Poem -
By The Dawn's Burning Spite
So the grey that you see
By the dawn's burning spite
Fraught so loudly with gale
where such calm
had been dreaming,
Soon marauds Night's bright
Flaw...
Through the garrulous plight.
O'er sham sparks, we're caught -
where the malice has meaning.
As the Thoughtless still glare -
At the Hope chest laid bare.
God, mute in the Light
Shouting " Why Do I Care ?! "
So Sagebrush and Amber
are all left amazed...
That the Man who would Be Free
built his own gilded
Cage.
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Comments
Magnificent!
Pointed, clever, angry, insightful, acid-tipped, funny and deeply disturbing.
Remarkable in its craft...riveting in its art.
I had no idea that you had such unpatriotic patriotism burning within you
...or is that just spite?!?
J ;)
Ha !!!! Thank You, Brother Poet.... I'm in the zone. I shall revisit your comment and elucidate, in the very near future... but for now... " Back to the Furnace..."
An Anthem is always needed, day by day. We cling too fiercely to the pomp and dirge of our effete pomp, to better grasp the runaway train of thought, that is the self ignored inner life of a self absorbed outer nation. We must learn to contain the Truth where it lies... To Adapt to the arsenal of the Enemy, via pathways, adroit and passionate. We Must Never Forget to innovate in the face of Tyranny.... For Evil is the Long Con over short memories. And Love is the answer to forgetting what you're fighting for.
There are times when I very much wish to shake you by the hand, good sir.
This moment is one of those times.
There are times when no words are adequate to express my admiration for the eloquence of your mind and the wisdom of your heart.
This moment is one of those times.
Across the surging oceans of this world, I'd build a bridge of words; would that we could meet upon that bridge and greet each other in friendship.
But words are not enough.
On the Nature of Bridges...
we are cloaked in the conspiracy of separateness, by virtue of coordinates. The untrained mind can only grasp, one ' Here ' at a time; and ' Here With ' is a sticky wicket. But I assure you...The lightning that affords ours Kismet and solders the rainbow to our iridescent understandings of " The Other ", also governs our whalesong to deaf rocks... And nothing is kinder than meeting a like mind on a mountaintop... while languishing below the fathoms of lack wits and churlish cretins of ill thoughts. To judge not, 'lest We be judged... To arrive less lost, than the lost we're taught.
To find a Friend in the Wilderness...
Like a Boss !
Ugh !!!!!! Editing for this site should be Mandatory for the hamfisted programming for Writers !!!!
Even my complaint is riddled with errors I can't go back and Fix on the fly !!!!! What the Hell ? Did writer's write this site ? I'm looking the gift horse in the mouth and finding a mule !
Ha!
Yes...but what big teeth she has!!
On the Songs of Whales and Mountaintops...
Some marine biologists believe, fancifully perhaps, that the songs of the humpback whale; which are picked up, repeated and passed on by hundreds of individual animals over hundreds of miles of open ocean: are a kind of communication...a shared oral history of the pod. There are recordings of these...more beautiful and mysterious than the poetry of the ancients.
Beethoven and Nietzsche both walked for hours in the mountains of Europe, for hours...days sometimes, listening to and for the music of those same ancients. Ludwig transcribed the songs of all humanity; Fred, on the other hand, transcribed the songs of the superman and the gods of Zoroaster.
None of them ever met...but heard each others' call.
As do we, my friend.
Ubermensch... extraordinaire. I agree.
philosopher stands
over anthropology
upon the mountain
Philosopher Stands In The River Mostly....
As we Think, we must Change, as we gain ground to lose it.
We become too familiar with the everyday yarn of our cloth, and return to the sheep we shorn it from, if we do not move.
