"savants" poems
Kung walked
by the dynastic temple
and into the cedar grove,
and then out by the lower river,
And with him Khieu Tchi
and Tian the low speaking
And “we are unknown,” said Kung,
“You will take up charioteering?
“Then you will become known,
“Or perhaps I should take up charioterring, or archery?
“Or the practice of public speaking?”
And Tseu-lou said, “I would put the defences in order,”
And Khieu said, “If I were lord of a province
“I would put it in better order than this is.”
And Tchi said, “I would prefer a small mountain temple,
“With order in the observances,
with a suitable performance of the ritual,”
And Tian said, with his hand on the strings of his lute
The low sounds continuing
after his hand left the strings,
And the sound went up like smoke, under the leaves,
And he looked after the sound:
“The old swimming hole,
“And the boys flopping off the planks,
“Or sitting in the underbrush playing mandolins.”
And Kung smiled upon all of them equally.
And Thseng-sie desired to know:
“Which had answered correctly?”
And Kung said, “They have all answered correctly,
“That is to say, each in his nature.”
And Kung raised his cane against Yuan Jang,
Yuan Jang being his elder,
For Yuan Jang sat by the roadside pretending to
be receiving wisdom.
And Kung said
“You old fool, come out of it,
“Get up and do something useful.”
And Kung said
“Respect a child’s faculties
“From the moment it inhales the clear air,
“But a man of fifty who knows nothng
Is worthy of no respect.”
And “When the prince has gathered about him
“All the savants and artists, his riches will be fully employed.”
And Kung said, and wrote on the bo leaves:
If a man have not order within him
He can not spread order about him;
And if a man have not order within him
His family will not act with due order;
And if the prince have not order within him
He can not put order in his dominions.
And Kung gave the words “order”
and “brotherly deference”
And said nothing of the “life after death.”
And he said
“Anyone can run to excesses,
“It is easy to shoot past the mark,
“It is hard to stand firm in the middle.”
And they said: If a man commit ******
Should his father protect him, and hide him?
And Kung said:
He should hide him.
And Kung gave his daughter to Kong-Tchang
Although Kong-Tchang was in prison.
And he gave his niece to Nan-Young
although Nan-Young was out of office.
And Kung said “Wan ruled with moderation,
“In his day the State was well kept,
“And even I can remember
“A day when the historians left blanks in their writings,
“I mean, for things they didn’t know,
“But that time seems to be passing.
A day when the historians left blanks in their writings,
But that time seems to be passing.”
And Kung said, “Without character you will
“be unable to play on that instrument
“Or to execute the music fit for the Odes.
“The blossoms of the apricot
“blow from the east to the west,
“And I have tried to keep them from falling.”
4.6k
100
A science—so the Savants say,
“Comparative Anatomy”—
By which a single bone—
Is made a secret to unfold
Of some rare tenant of the mold,
Else perished in the stone—
So to the eye prospective led,
This meekest flower of the mead
Upon a winter’s day,
Stands representative in gold
Of Rose and Lily, manifold,
And countless Butterfly!
2.2k
Why make so much of fragmentary blue
In here and there a bird, or butterfly,
Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye,
When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue?
Since earth is earth, perhaps, not heaven (as yet)—
Though some savants make earth include the sky;
And blue so far above us comes so high,
It only gives our wish for blue a whet.
2k
with bodies relaxed,
but eyes observant,
they sell
five dollar bags of
***** weedy poetry
mixed clientele,
there is no age or gender or ****** preference
discrimination,
certainly none requiring critical taste,
in the buying and selling of
***** weedy poetry
commercial savants,
organized by topic,
available for purchase
love, depressing, rants and whines,
discounts for pre-owned
anti boyfriend rhymes
in his day, they say,
Whitman partook,
ferried up from his Brooklyn nook,
William Carlos Williams too,
from New Jersey came,
better to understand
the most common patois
they'll do custom stuff,
the suppliers,
mix and blend all
kinds of ****
their database exponential,
give them the
requisite hashtags,
and within it,
in it,
thirty minutes,
no more,
they'll requisition,
providing an acquisition -
you'll get your
name-your-own-hash,
Freedom
to entitle your own
***** weedy poetry
or you could grow you own
on the window sill
in the earth of your discarded
despair
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 10:24 AM UTC
They don’t want what they say
They don’t say want they want
They play their games
They’re dating savants
I’m looking for love, could I be the only one?
