ROSES AND VIOLETS, OR, MY FELLOW AMERICANS

 

Roses & Violets

Or, My Fellow Americans

We stare at each other across a divide

Where we mock & stab & indict

Pause for a while with questioning eyes

We're neighbors, so why do we fight?

Each taunting the other, uncivil, unwise,

Nothing beloved as Pride.

So we stare at each other & I cry inside

Because this goes on out of spite

Because this deep a denial feeds on fawning & lies

Because we're really just hoping we're right

But each wants a trial, so neither one tries,

Although both will have said that they tried.

When the future comes asking, 

could you explain why 

You did nothing while so many cried?

If you knew what the price was, 

would you still want a prize 

If someone you cared about died?

My fellow Americans!  

Stop now & decide!

Dare to imagine 

our World 

put aright! 

We must reconcile, 

so we need to revise:

The Right

is as 

US

as the Left;

The Left 

is as 

US

as the Right.

To The Metalhead Dancing Not Only By Himself But Also Not Giving A F

TRUMPTRAITOR (A Doodle)

 

Always Already Again - a poem rediscovered by a Faust

 

Always Already Again

Or, If Categorical Surrender Is Possible, Is It Desirable?

(A Question Of Existential Epistemics)

The need to know is a need for control. 

The need for control is a grasp for power. It’s one of the biggest impediments to intimacy.

To not know together is to love: it’s alive, it’s erotic, it’s tender.

Can you surrender just a bit more to the truth: you don’t know anything.

—-@stephsoussloff

This tweet at first surprised, now is changing, somehow, me;

this change still taking form, won’t let itself yet show

Recognized it by its playful rearranging how I see

that will have had in me reborn my very need to know. 

Very much like this thing they call a craving for control

that the powerless, the mocked, the bullied, still admire:

If a dance is beautiful & joyous, does it stand to make you whole?

If the cause is good & true I for one would willingly conspire.

Wouldn’t you, if you came upon the Lord of Grasping

a chance encounter, or, after hunting night & day;                                                                                                                                                          

for all Love that will have last been seen in those hands gasping

you’d murder without second thought, you’d swift delight to slay.

Or not. I used to think the Truth is told from just how Beauty makes it ring

Not always. As you can see, I too am all-too-human, & I know not any thing.

nightdreaming

nightdreaming

or, how to make friends & influence people

a poem by a Faust

who do you think you are, &

who would i be to that you?

leave me that door ajar, then

ask do you have this view

when people have spoken of luck

what they mean they'd rather not say

come knock me my own secret knock

then answer as if there's a way

torture is needlessly hoping

to benefit some from the pain

then from the hopelessness needing

some right to be happy again

beauty's true & truth is beautiful, not every one — perhaps

but to dally with the one is to let the other lapse

MEMENTO AMORI

MEMENTO AMORI

Vel, Ad Libitum Meum Dicatum Coboli Auctoribus Obscurae Restrictaeque

AD HOC ARBITRIUM POEMA FAUSTAE FEMINAE

 

to as yet unmet stranger that might possibly meet this my attempting

even now as nothing yet

to tell them — some way & how — how they’re Beauty, could be —

wordlessness most infinite 

— at once — seen — & seen seeing — most delicious reflecting

possibility shining like light 

— & moment most rare — an it happen — somehow to me.

harmonies sweet soft & bright 

imagined communication reaches across space and time 

wordlessness now quite unsought

(though i’ve only this verse with which to make do)

what i’ll’ve said be somehow caught

yours reaches back somehow even to mine — 

that best ourselves be somehow shown

as i would this future thought remind you

in words like these i feel i’ve yet to hone:

so i must needs & do yet revise, refine.

HAEC SCRIPSI, UT QUISQUIS EXTRANEUS EST, QUI ME NATURALITER DILIGIT, FOVEATUR, UT CASUS FAVEAT, ET IN PROCESSU NUTRIAMUR, ET OPERA SINGULA INDE MAGNI FIANT.