I’m sitting on the edge of time
For just a disembodied pause,
While pointed hands o’er rounded chime
Obey the pendulum’s swayed cause.
Where kinetics’ course is lastly laid,
Comes forth the pointing to a door
That opens wide. Be not afraid,
I think, to thereupon explore.
And there I search the sea, in stay,
For those few drops that speak of me.
Below a crystal clouded day,
I look for cause and clarity.
But deep inside, my inner clock
Is calling forth its metered rhyme.
Inclined I am to learn like Locke,
I’m also tuned by trembling tine.
The edge of time is thinner than
The fairest maiden’s finest hair,
Yet broader is the settled plan
That puts us just exactly there.
What a wonder! Nothing was written! Absolutely free!
Bee, sea, tree - I can create whatever I want to see.
Receptively blank as the almighty designed it well,
It can in each sketch His miraculous mysteries spell...!
Tabula rasa, John Locke calls it - no readymade concepts,
Like nectar in a flower, facts fill in all its contents;
The environment like my mother nurses my actions,
My caring and rearing enable all my attractions...!
I am like a natural child, devoid of compulsions,
My growing intelligence expulses all convulsions;
The Blank Slate - nature's hardware - analyzes all awareness,
My contemplations - software - set them rightly in fairness...!!!
06 February 2023
Tabula Rasa?
Locke to thank
I’ve come across a
page that’s blank...
What would Jesus say
to the pastor who ranted,
“NO masks in THIS church”?
July 28, 2021
MT. JULIET, Tennessee, July 27, 2021 The pastor of a Mt. Juliet church has threatened to kick out members of his congregation if they show up in masks amid a nationwide surge in COVID-19 cases fueled by the delta variant.
During service on Sunday at Global Vision Bible Church, Pastor Greg Locke told the crowd, "Don't believe this delta variant nonsense. Stop it! Stop it!"
What was created to expose,
now a fortress meant to hide
Bastions of higher learning,
masking havens safe for lies
Where discourse once was treasured,
the ivy droops and sighs
With comfort their true measure,
the dilettantes all cry
Plato is disgusted,
John Locke is more than riled
As a millennium of learning
is mocked in false denial
Students weak and wounded,
from those lessons never learned
Their tomorrow’s but a doomsday,
their futures sure to burn
Those words were there to save them,
both the hated and revered
All truth in dialectics
—left abandoned by their fear
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2016)
Poor ol’ Pyrrho, he’s the hero
Of my somber poetry:
Couldn’t figure how to pick your
Core beliefs with certainty.
Bold Descartes, he got the party
Started with his Cogito.
Up popped Pyrrho (what a zero!),
Said to think is not to know.
Next, John Locke, he tried his luck; he
Claimed true knowledge must appear
By consensus of the senses,
But just how, he wasn’t clear.
David Hume, an ornery human,
Stripped Sir Science of support.
Just one reason he could seize on:
Custom is our sheer resort.
Kant, the strange one, said, now hang on;
For what’s really real don’t fuss:
Be content to just consent to
What our minds make real to us.
Lastly, Hegel scored a bagel
With his dialectic ways:
Synthesizing’s just surmising
When you have no solid base.
Oh, bewail their learned failure
To make absolutely sure
Of the theories man can fear he’s
Welcomed with a false allure!
As for poor ol’ Pyrrho’s moral,
Which I think we should applaud:
Don’t be blurtin’ that you’re certain—
You are just a man, not God.
What was created to expose
is now a fortress just to hide
A bastion of higher learning
within a haven safe for lies
Where discourse once was treasured
the ivy droops and sighs
With comfort their true measure,
the dilettantes still cry
Plato is disgusted,
John Locke is more than riled
As a millennia of learning
is mocked in false denial
Students weak and wounded
from those lessons never learned
Their tomorrow’s but a doomsday
their futures sure to burn
Those words were there to save them
both the hated and revered
All truth in dialectics
—now abandoned by their fear
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2016)
I grew up in Middletown, where everything was pretty much average.
Every house, every car, every mom, dad and every kid were all
just about the same. Except for Paul Locke. Paul was the only Jewish
kid on the block. But that wasn't what made him different.
Paul could eat dirt and seemed to enjoy doing so. Someone would say,
"show'em Paul", and he would. Sand, red clay, loam, dust, it didn't
seem to matter. Paul would reach down and grab a handful, choke it
down and then laugh uncontrollably at his accomplishment. He was at
his best in those hot July and August days when we hadn't seen rain all
summer.
