Blunderbuss

Blunderbuss

A blunderbuss as ever he shall be,
Forever aligned with his memory;
Chances squandered in mediocrity,
Complacent as ever in misery.

Yet the population garnered respect,
For the man incapable to reflect,
To pick and choose and even to dissect,
The situations for him to inject.

And, yet, they'll say he was so practical,
Consigned himself to the most probable,
Devoted to the most inscrutable,
Certainly, quite incontrovertible.

Stepping forward with the foot that was right,
Sure kept him safe from the bumps in the night,
Tossing the salt at the spirits in spite,
Gave peace of mind, radiance to light.

But in all his calculated measures,
Security allowed him some leisure,
As our blunderbuss counted his treasures,
The universe shrug'd and chiseled his ledger¹.


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 1. A  stone slab or block laid over a grave or tomb.

Invino Veritas
2/8/13
EOF

Impala

Impala

Oh, but I was ugly,
But it had to be done,
It had gone on too, too long,
I had let it persist,
And it grew like a thorny vine,
Like a weed,
A dandelion in the garden,
I ignored it.
But then again,
It was just a taste,
A mere smidgeon,
A speckle on a robin's egg,
An egg in the basket,
Waiting to be cracked open,
And spread upon her head.

Upon her cross she crawled,
As she had done so many times before,
Glaring down upon me,
Her head cocked to the side,
Like the chicken that laid that egg.
No, she wasn't the martyr.
She was the self-appointed,
The messiah in her mind,
She was the hunter in the stars,
Brandishing her arrows,
And releasing them unto her prey.
But tonight,
I was the impala,
Changing direction with its heartbeat,
Drifting left,
Dodging right,
Jumping over reed,
Through valley and over stream,
Away from the snapping jaws,
Of the lioness and her pride.


 Invino Veritas
2/5/13

EOF

Dichotomous Hippopotamus

Dichotomous Hippopotamus

The dichotomy inside of me,
Is, indubitably, old to me,
Alas, I intend to fare it well,
To drain its well,
To buy and sell,
Strip it of its hardened shell,
In order to quell the ringing bells,
Of antiquity that anchor me,
So unsuitably, bereft of me.

'Tis the general rule to ridicule,
Ordain them fool when the logic pools,
Alas, I intend to draw the line,
As once refined,
In ancient times,
By the minds that redefined,
At once aligned the greatest of minds,
From the mental spool of mental fuel,
To the vestibule of golden rule.

Margaret, I'm Done

Margaret, I'm Done


Margaret, I'm done,
I'll have no more fit,
It's time to reprieve,
And time to relieve,
I've no more to submit.
I have no occupation,
No energy nor care,
So, Margaret, I'm done,
For I must, now, remit.

Oh, Margaret, I'm done,
I've no passion for play,
My spirit now broken,
My eyes unspoken,
Passes no judgement today.
I have no indignation,
And bear no second glance,
So, Margaret, I'm done,
I've tucked it away.

Yes, Margaret, I'm done,
It was fine as New Year's snow,
It was never ostentatious,
Though you're flirtatious,
But now it's time to go.
So, lift your head,
And wear your smile,
But for Margaret -- not for me.
And conclude instead,
That all the while,
It was I who set you free.

Snakes On The Brain

Snakes On The Brain

I'm afraid, my dear, I have snakes within my brain,
Bees in my ears, my dear, and monkeys in my eyes,
Against my better judgment that I should refrain,
But there's a bat, my dear, in the belfry that cries,
There's a blue turnip in the spider web, my dear,
The pigs have landed and Lucifer bought a coat,
Alice¹ is in the garden with Dinah², I fear,
For which, my dear, there seems to be no antidote.
   And yet there's no alarm for which there's no excuse,
   There's no travesty upon which I must report,
   For the sky here is a gorgeous shade of fulvous³,
   And here, my dear, my neighbors are never obtuse,
   The moments are simply filled with snappy retort,
   And ev'rything int'resting isn't frivolous.
  
  
_____________________________
1.  The main character in Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland.
2. Alice's cat in Alice in Wonderland.
3. A dull yellow-brown color.
  
  

Sloth: The Annotated Edition

Sloth

I'll make you an offer you can never refuse,
I'll remove the devoir¹ and desire to choose,
It's really quite simple to select the right door,
An offer that's certain to allure you for more.
The tocsin² is ringing; don't worry and don't fight,
For Pavlov³ was brilliant and Cannon⁴, too, had light,
But Milgram⁵ was special, and Janis⁶ would be brave⁷,
Just ponder the offer, and endorse⁸ it, my knave⁹.
   I'll appeal your senses, that moral rope you cling,
   But dawdle not, instead to contract¹⁰ you must spring,
   (I, also, can alleve¹¹ your burden of that thing.)
   No distress, no worries, no fever of your's grown,
   I'll protect you against the terror at home sown,
   So perpend¹² the offer, the favor yet not known.
  
