A Yawn at Dawn

a third grade style poetry--still endearing

fire
not burning
giving needed comfort
though opposed sheltered shade
liquid golden raindrops pierce through
and tingle at this nose, a sneeze
oh breath, i arise and yawn. dawn
it is appearing, its red gold rays have
cast my life it cradles softly to bring me
to my feet, and all else faded in its un-
conditionality

In this heart and in these hands

Because of the ever increasing cacophony ringing in my ears,

To kill the metaphors I holdeth dear

I put forth this poem as I try to obey

And hope They understand I can’t help burning away

Away with my words, fleeting like ashes,

I struggle to find me amidst all these crashes,

But maybe an A, nay just a B

Would give me some promise as I die on my knees

_______________________________________________

For what is truer than a word

Who by its prowess solely, stood?

And amidst the hefty storm of man

Carved a meaning out of wood

And in this door he carved it in

A groove for grace to snuggle in

This word which allows for dark and bright

To meet, collide in its shapen eyes

Where beauty and tragedy wed forevermore

Lay at the feet of this wooden door

A word they say, but whom of power

On this word, is girded— flower.

And flower with her brazen tongue

Pulchritude and subterfuge in effigy hung

Interposed with confusion who makes

Mysterious

And lends my thoughts in minds

Delirious

That I may hide, and safely stay

Behind this flowered door allay

‘Til one day comes

And fear unbinds

And I open it up

Perhaps to life

But ah what haste have I to run

As my metaphors glitter among the sun

You call them poor and ask to kill

But the knife will penetrate my heart as well

And with prose They love and praises fill

My heart lies with my words

Warm from the kill

anti anti stem cell illogicists

                To be honest, the bias viewpoint I held at the start of reading this article, was one full of rebellious sentiments against stick-in-the-mud and the rather antiquated Christian extremists, who seem to reject science in its entirety, denying its intelligence for the easy comfort of biblical understanding. However, as I read, the article affirmed the accuracy of my bias despite my attempts to read it in a nonpartisan way. This author, though she criticizes Keirstead for his logic, brings to the table an unfair comparison between the sacrifices she must make as a young mother, even of a child with neurofibromatosis and the death of frozen embryos. She prefaces all of her transcribed conversations with her criticisms that they are illogical, escapist, hesitant justifications for what they know is wrong. This style of writing preys on the reader looking to be reaffirmed that the ESC research is immoral, and given the “short cut” to understanding of incredibly complex philosophical ideas, by means of almost hypnotic complacency. As it relates to Ms. Scheller’s use of diction it unveils to me and almost offensive partisanship towards the immorality of the ESC, and to use her effective prefaces against her as it were, it seems to evince the subjectivity of her mindset during the interview. She didn’t go to learn; she went to conquer... the researchers, her doubts, the system, or a slew of other adversaries.  Additionally, it seems quite ironic and perhaps purposeful that she refers to ESC logic as the Embryonic Stem Cell Center logic and calls it escapist, which is perhaps the more popular word with the abbreviation esc. Her diction serves her own means, as most diction does, but in the context of her audience and the power her words will have, she seems either fearful of appearing to radical or new age (though I would not go so far as to say her beliefs are façade), or she is cleverly weaving words to cast a light of sympathy on her own situation, of ignorance on the researches, of immorality of the process, and connect it back to herself, and in a way uses “compassion as a virtue” to sustain her own argument. An argument not really so much spoken, but sort of assembled; like an artist drawing negative space rather than positive space.

                As it relates to the interviewees, their diction seems surprisingly informal for the scholarly positions they have achieved. This is both comforting and revealing at the same time. It gives credence to the quote from Rae, “[Scientists] need to be careful that they’re not trying to be amateur philosophers when they make philosophical pronouncements.” This could not be better said except that scientists probably ought to include all amateurs in the field of philosophy; that is, including Ms. Scheller… and me. It is a world of generalities, of philosiphical assertions from every person on this planet. Each person of course comes to the table knowing they have it all right. Amusing.

                In the conclusion here, to talk of the conclusion there, it seems as though she ended the article there with a paragraph full of self-promotion, ungrounded statements, rather unintelligent implied beliefs. She convinced herself she won, though this only lessened here frail argument in my eyes. That it necessitated this type of ‘parent clause’ of you may be right I may be right, but your not writing the article. These things, evidenced by over generalized diction such as inevitability, prerogative, and the phrase “that point simply can’t be proven”. It would have been correct to state we can’t fully understand God’s views therefore it is up to interpretation of the Bible reader and revelation through prayer and meditation to get an accurate answer. This personal aspect was gotten at by the researchers, but, as she portrayed them all as humanists, the fact that they did nnot use the Bible in their explanation or their support posed a significant problem in her eyes. What a common misconception. What a horrid trap that can be.           

A Brave New World poem: John Savage

(Note: This is an individual invention of poetic style...enjoy)
that strumpet! though so perfect is she
the whore thee wants, thee curseth thee
in mockery thee is lauded abroadst
in a land which knows not any fee

by pond'rance of truth in matters dear
doedst thy lend theeself devoid of fear?
though in only title so it seems
this juxtapose, thy end is near

For in litten word in peices delight
thy drink thy cup of 'flicted night
and pray for souls whom not in charge
whose head now rests in mason jars
from off the stand swings, south..west..light

She smiles Lies

For what doth shine scarce showed so great

‘twas but the beauty of the dance

That love, which strong, opposes hate

And lives fore’er not by chance

The withered rose which buds through snow

‘twas far more fair than full with heat

A beauty a grace in both dimensions, I know

Radiance, blinding, a love not neat

That which I desire most, stripped

Bare before mine eyes

Blandishments I longeth dipped

In a pot  She fills with lies