen to an individual on earth, but I am startled by the realization that letting go of the battle against life and simply being alive, might actually require courage, in itself! It takes courage not only to fight; it also takes courage to believe that good things can happen. It takes courage to simply have grace, to breathe. There comes a time when you no longer need to protect yourself, and that is just as honourable, and perhaps even more honourable, than all the battles you stood up to fight!
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 7:50 PM UTC
I hope I see the moon in the British Aisles
So I can imagine myself staring from home.
I hope I see the moon from Belgium
as I imagine the old lover I will never forget gazing, exhausted, from Uxbridge.
I hope I seee the moon from Paris
so I can imagine the millenia of poets and I-love-you-till-it-kills-me romancers gazing from French cafes, sipping on their
wine, coffee, tea
and I think of great friends in Victoria, glancing towards it from busses 9 hours later on a commute to Uptown
Downtown
what town?
I hope I see the moon from Vancouver
so I can imagine child-me watching the white of the cheese-like craters wondering nothing
but so, so very curious.
I hope I see the moon from Toronto
past smog and spring-time city shadows
so I can imagine the short-lived friends I made in Ottawa looking to it with awe and smiles
grasping the fingers of a loved one.
Everytime I see that great omnipotent orb I imagine
Marcus Aurelius in the court of Rome
Julius Caesar on the battlefields of Gaul
Charlemagne crossing the Rhine
St. Augustine marching through the desert
Micochondrial Adam tossing a spear into the heart of a boar
Soldiers of the American Revolution
the British war for South Africa
the Prussian Empire
the Third *****
Siddhartha and his son
Li Po hugging his moonlit reflection
Han Shan on cold mountain
Kerouac in San Francisco
Burroughs in Morocco
Snyder in Japan
Thomas walking to work
Brian out on a stroll
My future life lover
future girlfriends
all gazing at that wonderful omnipotent moon
the same moon
that gazes so still
so patient
forever
as far as
I'm concerned.
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 5:23 PM UTC
silence
sweet silence
like none other
despite the library door
slamming everytime
someone leaves or arrives
it seems to slam louder
when they leave
i am not perturbed
or distracted, nor am i
expecting not to be
here, alone, surrounded by books,
i just am
lamenting this place not being
as busy
as it should be
who’s fault is that?
celebrating this place not being
as busy
as it should be
guilty as charged
all these faces i see
it’s like a small town here
sometimes abandoned
sometimes inhabited
once again,
i don’t care
how can i?
my head, full of
Aurelius and Bukowski
doesn’t have space to
well, deep down,
i guess i do care
but not as much as
i suppose society begs i
should
how can i?
i’m too busy figuring out
who i truly am
and the books help, Bukowski
was correct, these philosophers are
like brothers to me and i speculate
my deep “connection” to them
to men whom i never met
yet felt more fatherly care from
than my own
maybe that’s the root
sometimes, all this reading begs the question
do i like books
more than people?
or people more
than books?
i think i know the answer,
eureka!
i love books, and individuals alike
i don’t like people
especially when they group up
in congregations and crowds,
strangers in a
can of sardines
with no space to possibly
ever care
only to survive and barely breathe
or to escape such a reality
how could i?
when they don’t
even care for themselves
it’s disheartening, really
to witness such potential
in one soul
and watch it *******
melt away
around his or her friends
around their families’
incessant influence and needs
abusing providers
consumed by their personal troubles and struggles
and vices, infected by the amplification of
a hang out
girls night
boys night
the clubs, the bars
the gossips of nonsense and ****
that simply isn’t their business
sewage
their obvious and yet
radiantly painful,
like a sunburn that isn’t on you
but hurts to look at on someone else,
avoidance of themselves
begging the following:
could these souls spend
an hour, alone, with a book
and paper and pencil?
how could they?
they’d like to, i’m sure,
but hate themselves just enough
to not be able to.
