Archive for the Poems Category

The Ruin – Medieval Poem

Posted in History, Poems, Poems, Rhymes, Riddles, Pub Library, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on June 21, 2020 by Drogo

The Ruin” is an elegy in Old English, written by an unknown Dark Age author of the 8th or 9th century. It was published in the 10th century Exeter Book, a large collection of poems and riddles. The poem evokes the former glory of a ruined Roman city by juxtaposing the grand, lively past state with the decaying present. The section has a large diagonal burn from a kind of branding in the center of the page. The burn has rendered many parts of the script illegible. This is a possible reconstruction interpretation:

This masonry is wondrous; fates broke it
courtyard pavements were smashed; the work of giants is decaying.
Roofs are fallen, ruinous towers,
the frosty gate with frost on cement is ravaged,
chipped roofs are torn, fallen,
undermined by old age. The grasp of the earth possesses
the mighty builders, perished and fallen,
the hard grasp of earth, until a hundred generations
of people have departed. Often this wall,
lichen-grey and stained with red, experienced one reign after another,
remained standing under storms; the high wide gate has collapsed.
Still the masonry endures in winds cut down
persisted on, fiercely sharpened, fate honed
Nature she shoned and men atoned.
Thing of ancient skill worked
Thing of crusted mud fallen away
spirit mourned, put together keen-counselled
a quick design in rings, a most intelligent one bound
the wall with wire brace wondrously together.
Bright were the castle buildings, many the bathing-halls,
high the abundance of gables, great the noise of the multitude,
many a meadhall full of festivity,
until Fate the mighty changed that.
Far and wide the slain perished, days of pestilence came,
death took all the brave men away;
their places of war became deserted places,
the city decayed. The rebuilders perished,
the armies to earth. And so these buildings grow desolate,
and this red-curved roof parts from its tiles
of the ceiling-vault. The ruin has fallen to the ground
broken into mounds, where at one time many a warrior,
joyous and ornamented with gold-bright splendour,
proud and flushed with wine shone in war-trappings;
looked at treasure, at silver, at precious stones,
at wealth, at prosperity, at jewellery,
at this bright castle of a broad kingdom.
The stone buildings stood, a stream threw up heat
in wide surge; the wall enclosed all
in its bright bosom, where the baths were,
hot in the heart. That was convenient.
Then they let pour hot streams over grey stone.
under the vaulted roof and open sky,
until the ringed pool once hot,
grew weeds where the baths were.
Then is that ancient wonder gone?
Nay, here, that is a noble thing,
to the house, city, and castle ruin!

Carl Orff – Music Composer

Posted in Biographies, Memorials / Obituaries / Epitaphs, Poems, Song Lyrics & Analysis, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , on June 15, 2020 by Drogo

Music composer and educator Carl Orff was born in Munich, Germany in 1895. When Carl was 29 he co-founded a school of gymnastics, dance, and music in Munich. Carl Orff’s teaching work at the school reflected his interest in musical education for children. As with Wagner and Mascagni, Orff’s work was sponsored by Fascists for nationalist propaganda.

 

Carl Orff created major works for theater stages including operas (‘The Moon’) and musical plays. Carl also wrote chamber music. Three of his cantatas are called ‘Trionfi’ (Triumphs). The first composition, ‘Carmina Burana’ (Songs of Beuron) was written in 1937, and consists of songs set to medieval texts. Orff used poems by the Roman poet Catullus in the second cantata, ‘Catulli Carmina’ (Songs of Catullus, 1943). Finally in ‘Trionfo di Aphrodite’ (The Triumph of Aphrodite, 1953), Orff compiled texts by Catullus and the Greek writers Sappho and Euripides. Orff’s style in the ‘Trionfi’ was based on rhythmic propulsion; melodies and chants in changing meters of tempo and volume over the matching motor rhythms of instrumental ostinatos.

 

Orff’s obsession with rhythm led him to develop a method to train young children by means of percussion instruments. Carl Orff used asian and medieval scales, as well as texts in several languages sung simultaneously or in overlapping rounds. In his master-pieces Orff combines instrumental music, singing, gesture, syncopation, and dance into unified spectacles. Sometimes his music emphasizes folk music harmonies. However his powerful percussive rhythms drive a heavy orchestral signature; so like Richard Wagner before him, and Basil Poledouris after him, Orff’s unique sound stands out from less bombastic popular themes.

