Poem: Albatross

 

Albatross

 

pain crept low,

bent like a thief, an ESP spoon,

a supplicant spine.

the only way out

suffered the same old cul de sac:

a theater of crucial neurons,

stricken amid the collective blob,

and wailing to ensure

the whole behaved badly,

heart-laden.

certain memories

flared more than the rest,

so a buckled upper chin implied.

such sweet innocent misdeeds,

they taunted, orbited,

bright as joy,

pure in revolve as a wedding ring--

and yet calamitous,

destined to constrict.

as a result,

when the blob talked,

or mainly texted,

the words flung cruel,

birthing braids of hurt snakes,

which struggled, wriggled,

clumped among torn hair.

they fizzled that way,

latched together,

till limp.

===============================================

10/31  "which" replaces  "that"

10/30 significant changes later in the day

Poem: Sees Venus, Brief

 

Sees Venus, Brief

 

the night didn’t breathe,

save for a shy peek

from a tight-lipped frisson.

 

and yet that one glimpse,

stark in the cold silver-black,

it swung a sigh

 

up into a nebula,

 

and whirled so much glee

through hunkering outposts

they never thought to possess.

 

it were as if the lips

of a desperate young romantic

 struggled

 

and yet then broke free,

magical to sing,

out of nowhere--

 

to stir repressive eons

numb and pummeled,

never before given a chance.

==================

10/30  ...  many changes 

Poem: The Door

 

The Door

 

the door was in fact a statement.

it opened only to be left behind. 

searching its corners,

it imagine the knob a curious face. 

 

clues in the grains of the panels

allude to a theater stage--

the comings-and-goings 

of the many who had used the door,

swinging through exits and entrances,

to swish, skip, stumble, sidle, saunter, stride.

 

the keyhole not quite right,

too cold for my eye,

every lack of nuance linear.

every option perpendicular.

and yet somewhere, i knew,

in the desert of the wood,

woven from the smallest knotholes,

dwelled an unquenchable flower.

 

===================

11/29/23 ... lots more changes... running up against the limits of what I can be, despite what I want to be

10/30 more desperate fixes...

10/25  ... fixed typo in first sentence  ... "the contours" replaces "its contours" ... sound-flow & meaning mods to second to last sentence.

Poem: The City

 

The City

 

the city, that sweltering current,

it cut vogues and idols

out of flows of commotion

in anxious lives.

 

so many scents of the lonely,

commingled with sweat.

 

busy, petty, in twittery herds

they thickened into a fleshy putty:

 

pliant cheeks and brows,

surgical noses, lubricious lips.

 

rivers of offered jugulars

where vendors checked for throbs--

of fascination, of revulsion,

of heart-drained lust.

 

it all lied.  one big liar,

a sorcery that savored a false ingredient,

gulped the rest.

 

each face a piece of a gargantuan puzzle,

each profile a tired hatchet,

nicked by truth, dented by love,

mauled by war.

 

all of it fugitive

from an inevitable destiny.

 

the city,

its people were as schooled as minnows,

flashing false smiles to scatter,

 

only to amass once more,

doomed, yet again,

to smother their unruly scars.

=====================================

A Brutal Time To Be Alive

 

A brutal time to be alive.  If fascism takes over the United States, the whole world trembles.  Aside from that, experts claim the nuclear threat is as bad, or worse, than the Cuban Missile Crisis, due to Putin’s wanton, tyrannical aggression in Ukraine.

Donald Trump, who would lead a fascist US, is cut from the same cloth as Putin.  A narcissistic sociopathic sadistic demagogue. 

I’ll let that sentence settle ...

Sociopaths are not automatically bad people, any more than the rest of us.  They are reckless, impulsive and transactional.  With proper guidance, which, admittedly, we lack in our general culture, they are functional members of society.

Trump, however, is what experts call a “malignant narcissist.” [1]  This is the most dangerous classification of personality disorders.  Trump also has a skill: he is a brilliant confidence man.  What this adds up to is a perfect storm:  a brutal dictatorship without limits on its descent into darkness and corruption.