Butterflies and goosebumps
And thousands of hugs
If true love exists, please let me know
I’m running out of faith
Should I just let the dream go?
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
Learn to walk with cotton savants
Or lend them all that moonstruck leer
It's love-
fissuring,
surging,
-blotting the lions and olive-skinned tiers.
it doesn't need the faintest trace of us.
and we couldn't be more lucky.
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 12:01 AM UTC
168
If the foolish, call them “flowers“—
Need the wiser, tell?
If the Savants “Classify” them
It is just as well!
Those who read the “Revelations”
Must not criticize
Those who read the same Edition—
With beclouded Eyes!
Could we stand with that Old “Moses”—
“Canaan” denied—
Scan like him, the stately landscape
On the other side—
Doubtless, we should deem superfluous
Many Sciences,
Not pursued by learned Angels
In scholastic skies!
Low amid that glad Belles lettres
Grant that we may stand,
Stars, amid profound Galaxies—
At that grand “Right hand”!
1.1k
Fiery
Lady
She is brighter than the sun
Hotter 'cause she knows what she wants
Don't need men to get things done
'Cause fiery ladies are savants.
Try to harass her
She'll spit back flame
Call her a slur
She'll leave you with shame
No one can invade her
Without being scorched
She will never deter
'Cause she's a
Fiery Lady (woo hoo)
Queen of the world
Gonna show it a thing or two
Fiery Lady (woo hoo)
With hair straight or curled
She knows there's nothin' she can't do
Fiery Lady (Fiery)
Fiery Lady (Lady)
Fiery Lady (Fiery)
Fiery lady (Lady)
Magazines tryin' to fool girls (fool girls),
Tellin' 'em to change who they are.
Songs tryin' to exploit girls (exploit girls)
Pitying them cause they think scars mar.
But wounds are tales
Of fiery ladies;
Their trials, their trails,
Tests from Hades
But ladies don't care,
They always dare,
And each one's a
Fiery Lady (woo hoo)
Queen of the World
Gonna show it a thing or two
Fiery Lady (woo hoo)
With hair straight or curled
She knows there's nothin' she can't do
Fiery Lady (Fiery)
Fiery Lady (Lady)
Fiery Lady (Fiery)
Fiery lady (Lady)
Woah-oh-oh
Fiery Lady (woo hoo)
Queen of the World
Gonna show it a thing or two
Fiery Lady (woo hoo)
With hair straight or curled
She knows there's nothin' she can't do
Fiery Lady (woo hoo)
Queen of the World
Gonna show it a thing or two
Fiery Lady (woo hoo)
With hair straight or curled
She knows there's nothin' she can't do
Fiery
Lady
Fiery
Lady
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 11:16 PM UTC
Cast a glance to the comet up high
with a name sounding awkward and dry
(in the stellar marquee
it's marked 'six-seven-P')
and a motion that's hard to descry.
As the comet continues to fly,
caught in gravity none can defy
(yes, it traces ellipses
through solar eclipses),
we ask 'does dark matter comply'.
So, we sent the Rosetta to pry
and I can't help but wondering why
(once in orbit) we spun it
so close to the sun, it
is likely to sizzle and fry…
But before, we may soon verify
that the comet's a custard cream pie
made of green cheddar cheese,
like the moon, if you please
(though that's gospel the savants deny).
When receivers no longer reply
(at the end of their solar supply),
we won't seek to debug 'em,
instead we'll we unplug 'em
and turn off our spy in the sky.
