evolution entails
something more than survival
juggling irony
From my book Pieces of Wine
in this lurid Kardashian culture
where those famous for fame
and those famous for shame
entertain hosts of vacuous minds
it seems beyond doubt that
Spinoza was terribly wrong for
reality clearly cannot be perfection
though I suspect few left alive
understand or appreciate just
where the irony lies in those words
the battlefield listens
hearing only the heartbeats
beneath the barrages
of bullets and bombs
death drawn to the sounds
paints its terrible targets
indifferent to why
soldiers take up their arms
caring nothing for politics
wholly unmoved by the
arguments for and against
right and wrong
once the war is engaged
no opinion or cause
deters death from its duty
to silence the heartbeats
of numberless bodies
when possible
whole generations
no matter the uniform
unlived potential or
state of the soul
and yet even with truce
the battlefield never
indulges in sleep
death just picks up its stakes
and moves to new ground
a new killing field
willing and able to serve
death’s dominion
receive its allotment of blood
so long as at least
two hearts beat in this world
death will foment for war
for the ultimate quiet
that follows extinction
unless human hearts
find the mettle and means
to confront death’s agenda
with no less than
death’s own tenacity
fully committed to
killing the killer
in order to bask in the peace
beating heart
held in hand
life and death
peace and pain
in surrender
to the touch
to the staunch
and the skills
of a surgeon
trust given
submission
dire features
of fear
mortal peril
manumission
of spirit
enslaved
by disease
a last chance
feeble odds
all the chips
on the inside
double zero
appeals to
that sense of
a desperate
irony
bearded portraits
of intellect
decorate history
lost academic respect
pushed from minds
chased from syllabus
altered and deemed
by the crassness of new
institutional memory
dead white men
worthless of teaching
anachronist values
unwanted unwelcome
in schemas of relative
truths that predominate
postmodern ethics
alas we are bathed
in the acids of irony
etching the signal deceit
of an open mind closed
to its ancestral rigor
in
one
quotient
may be found
its own negation
flagrant irony attaches
when the incalculable is given a number
evolution entails
something more than survival
juggling irony
bedeviled seamen
deep ocean consolation
harpoons rust below
tribulations under sail
resolved in dark ironies
(My mind seems stuck on a war footing these last few days. Here, I reblog some reflections I originally posted in January.)
“In peace, sons bury fathers. In war, fathers bury sons.”
Attributed by Herodotus in Book 1 of The Histories to the Lydian king Croesus, from a speech in which Croesus was lamenting and repenting his failed invasion of Persia, which failure in turn caused the utter loss of his kingdom and all of his fabled wealth and power. He blamed the god Apollo for his disaster, because it was Apollo’s oracle at Delphi who initially told Croesus that, if he attacked Cyrus in Persia, “he would succeed in destroying a great empire.” His mistake was in assuming that the empire he would destroy would be Persia itself, when in fact it was his own.
I recently reread the 9 volumes of The Histories (last time was more than 45 years ago) and this early passage really struck at my heart.
Above all else, it reminds me of the profound gratitude…
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mighty bull moose clash
with ironic violent crash
conjoined forever
Writer Lynne Sargent
Poetry Puttering by Pax & Company
Sometimes everything has to be enscribed across the heavens so you can find the one line already written inside you. Sometimes it takes a great sky to find that small, bright, and indescribable wedge of freedom in your own heart. David Whyte
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no dust here
Looking ahead, without looking back (too often)
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All you touch and all you see / is all your life will ever be
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