"lucretius" poems
The poet speaks on anything
thinking their words are fresh as spring,
logical as philosophy,
and tuned to nature’s harmony
Socrates reasoned that the voice
of poets was not one of choice,
but rather was much inspired
by gods touching minds with fire
The audience finds more meaning
in the mad poet's own ramblings
than the epileptic speaker
himself will ever dare ponder
They speak first on others behalf
as if they are the better half;
fancying themselves conqueror,
fisherman, a seer, and doctor
By what means are they qualified
to serve as humanity's guides?
How do the epics of Homer
make you more than imitator?
Cicero, Plato, Lucretius
Davinci, and Heraclitius:
Rare to find artist and scholar
in the wise true philosopher
Be wary of the charms of rhyme
and seduction of meter’s time
As these are well known to allure
common fools to charleton's words
Jun 1, 2019
Jun 1, 2019 at 5:27 PM UTC
Hello.
Good evening and welcome back
This is tonight’s program
The air is ripe
Ripe with social abundance
And whimsical latte grooves
A warmth in the air
It caresses your body, this warmth
It walks by your side, this warmth
It’s there holding your hand
Knowing that you’re alone
Because this isn’t the same warmth of a
person’s hand
But this comfort, this invisible hand, this invisible other
Is the warmth of the free midnight air
The city lights: fluorescent metal plants with flashing neon insects and prowling jungle dwellers
The soft ambient jazz that plays from the dripping rain.
Giving your life the harmony of passion
The melody of joy
But with the rhythms of melancholy
A lone phrase that passes by each composition
Your world goes black and white
Full becomes hollow
Radiant becomes dull
Trust becomes deception
Love becomes hate
Life becomes death
The rain intensifies with translucent color
Reflecting the street illumination of grandeur
and sensual subtlety
Urban poetry doused by mythic ambition
Perplexing the eyes of the unknowing artist
Raising the half full glass to the half empty person
Objects in mirror are closer than they appear
You are that much closer to your reflective self
The part of you that will never leave the gaze of reflective surfaces
There when you look away from your noon time coffee on the café window
There when your mind wonders away from your spouses’ arguing; the mirror behind them
There on the puddles on the asphalt and street corners, asking you with voiceless faces
‘Where are you now?”
“Is this the dream of God subconscious?”
“Is God asleep? Is this all just a dream of something bigger than us/’
Having a conversation with your reflection can turn out to be quite enlightening.
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Please swing by again.
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 7:40 PM UTC
A few titles
A few songs
A few artists
Combine
for compound fractures
of my consciousness
For, lo, the ulcer just by nourishing
Grows to more life with deep inveteracy,
And day by day the fury swells aflame,
And the woe waxes heavier day by day—
Unless thou dost destroy even by new blows
The former wounds of love, and curest them
While yet they're fresh, by wandering freely round
After the freely-wandering Venus, or
Canst lead elsewhere the tumults of thy mind.
Yes, a swollen skin
fragmented bone
I walk
and flee her capture.
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 6:13 PM UTC
How sad the trees be
when winter comes as fall leaves
and the flowers die
What consolation
is Venus’s forsaken
yielding spring to rise?
For once staring death,
summer fastens by a breath
and the flowers die
Yet made to know doom,
trees tither the chance to bloom
yielding spring to rise
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 4:07 PM UTC
I see atoms
Fall down like rain
A paper thin curtain
Hiding the eternal
A weak barricade
Though strong enough
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 2:11 PM UTC
This man.
Wow.
An hour is a unit of distance.
Thank you for having existed.
You have provided me
With a new philosophy
On life, the universe, and everything
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 10:58 PM UTC