Reason Up

A fact, and a fact,

And another fact,

Reasons up to a first principle.

A principle,

And a principle, and another principle

Reasons up to an axiom.

An axiom,

And an axiom, and another axiom

Reasons up to a truth.

 

There are many facts,

Many principles,

Many axioms…

Even many truths…

 

But logic to a 21st century philosopher

Ends at a fact.

It never gets beyond it.

With that, it is actually what’s illogical.

Today Was Saturday

Humorously, I woke up today thinking it was Saturday.

I spent the whole day, resting,

Relaxing, thinking, “I don’t need to come into work.”

Because it was Saturday.

Not much got done.

No great poems.

No reading.

 

I had a nice relaxing day

Until I noticed it was Friday,

The song by Rebecca Black echoing in my ear.

Which means tomorrow I’m going to need to get some work done.

The Order of Longfellow

If I were a rich man

I would create an academy like Greece.

It would be chartered “The Order of Longfellow.”

We would teach the poor how to read,

We would educate the poor.

We would teach the poor all of the mysteries of poetry.

In this, we would issue out our Associates, Bachelors,

Masters, and Doctorates.

The degree would be free.

It would be about dialogue and discussing the meaning

Of our treasures, from Euclid to Aristotle

From Longfellow to Horus.

We would not teach esoteric interpretations.

We would teach hermeneutics to Fairyland.

We would teach math, science and arts

For no cost.

We would teach the geometry of a Quadratic Equation.

 

The way a Bachelor would receive their degree

Is by teaching an Associate’s class through and through, after already receiving it.

A Master would teach a Bachelor’s class through and through after already receiving it.

A Doctor would teach a Master’s class through and through after already receiving it.

Privileges would be given to good teachers, to keep a record of good rapport within the organization.

They would be given this privilege by petition

When they will be ready to do their class.

It wouldn’t be about the degree,

But the degree of knowledge one can obtain.

It wouldn’t be about mere accomplishment.

First, one would need to prove they can read and write.

Then, after so,

Two years of intense study would be needed to test for an Associates.

Four years of intense study to test for a Bachelors.

Six years of intense study to test for Masters.

Ten years of intense study to test for Doctorate.

 

The tests would be written exams

On the meaning of literature;

Tests on the assimilation of knowledge

Into new ideas;

Tests on the principles of math;

 

Reading, Writing, Arithmetic

Without fluffy organizations babying our members

Or weird sounding acronyms.

It would be difficult.

It would not patronize the poor.

It would, rather, set them free from their bondage.

 

The goal of the Association would be

To teach the poor.

To give a free education to the poor.

It would take a poor man,

And make him into a rich man

Of understanding and knowledge.

The rich would want our education.

Educating the poor and preserving literature would be our goal.

 

The classes would be discussions, not rote exams.

The students would discuss their topic for the day,

Be it a Quadratic Equation, be it a Euclidean Principle,

Be it Number Theory, Be it a Wordsworth or Longfellow Poem,

Be it a Literary Theory, be it a Scientific Construct,

Be it a Dialogue of Plato, be it a famous painting.

 

Those teaching the Doctorates would be graded by their superiors.

Those teaching the Masters would be graded by their superiors.

Those teaching the Bachelors would be graded by their superiors.

Those teaching the Associates would be graded by their superiors.

The teacher would not grade the students,

But the superiors would, to see if work has been done.

 

That is just one dream I’d have if I were a rich man.

 

A False Prophet

I enter into this feud.

“Hatred is how we purge it.”

That is what you said.

Then you proceeded to call me

“Balaam’s Ass.”

 

I have talked with you before,

Oh Balaam, son of Boar,—

So many moons ago.

 

I’ve been waiting to see you,

So your blasphemy can be purged from my mind.

A fox is your calling card.

Herod, oh Herod,

“He writes much but says little.”

That you said also.

 

I’ve finally found you.

Now I am satisfied that you are a fraud.

And I can let you be…

 

You frightened me,

But I recognize your  voice.

It is the voice of that Two Horned Beast.

It’s time for you to be exposed.

 

Balaam’s Ass prophesied

You foolish, foolish man.

Balaam struck it,

And it had done nothing wrong.

 

Repent, for the Kingdom is at hand.

You had said to me,

“I hate you with perfect hatred.”

Come, let us reason together,

Will you hate your own brother?

Will you call your own brother worthless?

Of course you do.

For you thought God was just like you.

 

I know God is nothing like me.

I know I am a sinner.

It is written where all men can see it.

Who I am is worthless and unworthy for this testimony.

But draw water from a rock,

And quenched lands from deserts,

My life can also be redeemed by the LORD

Jehovah Jesus Provider, God’s Gift.

A Lament for Poets; 2016

The poor old woman lifted up her voice again,

“The fowler had taken all the blackbirds away—

“They all were gone, and I knew not to where.

“I looked for them; truly I did.

 

“There was one I saw several decades ago

“But he had flown far away; the Skylarks

“Such pretty voice, yet also very common,

“Now warble their tunes from time to time—

 

“But, as I had sung about the blackbirds—

“Not the Jacobites,—When my crown was lost,

“There had recently appeared at my door

“A thrush, who though not as pretty a song as the skylark

 

“Had the dignity and pearly sheen of feathers I like.

“My heart was refreshed by seeing him,

“Though I had wished I would see more,”

Said the poor old woman, knitting upon the hills.

 

The Eight Ronin Centurions; A Dream

Eight-hundred men were killed

Eight-hundred were sent to the war.

The emperor sent the eight-hundred Ronin

To the battlefield

So he could seize control of the citadels.

 

Their death would send an outcry

Throughout the kingdom.

Their death would be heroic,

A testimony of loyalty to their emperor.

 

The eight-hundred were slaughtered

Without much fight.

Swords clashed, iron flashed

Mounts hurdled over children.

 

In the towns children were slain

Elderly were thrown to the ground.

The 800 Ronin defended the village

From twenty-thousand mongols

Who landed their ships upon

The beaches of the Rising Sun.

 

The eight-hundred fought hard,

But in two hours were swept by the hordes of the Mongols.

They killed, among them, seventeen-hundred.

Each Ronin had killed two.

Three Hundred and Thirty two Ronin had killed three.

One Ronin had killed four.

 

The report got back to the country

As the Prince was in the citadel with his father

Who expected to be lauded a great hero

For the fame awarded by these Samurai’s loyalty.

Instead, the peoples held outside,

Never knowing the misdeed that was done.

They mourned the Ronin, but did not give honor to the king.

They did not even know that the king’s honor was why this act was done.

Therefore, the peoples wept for the Ronin.

But none knew it was the King who sent them into battle.

For his honor…

 

But none understood how it made the king honorable

So it did not bring him any honor,

Nor dishonor.