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Lucius Furius Aug 2017
January 1, 1000

Year One-thousand, January One,
starts the new millennium.
The villein, Jacques, in Reims,
wakes to find his world unchanged.
His hut stinks; his flour's wormy.
He fears God's wrath, but trusts His mercy.
Walled in by his community,
set in Christian certainty;
by their fireplace, with his family, sitting,
he plans the plots he'll plant come spring
The stars above him do not move;
he knows God's power --and His love.

                                                          ­                                        
1118

Others loathe such conformity:
their minds and spirits must be free.
Tutor Pierre finds knowledge increase
in the arms of his pupil Héloise.
Risking life and reputation,
they learn a different conjugation.
(L'Université de Paris's great philosophe
and the canon's niece --in reckless love.)
You think the danger overstated?
Let me remind you that Abélard was castrated
--and the **** confined to a nunnery ...
whence she wrote most eloquently.
("Though I should think of God, I think of thee.")  


225

Dear Francis,
I hear that when you visited St. Peter's
you exchanged clothes with a beggar
and stood all day at the door of the church;
that you asked the people of Gubbio
to be kind to the wolf who was eating their sheep;
that you call birds your "sisters" and fire, your "brother";
that you would have us give all that we own to the poor....
--Perplexed in Perugia

Dear Perplexed,
I ask only that you see God's hand in all creation:
wolf, *****, flower, stone --
God gives to each His rain and His sun.
What man is in the eyes of the Lord,
that I am --and nothing more.


1517

Martin Luther says you can't buy salvation;
the individual conscience is the only true religion.
Of intermediaries, he'll have none;                              
Man is responsible to God alone.
The Bible, being God's holy Word,
must, by each Christian, be read and understood.
Humble toil is a service of God
far surpassing the holiness of monks.
God is terrible in his majesty;
by faith in God, are we made free.  


1611

[London; Shakespeare addresses assembled friends as he
retires to Stratford;... a mysterious stranger rebuts.]

"Despite it surely not being my intention
to slight the worth of imagination,
to doubt the value of our fictive craft,                                          
there can be no question:  in their import,
the actual deeds of actual men
must, perforce, surpass the disembodied pen.
This [pointing] is merely men upon a stage;
these, merely words I've placed on the page."

"Master Shakespeare, I beg to differ:
it is your words which will live forever.
When fiery Phoebus ten million times
has run his course 'round rotund Earth, men will
still be astonished at Lear's great woe,
still sigh with Juliet for her Romeo."


1711

They've placed Monsieur Voltaire in prison.
This will not postpone the Age of Reason.
Men will speak and write as they see fit,        
be governed by laws and the intellect.
        

1783

[General Washington, at Annapolis, Maryland]

"My friends, I'm honored deeply,
by the faith which you here show in me,
your confidence that these qualities
which served so well in war might now
to governance be applied successfully.    

"I, myself, have doubts:
I fear that battle's clear, cold steel will be dulled
in the gauzy murk of diplomacy.
And though I were suited to this high estate most perfectly
still I should shrink from it.
I think of Caesar,
returning, triumphant, from Gaul,
his heart full of zeal for the good of his people,                  
who achieved much, but whose lordly rule
gave way to others far less wise....

"There's a name for a man raised above men as a god:
it's 'king'. I'll have no kings!

"Thus, I surrender to you,
the duly-elected representatives of the States,
the outward and visible sign of my authority:
this sword. Let the world take note
that these united States, born under tyranny's yoke,
shall, in word and deed, henceforth
be governed democratically."


July 27, 1890

Vincent finds his world has narrowed,
(--what wonders he'd seen in la lumière d'Arles!--)
all the things for which he's sorrowed--
rejection by his cousin Kee,
reliance on his brother's charity,
failure of his "painters' community"--
come welling up....
He walks to the field from which he'd come.
In his pocket, the letter he'll never mail.
The wheatfield he'd so recently painted.
In his pocket, by his chest,...
the gun.


July 16, 1945

[Robert Oppenheimer, near Alamagordo, New Mexico]

    If the radiance of a thousand suns
    were to burst into the sky at once,
    that would mirror the Mighty One's splendor....
    I am become Death --World-destroyer.
    --The Bhagavad Gita

Everything was so much clearer
when it seemed the Germans might get the thing first....
Now it's all so terribly muddy....
Who knows what these generals'll do with it.
...The radiance of a thousand suns....                                                         ­                                                 

That 100-foot tower --completely gone!...
If we didn't do it, someone surely would....
I am become Death --destroyer of Worlds.  


January 1, 2000

Year Two-thousand, January One,
starts the new millennium.
The sales-clerk, Jacques, in Reims,
wakes to find his world unchanged.
He's got Internet access! Two cars!
He doesn't fear the universe....
The only group he's part of
is guys who drink at the local bar....
He goes to church, but doesn't believe.
His job, his marriage --nothing is certain....
Even the stars above him move.
He knows God's power --but not His love.
Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem:  humanist-art.org/old-site/audio/SoF16.MP3 .
This poem is part of the Scraps of Faith collection of poems (https://humanist-art.org/scrapsoffaith.htm )
Circle ****:
A benzene ring of the most powerful
Viral assortment of the worst kind
Accountable to no one,
Secrecy rules this cabal.
Only fire can extinguish this conspiracy-
Burn the rich.