 

‘Carmina Burana’ has been used in modern films like ‘Excalibur’, ‘The Doors’, and ‘Shadow of the Wolf’. It is also even used for commercials for films, even when not actually in the sound-tracks (‘Ravenous’). If not for Orff’s ‘Carmina Burana’, these movies would only be half as dramatic. Orff summed up his theories in an impressive 5-volume book called ‘Music For Children’ (1934). He revised his book in 1954, and died in 1982.

Lord George Byron – Poet

Posted in Biographies, Poems, Poems, Rhymes, Riddles, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on June 5, 2020 by Drogo

lord byron turbin

George Gordon Byron was born in London, England to nobility. He lived from 1788 to 1824, and was a radical flamboyant and notorious liberal leader in world literature and politics during the early Romantic Movement and Historic Revival period. The first ten years of his life were spent with his mother in Scotland. Byron’s father had abandoned his family and died when young George Byron was only three years old. When young Byron was ten, his great-uncle died leaving George with the family title of ‘Lord’ Byron. Young Lord Byron returned to England, where he attended the Harrow School, and eventually Cambridge University.

In 1807 Lord Byron published his first book of poems, ‘Hours of Idleness’; which was severely criticized by the Edinburgh Review (a Scottish literary magazine). ‘Hour of Idleness’ was primarily a collection of educated romantic proses expected of young contemporary poets; but Byron was clearly more rebellious. Byron responded to his critics, using satirical witty and biting style in his ‘English Bards and Scotch Reviewers’, where he attacked almost every notable literary author and critic. Byron wrote the first two cantos (sections) of ‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage’ as fiction, using Edmund Spenser’s literary style. Soon Byron’s work mainly reflected his own experiences and early gothic revival sentiments.

From 1809 to 1811, Lord George Byron traveled through southern Europe and parts of the Near East. In 1815 Byron married Anne Isabella Milbanke. Their brief, turbulent, and unhappy marriage ended the same year; partly due to rumors of George’s incest with his half-sister, Augusta Leigh, and all the public gossip about his many former affairs as well. Byron departed from England forever in 1816, and moved to Switzerland and Italy. 

At the Villa Diodati in Switzerland 1816, Byron hosted his most historic party. For three rainy summer days and stormy nights, five friends became ghostly writers. The writers were Byron, his personal physician John Polidori, famous poet Percy Shelley, Mary Godwin (Percy’s future wife), and her step-sister Claire Clairmont with whom Byron already had a daughter. The five read gothic stories (including Fantasmagoriana), and wrote their own. Percy Shelley wrote ‘A Fragment of a Ghost Story’ and five ghost stories recounted by Matthew “Monk” Lewis. Mary Shelley wrote what would become ‘Frankenstein’, and Byron wrote ‘A Fragment’, on which Polidori based ‘The Vampyre’ (decades before Bram Stoker’s 1897 ‘Dracula’). That same month Byron visited Chillon Castle with Percy Shelley. ‘Prisoner of Chillon’ (1816) was Byron’s gothic classic, full of haunting morbidity.

Then Byron visited Venice, where he acquainted himself with Armenian culture aided by monks. He also carried on a long romance with the Countess Teresa Guiccioli. ‘Manfred’ (1817) dramatizes independence, and the nature of intellectual integrity for personal responsibility. ‘Cain’ (1821) is similar to Manfred, challenging divine will as people interpret it in their own ideas of right and wrong. ‘Don Juan’ (1820) might be his most famous poem. It is a satirical master-piece written in a colloquial, brilliant, and flexible style. It makes an epic hero of a legendary lover, who has epic comic moments. Most importantly Byron tells his story with shifting emotional tone; expressing anger at deceptions and cruelty, sadness over loss, and hope despite incarceration. Lord Byron became involved in revolutionary politics in Italy.

In 1823 Byron (like many others) decided to join the Greeks in their war for independence from the Turks. On April 19th of 1824, after a brief but fatal fever sickness, Lord Byron died without witnessing the success of the Greek revolution. As a romantic revivalist, Lord Byron clearly set the stage for later liberal arts leaders like Poe, Morris, Ruskin, Romantic painters, and other Victorians.

*

THE PRISONER OF CHILLON.