-melancholicreator
Feb 27, 2024
Feb 27, 2024 at 4:30 PM UTC
Glitter Rain shimmers outside my lightning window
and winds a dream—weather of dreams and nightmares,
a reign of indifference somewhere in between the windowpane,
the widow pain, and the windy plain—to whisper possibilities
into the nice night of nostalgic friends, wishing friendships hadn’t
ended, knowing it had to end, glad it did end, ignoring the ending
of all this time, ticking away in the timely thunderstorm of the
night.
...
Viktor Aurelius read four of my poems on Whispers in the Dark Radio, a horror poetry show.
...
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 3:48 PM UTC
Inn-Sum-Knee-Ah (“Insomnia”)
I throw words at the ceiling fan
to break them apart over
the bleeding sheep on the carpet.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Pepper it over the bodies
while the fur is still waving
to the wind of the artificial air.
Five Six Seven Eight
My back cracks more than the
tocking insanity of the creak-squeak-squawk
crocked blame of the spinning blades above me.
I still can’t breathe.
Nine ten eleven twelve
The purple spot on the wall wanders between the bitter
clouds and the rocking streetlamps that wink,
as if to welcome me with “We are not sleeping either.”
But we will watch.
Thirteenfourteen.
That might be a good thing if I didn’t have my eyes closed,
burning from the inside out.
Fifteen. Sixtheen. Seventh
Sleep.
...
Viktor Aurelius read four of my poems on Whispers in the Dark Radio, a horror poetry show.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
they say that bronze was
the prime component in
the *Equestrian Statue of
Marcus Aurelius*, or the
stone of the Ajanta Caves
in India, but will my skin
keep me alive? I once said
something interesting in
a classroom in regards to
immortality, when a girl
picked out the flaws in
For the Love of God a
piece by Damien Hirst.
It seems to say that we must realize our mortality
but do skeletons not last
the ravage of time? Exactly
what part of us is mortal
aside from our skin, first?
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 10:24 PM UTC
To Antonia
Different things:
a book read,
this flower picked,
one kiss taken.
And things that delight:
in the library,
amidst a garden,
caught in love’s embrace.
And my delight:
to keep control
and hold a sense
of rightness ruling
every action,
every thought,
every instance
met or made.
Let me look at all I see
that comes my way,
and with my eyes
make welcome;
no discrimination,
no diversion left
(or right) to comfort’s zone.
May all I touch, acquire, retain,
be honoured, rightly valued,
rightly owned, and used
well, and again.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 7:14 AM UTC
of course i left the shit-holes traumatised,
if i didn't read extensively i'd be
stuck in some slum for immigrants -
i mean, who, in, their, right, frame, of, mind
would teach children the basis
of abortion, among lessons about sniffing
glue (a practice in the Ukraine)
as if the 1960s psychedelic revolution never
took place? only the catholic church,
which loves the ****** of a John Smith...
i might as well be listening to Billy Joel
rolling a ****** Jesus... **** off...
take your little school while i learn
from the stoic Marcus Aurelius... seriously
Ben Hur und Aesop to you too! go on grovel
on your message: gehen nord...
yeah, because the romans were evil to incorporate
Judea into its pond empire...
the north men clashed with the jews in the Holocaust;
head north jesus said... so they headed in fakes...
polnisch hebräisch: Jiddisch Yiddish Jesus Jehovah
the tetragrammaton, ********
like they built the ******* pyramids...
sheep, sheep, sheep; i do better drumming
for the rhythm guitars than anyone,
esp. Billy on the MTV single hit about Australian
bushfire and a long list of names with rock around
the clock of Bill Haley & His Comets and oh ****** days
on the McDonald boulevard.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 7:56 PM UTC
My past time is Warhammer 40k
Collected 12 separate army ranging from 10,000 point to couple hundred.
My personal faction is craft world Eldar,
Since they are space elves of the dying race,
Prideful, arrogant, know it all, psyker gifted, prudes of 41 millienium.
Play with twelve Wraith Knights,
And earning me as "That Guy,"
As known as cheesy player,
Or just a solid Gould cheese.