The poor don’t need middle men,
Lawyers or intermediaries
When there’s an obvious infestation
To be dealt with quickly-
Before they change all the rules, again.
I admit everything is not all white or black to me.
But I did write this, so I guess I deserve torching too, lol.
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2019
Hosannah (Mombo from Missoura)


<>

Hosannah (Hebrew): an exclamation of joy, adoration

<>
who says Hosannah anymore, I think, recalling
a question reversed,^ one, long ago, that she sent to me,
the answer comes, a puddle splashing grandmother,
Mombo from Missoura

a what?

doesn’t matter

Periodic perusals of the small fine poems here, jewels lost in the kerfuffle,
At once, a signet ringing word jumps into my historical consciousness,
That little place, where the childhood was puzzled, but purified, remembering
That little boy, in synagogue, lost amid a congregation chanting
             Hosannah! to
Yahweh, ghost god, user of intermediaries-whisperers,

Mombo from Missoura (today’s guest voice)

selected by greater forces to make him recall the unity of many voices

his squeaking tone, found among that pure noise
that went to god’s heart direct

exclaiming in joy, adoration of
a majesty unfound on Earth,
sealed with a Selah,
crowned with Hallelujah

that god who never, incapable of forgetting,
still chats with him, that boy, now a boy~poppy,
from time to time,
recalling when together,
they too, puddle jumped,
looking for oil drop rainbow spots
so they could unison shout out loud


Hosannah! A rainbow on Earth

Sabbath Sept. 14, 2019
<>

^ ”who writes poems like this?”
did you think that a poem would not be forthcoming,
mombo-from-missoura?

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3323365/sudden-storm/
you turned me into ....
into an anxious person
passive aggressive

trembles at your absence
screaming your name

now I'm a scary puppy
licking my wounds
going around in circles
waiting for you to return
... your words
a gesture of love in your eyes
... to throw the ball

i wait ... and waiting I get weak
dehydrate me, I'm getting carbonized
my eyes are dry watching the window
my lashes fall
and my hands wrinkle

this time is cruel
makes me feel anxious, awkward, desperate
is like a tunnel crowded, which I can't leave
as tying the laces without hands

falling limply to the floor
without intermediaries
Here I'm
One problem in traditional finance
     Is that intermediaries are needed to
          Facilitate transactions in the system.  
               These intermediaries charge fees, act
                    As points of control or censorship, and
                         Often allow chargebacks (non-finality)
                              Therefore
                         What we need is a truly peer to peer
                    Electronic cash system which allows
               Payments to be sent from one party
          To another without an intermediary.
     Such a system built for the internet
Exists here and now.  It is Bitcoin.
You can see this poem on a background here - https://www.bitcoinpoems.pro/delivery088PeerToPeer.html
The concentric circles
Of two within one
described by colours
And the colours have meaning
The outer circle shaded red
those who build the world located hear
They are poor
They work day in day out
They make a living out of sweat
Most have many children
Most uneducated
Most die of hunger
They do unpropotional kind of work
They work a lot but paid less
Success is imagination

The inner is yellow
This describes the better ones
They are intermediaries
They speak for the few
They give given orders
They earn
They are settled but still most are not happy
They still strive to impress their bosses

The innermost belong to the few
The tycoons and multimillionaires
The earn but do not work
They formulate orders to favor
They hate local and like abroad
They speak in tongues
For others to interprete
Their shade is green
They have years to die
They import doctors
They inspire in ****
These are the few,
They have their say
And they must be heard!

Live is not fair
On earth someone struggles to make ends meet
While the other struggles to frustrate the more
The stinky rich
Controls the world
Even if they are educationally down
Their money speak louder
Their stories spread like fire over dry grass
They are of joy...
I will still believe in this concentric circle and unearth even better stories .
The three levels of life
Red
Yellow
Green.
Described as a concentric circle.
Life not love.
Fiat money relies on intermediaries
   Such as banks and government entities
      To facilitate transactions and keep records
         And ensure the integrity of the money system
            This system requires trust to make it function
               Yet the history of fiat currencies is replete with
                  Breaches of that trust - breaches of integrity
                     Therefore
                  Let’s move to a new money not based on trust
               With no reliance on any centralized authority
            But peer to peer verification through code
         Made secure by a decentralized network
      Allowing any and every user to validate
   Their own (and all) money transactions
This is Bitcoin.  Don’t trust, but verify
This is Poem 039 at BitcoinPoems.pro. You can see it on a background there, and sign up for each new weekly poem.
Universe Poems Apr 2022
The arts
Freedom to create
Enabling art to happen
Art and cultural activities,
a difference made,
in individual and community life
Recognising elements,
in the world around
Art market
Museums spark it
Intermediaries dealers are keys
Auction houses a public event
You may find you become resident

© 2022 Carol Natasha Diviney

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