My hair is grey, but not with years,

Nor grew it white ⁠⁠In a single night,

As men’s have grown from sudden fears:

My limbs are bowed, though not with toil,

⁠But rusted with a vile repose,

For they have been a dungeon’s spoil,

⁠And mine has been the fate of those

To whom the goodly earth and air

Are banned, and barred—forbidden fare;⁠

But this was for my father’s faith

I suffered chains and courted death;

That father perished at the stake

For tenets he would not forsake;

And for the same his lineal race

In darkness found a dwelling place;

We were seven—who now are one,

⁠Six in youth, and one in age,

Finished as they had begun,

⁠Proud of Persecution’s rage;

One in fire, and two in field,

Their belief with blood have sealed,

Dying as their father died,

For the God their foes denied;—

Three were in a dungeon cast,

Of whom this wreck is left the last.

John Greenleaf Whittier

Posted in Biographies, Book Reports, Poems, Poems, Rhymes, Riddles, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on June 3, 2020 by Drogo

John Greenleaf Whittier was a famous American poet, statesman, abolitionist, and naturalist. John was a distant cousin to my great-grandmother, Bertha Whittier Stowell. His best known poems fall into two main types: those attacking slavery (abolitionist), and those praising the charms of New England country life (naturalist).

Often called ‘the Quaker poet’, John Greenleaf Whittier was born in Haverhill, Massachusetts. His parents were Quaker farmers. Whittier’s poetry shows the influence of his Quaker religion, and rural New England background. One major influence upon his style, was the Scottish poet Robert Burns. Like Burns, Whittier wrote many ballads on rural themes; but Whittier’s wit was not as bitterly sharp as Burns.

John G. Whittier was an active abolitionist in politics, especially from 1833 to 1863. As part of the anti-slavery movement, he called for the abolition of slavery in newspaper articles; not just in his poetry. Whittier did all this, while serving in the Massachusetts legislature in 1835. The abolitionist cause dominated his poetry. In ‘The Moral Warfare’ (1838) and ‘Massachusetts To Virginia’ (1843), John Whittier bombarded the injustices of slavery in society. He also condemned what he viewed as the national hypocrisy; the problem of being founded on the ideals of freedom, yet allowing slavery.

John Greenleaf Whittier criticizes Senator Daniel Webster of Massachusetts, in his political poem ‘Ichabod’ (1850). Senator Webster (who is also a distant relative of mine) took part in the ‘Compromise of 1850’, in which run-away slaves had to be returned to their owners, no questions asked. Whittier used a restrained, dignified tone that makes ‘Ichabod’ less an offensive attack on Webster, than an expression of sympathy for his idiotic mistake.

There are three ballads in which Whittier shows his interest in the customs, legends, rural settings, and the people of New England. The earlier two are called ‘Skipper Ireson’s Ride’ (1857) and ‘Telling The Bees’ (1858). The third was his later master-piece named ‘Snow-Bound’ (1866). ‘Snow-Bound’ tells of a family marooned in their farm-house during a giant blizzard. It was his affectionate lengthy descriptions of Quaker life, combined with a rhyming prose style, that made his verses easy to follow and popular; like a classic fire-side tale being spun. In his poem, Whittier’s delicate organization and brilliant lyrical verbosity, transcends the confines of a page. ‘Snow-bound’ toys with the merry whims and remembrances of anyone who has ever spent a snowy winter in New England and survived; even long after it was written.

Audio Recording of this article

*

Barbara Frietchie

Up from the meadows rich with corn,
Clear in the cool September morn,
The clustered spires of Frederick stand
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.
Round about them orchards sweep,
Apple- and peach-tree fruited deep,
Fair as a garden of the Lord
To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,
On that pleasant morn of the early fall
When Lee marched over the mountain wall,—
Over the mountains winding down,
Horse and foot, into Frederick town.
Forty flags with their silver stars,
Forty flags with their crimson bars,
Flapped in the morning wind: the sun
Of noon looked down, and saw not one.
Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;
Bravest of all in Frederick town,
She took up the flag the men hauled down;
In her attic window the staff she set,
To show that one heart was loyal yet.
Up the street came the rebel tread,
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.
Under his slouched hat left and right
He glanced: the old flag met his sight.
“Halt!”— the dust-brown ranks stood fast.
“Fire!”— out blazed the rifle-blast.
It shivered the window, pane and sash;
It rent the banner with seam and gash.
Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf;
She leaned far out on the window-sill,
And shook it forth with a royal will.
“Shoot, if you must, this old gray head,
But spare your country’s flag,” she said.
A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,
Over the face of the leader came;
The nobler nature within him stirred
To life at that woman’s deed and word:
“Who touches a hair of yon gray head
Dies like a dog! March on!” he said.
All day long through Frederick street
Sounded the tread of marching feet:
All day long that free flag tost
Over the heads of the rebel host.
Ever its torn folds rose and fell
On the loyal winds that loved it well;
And through the hill-gaps sunset light
Shone over it with a warm good-night.
Barbara Frietchie’s work is o’er,
And the Rebel rides on his raids no more.
Honor to her! and let a tear
Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall’s bier.
Over Barbara Frietchie’s grave
Flag of Freedom and Union, wave!
Peace and order and beauty draw
Round thy symbol of light and law;
And ever the stars above look down
On thy stars below in Frederick town!
*
  • more to be added later 

