A loud thought

We

are the only creatures

that are meta

Supposedly

as in Assumption

Anthropologically

or making

Anthropocenes

and calling it

as though It is

Fragmented-

they said

I was

Funny,

that is my poetry showing

if you have a sense of humor

or comical elbow

you know

jabs are blunt

This specific species

doesn’t understand

All 

parts as a whole

some were mystified

and thought the Art clever-

Others never

see the holes

by volume of alibis

Let’s confess,

if it bleeds it needs

Compression

another way to say

another need-

                      to say.


Painting by John Michael Wright [Public domain], Portrait of a Lady (17th century) via Wikimedia Commons.

The Theory of Speculative Direction

If you were lost in the woods,

                                     a compass would work

better than a philosopher

                                     even if you didn't know

how it all worked

                                     At least you would get

Somewhere.

If you wanted to map

                                     the Universe one

should listen to a shaman's mantra

                                     not plot it out with an astrophysicist

it would be easier to project

                                     realms by means of real numbers

shooting from the lip, a departure from

                                     the same astral plane

                                     bound by reasonable gravity

Altering the scenery doesn't change the view

                                    from the eye of the bespoken

Plato's cave was not a practice of spelunking

                                     to new depths

or sending our souls soaring to the stars

                                     upon plummeting death and worms.

If I remember correctly

                                     the act of recalling can feel like falling, sleeping or slipping

into the abyss of mind matter

                                     a memory palace, a sin chateau,

a cabana for one's mana

                                     and other obtrusive structures

machinations are machines

Like the disgruntled grandson

                                     who built a Reverse Infinity Instrument

(a.k.a. a Time Machine)

whose Free Will Manual Transmission led him to kill

                                     the wise man he so despised

an obviously inane and obtuse conundrum

                                     based on probablies and anti-definitives

that work every

                                     ninety-nine percent of the Time

but that too was just speculative theory

Composed 6/18/15.

Image By A. Ernyes at en.wikipedia (Own work Transferred from en.wikipedia) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons of Kootenay Lake BC.

                     

Never a need to wonder

Like a nickel found
behind your ear
it happened so fast
nobody noticed how
it got to where
there was
never a need to wonder
anymore
about any thing.
More than a sleight of handy
to always have the answers
in your pocket,
where change used to go-
you know
billfolds and money clips
(now it's all just strips and chips)...
Tho' for what it's worth
I bet
we all still like to stash some cash-
like philosophic questions
often posed as origami
or in amor plait fati, ah yes-
currency well spent
now
we know,
with nary a query
that goes unsolved.
Yet the soul enigma remains-
have we evolved?
And now
I wonder-
what my smartphone would say.



Image of Don Adams by General Artists Corporation-GAC-management. [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

A Bowl of Gigot

Excerpt from an Interview by Paris Review with Lawrence Durrell (1912-1990)

“I simply approached the three sides of space and one of time as a cook will open a recipe book and say ‘Let’s cook this gigot.’I had no idea what sort of gigot was going to come out of it…sometimes you have to take these colossal chances when you see a ray of light that beckons you particularly.”

A Bowl of Gigot
East meets West-
in this eclectic sweet and sour dish,
with an aftertaste that's beyond delish!

A meal cooked up,
stirred around slowly, boiled down,
its base flavor in the addition of the rue,

that pinch, an herb-of-grace,
mixed with a metaphysical lace,
depending on the chef's preference.

Secret sauces that stew,
Einstein's elan and Jung's Hindu.
It takes no energy to make, nor does it matter-

The way your soup comes out,
with more science than philosophy or art,
its all a matter of personal taste.

A confluence at a continuum-stop-where does it start?
Where Confucianism bumped into Foccault's pendulum.
Food for the soul.




Image of Indonesian soup bowl, By Taken by fir0002 | flagstaffotos.com.au Canon 20D + Tamron 28-75mm f/2.8 (Own work) [GFDL 1.2 (http://www.gnu.org/licenses/old-licenses/fdl-1.2.html)], via Wikimedia Commons.

After all

After doing some research

               in Philosophy and Being-

I came to conceptualize,

               thinking is pro-verbial.

After looking closer into,

                and reflecting upon what is Beauty-

I came to see,

                I bear no resemblance.

After debating what is Truth,

                the subjective and absolute,

I came to understand-

                people don't like its sound.

After feeling lost-

                from seeking and pursuing Happiness,

I came to find-

                it's a place that cannot be found.

After digging deeper into History,

                beneath the surface, between the lines-

I came to discover

                the past is exactly where it was supposed to Be.

After searching for the meaning

                of art, music, and goosebumps-

I knew,

                no definition was required.

After pondering all these

                baffling banalities and easily explained enigmas-

I realized,

                the art that is poetry is unexplainably the most beautiful music after all. 

Image by Antonio de Pereda, (c.1636) [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. "allegory of Vanity".