20 Lines A Day

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[007] from “Noster dulcis vita”

Excerpt from my first attempt at an epic poem.

Thereupon the fuliginous boundary
Of an abused heaven and its shadow –
The metropolis of the fallen race –
Was settling, all dimmed, the argent star.
So ripe with distressed age, and teetering
Vigilant still, necessitated blind
Over a billion billion regular
Passages. Rose a man in common pact
To satisfy the quick and stolid wheel:
He, nestled in the shaly counter-orb,
Replaced the sun now rimmed on its descent,
A shere bathysphere deluged in abyss.
As it was, the consummation of days
Bore no distinguishments from prior time.
These dueling celestial foes had trounced
The later punctual urge clocks did bring
About. Pairing the supposition that,
As a patterned thought, holily organe,
Life did emerge in primordial sluices
With the ceaseless thirst for aqua vitae:
Alas, onward wound their formless sojourn.
To those who divine purpose from orbits –
Your icons are in equal mass misled.
Hark, a fine absolving hymn I offer,
Albeit unadvantageously subtle
And arcane, for never can I end, mute.
Humble verdant saints once reigned on this land;
Now yawning with harmonious content
To the grating oxen’s haw and bellow,
Each restless to gain the transfinite bliss.

Perchance they once again grimaced with youth
I should more aptly chronicle their time;
Leaving no potency in biting haste
Or death-deceit in herbal sympathy.
Yet, the wandering veil has focused now
On the crumpling of each cosmic riband
Nor has chastity a grain for the sieve
Too swollen to remain in Nirvana.
My pen’s archaic gestures to appeal
Forlornly, knelt at each sacral platform,
Fade to a base echo enveloped in
The screech of catastrophe and climax.
Soon shall this tattered ode assume the dire,
Particulate status of all life’s modes
Though as assuredly as the sun’s rise,
Remind us, the last and moribund beast,
Of the invincible wave: summed decay.
Harshly will our liberal conceits vanish
Into anonymous beads, energy
Warped on the breath of heatless air currents.
Relaxed, then calmly abolished went we -
Humanity, whom no foul fiend vexes
Has just disposed at last of roots and fruits
To balance the succint flavor blooming
On this present, virtue-lacking mantle.
No more banners circulate to be donned;
No longer will hearts with honor earnest throb.
Loud yet wholly silent peace must endure,
For thus is the permanence of closure.
I have awarded all that was, and won.


[006] Limericks

When I’m not dreaming, I write. And when I’m not writing or dreaming, I wake up and go to school. These limericks are the results of me drifting off in English class.

Now Mike, don’t you dare spill that beer,
For if you do, laddie, I fear
I’ll leap off this here stool
And lap up the pool
Like I done at your wedding last year!

Eight syllables are in this line.
Some critics will try to divine
A method to meter
They think to be neater
Than a beat-count that ought not be nine.

The was an old rotter from Cork
Whose beard had a terrible fork -
One day he did cough
like a great raspy chough
And out fell a whole leg of pork.

There once was a man named Fitzhugh
Who wore many a steel-toed shoe.
From behind he did spy
A stalker-like guy;
With shoe, he beat him black and blue.

On the street I once talked with a bum
Who, nearly about to succumb,
Said, “Why don’t you all see?
That uncertainty
Of taxes is really quite dumb!”

Sometimes in Lit class I’m ignored,
So then I don’t draw on the board
But write limericks
To quick get a fix
Of a writing style rather abhorred.


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[005] Anti-Patriot’s Creed

I’ve adapted this speech from a  play (The Nameless) I wrote for a Creative Writing course last year following a modified version of the ‘concise writing’ challenge from a while back. Each group of words is exactly half the preceeding group.

