Shall I confess?
She wore not a dress
But standard issue jeans.
The scenes
Enacted
Impacted
And she
And me
Played our bit part
In this drama of sin.
No words of love were spoken
And the heart
Was unbroken.
Yet one may still regret
Or not as the case may be.
Philosophers disagree
On what it is to be free.
And I think on she
And me.
There was a young philosopher called Mabel
Who said “this is a virtual table”.
There was a terrible yell
When her good friend nell
Banged her head on that table …
While on the way to the shops yesterday, I met an acquaintance. As one does in such situations, we passed the time of day. During our conversation my companion thanked me for the print copy of my collection of poetry, “My Old Clock I Wind”, that I had given him. He had he said read it 3 times and intended to read it again. My poetry was, in his view bleak and reminded him of Schopenhauer.
I must confess to never having read Shopenhauer, but the words of my acquaintance kindled in me a desire to read up on the philosopher. For anyone interested in learning more about Arthur Schopenhauer I recommend the above article as a good starting point.
As to whether my poetry does, in any sense chime with the ideas expressed by the German philosopher, I feel unable to comment other than to state unequivocally that I repudiate in the strongest possible terms the anti-Semitic views attributed to Shopenhauer.
Anti-semitism is vile and led to the extermination of approximately 6 million Jews (men, women and children). Sadly there remain those on the far-right of politics who continue to propagate the lie that there was no “Final Solution”. Such denials are dangerous and those who propagate them contribute to the curse of anti-semitism.
Kevin
In the wood’s dark
Heart the breeze
Whispers in the trees
Words that I can not comprehend.
May god send
Me peace
And this breeze
Never cease.
On Tuesday evening (23 May), I had dinner with 2 old friends. During the course of our conversation my friend, Jeff asked “Who is the I in I”? My response was that we are composed of a mix of genetic data inherited from our parents, environmental influences and the culture we absorb from a young age. All of these factors, I said, help to determine who the I in I is.
The snippet of conversation related above, reminded me of my poem “Genes” which is reproduced below:
“Are we just our genes
Means
To a meaningless conclusion,
A confusion of arms, legs and bed?
The head
Is often overruled
By the fool
Lust.
Into eternity we thrust
Desperately hoping to leave one of our kind
Behind
Ere our dalliance ends in dust”.
(“Genes” can be found in my collection of poetry, “Refractions”, which is available, as a Kindle download in the Amazon Kindle store).
When skin and bone are gone
The cyborg continues on,
But is it you or I?
And can a cyborg die?
There was a young philosopher called Neil
Who said, “all we perceive is not real”.
It was his bad luck,
To get hit by a truck,
Which knocked some sense into Neil.
Where do we go, when we die?
Who knows? Not I.
Flies our soul, unto the sky?
Who knows, not I.
Only a fool
Can object to Rousseau’s rule,
For “the general will”
Can do no ill.
It is treason
To deny
That “the people” are guided by reason
And he who does so must die.
So say I
Until “the general will”
Does ill
Unto me
And we are no longer free …
—
http://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/entry/General_will#Jean-Jacques_Rousseau
Are we just our geans
Means
To a meaningless conclusion,
A confusion of arms, legs and bed?
The head
Is often overruled
By the fool
Lust.
Into eternity we thrust
Desperately hoping to leave one of our kind
Behind
Ere our dalliance ends in dust.
K Morris - Poet 