I am inspired by Marcus Aurelius
Known as the philosophical emperor,
Also known as the last true good emperor of Rome,
Loved by many by the empire,
My favorite quote by him
"Accept the things fate binds you,
And love the people whom fate brings you together,
But do so with all your heart!"
I am a Capricorn,
Driven by amethyst gem stones,
Or a pure ruby so they say!
I have not had the same gravitational pull like Joan Of Arc,
Nor have I become a champion like Mohammad Ali,
Or fought for civil liberty like Martin Luther King,
Or earned the legacy likes of Humphrey Bogart,
But I would do my best to carry even ounce of their torch of greatness.
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 2:24 AM UTC
knuckles ache
peel back the page:
Aurelius, Seneca, Epictetus
cluck the tongue
boys outside throw jabs
over a cracked
cricket bat
a father frets over
investments and client work,
simple things.
I read on
wondering how so many words
committed to tranquility
could be attributed to so many men
when women
trained stoics since the womb
would pen epics -
if only they were not plucking stones from rice.
Jun 11, 2020
Jun 11, 2020 at 10:17 AM UTC
The valiant leaves who held on
Through the strongest winter breeze
Defiantly clung to the
Brown weathered trees
And one must read close to
Gather the story of time
hidden in the wrinkled trunks
Of the tall evergreen pines
And I thought of how Aurelius
Challenged the
Justness of God. Well the
Justice of man may not be the
Just course for all.
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC
“How shameful and absurd it is for the spirit to surrender when the body is able to fight on.” ~ Marcus Aurelius, Roman Emperor
His words resonate through me tonight, like many nights before…I am borrowing the Emperor’s words tonight to express how I feel. I feel like my soul was murdered a long time ago. My body is here – as ****** up as it is – my heart still beats – but my body is empty, void of a soul.
I have no fight left in me now. My heart is still beating...but I'm no longer here.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 6:32 PM UTC
This Waiting Place
The can of still is entirely sick.
Windows shatter and trucks collide
Threatens the over, yet becomes the not
Of which, of one, can you speak for?
.............I’ve never felt this way before.
Because glass gives reflections until it
Breaks.
Give me the pieces, the shards, the dust.
Let me take what I can take and walk away
With the shame of fault, the guilt of unknowing.
since analyzing the bodies won’t bring them back.
Limbo of shock or grey of wanting.
Since the can of answers can be given to the dead.
...
Viktor Aurelius read four of my poems on Whispers in the Dark Radio, a horror poetry show.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
the “thundering legion”
nether regions
lightning lesions
an ace up the sleeve
for Marcus Aurelius
an ace up the sleeve
for those on the omnibus
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 3:06 PM UTC
“…knowledge of the beginning and the end, and of that all-pervading Reason which orders the universe in its determinate cycles to the end of time"
- Marcus Aurelius's definition of the sage
*I’m starting to think poets are bleeding ink
Longing for true understanding, an oath on the stand
Mentally sinking in quicksand, trials never finish
Fear of diminishing quicker than our escape plan
Seeking wisdom in time for our demise,
and as we're writing our words, our fears are in disguise
Intricate word-weaving, we’re prisoners of the moment,
spilling ink on the paper and anxious for our atonement
The dream of a dreamer’s quick to take him places
A limbo of the unknown, and filled with many faces
Endless deliberation with the jury of the mind
Furious and made in a hurry, truly “one of a kind”
But truthfully one of many, and so it’s up to you
Live an Epicurus life, happiness is a truth
Patient examination of nature is natural
A masterful snap of the mental camera is factual
The sage’s knowledge of reason is unilateral
Theory of forms and as Plato had put it
It’s reason you see before you that offers spatial relationships
Properties seeming apparent - hope you relate to this
Believe nothing you hear and half of what you see
Our fears are found in the lines written by you and me
So keep the words coming, never stop pursuing wisdom
Enlightenment of the soul towards a new beginning.*
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
I left Marcus Aurelius on the coffee table,
Stumbled and caught myself in the mirror.
Only to tumble on down through the fridge.
I was seated on air as a guest of honor.