 

Tweedle-Trump & Tweedle-Dem 2020

Posted in Critical Commentary of Civilization, Ethics & Morals, Jokes, news, Poems, Rhymes, Riddles, Politics, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 4, 2020 by Drogo

Corporate Politics Has Failed Democracy

Our two party system is like Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee.

This is true more now than ever, as both corporate candidates are Trump and Biden.

 

Candidates paid by companies that interfered in our elections to get Trump elected, will lose to Trump the epitome Capitalist. Our intelligence agencies and corporations interfere in our elections far more than Russia or other foreign agencies; because our agencies and corporations have more control and more money. Bloomberg and Steyer are boring billionaire Capitalists; so although they are richer than Trump, they do not have Trump’s popularity. Trump’s popularity is based on being a corporatist who sometimes talks as a fake populist actor; which is mostly a result of his insane personality and flamboyant attitude despite being deeply flawed ethically.

The best lesson so far from main-stream politics seems to be that there are two primary common traits for being an establishment candidate for president: “Get paid by corporations to show up, and have dementia”! Whether Reagan had dementia during the Iran-Contra hearings when he claimed he “cannot recall” things in court, or whether that is just a time tested strategy for how criminals avoid prosecution is not clear. But regarding Trump and Biden in 2020, it is clear that they are demented in what they say and what they do. So as long as you do what you are told, you can show up and say stupid shit all the time at work, and do stupid things that get you into law suits. Vote for tweedle-dee or tweedle-dumber, those are the options corporations give us, both will do what the bosses tell them, not what we want. It gives us hope that yes anyone can be president, as long as you just do what the people with money want since the parties are identical that way.

Occupy, Code Pink, Extinction-Rebellion, Justice Democrats, and the Sunrise movements are leading the mass progressive charge. True social protesters and environmentalists do not take orders from corporations, political parties, or government agents of any countries. Activists like Jill Stein and Greta Thunberg are our only hope to have candidates for a better future. They may have to run as independents or third party ‘greens’, but it is only by their leadership that public opinion will change society. Our heroes show us that only by standing up against those in power, and taking action for ourselves, will we have power.

Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dumber will always be “the lesser of two evils” options when we leave politics to corporate representatives.

 

Some say, compar’d to Trump

That Biden is but a filthy dump.

Others aver, that he to Biden

Causes the racial gap to widen.

Strange all this Difference should be

‘Twixt Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee’!

 

[based on Byrom’s folk epigram 1805, from ‘Original Ditties for the Nursery’]

 

In Garden of My Mind

Posted in Organic Gardens, Poems, Poems, Rhymes, Riddles, Spiritual, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on January 29, 2020 by Drogo

I did alot of digging and tilling by hand for years.

I also trimmed hedges and trees since i was a boy,

because it was just chore maintenance for our yard.

Then i earned a living working on organic farms; 

until i realized i could not competitively do hard labor anymore; 

and wanted to focus on other jobs like teaching and the military.

I prefer only working with plants on my terms now;

I enjoy nature in between indoor work, without a boss.

I worked so many years on gardens that i did not “own”, 

and then to have my own taken away from me with the sale of our house, 

has made me not want to get attached to gardens anymore.

The ways of working and designing for others only gets me so far.

It has come as a shock to me, to realize how attached I became to wanting

To be the master of my own garden and designs, or else to let it all go.

If i was able to walk out every morning into a garden that was mine for the rest of my life, then i would want to again shape a garden. 

