Poems Fall and Winter of 2023

1. My Autobiography

An infant I was, and filled with love
As a toddler playing with my friends.

Then as a Whiny Brat, I kicked and I spat
Being abused by all, and with no friends.

Then as a Lover, I was beautiful than any other
Making and falling in love in mind, making them  girlfriend.

Then as a Soldier, I fought New World Orders
With my programs, and was encouraged to write by my friends.

Now as a Justice, I seek peace and much is 
Wrong in this world, more than what was when I had friends.

As an old man in Pantaloons, I hope not to be a loon
Like Prufrock, old, fat, successful, and with many fake friends.

Then as a child again, I wish to be meek and mild
And smile, instead of being abandoned by all my family: True friends.

2. Moral Relatavism

Real morals exist
Only because humans need
Morals to form into societies.
Every civilization has a basis for morality.

Always understand, that this ethic, though
Longing for the prosperity of the group
Languishes at the crime
Only because it puts the group at risk
Without aid of universal 
Ethics. For, that is the reason we have morals
Despite a universal morality not being testable.
 
Remember, that the group
Always needs a civil code to function because
People need to know what the rules are within their order.
Everyone, then, needs to abide by that Social Contract.

3. Principium Poeticum

The universal language of religion
Falls on the ethics of the Logos (Tau).
Poetry---not a supplement of religion---
Is to be a witness ascribing the truth of God.

God is not imaginary, or a product 
Of the poetic creations of man.
Rather, God is real, Flesh and Blood
When He died upon the Cross.

All poetry follows the universal
Ethic of the divine Logos---
Should it be understood, it must 
Come from there, or be murky.

Therefore, the Poets have grasped
For God, but from the poet's ignorance,
God Winked at man through man's poetic
Insight---the most rational part of man.

Therefore, the Poet is a witness;---
Telling all of what is true,
Though he knows not what he does.
He is a cataloger of man's movements.

From the beginning of time, man
Created from the ether of imagination,
He painted on the caves, and formed
His thoughts into strings of Narratives.

Are these things literally true?
No, but they bind to us what truly is true;
The ultimate proof of the Platonic Form.
For two men, striving at the same images

Forms identical concepts, never knowing
One another. Only that the concepts exist
Does the Form embody its nature---
Because it is actually there to be discovered.

4. Roman Paradise

"We don't fall apart. 
"We don't fall apart,"
Cries Prufrock.

"Hate"...
No one loves.
Everyone hates.
Callous, strange,
Alien to me...
A hard and callow coldness
Has crept into my heart
From your philosophies.

It is not "Hate"
But "anti-hate"...
Prejudice against the prejudiced.
It leads to women saying
Beethoven's music was "Unfulfilled Rape Fantasies"
The erasure of the Western Canon---
Do you know, that Pythagoras doesn't exist?
We know nothing about him?
180 pages doesn't exist?
Have you heard that Prufrock?
Neither does Confucius
Or Christ.

You have strength in numbers to get you through the day
And no compromises...
And you're going to wage the war?
To what end or suffering?
Gladiatorial games?
No sex? For everyone is stingy,
And nobody wants to be close?
No... rather, consensual one night stands
That lead you to a grand jury sixteen years later?
Marriage ending in divorce?
Sodomy being our only touch?

This is the world you fought for...
Not mine.
If the world I grew up in was evil...
Then I suppose it's a reversal of all.

5. Israelites in the Desert

Oh, you wandering 
Apiru, in the desert 
So long: Estsablish 
Yourselves! And break the Hittite 
Empire You "Sea People!"

6. Autumn

I

Oh, Keats! What more can
I say?
You steal my very thoughts
Away!

Flowers in October-bloom
Will soon fade in winter's doom,
But cherry leaves and cinnamon
The brisk cold refreshes,
And blows the scent of leaf
But also the novel scent
Of autumnal crisp.

Cider warms my throat,
And apples perfume the air,
Plump and sweet to their pit.
Fires newly kindled in houses'
Chimneys roast;
The soups are made,--
Sweet August Corn,--
To be stored for
Winter's fat.
The sun shines, but pleasantest
Chill rouses a sleepy
Dull, and winter's slumber.

II

A tender loll fills the brain
Like sleep is coming soon.
The chill sweeps over the downy lane
The geese fly home soon.
The blackbird flocks in numbers
The Robin makes her flight,
The bluebird dulls his colors
The sky lolls into long night.
The apples fall from their boughs
The samara of some maples too;
The walnuts' footsteps in the Forest
Stir my conscious in a flue
Of thoughts which tender out
The currency of the truest
Thought my mind aroused.

III

Alas, with chestnut hair,
And bosom pure and undefiled,
Of the fruits of harvest
Which in clusters are dawned
By purest white of stratus
Cloud, contrast by the beauty
Of the firths and valleys
Which roll at thy hips,
Thy fruit is delicious
And thy countenance brisk,
The Autumn berries sweet
For the mating roe
To lick and so delicately chew.

7. First Kiss

The summary gesture
Of a first contract drawn
On station of mutual relationship
Made first by consent of an agreement
And then by the ceremonial first kiss.
To a feminist.

8. To Tell the Truth

If you were to tell the truth,
You would seem like a troll.
As the truth is so unbelievable
That it seems like it couldn't be.
We, as a species, have many illusions,
Which if unwooled, would spoil our
Faith in ourselves, and therefore the universe.

9. Most Beautiful Thing

Most beautiful aspect of humanity...
What are you?
Is it two conjoined together, to make one?
Is it solitary talent, which others enjoy?
Nay...

I listen to Handel's Messiah
And see our greatest feat as a people.
In synchronicity, violin bows and voices
Conducted by a conductor...
Each one does so with discipline
And does not try to accede their place
But rather does their job
To make in concert what is beautiful.

10. Romantics

Sleepy eyes, open... free speech is on the horizon.
Speak your odes, and epodes, and haikus, and villanelles
Your ghazals, and your canzones, and your pentameters...
Speak hidden runes and riddles with every line
You nations... Persia... You discovered a mighty key
To the prospering of the Tongue...
Speak your poetry wisely, and rip the cloak and dagger 
From the tyrants who burden thy soul with dearth of thought.
Cry out, as Shelley, Wordsworth, Coleridge and Keats
As Blake and Byron and Southey: and Yeats
Will build a tradition, by which T. S. Eliot will destroy.
And like we now have, shall revert back to despotism.
But, 200 years of freedom were a wise thing.
Your poets will follow similar patterns.

11. R. C. Sproul

There was one moment
I saw you reach out for the
Whiteboard, and it was
Like I saw a child who
Reached for his childhood toy.