If it's certain Rosetta will die
then, oh lordy, I surely will cry
if we land it like Philae
behind the sun, shyly,
before I can whisper goodbye.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 1:09 PM UTC
together we sit and scan through pages
searching for knowledge of savants and sages
apart by wires and spaces deemed cyber
together in some places besotted by desires
for that which you seek and that which you share
your hasty interests may lead you to stare
into the abyss of the nets' unending
the maelstroms vortex you'll soon be winding
going ye here and going ye there
hopeful your meanderings
shall leave you fair
for within some sites there's the inveigle snare
ultimately constructed to leave you bare
go wittingly into the all- electric fray
some sensitive toes you'll invariably belay
don't fret over words harmlessly mislaid
to err is only human, short-circuits allayed
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 9:39 PM UTC
Supine, I sonder...
all syzygies and cromulent salons.
Stalking inlets, outbound.... surrounding swathes of
simpletons and awkward savants.
Sublime, I bombinate blithely... babbling
oblique begonias -
abloom... beyond barbarous gardens.
I tune my loom to weave
a wondrous garland -
the envy of every Harvest Moon
eclipsed...
[ and beg no pardon ]
As The Aurora
of our angular momentum
aptly allude to our diluvian droughts.
boundlessly departed
from all dominion... Like -
a dessicated deluge
dormant at the heart
of an epibenthic
pearl of dew.
I slake my thirst at
the First Well...
desolate of mirth.
yet ever at
peace.
contiguous in the extreme.
Supine, i sonder....
stitching my
brother's shadow
to the heel
of my odyssey.
My Wilderness
complete... when I go
missing.
[ where i oughta be ]
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 12:02 AM UTC
Bored poets write ennui
Sad poets psalms
Bad poets penning's
Are made into songs
Silly poets write limericks
And limericks they read
Drunk poets write scribbles
Drunk on their mead
Angry young men
Write rants by the hour
Wide-eyed young girls write
Of bunnies and flowers
Idiots write nonsense
Off the seat of their pants,
Got news for you, scoffers!
So do savants!
Gays write of rainbows
Saints of sonnets of old,
Storytellers write
pirate plunder and gold.
Broken poets write humbly
Strong writes unadorned,
Happy
write of roses
Bleeding poets of thorns.
Soul Survivor aka
Write of Passage aka
Invisible inc
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC
Where were you
When the rope snapped
Predicate your excuses
The vernacular dichotomies
of savants and fools
These love lessons comparative to
Step dancing in a mine field
These guerilla tactics of yours
Are lamentable
My neck already broken
By the force of your linguistic blows
Etymologically patterned for adoration
Love theory wasted on your lap
Sanctuary for kittens and babies
I bear the distinction derived from years
Of practicable nonchalance
The inflectional brutality
Of casual words
Spat out barbs of cyanide
We could have ..... forever
But I gave you my soul
Now the best of me is wasted space
Asphyxiated by the torque of adrenalin and ****** frustration
There is nothing left for you here
Pick up your paper chains
And wander home…
121209.
TL Boehm
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 12:22 PM UTC
My mouth stands strong.
Ribbon of drool match those in reflection.
My accolade full circle, royal undertow.
Vellicating in dishonourable mysticism.
Moving here & there.
Moving water, wine & a wisdom separating love from the ore.
Learning where musical savants & initiates dim the lights.
Inspectors test restraints, narrowing memory. Now forgotten.
Wake up, remove hairs sprinkled in hidden testimonial.
Misgivings in this shellacked house of homes.
Intellection. Ascending, bending bones. Fissured left-behinds.
To purify all your thoughts.
Resisting universal locomote.
Heels in foreign grease. Bare soles departed.
Movings of brilliantly painted soil.
Telephones relate & relay the balmy decisions you are making.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 6:44 PM UTC
Oui, si j'étais femme, aimable et jolie,
Je voudrais, Julie,
Faire comme vous ;
Sans peur ni pitié, sans choix ni mystère,
A toute la terre
Faire les yeux doux.
Je voudrais n'avoir de soucis au monde
Que ma taille ronde,
Mes chiffons chéris,
Et de pied en cap être la poupée
La mieux équipée
De Rome à Paris.
Je voudrais garder pour toute science
Cette insouciance
Qui vous va si bien ;
Joindre, comme vous, à l'étourderie
Cette rêverie
Qui ne pense à rien.