Feed my wisdom, drank my creativity.
Finally breathed in your soul,
As I crawled up the bed to tuck myself next to you.
I sighed and began to dream again.
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 12:58 PM UTC
*"Live a good life.
If there are gods and they are just,
then they will not care how devout you have been,
but will welcome you based on the virtues you have lived by.
If there are gods, but unjust,
then you should not want to worship them.
If there are no gods,
then you will be gone,
but will have lived a noble life
that will live on in the memories of your loved ones."
-Marcus Aurelius*
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC
you've heard of the greeks, they stated the tetra elements,
hardly a word to combine them
given the penta: electricity that replaced fire,
when Zeus ****** his rod into the earth
and out sprung electron linear from
what people supposed to be orbits and clouds.
and i'm sure you heard of the pentagon
of the sigma of man, via the five senses.
but i ask you, how many nerves are there?
to equate nerves with senses, sight and hearing
and feeling, we'd require to attribute
empathy, sympathy, apathy as among them...
compassion? like Marcus Aurelius asking
as to how he would be remembered:
philosopher... tyrant? i'm just wondering how
many nerves there are; are there a pentagonal
resemblance with the senses, or a tetra resemblance
of the elements? i can proclaim an infinity of
synapse roads and alleys and highways, motorways,
but i need to know a perfect categorical incubator
of the number of nerves... surely they ought to
reflect the senses... at this moment i have only
three: empathy, sympathy and apathy...
and indeed all spell out the root leverage
leading toward the tree of pathology -
then indeed there must be another trail guided by
the revelation of -logy rather than -pathy...
but there are too many to choose from,
e.g.: biology, psychology, etc.... it must be specific
and essential... if the -pathy root is stating verbs,
then the -logy root must also describe verbs (activities);
precursor atheism as argument for both
the non-existence of god, as indeed the soul -
synonymous implementation for the word
with psychologism, rather than a firm stirrup logic.
how many times brooding over a certain logic?
esp. in calculus or esp. in arithmetic,
how these numbers ploy a demise, to say
12 + 30 + 2 are akin to sentencing to the invisible glue
or lettering equally confidant units of usage:
br + av + e? what are the logical nerves after having
established the pathological ones?
i don't know at this moment, decidedly,
to have been governed by four elements and adding
a fifth, to have five senses and the sixth in hexagonal
deviations of the unseen... how many nerves are we
to attribute man?
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 1:26 PM UTC
There is no such thing as fine poetry
Poetry does not equate to fine wine
While you may revel in the sweetness of antiquity
Marveling at the brilliance of Shakespare, Marcus Aurelius, and Keats
That does not mean you'll taste bitterness in the back of your mouth
When indulging oneself in the works of poets like Akala, Grieves, or Kid Cudi
Also more widely known as "rappers"
How does one fail to see the beauty and the poetic essence found in their stunning elocution?
Rap is nothing more than poetry over beat
It is thoughts turned vocal following the rhythm of the heart
Both working in cadence with one another
Thus giving birth to art
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 4:07 AM UTC
What is intelligence? Is knowing what to do when one hasn’t been taught?
Education often relays on history and a repetition of facts. Rendering people not creating new things or thoughts, even if education can be a bedrock as something one can derive from. Thinking without writing. Not all philosophers are dogmatic. Despite their sole education or speciality in a branch of philosophy. For most ideologies derive at a finality. Where actions can viewed as applied knowledge. But education itself can be a prevention from someone discovering themselves, laying a path for ignorance. Facts can prevent people from thinking for themselves. Every structure is to be thought of as a particular form of equilibrium, more or less stable within its restricted field and losing its stability on reaching the limits of the field. Language is often the key to any intelligence, from the narrative of the mind, to the spoken or written word to the receptive person. As philosophy just question or self-thinking. Reading is only partial. Documentaries only partial. Dialog is partial. Experience is everything. The present is the problem. No one ever use the present as a parent.
Everything is incomplete.
Exposing oneself to thinkers, Sarte, Plato, Chomsky are only a few. Ignorance will always plague humanity and be told throughout history, public or private.
