limit of light

[revolutionrabbit]

In Nietzsche's mind
the wind blows through a craggy defile
his thoughts follow the currents of thoughts
a subduction of plates of reason shifting
one under the other

in his mind Hitler could have seen
everything to the end of its consequences
but such minds as the philosopher Nietzsche
are not in the minds of monsters like Hitler

language becomes an end in itself, only
when language is handed over to Popes
and Kings, who hand it in turn over to
psychologists that are made into priests
of systems of oppression

a child learns to read before
they are brainwashed by education
philosophy is born on the same wind
that poetry is born on

one is still functioning inside the myth
the other is outside the myth to see
with the eyes of myth as the myth takes
shape, the poet then is the Minotaur' eyes
the body of the beast is made of philosophy

philosophy can only see language inside
the body of works written by those whom
have been taught the origins of thought
thus far from its first beginnings
as history is only a simulacrum
of its source, we are bound by
the limits of light....

Nietzsche's body was a cloaked messenger
a philosopher of words inside the body of light
his eyes where the eyes of a poet seeing light
as it traveled through his seeing, this seeing
was reflected in the orb eyes of a horse

on that day as on many any day a horse
is seeing through a haze of pain, seeing
the sky above the medieval rooftops
on that day as on many any day man
is whipping the beast to move its burden
this is the history of history in a nut shall

only in this darkened light at its limit
can we begin to perceive the meaning of
the words Nietzsche uttered" God is Dead"
he could have said Horse is Dead
or Flea is Dead

the poet in Nietzsche knew that philosophy
would whip him like the horse but the poet
in him, knew that three words were a charm
and replacing Flea with God, would hence forth
never quite convey the urgency of the Word

[judih]

all in a word
nations rise and fall
capture and dissolve
a flea on a head of a pin
spinnin til nausea sets in
bow and pray and razzamatazz
holy holy roly poly
oops the beat slides off the chart
the planet flattens
we all roam apart
off the edge
lost our direction
insanity becomes the new resurrection
see ya in the mess hall
chow down, soma y'all
too late, gone, gone, scratch the itch
fleas take over, humans desist

[stilltrucking]

flee the mighty flea
a plague of dead rats
yapping on Fox news day and night
From downtown Bethleham

the flea on the dog I call consciousness
blinded by the light
at the speed of sound
frozen in bose einstein condensates

When nietzsche wept
for Lou Salome
and Freud howled at the moon

women love poets

Rilke rules their heart


nice work professor
I almways admire your night vision

[revolutionrabbit]

my word
is concrete
it's like the Twilight of the Idols
statuesque Nietzsche gazing thus
toward where the conceptual runs
not like some glinting Grecian urn
with spectral lights dancing
rather that place where human
all too human rests, in some last
gasp, last kiss of the asp, where
beauty and will to power yearn
the return, eternal like a hidden
snake, or a hidden black spring


rather like Duchamp's urinal
the final object proud pisser
less deadly then the will to
power kisser, slither hither
ah, whither this idle casts
its languid glance last chance
road winds toward its destination

yes, concrete like this stony abyss
where that exalted look found its hiss
nothing hit and miss about it, this, this!
alas long soaks in the mineral baths
to ease the migraine of good and evil
and beyond, where that look landed
in the perpetual mists of paradise lost

kissed and tossed aside like some word
that would open like a flower only once

[sonofthesun]

oh feodor knew,
not all but enough,
man corrupts himself,
to take control
is to lose it,
oh the obeshina,
communal without thought,
organization is a denial,
corrupt,
we must be free,
at all costs,
we must be free,
as nature deemed fit,
as the universe does,
so shall we must,
no worries
as all dies and becomes something else
shed tears of joy
for the miracle that is life
experience ones self objectively
eternity at bay
in obeyance of that wich was laid down

[sonofthesun]

just names my friend
their are people beyond them
know you know nothing
that your books have just been
glanced over
as it has nothing to do with the type
anyway
its always been just the weft of the weave
and it doesnt take eyes to see it

[stilltrucking]

I have holes in my brain you could drive a truck through

Centuries of reading I have not done

Is this one of those poetry slams?

Then I ought to bow out

I am a slow reader

but I liked this poem a lot


I been more into the speed of sound these days

light moves too fast for me.

I need a Bose Einstein Condensate.

all in all I would call it a brilliant bit of poetry.

And believe me
If there is one thing in this world I know anything about it is poetry

or not

the one bit that stands out in my mind
was the bit about *itler being a monster.
trying not to think about that

trying to not to think about him
He was just this guy you know
Can you stare into the darkness
and see the monster in us all
down deep in our brain stem.

the monsters from the id
the dark sea within
the universe within the universe
the worm at the core of consciousness

[revolutionrabbit]

"Hitlers biggest fear, was to be laughed at"

[stilltrucking]

That is a helpful bit of information. for me. Thank you.

Germans Learn To Laugh at Hitler

[revolutionrabbit]

by the way these poems here were written, on here, spontaneous.and i will say so, hither, and whither.

[judih]

(well dither me do.
and jiggy on)

[revolutionrabbit]

as it seems that my rewriting poems, that are a few years old has raised some concern, i will cease that practice, and only write new ones, even if they have old brain wiring in them, which in fact i can't do anything about.

darn!, can't tell if i am writing spontaneous, or if i'm just recycling my synapse.

[stilltrucking]

I would not lose any sleep over it
I would not pay much mind to anything I write

the poems are gems
that is all that matters

I was not concerned
only curious

well I would only be concerned if you ceased the practice.
do not cease and desist
you gotta keep them coming

As I said to doreen
above

yes
beautiful
a joy to read.
no matter where it is posted.

all the water that ever was
keeps getting recyled over and over
and each century we find new poisons to add to it
and we drink it.

have we not become as gods

[revolutionrabbit]

losin, sleep, over it? what is it? seems i was responding to a response.As it is, the thought sent out was received.I find it
rather touching.As far as my lost sleep, well that's another story.
Poets losing sleep, that's a good one, I'll have to write that down.
and here is another one, i am a person that writes poetry, a writer of that language thing, a loser of sleep,a scrawler of this that and the other.In other times i was shot before a firing squad, or worse, for scribbling it, like it is.Oh, yes, and women love poets and poets love women,too.
tiz so true, roses are red, and poets are dead.But they live still through me and you.

peace, love, and diggers

[Doreen Peri]

as it seems that my rewriting poems, that are a few years old has raised some concern, i will cease that practice, and only write new ones, even if they have old brain wiring in them, which in fact i can't do anything about.

darn!, can't tell if i am writing spontaneous, or if i'm just recycling my synapse.

Please don't stop what you're doing! Just post what you want.

There are no concerns.

Your writing is wonderful! Keep them coming old or new, revised or unrevised.

Enjoy yourself. Be yourself.

Thanks!