Lazy Scientists Do Not Think Normatively

Fragrant is this nourishing soil,
sweet are these golden carrots,
that lay bare after a day of toil,
marked by the hares and parrots.

Alas, swift is the farmer boy,
whose burns seem rather faint,
when the hands of a defeated ploy,
are caught in muddy paint.

Set is this trial for justice,
hearing both truth and beauty,
freedom is our common premise,
so who bears the burden of duty?

‘The thieves, of course!’ yells the boy,
clear as the rightful moonlight;
is there more to be said,
if wrong is to be cut from right?

The parrots defend their ground:
‘the allures were far too strong!’
So the boy has himself now found,
charged of being very wrong!

Disbanded is the headless crowd,
revealing the stupefied hares,
to none but the nebulous clouds,
where the parrots repeat their errs.

Advertisements
Published in: on 24/08/2018 at 10:26 PM  Leave a Comment  

Righteous Hypocrisy

Is there a soul in nature’s call,
or are all but the works of a dreaming bard?
If justice summons the trickster’s ball,
then justice is but the solipsist’s art.

How shall we for paradise desire,
if nowhere can we to paradise aspire?
Beauty we grant upon fiendish forms,
though our eyes elude their ghastly storms.

Travellers extoll their headless strides,
graveyards laugh at their foolish parades;
is hell the recipe for their pretentious pride,
or the make-belief of our heroic raids?

Whence do judgements their chisels acquire,
sculpting each tree to our frailty’s delight?
Why do you for the truth enquire,
when truths are enslaved in our crafty eyes?

Published in: on 22/08/2018 at 2:40 PM  Leave a Comment  

Dreaming of a Fallen Angel

By many winters passed since she had dreamed,
of an uninvited visit of that fearsome beast;
his jaws wider than the fissure of abyss,
his wings gave birth to the darkest nights.

Many bitter autumns had swept it seemed,
the forgotten fortunes of that revered beast;
his claws had tore a piece of heaven’s bliss,
for none but mortality’s fleeting delights.

Cursed with not that to which the flesh is heir,
but the recurring pains that the mind must bear;
the world is to his temperaments tied,
though she hears not of his earthly plight.

Fools rushing with an engraved plate,
when the errand of existence is the final fate,
not for the love of a loveless sky,
for only the beauties of a flourishing might.

Published in: on 20/08/2018 at 8:27 PM  Leave a Comment  

Road to the Cemetery

The cloak of dusk in silence descends,
upon the soulless houses and roads;
nocturnal mists from the woods invade,
the lone sounds of two offbeat steps.

Wherefore doth the eyes ascend,
towards the heartless tulips and roses?
Who awaits at the end this cascade —
save the illusory voices from dust and bones.

The strings are struck by the azure crescent,
moon dust fall to the dissonant crows;
the beauty of this meaningless crusade,
is a heart parted from joys and sorrows.

Published in: on 17/08/2018 at 2:03 PM  Leave a Comment  

Three A.M.

A frail birch sways in the wind,
brushing from nowhere to nowhere;
empty words are as words empty,
words are but words.

In dreams where the heart desires,
to the gardens or to the lairs?
In rusted chains a heart is tied,
to heaven and earth.

Published in: on 15/08/2018 at 2:06 AM  Leave a Comment