Leaving that aside for a moment, consider this:  technology is growing more and more powerful.  This means that our future can be paradise or hell.  It depends on who is in charge. 

If the right people are in charge, they will see that ethics is one of the most important technologies to develop. 

Ethics--how to know what is right and initiate it--involves human psychology, worldview, and straight-up philosophy.  The Sims, a computer game, provides a crude analogy.  We can shape our societies to maximize human flourishing and the beauty of the planet.  How?  Set the level of ethics tech higher. 

Low ethics tech ==>  war & suffering

High ethics tech ==>  flourishing

Note that ethics is not simply a list of rules or commandments.   It is a synergy between the science of human psychology and ecosystem dynamics; plus an adaptive, nuanced philosophical approach.

On the other hand, what happens if a malignant narcissists is in charge?  Such a person will stop at nothing to get power and adulation.  No respect for human rights, future generations, or the planet itself.  This will favor totalitarian control.  Such control will be enforced by robotic surveillance systems, which are in the process of being enhanced in China.

So, at this juncture, human civilization has two paths.  One goes to flourishing and happiness.  Universal basic income, psychological health, benign robots doing the work we don’t want to do. 

A leader in such a society will be psychologically healthy and virtuous.

The other future is ruled by narcissism, greed, along with lack of conscience or virtue.  The result is enforcement of obedience through strict police controls that include torture and execution. 

Someone might argue that rulership by dictators can work--if they are benevolent and intelligent.

First of all, big IF!

What we are looking at, right now, is the rise of fascism.  Fascism is based on constructing an irrational cult of personality.  There will be racism, sexism and other oppressions.  Fascism, also, is rife with corruption.  Why?  Lack of respect for rule of law.  It’s all about might-makes-right.

One malignant personality is all it takes to start WWIII.  Look at Putin.  He is on the edge of destroying us all.

Trump may be worse even than Putin.  Trump has shown incredible incompetence.  An inability to adapt to the facts, or even grasp them.  Witness his hideous response to the pandemic.  It involved gaslighting, contradiction and cruelty  (e.g. knowing covid was dangerous while telling Americans it wasn't). 

He has also said things like, 'If we have nuclear weapons, we ought to use them.'

This is the time we live in.  

If we go too far in the dark direction, there won’t be any more chances.  WWIII isn’t going to be like WWII, horrifying though the latter was.  

Our level of death tech is much higher.  We are far more capable of wiping ourselves out.

 Meanwhile, our ethics tech remains pathetically stuck in the realm of despotism.

[1]  https://www.amazon.com/Dangerous-Case-Donald-Trump-Psychiatrists/dp/1250179459

==================

Poem: Deadly Nightshade

 

Deadly Nightshade

 

shadow creatures,

crooked as the claws of roots,

curl over a withered bush.

 

fey in contort,

bleak pantomimes,

covert yet unearthed,

 

pleas from a buried heart

that defecated its hurt

through a ribcage.

 

no feel taste touch smell sound,

no sign language,

or  windy semaphore,

 

these shadows that vine

the still of rose thorns,

so quiet and uncertain

 

in twisted composure.

======================================

3/12 ... "twisted" replaces "twistical" ... "covert" replaces "surreptitious"

1/21/23 .... "twistical" replaces "meaningless"

The poems don't like you.  And they don't like me.  They use us to be heard.

Regarding the Poems

 Thank you for reading the poems!

Most of the poems that go up get edited during the first few days of their online life.  Often, I remark on the edits below the poem.

It's a very hard time to be alive for all of us. The US Empire is on the verge of going fascist, which would turn the whole world on its head.  It would mean WWIII.  Ethics is a technology.  And ethics needs to advance with other technologies.  If not, we will be stuck with narcissistic dictators, who cannot adapt rationally to a changing world, and who demand worship and fealty.    It is an ancient pattern, dictatorship by selfish warlords, and it always leads to war.

See my post:

https://owlwholaughs.blogspot.com/2022/01/ethics-is-technology-usa-is-leaning-in.html

Aside from that, there is futuristic advance.  The stretching 21st century will be as alien to us as the 20th century was to the people of the Victorian Era.  Humanity could have a fantastic future.  Better health.  Robots to help. Delights and ease.  Universal Basic Income.  Or the future could be hell.  It depends on our ethics.