 

We stand now against our own idolatrous brothers, armed for a conflict we can never comprehend. What is war but the exercise of claimed ‘superior ideals’? Are there truly adversaries of flesh? Is the enemy the man who, like I do now before you, laments the wrongdoings of an ancient regime, crafting words like swords to smite a resistance we have not known before? I may now preach what I condemn, but I implore you to heed my pleas as though they are your own voices. We stand now on the verge of a war deep enough to disassemble the integrity of free will. Presently shall I suffer and die alone in this street, yet if no group emotion commemorates me, I will not have perished in vain.

The great and thoughtless enemies of the platformed are the causeless rebels and the didactic multitudes – not any uncompromising physical injustice. Order borne from chaos: thus is the power of practical reason! No nationalism or love of a greater being is fair to control your fate, my fellows. Do not rely on history to condemn you to this common fault of our naïve society. Revolution is that one beautiful aspect of nature that only the human species possesses. We may be animal in our desires, but it is our combined ability to think, to defect and to retaliate that gives us the righteous strength to change the world. Indeed, the power belongs only to the enlightened to let the world abandon promises, only to take up sincere actions.

People, divided by colors and blindfolded by banners – with hatred towards pacifists and supposedly nobler cause, are the true enemies, the opponents of reason. They wear no uniform, but patchworks of hypocrisy! As a free man, you must carry whichever ensign you create higher than anything else, higher than the desires of others, so it may not distort your vision, or the visions of others. This is not the creed of a new patriot or of the reformed patriot, but the opposite – an anti-patriot! I am no commander of fate. I merely relinquish the curtains of the worldly stage; I do not force the interpretations. I am no hero – I fight for neither good nor bad, but for will. I may be remembered and disremembered, but will have been. (384)

—–

We stand now against our own idolatrous brothers, armed for a conflict we can never comprehend. What is war but the exercise of claimed ‘superior ideals’? Are there truly adversaries of flesh? Is the enemy the man who, like I do now before you, laments the wrongdoings of an ancient regime, crafting words like swords to smite a resistance we have not known before? Thegreat and thoughtless enemies of the platformed are the causeless rebels and the didactic multitudes – not an uncompromising physical injustice. Order borne from chaos: thus is the power of practical reason! No nationalism or love of a greater being is fair to control your fate, my fellows. Do not rely on history to condemn you to this common fault of our naïve society. People, divided by colors and blindfolded by banners – with hatred towards pacifists and supposedly nobler cause, are the true enemies, the opponents of reason. They wear no uniform, but patchworks of hypocrisy! As a free man, you must carry whichever ensign you create higher than anything else, higher than the desires of others, so it may not distort your vision, or the visions of others. (192)

—–

We stand now against our own idolatrous brothers, armed for a conflict we can never comprehend. What is war but the exercise of claimed ‘superior ideals’? Are there truly adversaries of flesh? The great and thoughtless enemies of the platformed are the causeless rebels and the didactic multitudes – not an uncompromising physical injustice. Order borne from chaos: thus is the power of practical reason! People, divided by colors and blindfolded by banners – with hatred towards pacifists and supposedly nobler cause, are the true enemies, the opponents of reason. They wear no uniform, but patchworks of hypocrisy! (96)

—–

We stand now against our own idolatrous brothers armed for a conflict we can never comprehend. The great and thoughtless enemies of the platformed are the causeless rebels and the didactic multitudes – People, divided by colors and blindfolded by banners – with hatred towards pacifists and supposedly nobler cause. (48)

—–

We stand now against our own idolatrous brothers, the great and thoughtless enemies of the platformed People, divided by colors and blindfolded by banners. (24)

—–

We stand now against the great and thoughtless People divided by colors. (12)

—–

We stand,the great People, divided. (6)

—–

We The People (3)


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[004] Ears

A man of hearing, lacking,
Could not his lust curtail;
For words of hate, attacking,
Would not displace his veil.

The pitch of journeys blaméd
And blesséd hold no sway
O’er the travails of his head,
Nor the courtesies he’ll stay.

The frequencies oft hoarded
In the skulls of meek and loud
Would nary be so sordid
For he to laud the crowd.

