Life, and Other Miracles XIX

Apology of Cassandra

The People clothe thee with power once again,

the world listens once more to thine every breath,

legion after legion is poured forth from fatherland,

to enslave the others, kill the citizens with hellfire.

Unity, unity you preach, equality for all: what lie

shall you spin to justify yourself more? The Republic

lies dead at your feet, not by daggers but by votes

extinguished, its citizens conformed as imperial subjects.

But the People’s perfection is the first flaw of this state,

perceived by you and the traitors that betrayed the oath:

fifty five million souls the Nation is short, blood in

womb spilled to cleanse the People of every scourge.

Yet this People is stubborn, so filled with the undesired:

what perverse physician’s knife could not end the gun,

the drug, the poison must death bring, that lies hidden

in food and water unknowingly, provoking neoplasm.

What you wait for? Don the purple for four years while,

crown of gold mint, erect your tribunal in public: shame

you have none, a Senate colluding, mete out then death’s

sentence on whosever you wish, maim yet another generation.

An ephor appoint for life to confirm this sad downfall

enjoy fullness of supreme power, unchecked by any court,

you need hear no more the cry of single mother, nor protest

of Holy Mother Church, nor see the sight of departing soldier.

All the show is finished, now begins the plan, seditious

and secret, unleashed at opportune moment. What prince

can stop you, what power on Earth? All prophets of action

seem asleep or dispersed, killed by terrible strike from sky.

But behold, your reign shall be challenged: they who love

thee now shall see the multitude and fly, a voice shall be heard

throughout the land, and it shall not be ignored, for the Lord

has anointed them to go with courage and without fail.

Yea! Hear the oracle now! Dismiss not the holy ravings,

lest you yourself ope the door for enemy. They are at the walls

with fire from their destroyed homes, ready to exact revenge.

God seek now, or perish with your power: so I say and destiny orders.

Alan Watts: Vocation

Friends,

        As you well know, our culture is geared towards the ever-elusive job opportunity and the attainment of personal wealth. Why? Let the question mull about in your hearts, for why should you consecrate your life to that which passes away? Why ought the life created by the Almighty, destined and marked for extraordinary challenge, be squandered in the never ending rat race for money? Remember: man lives not by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.

        Please, let this not be a cliche. How else can we change our unhealthy society?

Archipoeta

Life and Other Miracles XVIII

Apology of the Sage of Eden

It universe is not like the City of Man, proud human,

you who think your harshness, cruelty that knows no

mercy is the norm among the stars: unlike your walls

the worlds are not devoid of love and life, of holy grace.

That you should turn towards God, be the vessel of

good things, be steward and co-creator: for this the Lord

filled you with His Spirit, and made an eternal covenant

with you, as if you were His equal, a friend and brother.

But you chose and choose each day to not be like Him,

but surpass and excel the perfect and the excellent God,

supplant Him (what folly!), topple Him from the throne

and sit yourself upon heaven from the earth you never left.

Yet take, and hold the heavy scepter, and remember

in one instant of our governance without divine grace

we decreed for self and generations disease and death,

and allowed into world sin’s entry through the serpent.

How good it is we were never gods, for we would be harsh

deities, without compassion, such that no flower could ever

live, for lack of sun and water. Death would be our sport,

life a rarity, if ever writ and cared for, the worlds would be bare.

To the begging mother, sick and barren, we would hurl

answer in miscarriage. To the beggar, cold and hungry,

we would cause each one to pass without notice as the

street filled with dirty snow: so vicious would be our reign.

We would not know how to love as God so loves the world,

our hearts have not yet learned even angelic concern and

care. We would fast get tired, let the universe wreck itself,

some fatal error to make all good wilt: for to err is human.

But to correct is divine, to love and serve, to hope and

forgive is good and Godly: to remember one’s promise

in spite of endless spite and infidelity, and self turn from

problem into answer, that is to seek the Holy Perfect One.

Then, I hope, we shall submit and cling to our Master,

the good and understanding Teacher, be not the god we

never can be, but the people we were meant to be:

a priestly nation, first in Creation, the People of Life.