The wilderness is a huge natural garden,

which requires less work to enjoy than a manicured artificial garden.

My efforts now are for the preservation of wild organic nature.

I am focused on protecting Nature for all to use, since i don’t “own” a garden.

I never want to leave the garden in my heart anymore, 

so i live with that state of mind as my goal.

–  Drogo

drogo in g2002

Are You Better Than Me? WOC

Posted in POB Audio, Poems, Poems, Rhymes, Riddles, Psychology, Song Lyrics & Analysis, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on November 4, 2019 by Drogo

World of Competition, are you better than me?

Are you smarter? 

Are better looking? 

Do you sound better?

Are you better smelling?

Are you better skilled at life?

Do you deserve to procreate, while I just masturbate?

Were you born to win and me to lose??

Are you taller, bigger, and stronger???

Are you smaller, thinner, and faster???

 

This is the World of Competition,

Where we compete to be better than the other.

Your rank on the bloody charts of success,

Will tell us all who is better than the rest.

 

You stare at me and then dismiss me,

As being lesser than yourself

You don’t want to advance me,

At the cost of your own profit.

The price of your winning is my loss.

 

There ain’t no room for cooperation,

We cannot collaborate when the rules will not allow.

There can be no equality, when rates are based on quality.

Can you assess my monetary worth?

How much is my fucking soul after birth?

 

In this world you are either taking or giving,

If you are not good enough to take what is yours,

Then you must give what others have earned.

Or are you better because you give?

Either way, one of us is better.

 

Are you better at History?

Are you better at Math?

Are you better at Languages?

Do you spell like a mother-fucker?

Are you better at the Sciences?

Are you better at the Arts? 

 

Are you nicer?

Are you more sane?

Are you wealthier?

Can you buy and sell me?

 

Have you rigged the fight before we even begin?

What will you charge to allow me to win?

It ain’t no false dichotomy

Are you better than me?

BETTER THAN ME!!!!

*

[ Audio Recording – Song Version ]

*

Notes about this project lyric poetry and music style: my influences are Helmet, Biohazard, Faith No More, Hawkwind, Savatage, Bad Brains and other DC punk bands… the lyrics are about existentialist angst regarding social pressure to compete… it is about the human problem of wanting to compare things as dualities, instead of the more organic magic mushroom holistic view. the poem came to me in the morning, and i had to make the song to express the inner rage of individuals in society. it took me about an hour, but it might be one of my best songs because i was finally able to capture the problems between individuality and collective, and capitalist vs communist. also our attempts at trying to rate intelligence, skill, beauty. Special thanks the Judas Priest Cover band. I used my cell phone and 3 tracks on Soundtrap.

Clouds Are Real

Posted in POB Audio, Poems, Poems, Rhymes, Riddles, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on October 29, 2019 by Drogo

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We swim in oceans of emotions, and we sail in relation-ships;

no more voting for corporate pricks;

we think and feel, and vote for those with appeal;

because clouds are real, clouds are real, yeah clouds are real.

*

[ Audio recording of poem sung as a folk song ]

 

 

*

Space Drogo – lyrics

Posted in Memorials / Obituaries / Epitaphs, Poems, Poems, Rhymes, Riddles, Song Lyrics & Analysis, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on August 30, 2019 by Drogo

Space Drogo, always doing things with space!

Space Drogo, out to save the human race!

Space Drogo, the great king of the Appalacia,

Space Drogo, you betcha – he’s here to save ya! Space Drogo!

Always on a mission, space Drogo, flying in good condition!

Space Drogo, now you now his name!

Space Drogo, life will never be the same!

SPACE DROGO….. SPACE DROGO!!!!

– Lyrics by Andy Sweeney 2019

Lorax 3: The Secret of the Truffula Seed

Posted in Environmentalism, Ethics & Morals, Fictional Stories, Multimedia Communication, POB Audio, Poems, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 13, 2019 by Drogo

The Wisdom of the Lorax Strikes Back!!!

[based on The Lorax by Dr Seuss, this is fan-fiction]

“I hoped that the Lorax would tell me the secret of the Truffula Tree.” – a whisper that has waited for the Lorax Part Three!!!

