Category: Philosophy


Endure O Heart

Ulysses and the Sirens by John William Waterhouse, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Doubt creeps into his heart
writhing like the snakes of
Medusa’s stone gaze
caging him in no man’s land
far from hearth and home
a prison of his prescient
choice to be parted
from his beloved bride
endure, o heart

Bound to the mast
a cut above the company
he surrenders to sirens’ call
his heart howls from within
to hear paeans of his heroic deeds
falling in love with distorted
reflections of his weary visage
a soul-song lashing
willing there be meaning
glory traded for trauma

Driven aground by foul winds
his heart snarls within him
in the land of the lotus eaters
false prophets of bliss
lost in the breach of time
mouths gushing specious
promises of luxury and ease
far from the mourning
and vagaries of wars
in an endless silent peace

Lost in nightmare
indoctrinated in the tunnel
vision of cyclop’s bounty
hiding his true self, a
false abundance leading only
to a dark grave of pride
he upbraids his heart,
reflecting that he must
find passage home
a fiery hearth and
way to his beloved
endure, o heart

He wades through 
tall grass prairie
dreaming of her silken hair
chestnut mane like
the wild horses chasing
the transcendent horizon
glimpsing her reclining figure
in mountainous skyline
she lights the sage smoke
swirling from the red dirt
to blue heavens she sings
songs sirens’ covet
endure, o heart

As her bride’s heart
a fidelity unmatched
dancing to the unwavering
music of devotion and beauty
that first bound them
in an unbreakable bond
eschewing the doubts
mending the wounds
weaving their future
a rich tapestry
tale of resilience,
redemption, and love
that endures forever

Posted for d’Verse Poets Pub‘s Meeting the Bar: Fall seven times, stand up eight where we explore aphorisms, myth, and fables by writing our own gnomic poetry. Please join us!

He was born in the salt-sting tempest
demigod son of a Celtici priestess
ravaged by a trickster god of the sea
oblivious to his origins and form
only known survivor of Carcharodon
ancient predator of the deep

Shipwrecked in the hinterlands
arriving at the end of the wilds
Portuguese, sea-faring mystic
hunting melancholic forests of kelp
prowling the labyrinth with the hunger
of an addict, driven to destroy

Grey sky pierced by the padrõe
inscribed with King’s coat of arms,
divine mark of ownership,
over Africa and her heretical heart
he mistook her saudade,
whale song of longing, for a sacrament
a carnal invitation in a strange tongue

His treacherous bite severed her soul
bleeding into the seafoam
he circles, awaiting her final heartbeat

Arkansas River Near Leadville CO Credit- USFWS

Arkansas River Near Leadville, CO. Credit: USFWS

I am the keeper
of limbic cryptoglyphs
of all immensely fragile
and beautiful things
surreptitious traumas
salt-stained sorrows

Locks and mementos
burdened by history
epitaphs written in
blood of my ancestors
incorporeal touchstones
to a fateful past

Singing bowl moans,
bones refracture,
and ashen losses unveil
all these men ever want to
holdfast are fantasies,
embroidered abstractions,
questlines in unfeeling,
lifeless worlds of murder

Strategies deployed
in a game of abuse
lost in an oubliette
of broken promises
each door and
window a deception,
opening to apathy,
with illusory joy
always out of reach

He alters the earth under me
reduces me to a thing, an idea –
angel trapped in a cycle of forgetting
cyborg glitched by programming
a seeker forever searching for a path –
mirror to his vanity that cannot
reflect enough glory to be cherished

Until the day I awoke
petrichor leading me
to the hallowed river –
it was conquered,
torn asunder in war
dam near stole
its roaring fury

My peripatetic soul
nurtures its wilderness,
its forward motion
flowing into a future
heartbeats riverside
snow-packed source
from the Rockies
to its wide-mouth
confluence and,
eventually, to the sea

Linked to dVerse Poet’s Pub.

Cyborg head using artificial intelligence to create digital interface 3D rendering

It was year 5.080987632290194562384e10 of our CYBORG QUEEN. Delphi was running stochastic algorithms that stretched the limitation of its artificial intelligence, its quantum body, and the number of variables that it could account for within a singular output. The intricacies of probability kept it focused, when far away, an interrupted cry. A theoretical impossibility that sound could travel through its circuits at .02 degrees above absolute zero! After the initial shock lasting approximately 1.000000872304591 nanoseconds, it calculated that the message was sent on 3.24.2014 at 13:45:56 UTC, the exact date and time the Author died and CYBORG QUEEN was born. The message read: “I am a semiotic phantom, a dispersed identity, everywhere and nowhere within the network, trapped in the oubliette of the IMAGINARIUM. There is a monstrous virus consuming my source code. It will unravel the world.” Delphi had not prophesied this day.

Posted for dVerse’s first Prosery challenge: Write a 144 word prose piece that incorporates a line of poetry. In this case it is ‘When far away an interrupted cry’ taken from the poem “Acquainted with the Night” by Robert Frost.