Thinking back on it, I don't believe I ever saw him do mud.
I suppose even being different must have its limits.
Give Me Your Best James Tate-Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Space Cadet
11/03/2016
Crimson Locke of Tears
These tears my dear darling are dripping like shattered crystals
Crystals that could be slowly pouring into a glass of champagne,
Why have you left and caused these tears to flow on endlessly?
Didn't you know that you've been the one true love even though?
We danced all the time neath our rose colored crimson of fine wine
A love like ours, I thought we'd live through all the falling, falling rain.
For we lived so close to the Crimson Locke rapids of flowing time
These tears of mine dear are dripping like shards of shattered crystals,
Crystals that could be slowly pouring into a fine glass of champagne.
08/01/2016
Bald Eagle
I am rowing my boat along the long and endless Crimson Locke
Up high, so very high I see near the top of a crevice of rocks
My loyal companion my good friend Joe does see a long beagle
Which we both then see and view is a nest of an eagle.
The eagle does turn and thrust its beak into its nest
Watching its young while they are all at nesting and rest
The eagle is a proud mom and spreads its proud wings
She’s protecting the young of how her love as she sings.
She’s gracious of beauty of all heavenly birds
God is out watching and talking of heavenly words.
The bald eagle soars up through the warm and inviting sky
To hunt for nourishment to feed her budding young
So they can all survive and not have to be wasted and die.
God is protecting all living and beautiful things as she soars and sings
He gave the bald eagle majestic wide wing span of beautiful wings.
11/09/2015
Bald Eagle
I am rowing my boat along Crimson Locke
Up high near the top of a crevice of rocks
My loyal companion does see a long beagle
Which we both then see is a nest of an eagle.
The eagle does turn and thrust its beak into its nest
Watching its young while they are all at rest
The eagle is a proud mom and spreads its proud wings
She’s protecting the young of how her love sings.
She’s gracious of beauty of all heavenly birds
God is out watching and talking of heavenly words.
The bald eagle soars up through the sky
To hunt for food to feed their young
So they can survive and not have to die.
God is protecting all living things
He gave the bald eagle majestic wings.
Written: July 13, 2014
Theresa Marie Hummingbird
Baby I hold you above
the cold August Wind
with the sweetest songs I can sing.
Keep them in a Pot
Locke d
against all natural sin
The eyes of free men
search for it still
though
no one can smile
into the eyes of an infant
and imagine evil residing there.
"Legend has it that the Gods of Asgard
opened up the heavens, and brought Rune
Stones with them; stones that had Man's secrets,
and his connection to the divine realm" the old sage
assured them, his long, white beard gently being swayed
by the sea breeze.
....little did they know that the old man was actually Odin,
who foresaw their victory in recovering Thor's Hammer,
deep in the Ice Kingdom, hidden by Locke!.....
Date: 14/07/14
I hold a hammer; a divine hammer;
a tool that I use to protect the gates of Asgard,
against Locke, and his cohorts.
I also use the hammer to destroy the evil and selfish plots
of Locke in the planet Earth; a world so young in technology
and psychic abilities. Bullying innocent lives is what Locke knows
best; his heart is drowned in hate for good.
Odin, King of Asgard and my father, blessed me with the hammer
to annihilate any darkest or strongest warrior in all corners
of the universe.
Character: Thor
Movie: Thor
Name: Teddy Kimathi
Time has created writers of century
Praised aloud for writings honorary
Prized globally with invaluable glory
Turning lines to deep thinking story
Magic of dots lead revolution purely
Unleashing world’s important history
Coining perfect pieces called literary
Lines curving to meaning revolutionary
Endowment to write thoughts freely
Though some being looked at angrily
Still the words shining more brightly
Eternal gift of Locke, Voltaire, Rousseau …
Pen is a mightier weapon said truly
Those who deny know not its beauty
Played ne with unequalled lines simply
Unwitnessed so far the unveiled mystery
Languages varied , spoken distinctly
Yet idée exchanged among commonly
Lines need a glance of heart’s purely
Then ideas turn to innovation surely
O Line! Has a start, ends with finally
Nevertheless continues even blankly
So many meanings in dictionary
Form conversations even nonverbally
Parts, Play, prose or poetry
Adds life to non breathing – silently
Writers gifted to use its versatility
Line turned a treasure noted timely
Four letter carries connotation widely
Unseen still there …simply…plainly…explicitly
Related Poems