Lorax Kin

The Lorax, the Mytak, the Menoo,

The Larkar, the Dundar, the Spagoo;

these were the spirits of the trees

they could come and go from tiny cells as they please

towers of cells serve them well

near where the last of the truffula trees fell

on the ‘Street of the Lifted Lorax’,

around the Onceler’s house full of cracks

 

I stood on the stone platform ‘Unless’

and lowered my head for the Lorax to bless

but the Lorax shook his mustache “no, no”

I asked “Will you tell me the wisdom you know?”

“I speak for the trees, of you they are pleased.

For taking a chance with the seed that you seized.

You knew what to do

and you did it too!

To fight evils of hate and greed,

the most we can do is plant a weed.

Our words were hopes one would do what you could,

and you did what you did as we hoped that one would.

Tell others of the stories we weave,

tell them they have been told at least once,

and then leave.”

 

We now know the secret, yes we do!

When you tell others, tell them who:

The Lorax, the Mytak, the Menoo,

The Larkar, the Dundar, the Spagoo,

the Onceler, the towns-people, myself and you!

*

AUDIO Recording

Lorax 2: The Return of the Dryods

Posted in Cartoon Comics, Environmentalism, Ethics & Morals, Fictional Stories, POB Audio, Poems, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 13, 2019 by Drogo

[based on The Lorax by Dr Seuss, this is fan-fiction]

THE LORAX IS BACK!!!

“We wanted to know what the Lorax would do, we wanted to know what the Lorax knew too!!”  – One of which happens in the LORAX Part TWO!!!

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Once the Lorax vanished from sight,

The Onceler was left in his poisonous blight,

but he gave a seed to a lad

who grew a tree and was glad

He let out a call to proclaim he was proud,

so loud that the Lorax heard it high up on a cloud.

The clarion call was heard by Dryods one and all!

 

So the little furry fellows came down

Some were red, some were orange, and one was brown.

They told the boy “We are here to protect the last hope!”

With their colorful voices they asked for twigs and rope.

Magic of clover helped get seeds from all over

The people created a garden owned by none,

and protected it for the future of everyone.

 

A forest grew too, just like new!

The barba-loots came back in their barba-loot suits

and also again came the fish and the birds

all due to actions from a very few words.

 

The Lorax retired under a hill of trees

and you can visit him there for tea, if you please.

*

AUDIO Recording

Reasons to Dare to be Wrong

Posted in History, Matras Quotes Tips, Poems, Rationality & Logic, SCOD Online School, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on August 9, 2019 by Drogo

My Reasons for Daring to Be Wrong – 

I believe architects must dare to study multiple disciplines, even though i know through experience that specialists will always know their topics better. Professionals are very protective of their trade, lest someone try to replace them, take what is theirs, and mingle it with other disciplines inappropriately. This is what architects do to design buildings, although to us it is valid appropriation to make something greater than its parts, and possibly new (gasp)! As an amateur historian of philosophy I realize most things that i think i know, someone will claim to know better. I dare because the comparing and contrasting interests me, whether right or wrong according to whomever. One thing that professors are reluctant to admit for obvious reasons, is that education is ongoing even for teachers. Not only do we learn new things as we grow old, but also we forget things unless practiced, and can find out we were wrong about some things. If only for the sake of poetry i feel i have something to express, no matter how much others want to attack my work for perceived flaws. Even i can argue against most of my points and assumptions, no matter which ones i like more, although i do try to be as accurate as i feel is correct for my way of thinking. I certainly agree there are many facts which most of us can consider objective. Most days however, i feel it is all pointless. So i struggle against my own will to create. The passion i summon against depression can result in a very neutral state which I can call sanity, and that self is always there peering into the void of meaning and the well of mimir.

Why bother trying to be always correct (right is a direction)? Daring to be wrong can be enough sometimes. Many people think that many other people are wrong about a great many things, and their opinions can change sometimes. Admitting we are wrong can be hard, but it is easier when we assume nothing in reality is perfect.