Je voudrais pour moi qu'il fût toujours fête,
Et tourner la tête,
Aux plus orgueilleux ;
Être en même temps de glace et de flamme,
La haine dans l'âme,
L'amour dans les yeux.
Je détesterais, avant toute chose,
Ces vieux teints de rose
Qui font peur à voir.
Je rayonnerais, sous ma tresse brune,
Comme un clair de lune
En capuchon noir.
Car c'est si charmant et c'est si commode,
Ce masque à la mode,
Cet air de langueur !
Ah ! que la pâleur est d'un bel usage !
Jamais le visage
N'est trop **** du coeur.
Je voudrais encore avoir vos caprices,
Vos soupirs novices,
Vos regards savants.
Je voudrais enfin, tant mon coeur vous aime,
Être en tout vous-même...
Pour deux ou trois ans.
Il est un seul point, je vous le confesse,
Où votre sagesse
Me semble en défaut.
Vous n'osez pas être assez inhumaine.
Votre orgueil vous gêne ;
Pourtant il en faut.
Je ne voudrais pas, à la contredanse,
Sans quelque prudence
Livrer mon bras nu ;
Puis, au cotillon, laisser ma main blanche
Traîner sur la manche
Du premier venu.
Si mon fin corset, si souple et si juste,
D'un bras trop robuste
Se sentait serré,
J'aurais, je l'avoue, une peur mortelle
Qu'un bout de dentelle
N'en fût déchiré.
Chacun, en valsant, vient sur votre épaule
Réciter son rôle
D'amoureux transi ;
Ma beauté, du moins, sinon ma pensée,
Serait offensée
D'être aimée ainsi.
Je ne voudrais pas, si j'étais Julie,
N'être que jolie
Avec ma beauté.
Jusqu'au bout des doigts je serais duchesse.
Comme ma richesse,
J'aurais ma fierté.
Voyez-vous, ma chère, au siècle où nous sommes,
La plupart des hommes
Sont très inconstants.
Sur deux amoureux pleins d'un zèle extrême,
La moitié vous aime
Pour passer le temps.
Quand on est coquette, il faut être sage.
L'oiseau de passage
Qui vole à plein coeur
Ne dort pas en l'air comme une hirondelle,
Et peut, d'un coup d'aile,
Briser une fleur.
732
It’s that my bedroom walls
Are two cupped hands, clammy
And cradling, how it feels inside
Of a sliced fish, pink sometimes
Too, like the gums lining eyes
Under a Spring sun
But they’re painted green,
The green of spotty mold florets
And planks with split ends
Shine like ironed dyed auburn hair
Molded in a cheap wax,
That never melts,
Though the desk lamp cheaply
Spotlights the thumbtacked
Rubric by the impotent light switch
And makes the doorknob warm
By association, it’s nice and still
So that I stay in here, developing
Absorbing phrases like “the
Activation of relational defenses”
Or ornamental gems from
The despondent Russian savants,
Even things that may be useless
(How to Clean Everything is turned,
binding back, bristles out, beneath
Popular Card Games, and I don’t
Own a deck of cards) that I still
Open and snack on in times
Of disorientation, and to go out
Would crumple the whole, delicate
Cocoon, the paper cloister, the
Draft that wafts around my hard and
Numb toes would escape
And I’d dry up like a defunct worm
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 3:59 PM UTC
I cross the bridge to nowhere, in the cold, in my underwear
Intense winds push me to edges, where I contemplate ledges
Looking down, spirits swim and stare; icy waters are their lair
I levitate and meditate; medicate with mental dredges
Such mundane nonchalance; my bridge leads to idiot savants
I would be crowned their King, kindred soul of unsound meditations
We've left our lost souls unburied, unhurried to right the carriage
Take a deep breath of the ether of dregs and suppurations
Take the one whom you love, not in marriage, in ************
On the bridge, I pass a young ponce and hear echoes of "Bon Chance!"