Alas...
we cannot
return
a sheep once shorn
can never be rewoven
and rivers move on
when you're not
stepping in them
so says the
philosopher
a river continues with or without your stride.
the fleece returns to sheep over night.
the sky doesn't burn from the sun's clear light.
and the Philosopher speaks
when the silence
is a Lie.
if the silence is a lie
the dead are liars
screaming in the meaninglessness of night
if philosophers must speak
then mimes are artists
straining against a wind pregnant with blight
if the sheep regain their coats
why would we steal it
why try to charm a cheetah of its stripes
if the river runs without us
the dead won't cross it
with Charon in his currach devoid of light
Oh my friend.. I much too much to set straight with your response. You lept into a rhetorical snare, and I feel that I must dissuade from the myriad premise of your inspired retort. And I will. Line by line, if we are telling Truth to Other and not merely playing games... And pray you respect that... But I am all up " Shadow Of Mordor " on Xbox presently... and it is unforgiving. So I'll need a moment or two to smite the dark lord's minions, and I will revisit this tit-for-tat immediately thereafter.
you have a gift. never squander it on metaphors that wax before a deep contemplation. Draw your bow, and hit your mark, in spite of the low hanging fruit that tempts you to versify to accomplish an end to a point that embark upon, for the shear thrill of uttering beautiful things.
Again... back soon. You are very clever indeed.
and spell czech ! Hahahahaha ! my achilles heel. whoa.
and furthermore... " wane " not "wax". rookie mistake in this arena. Forgive me, and acknowledge my imperfection.
and yes, doubtless, my other lesser errors are obvious to you, Mr. Brown.
Overlook them as a mercy to a new friend.
" if the silence is a lie
the dead are liars... "
In my response I propose the contrary to your conclusion, And Candidly so. To this end... i suggest that Silence is a Lie when the Truth must be Defended by a thought observer. Silence is farce in the face of atrocity and must be abandoned by those who have it within them to utter the It when all else fails.
The dead cannot lie. They are Truth incarnate, however ironic that may seem... But you can't be more Real than dead.
Huh?
"if philosophers must speak
then mimes are artists.... "
The disconnect here extends from the previous misconception, and i trust I need not elucidate further.... save to say, I practiced as a mime in my youth, and I was artful, it spite of my lack of rigor as a man of deep introspection. And all philosophy had very much to say before I pretended i walking into a wall.
" if the sheep regain their coats
why would we steal it
why try to charm a cheetah of its stripes ? ....."
Precisely, that it is in the Nature of Sheep to replenish their fleece, is Why we Harvest it. And in the animal kingdom... stripes are in the skin. Shave a tiger and the stripes are still there... like a tattoo.
"if the river runs without us
the dead won't cross it... "
The River runs, Period.
We are in it regardless of an whimsy. And The Dead cannot escape the transition from the Land of the Living, to the outer banks of the Hereafter,. And The River Must Be Dealt With.
QED.
forgive the tone. And the mistakes. we are merely deeply chatting on a mountaintop in cyberspace.... from the heart.
Thank You Mr. Brown, for the stimulation. Sincerely.
I'm willing to accept the central thesis of your counterargument in that the above was a mere exercise in cheap word-spinning on my part; and not especially good word-spinning at that!
I can't quite bring myself to accept your assertion that "...you can't be more Real than dead." but that may hinge on the use of the word 'real' and the subtle interpretations thereof.
As an erstwhile Shakespearean actor, I do accept that what mimes do can be 'artful'; but I find myself agreeing with Lord Vetinari (in Terry Pratchett's Discworld novels) who rounded up all the mimes and hung them upside-down by their feet in front of a sign which read: "LEARN THE WORDS"!!!
One more thing...PLEASE call me Jason...I beg of you. Or better still, my friends call me J; and you, most assuredly, are a friend. A very surprising, welcome and stimulating one at that.
J ;)
Hey J !!!! Remarkable !!! Thank You for the privilege of shed such formality... But I came from a place of respect.
And furthermore... I agree... Mimes should learn the words, but i performed for children that would never understand anything i had to say.
We are well met, indeed.
And as for wordplay.... Dead is what you get from Living till it's over... And that's what I was insinuating clumsily.
Two states interdependent... That coalesce into a whole experience. And That, My Friend, is Most Real.
Wow this is sensational, in a very dark way ..i actually had to sing along
Me too!
Me 3. snicker*
Thank You, very, very much....