Haikus

Posted in Poems, Poems, Rhymes, Riddles, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on June 14, 2019 by Drogo

Japanese Poems – Haikus (Hokkus)

 

So white the snow that chills bones; fire inside, keep warm; cold is winter frost – Drogo

 

Such utter silence! Even the crickets singing; muffled by hot rocks. – basho

 

I am going out; be good and play together; my cricket children – issa

 

Not a voice to stir; darkness lies on fields and streets; sad the moon has set. – imozeni

 

Lightning flash, crash; waiting in the bamboo grove; see 3 dew-drops fall – buson

 

Ashes my burnt hut; but wonderful the cherry tree; blooming on my hill – hokushi

 

Life? Butterfly on swaying grass; That is all; but exquisite! – soin

 

Glorious the moon; therefore our thanks dark clouds; come to rest our necks. – basho

 

Dim the grey cow comes; mooing mooing, and mooing; out of the morning mist – issa

 

Take the round flat moon; snap this twig for handle; what a pretty fan! – sokan

 

Why so scrawny cat? Starving for fat fish or mice; or backyard love? – basho

 

Seas are wild tonight; stretching over sado island; silent clouds of stars. – basho

 

Dewdrop let me cleanse; in your brief sweet waters; these dark hands of life. – basho

 

Mountain-rose petals; falling, falling, falling now; waterfall music . – basho

 

Amorous cat, alas; you too must yowl with your love; or even worse, without! – yaha

 

By that fallen house; the pear-tree stands full-blooming; an ancient battle-site. – shiki

 

In the open shop; paper-weights on the picture books; young spring-time breeze. – kito

 

In city fields contemplating; cherry-trees; strangers are like friends. – issa

 

Green shadow-dances; see our young banana-tree; patterning the screen. – shiki

 

Laugh now pease; remember how we like to be; love inner joy – drogo

 

Dont touch my plum tree! Said my friend and saying so; broke the branch for me. – taigi

 

Twilight whippoorwill; whistle on, sweet deepener; of dark loneliness. – basho

 

Many solemn nights; blond moon, we stand and marvel; sleeping our noons away. – taitoku

 

Fie! This fickle world! Three days, neglecting cherry-branch; and you are bare. – ryota

 

Hanging the lantern; on that white blooming bough; exquisite your care! – shiki

 

In the sea-surf edge; mingling with bright small shells; bush-clover petals. – basho

 

The river; gathering may rains; from cold streamlets for the sea; murmuring mogami. – basho

 

A gate made; all of twigs with woven grass; for hinges for a lock this snail. – issa

 

Wind-blown, rained on; bent barley-grass you make me; narrow path indeed. – joso

 

I dreamed of battles; and was slain, o savage samurai! Insatiable fleas! – kikaku

 

In silent midnight; our old scarecrow topples down; weird hollow echo. – boncho

 

Dew evaporates; and our world is dew, so dear; so fresh, so fleeting. – issa

 

Seek on high bare trails; sky-reflecting violets; mountain-top jewels. – basho

 

For a lovely bowl; let us arrange these flowers; since there is no rice. – basho

 

One fallen flower; returning to the branch? Oh no! A white butterfly. – moritake

 

Under cherry-trees; soup, the salad, fish and all; seasoned with petals. – basho

 

Now from cherry-trees; millions of maidens flying; fierce war-lord storm. – sadaiye

 

Moon so bright for love! Come closer, quilt enfold; my passionate cold! – sampu

 

Too curious flower; watching us pass, met death; our hungry donkey. – basho

 

What a peony? Demanding to be measured; by my tiny fan. – basho?

Yo Soy Yo Mismo

Posted in Ethics & Morals, Poems, Poems, Rhymes, Riddles, relationships, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on June 3, 2019 by Drogo

Yo soy yo mismo – I am myself

I am married to Freedom, and she knows me for who i am. We were married when i became an adult, and our wedding vows were made with each heart break. I am loyal to my friends, and mostly to the best of them, but no one owns or controls me. Those who live with each other are part of each other’s lives, and no promises or betrayals are needed for patterns of behavior to be known. To love Freedom is a game of release, without cheating because there are no jealous hateful rules for others to enforce.

Poem on Death or Loss

Posted in dreams, Memorials / Obituaries / Epitaphs, Poems, Poems, Rhymes, Riddles, relationships, Spiritual, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , on April 26, 2019 by Drogo

My gardens, my pets, my friends, my family… those I lose are still with me every day and every night. i still see, hear, and feel them around me and inside me. im always reminded of those things that make me who i am. the things i lose are alive in my dreams or in the presence of other things. Sometimes my dreams of my dead father being alive feel very real. To be remembered is not a depressing concept it is the dying and absence aspects that hurt; but only in forgetting is there absence of our conscious minds; but that is limited absence in the totality of being. 

– Drogo