Limited Linguistics

Word complex

 

A word or few can hold within its qualms

Entire universes of mysteries and miseries

From that initial jog into view down to

That final extirpation out of entropy’s final thrust.

Lives, of course are more than words, contain

Wonder and pain, love and disgust in configurations

Well beyond the noun or adjective or even verb.

One must contain a throat to scream, a mind

To dream, that sense immense cannot condense

Existence into the formalities of utterable sound

Or even scribbles symbolizing oddly the lightning of life,

That flash of clash that streaks through every now

May echo in linguistic thunder to trace the wonder

Of reality but there is no way that actuality can be trapped

Into the tangles out of the consonants and vowels enwrapped.

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Limits

the world

 

Haldane once pointed out

That the universe may be

Not only queerer than we think,

But queerer than we can think,

An observation of sensible humility

Of most universal commendable utility.

 

This brain that possesses us,

Over which we strut and fuss,

Requires that we should admire

Our feeble attempts to acquire

Universal generalities of doubtful verities,

For temporary utilities and fragile stabilities.

 

Our apish acrobatics, mental and physical,

Tarzanish in King Kongly inclinations

Supplemental to our chimpish inquisitions

Have landed us, most oddly in ungodly impositions

Wherein our terrors into errors become gee whizzical.

 

The vultures of our cultures in butcherish derisions

To gobble up incessantly, to multiply divisions,

Delight in the benight to wreak against the weak,

Erupt in the corrupt, create the chaos that they seek.

Evoke demonic finalities in the ultimates of fatalities

 

Either we step away from these curiosities of fury,

Comprehend that we can end this conflict with the natural,

Or we shall merely disappear in hurricanes of hate and fear,

In vengeances of the engines that drive the cosmic fate.

It’s still our choice, perhaps. It’s getting pretty late.

Chirp

sparrow

 

My time, my time has been, and is

The fizz of now, a cascade of instants

That bloom and fade away, a second,

Minute. day or decade to parade into infinity.

Nothing one might speak of as unique

But still, quite personal, a leak of generality

Into the specific that might be a clue,

A  Sherlock bark out of the dark from the dog

That isn’t there, the wavicles of quantum random

To twiddle on the fiddles of the melodies  of me.

No doubt the meat and bone and blood

Will thud to be interred, to be forgotten

But, perhaps, a passing sparrow might chirp a note

To hook a ghostly thought that someone was here.

Currently

cloud eyes

 

This hand that, now, on command, can forefinger touch

The billion buzz of digitals that tickle possibilities

Throughout the world, was conceived to grasp a branch.

This mind of convoluted intersects that collects cups

Of time and space to race to abstract fantasies of infinity

Once directed a tongue to lick at bark to gobble down

A caterpillar, a line of ants, or, perhaps a butterfly.

 

In theory there might come a time this eye might see

Sunrise on Mars, might sail past Jupiter and gaze on stars

And puzzle over glows of distant galaxies to reconceive

What now everybody accepts  and holds immutable.

Our senses formed in simpler times encounter oddities.

Lunar astronauts all confirm the Moon exhibited a funny smell.

It is, of course, a novelty to experience the Lunar scent.

The air is simply not there to convey whatever noses say.

 

The God that is not there floating on passing clouds, whizzing lightning bolts

When we eat bananas on Wednesdays or decide to fry a dog

May actually be a cloud whose electricity creates odd prejudices.

Freud never managed meteorology so foggy genitals remain mysterious.

I never met an elf I didn’t like (nor ever met one at all) but in fact,

As dragons and demons go, I’ve never made it with that crowd.

Ladies whose eyes go glassy when conversing with Houdini

Were never my type, I prefer sociologists with attractive behinds.

 

And so it goes in a world run by chimpanzees that beat their chest ,

Flaunt nuclear missiles, and believe there is no end to misbehavior.

The dinosaurs had the same religion  and did quite well for far longer

Than us monkeys, but they never made it to Mars when the universe

Decided  there were better things to do than eat each other.

That’s a lesson we have yet to learn.

 

 

 

 

Arrival And Departure

monument

 

I am clearly out of sync and think, perhaps,

My time approaches to sink back into oblivion.

Gulp my dose of Lethe, dissolve all recollection.

Nothing novel here. It’s where we washed ashore,

Where that first scream was born to protest arrival.

