Skip to content

Tag: futility

Round Again: chanso

Published on February 3, 2017

And so around again:
the how, the where, the when;
could be and might have been;
the raven or the wren.

The sword versus the pen:
in battles now and then
it’s hard to tell who wins;
the line is blurred, and blends.

What’s up around the bend?
Who knows? To see us then
is merely to pretend,
to forecast of the end.

The currency we spend
for lies and hope depends
on credit from our friends
and how we limit them.

We dare not to offend
what might hide in the glen
awaiting living men
who march to war again.

How fast the truth descends!
Around our necks it wends
and gyres, while we extend
our courtesies. Amen.

Off round and round again;
we start, we end, we spin.

3 FEB 2017

Leave a Comment

Battle Positions: casbairdne

Published on February 1, 2017

Assume battle positions:
each gun states its conditions
for damning to perdition
those it slams with derision.

The war horns sound, confounding
the loud screams, so dumbfounding,
as drums and jackboots pounding
start death’s song wild resounding.

The chaos, so deceiving!
What valorous achieving
can come from man’s believing
that battle’s won by grieving.

1 FEB 2017

Leave a Comment

On Optimism: blank verse

Published on January 18, 2017

One can suppose those clouds are silver-lined,
that just around the corner lies great joy,
and what appears today both bleak and sad
tomorrow may turn out to be rainbows.

Let anyone suggest such dandy things
and all the world proclaims them truly mad.
“Come to your senses! Live in the real world!”
those persons full of reason will advise.

Contrariwise, let any sourpuss disagree,
and on their heads is rained derisive scorn.
“How dare you destroy hope, and shun good faith”
that things will work out, somehow, in the end?

Depend on it: you try to spend the buck
that “stops here”, and you’ll be made out a thief;
but ask for change to buy a cup of tea –
you’ll end up parched, and fined for vagrancy.

One can suppose this world an oyster, still;
a shellfish allergy afflicts us, then.
What difference does it matter, joy or pain?
You live a while, perhaps, and then you die.

18 JAN 2017

Leave a Comment

Some Sense of Meaning: ballade

Published on January 13, 2017

The world is what it is, the pundits claim;
and City Hall no pugilists defeat.
No matter where you go, things stay the same;
you either like your bourbon iced, or neat.
A thing is in itself almost complete;
just unifying theory holds it back,
a brave philosophy in which to beat
some sense of meaning when they feel its lack.

The picture is designed to fit the frame;
and even honest men practice deceit.
No matter how its critics might defame,
life runs along, wash, rinse, and then repeat.
As even excess sugar loses sweet,
so kindness turns to malice on the rack;
and gives to those who think best on their feet
some sense of meaning when they feel its lack.

The clever find someone to take the blame:
a scapegoat they will not most likely meet,
some part of their brave psyche soaked in shame –
the heart perhaps – and never miss a beat,
while fools still strive to enter and compete
in one more pointless lap around the track.
Like sheep, they seek for answers, as they bleat,
some sense of meaning when they feel its lack.

The world is what it is, wholly complete;
Each moment marches on, not to come back.
Men write philosophy to give blank sheets
some sense of meaning when they feel its lack.

13 JAN 2017

Leave a Comment

Only Dream: alcaics

Published on January 6, 2017

I cannot seek for infinite solutions,
spend endless hours harboring discussion,
just lurking in some thoughtful quagmire,
patiently awaiting final judgment.

How vain to think such artifice delivers
a useful purpose, meaningful salvation,
the precious jewel for reason’s scepter
dispensing revelation to the worthy.

What truth is there in this pointless anointing,
in crowning jesters, mindlessly applauding
like shameless harlots begging mercy,
expecting infinite and wise response?

The single answer, brilliantly revealing
a blinding beacon that dispels the darkness
is just a simple childlike wishing.
Redemption? Absolution? Only dreaming.

06 JAN 2017

Leave a Comment

Ode to Joy

Published on January 4, 2017

Joy doesn’t “find” you;
good fortune won’t light
like bluebirds of happiness
on your slumped shoulders.

Joy doesn’t come up
like flowers in a garden,
some sudden epiphany
before your eyes.

Joy doesn’t “find” you;
it happens, on purpose,
the moment you seek it
in something you are.

Joy, much like happiness,
self, and fulfillment,
aren’t simply out there
like lottery picks.

Joy doesn’t “find” you.
You “find” it – by looking,
by acting according
to what you would be.

Joy doesn’t “find” you.
It does no good hoping,
unless you start moving
beyond listless dreams.

04 JAN 2017

Leave a Comment

Like Nothing

Published on December 6, 2016

There’s no thing quite like Nothing;
and so much of it around.
It fills the nooks and crannies
and absorbs the smallest sounds,
obsessed with taking over
and with being something more.
It wants to be the ocean’s deep,
the shallows, and the shore.

There is no thing like Nothing;
how can anything compare?
It’s hard to feel superior
to something not quite there,
that whispers from the shadows,
or drops such subtle hints
that seem to come from nowhere
in our own experience.

There’s nothing beyond Nothing,
except in let’s pretend.
No yesterday, tomorrow,
or up just around the bend;
yet we would cast in concrete
or immortalize in stone,
build monuments to Nothing
just to decorate our homes.

There’s no thing quite like Nothing –
and yet most of us believe
in some illusion we imagine
out there to achieve;
and once it is completed,
this vast Nothing, great and wide,
what will be left for us to do?
More Nothing, ’til we die.

06 DEC 2016

Leave a Comment