The New Idea: cywydd llosgyrnoch

A new idea finds the mind
and digs itself a home behind
what it finds still living there,
rewiring lights and such to suit,
requiring sometimes a reboot.
Then it takes root, without care

for walls and beams it wrests aside,
for contents lost when seams collide.
It takes great pride in breaking
the models of forgotten thought,
old lesson plans no longer taught,
like recipes not worth making.

And in that space it will expand,
imagining the world it plans
not build on sand, but on stone;
its buttresses unshakeable,
its hold on us, unbreakable,
its taproot makes a great throne.

But that illusion cannot last;
in birth, idea’s death is cast.
How fast new seeds demand light
and will destroy without regret
the noble root, and will upset
tradition’s sense of what is right.

And so the tragic, fragile mind
consists of what is left behind
and what is blind and just made.
There, in that pause between the sigh
of death and birth’s great squall and cry,
none deny they are afraid.

22 FEB 2017

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Lay down

Lay down your weary tune;
lay down your weary tune.
You’ve been singing it for far too long.
When others faltered, you still held on strong:
never a missed note or phrase gone wrong.
Lay down your weary tune.

Lay down your worried mind;
lay down your worried mind.
All those ideas that still carry you,
lost dreams and wishes that have not come true,
still doing nothing with nothing to do:
lay down your worried mind.

Lay down your troubled heart;
lay down your troubled heart;
You’ve let your flame go out and found the dark,
toasted with gasoline to find a spark,
and in the scheme of things, to leave your mark.
Lay down your troubled heart.

Lay down your weary tune;
lay down your weary tune.
Just find another, something more inspired:
outside the door where things are still not wired.
Leave that old one to quietly retire;
lay down your weary tune.

03 FEB 2013

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Epiphany

Brace yourself. Epiphany
does not arrive in slow reveal;
long years spent over ancient tomes
will like as not have no result.

The right idea, when it comes,
is more like lightning than the storm:
a flash that cracks the sky with light
and then is gone without a trace.

29 JUL 2007

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Outside the Box

The next idea, the one that rocks,
will be born “outside of the box”,
beyond the thinker’s comfort zone,
where daring, they have gone alone
into the dark and scary mists
to reap the untold benefits.

But once they get there, settle in,
I’m sure the process starts again:
the stale taste speech leaves in the mouth,
the sense that the world’s going south,
that notions rise and notions sink
and for true vision, one must think
outside the box that’s larger now;
it seems an endless quest, somehow,
to always walk that extra mile
into the dark, where you now smile
because it’s land you could map blind
by now, at what point do you find
a new idea when your zone
of comfort includes all you’ve known,
and every inch of common ground
has been exhausted and walked ’round?
What good is having visions then,
when everywhere is where you’ve been?

08 SEP 2006

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The Ten Percent Solution

Lobotomy perhaps provides the clues:
that with what meager portion of the brain
society encourages us to use
and education bothers us to train,
we think, and therefore are, so far reduced
from what potential might be in the whole
that in our ignorance we have deduced
the object and observer’s separate roles.

What lies beyond? The best minds only guess,
and courting madness, let conjecture fly:
that limitations serve, under duress,
as a protective shield. No one asks why
in fact such armor should be status quo,
or further, why we seek to find defense
against a world we barely even know,
imagining it a cruel experience.

Let science define borders, create lines —
the territory is more than a map
that presupposes theories of design
and satisfies itself merely to slap
a label on a place or thing, and feel
sufficiently content it is defined.
Such actions no more help divide the real
from the imagined than a sandy line
splits an expanse of beach neatly in two,
or marks a boundary between mine and yours.

Besides, conditions in the lab are too
unnatural and sterile. To use “pure”
as a benchmark for quality or right
when we our ourselves are amalgam and blend
is to constrict the possible so tight
that we are left with traces, and pretend
our grasp is all the world extends to fill,
our footprint covers the whole earth entire,
our mind a mirror of some Divine will,
and all creation slave to our desire.

27 JUL 2005

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They grow up fast

They grow up fast; in just a short month’s span
the smallest seed becomes a tall, wild stalk
grown high enough to look down on a man.
But that time does not fly, despite the talk

philosophers will write in dry, thick books.
It crawls, and through its microscopic lens
each moment, its own kernel, often looks
enormous to the untrained eye, and bends

beyond the simple frame that would encage
its constant search to stand free and alone.
The acts of men and gods, played on this stage,
seem little more than dust on ancient bones.

Yet insignificance belies import;
and often what appears not more than sand,
when magnified in life’s uncertain sport
holds more in scope than we can understand.

The weeds that crowd the garden, too, from seeds
the same as precious flowers were conceived.
Who knows what end ideas will breed,
if nurtured like their promise was believed?

14 May 2005

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How the Brain Lost its Brawn

There was an idea
that grew in a brain —
not a clean break, but rather
a troubling sprain.

It swelled up and shut off
the centers of speech,
thus remaining hidden;
and just beyond reach

it festered, fermented
and spread like a rash
along the poor cortex
which gave up, and crashed.

But that was so long ago —
now the brain’s learned
to shun stray ideas
lest its pathways burn

with even the memory
of strange and queer thought;
to be safe, it forgets
most that it’s been taught

and so pretty thoughtless
it plods through the day —
imagining it has
always been this way.

Now dearly beloved,
believe this is true;
lest you want ideas
to happen to you.

08 DEC 2004

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