_______________________________
1. Duty.
2. Bell, alarm, object to be rung.
3. Ivan Petrovich Pavlov, Russian physiologist, 1904 Nobel Prize winner for his work
    on the physiology of digestion; made famous for discovering the condition reflex,and
    having a profound effect on the foundations of Psychology and Behavioral Science.
4. William Bradford Cannon, First to describe the fight or flight response.
5. Stanley Milgram, Yale Professor of Psychology noted for his research in the 1960's
    on a person's obedience to authority figures.
6. Irving Janis, Research Psychologist at Yale University from 1947 until 1985, noted
    for his research involving and describing the social psychology concept of
    Groupthink.
7. Archaic, Proud.
8. Doublespeak, Refers to both support and signing as in a letter or contract.
9. Archaic, Servant.
10. Doublespeak, Refers to both a legal agreement between parties and to acquire as
      in the catching of a contagion. (virus, bacteria, infection, etc.)
11. Relieve, alleviate.
12. Consider.


Invino Veritas
11/5/12
EOF

The Opening of the Eye

The Opening of the Eye

It was his eye that made me understand,
Understand his intentions and devotions,
His followings and adherences,
Understand the fuel of his furnaces,
Bubbling from within his chest like magma,
Ready to spray his soul upon the hapless passersby.
It was in his eye that I saw his heart,
That I saw wrapped in that fluctuating ring of brown,
The tarnished, animated coil of rusty iron,
Once shiny like a pearl but now dull and absorbent..
That I saw the snails and dogs, for some reason,
Arguing with one another over pancakes,
And whether or not they'd get to drive the chariot.
It was about his eye that I saw the swarms,
The muddled masses of flies buzzing about,
Attempting to make sense of the fight or flight,
All the while driven toward the soft orange glow,
Of the flickering cushion of heat from the pit below.
It was by his eye that the shadow was cast,
The ominous semipresence flowing over the warm crust,
The hardened earth that became the corruption.
Spewing forth from the center like cold oil,
Languidly, knowing that its prey cannot escape.

And yet I stubbornly confronted the demon,
I bore the brunt of its firey breath and its windy torment,
Its verbal lashings and aura of searing malcontent,
I bore the banner of kings and queens,
Of philosophers and wizards arcane,
Of warriors and heroes alike,
And I bore my blade of champions,
My hilted lightning bolt of Zeus' ire and might,
My shining testament to fortified will and effort,
As it surged through my feeble hands not born,
To wield the power, the fury of gods and titans.
But I nonetheless did not heed the warnings,
Did not heed the onslaught of the modus operandi,
Of my foe and its terrible thirst for blood and damnation,
It's dull, blackened attributive talent and desire,
Hidden within its own bibulous edge of darkness.
No, it was not me.
Though I bore the brunt,
Though I bore the sight,
Though I bore the sword,
I bore no such ordainment;
Only the will of the innocent,
The stubborn resolve of the proud many.

And I fell from the top as a great flame encircled me,
Like a comet tail flashing, streaking across the sky,
It was my iron-gray eye that became tarnished,
And the pit that opened around the heart was mine,
As my banner flaked to dust and my blade crumbled,
The voices of my ancestors diminished,
The wisdom and knowledge of the ages subsided,
My vision became cloudy and my heart burned.
Yea, it was with a thunderous clap that I landed,
Erupting in both earth and water, steam and ash,
fire and flame, and yes, even concussion and wind.
There, in that deep, dark recess within the womb,
Of Gaia did I lay, dormant and my lights diminished,
Like the light of distant stars traveling afar,
And yet, that faded luminescence glittered like crystal,
Like the many eyes of Gaia seen in the rivers,
And streams of the world, in the reflections caught,
In the sparkles of dewdrops caught in a spider's web,
Just shadows of the true form as Plato might say.

But for all its marvel, this tiny, faltering light,
Could not be extinguished and was reborn.
It grew with intensity, with prideful determination,
That overtook painful memory,
The bones healed, the skin restitched itself,
The blood replenished and the will refortified,
And the parapets of my mind were rebuilt,
With the virtues of my people,
With the wisdom and knowledge forgot,
With the thunderous countenance of giants,
Titans who lived in the whispers of every myth,
And every proverbial promise, every twist,
Within the caverns of the collective consciousness,
Persevering throughout time and space,
Over lip and tongue, through spirit and mind.
It was then that I knew I'd found the source,
The rich vein of completion and of certitude,
To be mined alongside the blood and sweat of my brothers,
The neverending supply of armor that I had once sought,
That idea that had fueled me into thinking that demons,
Could corrupt the virtuous, the selfless.
Alas, my eyes were opened.


 Invino Veritas
10/30/12
EOF