Dostoyevsky was an addicted gambler,
Whose best characters are loquacious ramblers
Who frequently verge into the absurd.
But since he was getting paid by the word
And was on a personal moral mission,
He brought great novels to fruition.
Various meanderings with a rhyme in there somewhere.
Dostoyevsky was an addicted gambler,
Whose best characters are loquacious ramblers
Who frequently verge into the absurd.
But since he was getting paid by the word
And was on a personal moral mission,
He brought great novels to fruition.
Boethius called the Muses of Poetry names:
“Whorish stage girls”. In this way he defames
An art that he himself had long pursued
In terms offensive and incredibly rude.
On the other hand, if we want to be perfectly fair,
He was being held in some kind of confinement where
He awaited a sentence of torture and brutal death.
His book “Consolation” is sort of his final breath,
In which he tried to set his learned mind
On cosmic truths, hoping there to find
Relief from anguish. And oddly enough this book
Is studded with poems. It’s certainly worth a look.
It bridges the ancient world and medieval times,
Profoundly affecting both Dante’s and Chaucer’s rhymes.
Some say that existence exists,
And I’m not here to tell you they lie.
The universe surely persists -
Without sign of soon saying goodbye.
Parmenides said Being Is,
Albeit, he said it in Greek.
All agree he was a whiz,
But did he provide what we seek?
It is what it is, we now say,
When urging recognition
Of facts in the present day
Which present in a sorry condition.
Existence Exists, I admit
Has a tautological sound,
But still we keep using it
As an evidentiary ground.
As a philosopher, Seneca promoted
Maintaining tranquility in the face of trauma,
However as a playwright he emoted
All over the stage with tragic bloody drama.
Scholars question which is the truer side,
But I imagine equal parts of a whole:
The stoic Jekyll and the dramatic Hyde
Springing together from one tormented soul.
Ask your doctor if X is right for you!
That’s what they say - and so that’s what I do.
I call my doctor every week, you see,
To find out if each med is right for me,
Especially when I cannot figure out
What X is for - I give my doc a shout.
And here’s his oddest recommendation yet:
He said I should get off the internet
And skip through all commercials on TV
That show a happy person running free
Through open fields with some mysterious glee
While droning voices list the side effects
That fall upon poor patients like a hex.
Said the maple to the oak,
Fall is here and that’s no joke.
I’ve put on my scarlet cloak.
Said the oak tree to the maple,
There’s a shade of copper cable…
That’s the brightest I am able.
Said the trees then to each other,
Soon we’ll face the winter weather,
Standing proudly, bare together.