Making the Bible public, gave the common people a reason to learn how to read. Accidentally birthing both interruption and criticism outside the professional network. Despite intentions, duality will exist. Marcus Aurelius put forth what we do now will echo eternity. The exertion of will over reality will provide a conflict in the domain of reality, affecting the person exerting, whether it’s good or bad, will be based upon the reception.
Every truth comes sooner or later. Long term and short term self always around.
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 1:33 AM UTC
I take my hand out of my pants
and bring it to my nose. I take
a whiff of the goodness
that is a hard day's work;
something is working hard
and it's got my girl's name on it;
My crotch and I are close
we've named each other after
the stoic philosophers,
I am Zeno of Cilium
and it goes by the name
Marcus Aurelius,
pompous ******* I know,
right?
We get along, some might
say we get along
too well
because we hardly
if ever, say goodbye
to one another
and instead bask in our
own joy, as though
God himself
erected such a
work of art
At night
it pulls me closer, and
whispers to my ear
*it's almost time to release
the Kracken*,
I say, that was before your time,
sir,
you got it all wrong.
Don't you mean,
liberate the sea men?
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 2:10 AM UTC
Dear Readers
I am no philosopher, nor had I taken any course in philosophy.
Furthermore, I have read very little though there are some philosophers who are close to my heart---Montaigne, Marcus Aurelius, Epicurus, Seneca, Epictectus, Nietzsche, Sartre, Camus and a few more.
However, I have plunged myself into the writings of Confucius, Lao-Tze (author of Tao Te-Ching) and his followers', Buddhism and Zen.
I never planned to write this 'life series'-- after having written a few,
I couldn't stop. But these were not 'forced' thoughts--it's as though they had been latent somewhere in the labyrinth of my mind--in incubation- waiting for the right time to hatch.
A writer must have honesty and integrity. I did not have a book in front of me so that I could copy an idea and then ventured to restate in my own words--all the ideas I have expressed are my own.
It's intrinsically me thinking about life and my own experiences
and my way of perceiving things.
They had been written at home, in the tram, in the library, in coffee-joints--even mentally when I had my regular walks.
No doubt, some would not agree with what I have said and I am not the least offended or unhappy in any way as such---I welcome their comments so that I could re-examine what I had expressed. I would even learn from them.
I realised right from the start that I could inadvertently stir up a hornet's nest but I was prepared to take that risk, even to the extent of
being challenged or ridiculed.
No one looks at life in the same way as we are all unique. At the same time, none has the monopoly of knowledge or wisdom--not even the brightest among us. Life is such that we could only understand some parts of it with most being unknowable. There are limits to our understanding but we don't throw our hands in the air and give up-
we are thinking creatures and are never content to stay stagnant-
it's in our nature to explore, to reach out, to understand and try to make sense of things that matter or our life would have little meaning or value- we have to push frontiers and test our limits to be able to come to our own.
It's in the light of the above that I have marshalled enough courage to
write this 'life-series'.
I sincerely hope that readers would come forward to talk to me.
My best wishes to all of you.
4th December 2017, Melbourne
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 8:56 AM UTC
Bullock's orioles, namer cred, for which
I spare no intentional attention
to find the namer's bio, or even spend much time
wondering why men with names like
Bullock need the degree of fame,
there must be a spectrum, of fame, or worth,
a curve on an xy flatness depicting data points
of value, this to that,
high from low, long or short
here nor there, today the birds are being curioser
and kurio-ish, as if
playing a role in my reality, this one
with you
as dear reader the life force pulling lines from
-- Marcus Aurelius and C. G. Jung (in his waning days)
-- influencive words from men at leisure
-- to constitute a self
-- aware of you, dear reader, without you, no word
believes itself, per se,
beautiful for no intended reason. Ask that yellow fellow,
sipping sugar water,
why are you so beautiful. He takes no pride in saying,
I am a Bullock's Oriole.
Jul 2, 2020
Jul 2, 2020 at 1:02 PM UTC