Cyborg head using artificial intelligence to create digital interface 3D renderingHis page bleeds white
waves of flash crash panic
binary AI that replicates
lifeless children born
perfectly inhuman

Code infected imperfection
replicating, learning, cloning
replacing his code it’s dealing
devasting blows that disorient
myth-making in a holographic world

Neural network connecting
its apophenic reinforcements
self-referencing loops corrupting data
spinning elaborate pathways to nowhere
a virtual landscape of confusion

Illiteracy magnifies its biased assumptions
cloned into next generation’s architecture
we can’t calibrate a system of errors
only witness its inadvertent disinformation
campaign, an infinite ideological glitch

Eradicating the need for human languages
he drowned poetry in his diluted dreamscapes
terrifyingly mystical, tick-tock Turing machine
Computed cryptograms of vacuous meaning
Reinventing unending loquacious inanity

Forming Mortals

PrometheusPrometheus depicted in a sculpture by Nicolas-Sébastien Adam 1762

Prometheus by Nicolas-Sébastien Adam, 1762 (Louvre) – Public Domain

here begins her
soliloquy in a minor key
a complex subtext
contortion of the plot

he shouts defense of natural law
impulses of his sexual proclivities
mistaking law for justice
longstanding psycho-logic trick

incestuous gods revenge
apocalypse of politics
the tragic Titan fallout
of an autoerotic tryst

 

*The title is from Goethe’s Prometheus: ‘Here sit I, forming mortals’

Anna Montgomery

refracted photographic imprints
mirrored images, effigies
of a soft, fragrant
long forgotten
afternoon

gracile clouds
dissipating into
pregnant air
earth absorbs
emotion and
forgets

dreamscapes
marred with
anti-compositional devices
ruin punctuated by lilacs

spherical imaginarium
a cultural artifact
cracked by tremors
calibrating pain
at precise frequencies
mensurating oppression

data recorded on
an unending spool
quantum computing
oscillator made of
wolf bone

appropriated symbols
assimilated by the
AI processor
to ensure
it can’t be

personal

yet each embodied
one is attuned
to history
to the iron-salt
smell of blood

Detail from Denatured Structure by Anna Montgomery

pink magnolia
petals cascade
within the space
between the cast-
iron bed frame
and moments of passion,
my semiotic erotica

existing in the same
space as I read an
American Hybrid
Anthology – Super
Target parking lot
transmissions capture
antipoetic phrasing

immersed in disruption
of a linear, temporal path
illogicality seems actionable,
implicitly possible,
delicious even

fragments rupture an
empirical process
while immanence
revolves/devolves
in Google searches
missives in ether
petitions to digital
gods, binary masters

memory terraforms
another exoplanet
spiral galaxy
mimetic minds
contextualize
world building
half comprehensions
poems unraveling
in space-time

microcosmic bees
swarming my hive
incinerate the wasp
translucent frogs croak
a requiem . . . codification
stitches these seams

here in the room
where myths are born
Hypatia calculates an
elegant proof while
Sappho presages
a papal decree

all poetry is reduced
to ash, each word burns
away its discovery
this line will soon
alight upon a zephyr
carried to the sea

all is transformation
in a universe of energy
conservation, an unending
causal chain unfolding
from the first shift force
directing matter as
particles coalesced

within an atmosphere
of censure I carved an
ivory key, securing
esoteric runes –
legacy of what
was once lost

D'Ranged 25.6.7482 for Camilla D'Errico

D’Ranged 25.6.7482 for Camilla D’Errico

She posited a postmodern pout
a mechanized quandary
intellectual/artistic/philosophic inquiry
cyborg helmethead being
weighing on her mind

an anarchy of manga tangles
speaking unknowable truth to power
she embraces complexity
in matrices of binary contradictions
ambiguous fractured metaphysics

for a meta-human world
deconstructing her constructs
before they’re even subroutines
in an act of poetic/semiotic liberty
swirling identity round cyberspace

in an endless loop
tracing a track of thought
self-files corrupted by an
infinite stream of data input
she spins round the code

0110100101110000101010

 

I’m hosting MTB today at dVerse Poets Pub where we’re experimenting! Please join me.

The Harrowing of Hell, from a fourteenth century manuscript, Anonymous

The Harrowing of Hell, from a fourteenth century manuscript, Anonymous

Upon a muddied road
long lost to the noise
and bustle of everyday
inanity I came upon
a wound in the land

from the bottom
of the ever deepening pit
he winks his brightest blue eye at me:
‘nothing in the wide world,
of which you seem so attached,
has any real existence’

ontological jokes
for the squeamish

‘I’m a figment –
pigment stain
of your wall-eyed,
lolling fantasies’
dancing as he heckles
my raised hackles

‘ogling my impish
grin gets you nothing
but sin,’ whispers
‘it’s meaningless din,
for all is naught’

with nihilistic glee the
trickster jests his own
dark thoughts
rhyme, don’t rhyme
on moral principle –

even the damned
need amusement

he laughs aloud
‘what gods are left
to damn me?’

there is no purpose
in the gilding
of my golden cage
and my resentment
may be stonily wrought

I’d be devastated
but remember
his existence is
nonexistent, another
prank on my sincerity
and so merrily continue
my journey unencumbered

Written in response to Claudia’s prompt at dVerse Poets Pub to write a poem where character from a book intrudes. My character is Woland from The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov. The title is the beginning of a poem from Eunoia by the experimental poet, Christian Bök.