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Distance brings proportion. From here
the populated tiers
as much as players seem part of the show:
a constructed stage beast, three folds of Dante's rose,
or a Chinese military hat
cunningly chased with bodies.
"Falling from his chariot, a drunk man is unhurt
because his soul is intact. Not knowing his fall,
he is unastonished, he is invulnerable."
So, too, the "pure man"-"pure"
in the sense of undisturbed water.

"It is not necessary to seek out
a wasteland, swamp, or thicket."
The opposing pitcher's pertinent hesitations,
the sky, this meadow, Mantle's thick baked neck,
the old men who in the changing rosters see
a personal mutability,
green slats, wet stone are all to me
as when an emperor commands
a performance with a gesture of his eyes.

"No king on his throne has the joy of the dead,"
the skull told Chuang-tzu.
The thought of death is peppermint to you
when games begin with patriotic song
and a democratic sun beats broadly down.
The Inner Journey seems unjudgeably long
when small boys purchase cups of ice
and, distant as a paradise,
experts, passionate and deft,
hold motionless while Berra flies to left.
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
Faulkner's comment, I imagine him
tossing it off like Yogi Berra between games
of a doubleheader. The hero, the expert, the virtuoso
has no real control, is going to feel
unmitigated, unsparing forces, a mighty sun
swallowed by a black hole, coughed up into a big sky.
The past isn't dead. It isn't even past.

Versus Wayne Gretsky's formulation.
When I think of my death, I think of returning
the chemicals and microorganisms I borrowed.
If my plane goes down, when we hit the ground
fruits with names will be waiting - squawbush if
in the desert uplands, rose hips on a Vermont farm.
The past is skating to where the puck will be.

I realize I have a religion, a science fiction
the size of Jupiter which is, as these things go, small:
Chardin's theory unifying physical matter, rocks
and all sentient beings into one - here's the catch -
conscious organism. Having said that, why not claim
the same for the entire universe? Rock + DNA = soil.
The past isn't dead. It isn't even past.

These trees cannot feed me.
Self-sufficiency is relevant only in context of community,
      economy.
Every drug, every vitamin is wrung from plants,
tools and shelter are ore.
A tincture, infusion, decoction, a ******, a compress,
      poultice, a salve, a syrup.
A war president needs war.
The past is skating to where the puck will be.

5 a.m., first of Spring.
Robins still in flocks, not paired off. But crows
mating on the sky - two couples dating
a sign of luck, that Celtic god passing Peter talked about.
8,000 generations, I reach only to my grandparents
but history and the naming of things extend our vision.
The past isn't dead. It isn't even past.

I was handcuffed but not beaten. Humiliated but not insulted.
And when I came before the judge, he was uninterested
in vengeance or restitution. He had his own death before him,
probably. I keep wanting to go back
to before the big bang, reading books about the cosmos,
FLO, LUCA, the texture of reality, consciousness,
      God-seeking.
The past is skating to where the puck will be.

For the next 5-10 years my goals are: geographically
compact and contiguous Congressional districts, term limits
for Federal legislators and judges, election of the president
by direct popular vote, public financing, spending limits and
      free
air time for candidates, abolish UN vetoes, consent of the
      governed
before governments can sit in global councils.
The past isn't dead. It isn't even past.

No greater tragedy than the death of your children.
Yet you live on, eyes drained of color. Old,
you make plans. To know the names of every flower
in the temperate zone. Every bird by its song.
Just as you're about to reach your goal, a tipping point
comes along: a nuclear detonation or it gets too cold.
The past is skating to where the puck will be.
--title from a ballad by Eustache Deschamps

www.ronnowpoetry.com
Did I say what they said I said
Some I said, not all
If I said the things I'd said
I'd have no time to play ball

I said some things I think I said
Some things came right from me
Some things I said, I wished I said
But those things, let them be

I said some things I said I saw
Some say I didn't say
Some things I saw, I didn't see
I just looked the other way

Some things I said I didn't say
I know, because it's true
I said some things I said I saw
The choice is up to you

There's things I said, that people like
Those things, I know I spoke
The other things I didn't say
Were just written as a joke

If I said the things I said
And you like them, say them too
But the things they said, I didn't say
Some are old, but most are new

I know I didn't say as much
As people said I said
There's more from me, I didn't say
At least that's what I've read

So, sue me if I say I say
Some things I said, but heard
I know it wasn't me that said
I don't know all those words

So, if I said the things I said
Instead of going out to play
I ask you now, to tell me please
Exactly, What'd I say
VS Nov 2015
Macia tua carne negra
Fora, borracha
Emputrefa, dentro

Exausta estás
Ensimesmada em tua idiossincrasia
Pelo gosto do vermelho
Ou ódio seria?

Não sabes
Resiste e sofre
Mas gargalha estridente
Porque Desgraça é teu nome

Dos outros está para todos
De mim, para mim inteiro

Insaciável engole-me assim
Mas regurgita e berra
A desejar em segredo
Seu último fim

Contrastes se calam
No teu ***** e no meu
Nessa dança macabra
De uma pessoa só
John F McCullagh Aug 2020
The stadium is empty now; just cardboard fans sit in those seats.
Old Bob Sheppard sits at the mike, clears his throat, and begins to speak.
One by one, He calls their names: Larsen, DiMaggio, Rizzuto, and Berra.
One by one they doff their caps; these heroes of the golden era.
The vacant ball-yard in the Bronx that the current Yankees call their home
Is silent on this sacred day, save for that rich baritone.
The specters gather on the diamond; these fabled heroes of yesteryear.
It would have been old Timer’s day today
These sights? these Sounds?
Only I , alone, can hear.
KV Srikanth May 2021
Oxymoron used frequently
Two words juxtaposing
Containing the opposite meaning
Etymology derived from Greek
Oxus and Moros
Sharp and stupid
Also an oxymoron

Commonly usage is unintentional
Appears paradoxical
Which Is a logical contradiction
A puzzle
Something to think on
Oxymoron is a figure of speech doesn't linger but gone

Used on people
To describe their characteristic
Cannot be used to describe a person
As it does not make sense

Used in quotes
Purpose to reflect
On purpose
As in not to neglect

Used in Advanced Science
Innovations with names that in English does not make sense
Virtual Reality
Is it a fallacy or advanced technology
Thin line to draw
Explanation difficult notoriously

Used in quotes
By great men like
Mark Twain.
Genius like Wodehouse
Visionary like Henry Ford
Mockingly by Bing Crosby
To Add Drama by Yogi Berra
Flavour to speech like Churchill
Unintended by Movie Moghuls

Lacking in knowledge critics will say
Percieved Comically
Some make you laugh hysterically
Adds fun to life
Usage An entertainment
No harm done

Act Naturally
Small Crowd
Clearly confused
Amazingly Awful
Only Choice
Farewell Reception
Commonly used
Not to get confused
Depends how much exposed
You are
To understand the context
In which it Is told

Tried my best
Leave the rest
To accept or not accept
To the person
At whose behest
I wrote this on request

Does this make me
A Smart idiot
Or a Stupid genius
For I shall be the happiest man alive
Even if I could drop dead
To get the approval
Even if it is negative
For everything is absolutely relative

— The End —