Purple rags greet me at the gate, royal flags of highest distinction
Winking my eye, scratching my head, the dead are now forgotten
Deep in my pit, so deep I forget, a pang of extinction
In my palace of darkness, no light will shine on the rotten
In the court of fools, coarse avowals can't be washed by the fonts
So lines are drawn by idiot courtiers and indigent warriors
Cities with no regret or sorrow, tomorrow trampled to tatters
Through smoke and burnt flesh we ***** we hope to soothe the worriers
We are all Babylonians, babbling on as if nothing matters
The bridges to nowhere we cross, we cross bridges to Babylons
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 1:05 AM UTC
Where is she, in her impeccable timing and charm?
She's gone to roam the Earth,
And all its great civilizations left to conquer.
She'll sing at the throne to become Empress of African empires
And keep me waiting.
It's shameful to think about the stuff I've cried over recently, and the things I saw of her while intoxicated,
Her beautiful face and the words of a woman who'd grown both petty and sad.
It sounds familiar.
It makes me want you more.
///
Is 1:30 too early to get ****** up?
I have nothing better to do.
Where have you gone,
And have you lost the plot on your journey from Cumberland River to Puget Sound?
I hear you're the Queen of Seattle.
I hear Eastern Kentucky has a long history of intoxication,
Blessed with unbelievable quantities of prodigies and savants.
Shouldn't it be a sign that they all leave?
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 11:56 PM UTC
IN DREAM I LAY .
I just wish to heaven to grant me one dream .
even though all about me is but lean .
i want to be with you when all thing past away .
dream for you as much as my heart sway .
tangled in disaster but hobbled with one harkening .
live your dream even my procession seems no meaning .
dream of kings upon heaven of glorious story .
but i have no courage , i have no power ,hope you be laudatory.
dreams ,so many swept and washed over my face with a mark.
the bloom and gloom , and all but with you i wish one remark.
i hope you be the witness of my bleeding heart that will see sun ,
through your smile .
maybe you cant be mine ,grandeur aloft when my throne is vile
but if you once dreamed of love , im beggar fighting against the
the door of nightmare .
it means nothing when i pain , when i bleed but all bad i mar .
im beggar at your door but for Sapphira or gold i refrain .
only , with the dream of your heart i do sustain.
i just wish to be in your arms when all thing past in dream .
slumber with you though we are hasten with disaster and lame
even if your tongue is the most venomous kiss .
let me sip it till and lay in forever dream abyss .
i know kings , servants , fame , savants , beggars thither reside.
but i fain be there , cause in love i perish and in its dream i ride .
oh what a dream to feel love with you .
and praise to lay in forever dream in your arms to see anew .
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 2:54 AM UTC
I am the monarch of my tea --
which I drink at ten-past-three --
Whose praise Great Britain loudly chants,
As they lose themselves in caffein'd trance,
As they lose themselves in caffein'd trance,
(Of Loose Leafed Tea that's sourced in Ceylon,)
And clap their batons,
in breeches and ribbons,
in a dance!
When the amber brew is spied,
My ***** swells with pride,
And I snap my fingers in the tea-house haunt,
In the estaminets and the restaurant,
In the estaminets and the restaurant,
(Of Loose Leafed Tea that's sourced in Ceylon,)
To get my quota,
of ice-tea soda,
as my want!
But when the brew is cold,
I generally arms mine fold,
And seek my rights with an English rant!
And demand my due of this G-d-blest plant
And demand my due of this G-d-blest plant
(Of Loose Leafed Tea that's sourced in Ceylon,)
of hot English tea,
with milk 'n honey,
to decant!
Alternative:
I am the monarch of my tea --
which I drink at ten-past-three --
Whose praise Great Britain loudly chants,
And so do its critics and its pundits and savants!
And so do its critics and its pundits and savants!
Its critics and its pundits,
especially its pundits,
and savants!
When the amber brew is spied,
My ***** swells with pride,
And I snap my fingers in the tea-house haunts,
And so do its critics and its pundits and savants!
And so do its critics and its pundits and savants!
Its critics and its pundits,
especially its pundits,
and savants!
But when the brew is cold,
I generally arms mine fold,
And seek my rights with an English rant!
And so do its critics and its pundits and savants!