That arcane manufacture out of  pizza slices, lemonade,

Mashed potatoes and tomatoes, apple pie, sauerkraut.

Buttermilk and, perhaps a glass of vermouth, that swirled,

Coagulated into me, was delivered with no guarantee,

Nor refund on defective fabrication, but luckily, it seems,

I endured and performed to satisfaction for 90 years or so.

There are now torrid winds arising to blow us all to kingdom come,

A toasty planet more suitable for our progeny of tough robotry

Than the stuff we now use, so easy to hamburgerize in coming summertimes.

It will be that total democracy of equality in final destination

Where, perhaps a graffiti scribble on the Washington Monument might declare

“Look on me and despair.”

 

 

Appearances

graves

 

Cool is not cold and bold can merely be

A façade of demonstration, not brave but bravado.

Even intentions to prevaricate can convey a path to reveal

That claims of possession are merely a desire to steal.

 

A twisted tongue remains among those extraordinaries

That humanity’s great skills find useful when it misbehaves,

When it finds utilities for torture, when it kills,

So that it appears we are also blessed with twisted ears

 

Collateral is wealth claimed as treasure retained,

But in war this useful oops to rescue horror for the troops

Is attempted purity, delights of omelets where broken eggs

Are a mere necessity required to end in being admired.

 

History is well supplied with useful massacres and miseries

To elevate sadistic horror into conquesting glory.

A discriminating mind might find dismay in this display,

Equipped with decency and compassion, relates a different story.

Alive

dog

 

Conversations, to a large degree,

Between me and me, explore,

Amicably, the range of possibility

Available, assailable to exploration

On a scale that, hopefully, can beseech

The entrance to infinity, unencumbered

By the numbered limitations out of time

Out of a mind inclined towards immediacy

 

To scratch that itch of curiosity that lurks

Within the caverns of inconsistancies of verity,

Out of the dragons of the obvious can, of course,

Set free that frightened horse we each ride

Of who and what and where and why and when

That double use any mind in mysteries of the designed.

 

Never weary of this query, I munch on hunch and salivate.

Anticipations chew over odd relations to choke on revelations.

This fist of flesh inside my skull cannot be me.

A protein machine, mechanical, that manages intricacies

Of ingestion, inspires the gobbles of other life, demands

My hands to grapple with a sandwich or an apple,

Destroyed by teeth, dispatched to acid hades and reconfigured

Into more of me, necessity for sure, but well beyond

My grasp of chemistry with wisdoms of technologies

To challenge even experts in that organic manipulation.

 

I am none of that, a mere collaboration of packages of sights and sounds,

Of scents and sense, coughs and sneezes, laughs, screams and dreams.

I am undoubtedly connected to this meaty clockworks that urges

Hunger, sex, and no doubt, can instigate delight and fear, hatred and love

In some strange collaborations of chemistries and opportunities.

 

I have questioned stones and clouds who remain mum on answers.

Frogs and honeybees are equally uninterested in philosophies,

Although dogs and even cats will sit and look patiently in interview,

In pity at my ignorance, and wander off to muse alone or seek

Someone else available for wisdoms more appetizing.

 

 

 

The Sorcery Of Love

insects

 

Cords of energies loop the galaxies, dive

Through black holes into universal elsewheres

To meander back to burst forth in novas.

There is, no doubt, great force involved,

Fierce powers to twist contours into space

And dust the emptiness with planetoids,

But flavor, there is none, mere tastelessness

Cannot dig the spice of life from the trash of numeration.

 

Numbers are the mindless insectiles,

Ten legged crawlers gnawing substantialities

From particles of particles and yet, and yet,

Out of this crawling mass appears connections,

Directions of perceptions, the essential stuff of us.

 

Robots, in their current evocation do not yet live,

Can not yet integrate necessities into emotions,

Nor conjure desire, love, adoration, hate. or despair.

Our four soldiers of DNA are as mechanical as gears

That grind out Darwin’s directions but somehow, somehow,

There is more to life than the mastication of mathematics.

 

The lures out of totalitarian precision that have captured

Almost all the powers of human understanding

To pound to powder, out of profit and loss, our realities,

Out of domination and subjugation which accepts in joy a dead universe.

 

The vital sauce of love is gone and we are lost.