Philosophy Poems
Schopenhauer’s Spell
by George Payne
On more cynical days,
I struggle to find much
difference between us
and the cicada broods-
the ones that wait hundreds
of years to emerge. The
difference, perhaps, is
the time it takes to wake.
Are we asleep for millions
of years before hatching
......
"Where do you want to be in five years?"
by Prem Sarito
I have accepted the universe is absurd.
Yet life still needs to be lived
(If only because better than not)
People cared for
Justice sought
DNA remixed
He aceptado que el universo es absurdo.
Sin embargo, la vida todavía necesita ser vivida
(Aunque solo sea porque mejor que no)
......
Love the Life
by Somali Mukherjee
No more will I make life freeze;
I will enjoy my life up to its lowest lees.
Life is short; it is precious;
Life can't stand with things malicious.
Why shouldn't I, why shouldn't I?
Soar with wings up in the sky?
Aye, I do love to dream;
Like the stars, I don't gleam,
But I will shine, shine, for sure;
The more will I shine, the more endure.
......
The Mind
by Sebastian LeAir
Not far b behind the windows of our perception, you'll find a place without boundaries.
Archives, memories, feelings..
Endless shelves in which to store information.
This place, this endless library of knowledge in which we should actually call home.
Some leave home before adolescence is surrendered, returning scarcely for a brief visit for business.
Never recreation.
Others of my breed have never left the sometimes hostile grounds of our home.
......
Careless Moments
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
I should have grinned when morning came
Atop posts of gaping day, with lunatics
Humming dirges of a broken world.
I remained glued to my gloom.
Rising from the pit of hell, I held
Concupiscent cats hostage.
The course of their waning speed of flight
Harmed my precisions.
......
Schopenhauer’s Spell
by George Payne
On more cynical days,
I struggle to find much
difference between us
and the cicada broods-
the ones that wait hundreds
of years to emerge. The
difference, perhaps, is
the time it takes to wake.
Are we asleep for millions
of years before hatching
......
AT THE END OF TIME - ALEXIS KARPOUZOS
by alexis karpouzos
I know that our efforts all come to nothing. Analyze life, tear its trappings off, lay it bare with thought, with logic, with philosophy, and its emptiness is revealed as a bottomless pit; its nothingness frankly confesses to nothingness, and Despair comes to perch in the soulI know the end of us all is nothing, I know that at the end of Time, the reward of our toil will be nothing — and again nothing. I know that all our handiwork and all our ideas will be destroyed. I know that not even ash will be left from the fires that consume us. I know that our ideals, even those we achieve, will vanish in the eternal darkness of oblivion and final non-being. There is no hope, none, in my heart. I know, No promise, none, can I make to myself and to others. No recompense can I expect for my labors. No fruit will be born of my thoughts. I know the time — eternal seducer of all men, eternal cause of all effects — offers me nothing but the blank prospect of annihilation. So, my dignity is broken and weak, in recognition of my impending defeat.
The man who is alone, who stands on his own feet, who is stripped bare, who asks for nothing and wants nothing, who has reached the apex of disinterestedness not through blind renunciation but through excess of clear vision, turns to the world which stretches out before him as a burned prairie, as a devastated city — a world in which no churches, asylums, refuges, ideals, are left — and says: «Though you promise me nothing I am still with you, I am still an atom of your energies, my work is part of your work; I am your companion and your mirror as you march on your merciless way. But I owe nothing to any one. I would be responsible to freedom alone.
Love the Life
by Somali Mukherjee
No more will I make life freeze;
I will enjoy my life up to its lowest lees.
Life is short; it is precious;
Life can't stand with things malicious.
Why shouldn't I, why shouldn't I?
Soar with wings up in the sky?
Aye, I do love to dream;
Like the stars, I don't gleam,
But I will shine, shine, for sure;
The more will I shine, the more endure.
......
The Storm
by B4 n/a
clouds rain
eyes strain
through liquid lines on window pane
lines arc
mind sparks
seeking secrets in the dark
clock ticks
thoughts flick
philosopher to lunatic
booms crack
......
Harvest
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
The toothache of the earth ceases when from behind
Ailing soils, browned to coma, muffled air breathes . . .
Autumn signifies the yellowness of strife, the redness of soothing
Cusps and the flowering of weeping, desiccated grounds.
We raise decibels of canticles, wafting atop candle flares
Of seasons’ end.
Let midnight keep with us the lucubration spirit, when like
Renewed sprites, we hinge our promises on patented soils laid
Bare by the sputum of harvest.
O’ Harvest, hear us well.
......