We will be able to engineer angelic AI into existence.  Or AI that surveils, restricts and enslaves.   

It's all coming down.  Life on Earth, in a very real sense, is Purgatory.  We can craft a beautiful future.  Or an evil future.  It depends on who is in charge.  How leaders will use the powers that be at their disposal.

We often here from cynics that 'human nature' damns us.  

Well, no.  Many different cultures have existed, and they demonstrate that we are malleable .  A human can be predisposed (programmed, some would say) and situated in many ways.  We are not limited by evil.  We can seek the Good.  In fact, we have.  Women can now vote in many places--a HUGE change.

Ethical forces exist in the collective consciousness.  These forces struggle to be heard and to thrive.    

The best we can do, being the puny creatures we are, in this brutal universe, is to seek the Good.  The Good transcends any one religion.  

Yes, the nature of our universe saddles us with a cruel physics, a mean, vicious, unfair system of evolutionary selection.  And yet, it is a system we can control, one we can steer, through a combination of technology and intellect.

Fly Well In The Dark,

OWL

owlwholaughs@gmail.com

=============

Poem: Poet Issues

 

Poet Issues

 

it was an orgy

of the anti-fantastic,

a spill out an eighth story window,

ideas as limp and lukewarm

as breathless doves.

 

it was a waterfall of useless hurt,

sheaves that meant so much less

than one line from a famous writer.

 

it was an example of what it didn’t take

to be more than a crumpled curl

in the city’s ego-heaped, petty gutters.

 

no one cares cares cares

 

for days drunk or sober,

sex-filled or sterile,

cried in extremes

from the bleeding mouth of my pen;

no one cares

for this savage agony of stormy bliss

chewed in the pincers of tiny rhymes.

 

cockroaches of cliché

crawl up my leg,

swelled brown as sewage,

their feelers ticklish over my heart;

 

yet when i scream, trapped,

it is only a blah of standing bored

in the same cordoned lines.

 

worse, i know

 

because my audience is as callous as i am,

whining about wanting to be heard,

trying to manage half-losing battles,

as if that is what life is all about--

a brutal tedium of that.

=================================

10/11   "is" replaces "was" in the last stanza 

Poem: George On a Quarter

 

George On a Quarter

 

a wine rack of poetry, if splashed on your face,

would trickle off silent lips, voided eyes,

the sleeping brow of the kafkaesque.

 

beautiful burgundy tears--

of words, of passion, of persistent hope--

yet they fail to dent your silver mettle,

already too deeply incused,

dishonest and cruel,

from the links to chains of slaves

cursed to mine deep underground.

 

those beautiful burgundy tears,

i confess they are mine.

i only want to understand:

why do we worship saintly busts

honed on a die of sins?

 

why such praise for decapitated coins

hoarded and guarded

in self-righteous stacks of murder?

 

i do not want you. 

i touch you and you drink my warmth.

down into your cold wafer.

your inedible eucharist.

 

i tossed you off a peer once,

as if to expel a vampire or a tick,

and watched as your winks scrawled to fade,

leaving in their wake no prose.

==============================================

11/18  changes to decapitation sentence

10/29  "expel" replaces "repel"

10/7  many changes after the poem went up, a couple hours later.  Weird f**king poem about the bust of George Washington, which appears on the US twenty-five cent piece.

Poem: Some Conclusion

Some Conclusion

 

a bat in raspberry dusk

wrote a flurry of answers far too sane.

 

as its wings cartwheeled,

 

it countered the measures

of every philosopher, orator or preacher--

 

a flourish of voracious mazes

that doomed blood-sucking bravado.

 

in joyful vectors,

the creature ventured beyond light,

 

airy of origin or omega,

to elude astronomy’s guess.

 

no logician could fathom

such a loom of legerdemain,

 

even as truth reigned incontrovertible

in the sky.

===================================

The title is in the style of, say, "That's some outfit you're wearing!"