This man, with hearing lacking,
Could also not exceed
What knowledge throbs for tracking
In tomes and texts; in creed.

To glean a wit or reason
The deaf must wisely choose
Wherefrom to claim stark treason
Of man’s variegate ruse.

‘Tis both a curse and blessing
To satirize the ear –
Though nothing but caressing
By Nature wrought so dear.


[003] Jatayu

We are the F101 Generation– the offspring of offspring, one-hundred times over, borne from P Generation. The 28 contributors of P Generation carried the best traits in the Homo sapiens genome, and were thus ideal for Dr. Foster’s experiment.

Today is August 2, 1702 ATR. It has been 14,938 years since P Generation boarded the Fosteria. It has been 1,702 years since Homo sapiens went extinct on Earth, by Huron-98’s estimation.

My name is Wycliffe-101. I am 96 years old. My father is Royce-100. My mother is Lucia-100. My father died 44 years ago, and my mother died 60 years ago. They belong to Vault 100-E.

According to the tabulations of Armando-8, the Fosteria departed Earth on January 10, 2091, during the Western Wars. The tabulations state that Governor Berenger passed the Galactic Settlement Act the year before, hoping to collectivize the solar system to bring prosperity to the new citizens of the Republic.

The good Dr. Foster was commissioned by the Governor to collect men and women from the Republic to donate DNA. Dr. Foster and his associates selected members from the wealthiest willing families in the Republic because it is known that only the wealthy are fit. Fourteen men and fourteen women were chosen; samples of their DNA were gathered and catalogued. Each donor had passed the LTAB test and thus was a perfected specimen of Homo sapiens.

Scientists from the Commission on Breeding created 100 humans from the genomes of what became known as P Generation. On December 18, 2090, the finished intergalactic vessel Fosteria arrived in New London at the Von Braun Platform. The vessel was boarded by 15 colonial tacticians, 25 maintenance officials and 10 regulators, as well as 100 test-tube humans from F1 Generation…Read more


[002] To –

Se non ci fossi dovrei inventarti -
For in this roiling realm where most men art
Impoverished in amour, I beg no party
Then your true-beating, dream-completing heart.
When in the lushest wood’s embrace I trounce
The innate aria of Earth, perfect,
My mind meanders, hear I you denounce
A whole world’s fears, my longing to deflect.
Pure in flesh and eye from spite or treason
Your onyx locks and sweet scent dearly missed;
Darling nymph, who thrives in rhyme and reason -
O, how I crave our next romaunting tryst!
Alas, ’till then my limerence confines
To the archaic method of these lines.


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[001] Intrata

Things inside the tent did not seem quite normal.
Here I am,
Snuggled in adipose,
Ceaselessly reeling towards some haughty bliss.
A wholesome chaos.
Brewing here.
Effervescing.
A puke orange sun drips into the lake,
The mirror,
Sending a trillion jocose radiating cracks at
     the Chautauqua by the bay.

Where dreams are made, I have no name.
You can call me Al.
You can call me a Menshevik and stiff-backed and a transient.
I’m all of these.
I’m none of these.
All of the above.
I’m the 11:22 train late for Dallas.
I’m the 11:22 train late for Dallas.
I’m the 3:16 hydrofoil from St. Johns.
Think about it. Think about me.
Think. And suffer.
Think and suffer and bleed two quarts of ethanol and
     a blazing river of golden ecstasy.
Drink it. Drink it again, by the keg, by the bay.
Give it a fancy name and live forever.

Shave your head.
Make a movement.
Make the movement the crisp flick of a match set
      straight to your flesh.
But don’t call it ‘your’ flesh.

Is it plausible,
That we, Mensheviks,
Basking in the warm of the bay they call Chautauqua,
Have founded a cargo cult?
If this be nonsense,
Pray tell what isn’t.
Things inside the tent did not seem quite normal.
I walked outside.

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