Tag Archives: Poetry

UPR

Philosophical Turn

Mindful of the big, human questions
the illustrious Department was —
What is beauty? Who am I?
What is real? What is good?
Rigorous, nourishing, fair
its philosophical fare
from great thinkers, past and new
lovers of wisdom, of virtue,
engaged in the search for truth.

Retirement and school “reform”
spelled a nefarious turn.
Postmodern and Marxist wands
wave from once prestigious slots,
mesmerizing impressionable minds.
Nietzsche, Dewey, Foucault,
Lukács, Hegel, Derrida
strewn in insipid broth.

Écrasez the ancients and medievals,
aesthetics and metaphysics,
natural law, final ends –
too naïve, too common sense,
too theistic, too simplistic.
Contemplation? Out of date!
Ethical systems? Passé!
Eternally doubt instead!
Exclaim with smug inflection:
it’s all relative, anyway!

You are most welcome! See yourself!
This “Philosophy” Département
Nothing is true, everything goes
Little substance, and all show
Time, act, language, history,
cartoons, photos, memes, and films —
equally worthy subjects be
of philosophical inquiry
Speculate the Internet!
Jilt real musing at the Cave!

To this college by the sea
just show up, follow your bliss
Soon you will too cogitate
Beyond Good and Intellect.

Blog

Our Composite President

Born Kenyan? Hawaiian?
No Narnian is he
Our President, just resident?
An evolving id

No Gipper, good speaker
But, what does he say?
Platitudes, fallacies,
Hip hip hooray!

Heftily taxing the wealthy
will impel them to produce
Health reform, carbon credits
the job market will improve

A reverse of Midas—
The budget gone bonkers
Fast Furious, GSA,
Solyndra, EPA
The scandals… Which scandals?
There’s always Bush to blame.

The wretched Secret Service
Sí, the Colombian affair
poor “knucklehead” children
Why not let them play?

Don’t let the mic open!
Or else, you may hear
his “need for more space”
“more flexibility” too
once November is over
The throne no more at stake.Elections are near
Join the merry blue club!
Keep hoping, keep cheering
Apply for your cut

Blog

Beware the Slithy Troll

Dedicated to an anonymous internet troll

Don’t be a foil, beware the troll
He’ll wind you up, he’ll denigrate
And with conceit boast of his feats
ad hominems ad infinitum

And don’t react as people do
He’ll turn on God, he’ll turn on you
Had he been present at Creation
To Him some pointers would have given

A narcissist, it’s clear to me
He’ll try to get you to agree
Best pray that he might end his spite
and find some peace and find the light.

—Philip Pennance

Inspired by a famous poem by Lewis Carroll

Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe

Religion

Love

Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guiltie of dust and sin.
But quick-ey’d Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack’d anything.

A guest, I answer’d, worthy to be here.
Love said, You shall be he.
I, the unkinde, ungrateful? Ah, my deare,
I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand and smiling did reply:
Who made the eyes but I?

Truth, Lord; but I have marr’d them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, says Love; who bore the blame?
My deare, then I will serve.
You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat.
So I did sit and eat.
–George Herbert

Religion

Advertencia a los niños

Niños, si se atreven a pensar
en la grandeza, la rareza, la demasía,
la escasez de este precioso, único
e infinito mundo en el cual dicen
habitar, piensan en cosas así:
bloques de pizarra circundando manchas
rojas y verdes, circundando redes
amarillo bronceado, circundando blancas
y negras superficies de dominó
donde un pulcro paquete de papel marrón
les invita a que desaten el cordel.
En el paquete una pequeña isla,
en la isla un gran árbol,
en el árbol una fruta cascaruda.
Arranquen la corteza y hiendan la piel:
en la semilla verán
bloques de pizarra circundados por manchas
rojas y verdes, circundadas por redes
amarillo bronceado, circundadas por blancas
y negras superficies de dominó,
donde el mismo paquete de papel marrón—
niños, no toquen el cordel!
Quien se atreve a desatar el paquete
se encuentra de súbito dentro de él,
en la isla, en la fruta,
bloques de pizarra rodeando su cabeza,
se encuentra circundado por manchas
verdes y rojas, circundado por redes
amarillo bronceado, circundado por
negras y blancas superficies de dominó,
con el mismo paquete de papel marrón
aún sin abrir en sus rodillas.
Y, si entonces se atreve a pensar
en la escasez, la demasía, la rareza,
la grandeza de este infinito, único
y precioso mundo en el cual dice
habitar -entonces desata el cordel.
 — Robert Graves