And so do its critics and its pundits and savants!
Its critics and its pundits
[some of whom are bandits],
and savants!
May 24, 2021
May 24, 2021 at 6:59 AM UTC
I have winnowed words from red earth
Birthed mad poetry in silence
Rumbled under sullen skies
Cast my cries to the birds of the air
The cadence of mind
Blind expectations
Venerations
The ache of angels and soliloquied
Mantras of savants and idol fools
I’ve plated my thoughts with bits of
Sugared glaze to coat the rendered
Offering dolloped in the sickened
Fawning
My voracious ego tasteless
Vinegar on the palette
The sweat of my brow spat out
In a shallow glass
The circumstance of banality
Nothing more than the dull ache
At the base of your spine
You dismiss me by degrees
Inconsistencies
Secrets grow fangs and
Spider themselves webbed
Close to the bone
Crunched underfoot
Weary words spin in the thin air
Senseless surrendered chattel
Trace my petty dreams in the dust
Of the space between
You and me and we
Will never grasp the significance
Of a blade of grass
Or the depthless black ocean
Where your terrors luminesce
On the cusp of a pirate moon
You breathe the algorithms
Temporal
And I have lost my taloned grip
On your poet soul
TL Boehm
04/2013
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 4:12 PM UTC
Minos, ne pouvant plus suffire
Au fatigant métier d'entendre et de juger
Chaque ombre descendue au ténébreux empire,
Imagina, pour abréger,
De faire faire une balance
Où dans l'un des bassins il mettait à la fois
Cinq ou six morts, dans l'autre un certain poids
Qui déterminait la sentence.
Si le poids s'élevait, alors plus à loisir
Minos examinait l'affaire ;
Si le poids baissait au contraire,
Sans scrupule il faisait punir.
La méthode était sûre, expéditive et claire ;
Minos s'en trouvait bien. Un jour, en même temps,
Au bord du Styx la mort rassemble
Deux rois, un grand ministre, un héros, trois savants.
Minos les fait peser ensemble.
Le poids s'élève, il en met deux,
Et puis trois, c'est en vain ; quatre ne font pas mieux.
Minos, un peu surpris, ôte de la balance
Ces inutiles poids, cherche un autre moyen ;
Et, près de là voyant un pauvre homme de bien
Qui dans un coin obscur attendait en silence,
Il le met seul en contrepoids :
Les six ombres alors s'élèvent à la fois.
467
We, O Yes we stuck together in a time
A time of our needy voices shattered not to brake, less we find our Bloom.
How we became one another, another one over one
Timeless time left as we Savants were Devoured.
We, Ancient and Misinterpreted
Left not gone as in, has our voyage forgotten?
O saving grace of shining lights.
You Constantly position Guidance of Art
structured against a self embodied frame
Yet Time set's upon us so aimlessly breaching its uniformity Aside a long lost gem. His mind, too relevant throughout a fixture immaculately irrelevant, Gone with identical rhythmic violations
confining thy universal equation of all living life into a painting,
this particle of ye O lord. Doth me wise in finding a will to have endless appeal with thee. To find with utmost certainty
fixation on thee shall parallel the birth of a new age
with inside one who rules all of who is now what is his self.
Take me O Lord or can God save the king?
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 7:52 AM UTC
I am lunatic,
My life's not static,
Like most of us are,
I'm just above par,
In the league of savants,
With imaginary havens,
Wake up in the afternoon,
From my delusional honeymoon.
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 5:13 AM UTC
I’m afraid yet amazed
by the stain of your grace
and the bittersweet taste
it has left on my brain
of distasteful disdain
But if all life is suffering
am I right to feel strife,
when my heart can’t depart
that which has haunted my nights
with the stark darkness of life?
That knowledge alone
can only be known
by the savants of the Road
after finding a home
where only the lonely can go
But the common truth thats now grown
alongside wisdoms new throne;
is if you can’t bury the hatchet
You must exhume the casket
for the dead are only as dead
as the ghosts within your head
Sep 28, 2020
Sep 28, 2020 at 1:51 PM UTC