Monteverdi: L'incoronazione di Poppea

Friends,

        I greet you once more in the new year. It is fitting that this year, one I hope will be filled with divine graces of every kind, be welcomed with one of the most beautiful love duets in baroque opera.

Archipoeta

P.S. - Buy books and download free books from my Smashwords website, https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/AGPoniatowski

Life, and Other Miracles XVI

Apology of the Sage of Eden

It universe is not like the City of Man, proud human,

you who think your harshness, cruelty that knows no

mercy is the norm among the stars: unlike your walls

the worlds are not devoid of love and life, of holy grace.

That you should turn towards God, be the vessel of

good things, be steward and co-creator: for this the Lord

filled you with His Spirit, and made an eternal covenant

with you, as if you were His equal, a friend and brother.

But you chose and choose each day to not be like Him,

but surpass and excel the perfect and the excellent God,

supplant Him (what folly!), topple Him from the throne

and sit yourself upon heaven from the earth you never left.

Yet take, and hold the heavy scepter, and remember

in one instant of our governance without divine grace

we decreed for self and generations disease and death,

and allowed into world sin’s entry through the serpent.

How good it is we were never gods, for we would be harsh

deities, without compassion, such that no flower could ever

live, for lack of sun and water. Death would be our sport,

life a rarity, if ever writ and cared for, the worlds would be bare.

To the begging mother, sick and barren, we would hurl

answer in miscarriage. To the beggar, cold and hungry,

we would cause each one to pass without notice as the

street filled with dirty snow: so vicious would be our reign.

We would not know how to love as God so loves the world,

our hearts have not yet learned even angelic concern and

care. We would fast get tired, let the universe wreck itself,

some fatal error to make all good wilt: for to err is human.

But to correct is divine, to love and serve, to hope and

forgive is good and Godly: to remember one’s promise

in spite of endless spite and infidelity, and self turn from

problem into answer, that is to seek the Holy Perfect One.

Then, I hope, we shall submit and cling to our Master,

the good and understanding Teacher, be not the god we

never can be, but the people we were meant to be:

a priestly nation, first in Creation, the People of Life.

Handel: Te Deum

Friends,

           It is good to write again to you, despite what life brings. I urge your prayers for a person dear to my heart who is suffering greatly now. Let us hope in the Lord God, in Whose hand there is victory and life, in all affairs and all things.

God bless,

Archipoeta

Life, and Other Miracles XV

Requiem for Civilization

Let me indulge your dark vision, you false prophets, who

see soon coming the dissolution of the world, of the firm

fundament upon which God placed the Earth, and take you

to the time when there will no more be writ a single book.

A bleak, desolate country is the one where we arrive, the fruit

of some terrible demise, war and plague that razed it with fire

and death: to find a footprint one stoops low to kiss this dear

miracle and relic of a race chosen and blessed, now past and dead.

And what do these men leave behind, our grandfather and our

grandmothers, the heritage of our kind? What ruin shall we

examine and say, “Forsooth, they were great, a sprawling

empire from sea to sea spread, and going into space above!”

Amen I tell you, stones doth speak, but what stone inscribed

shall be left for men to read? All our houses are from wood

made good for storm, or fire, or worm to eat and leave behind

weak shadow soon lost from miscare of nature for the memory.

What of the grand libraries, the books that fill them, the laws

of men and nature writ in them? With time as with death

uncared this knowledge wilts away, silent for so long it succumbs

to dew and mold, and all these monuments of wisdom to dust return.

And the grand stone pillar, akin to mighty Rome? Will this not

stand to inspire some germ to generation raised, of man somewhere

surviving and roaming? Perchance it will give credence to the child

of the stories he has heard, but will his fantasies give justice unto us?

Will they include the vast ocean of knowledge and of vice in which

we bathe and spend our time? The internets and computers that

are fundament of civilization? The great books, long lost but to

cloud sent and digitized, a library that holds more work than has any?

But all that, our epitaph, is but strawberry’s worth and mass, the

electrons that doth write our future and our past. And when all

is lost, this electronic script will be the first to fall from history,

this our finest work, and all else no human eye can read unaided.

The child will then go to rest, will dream of city that mirrors

the one lost to tragic past. But dare I say he will not be more

impressed when he turns and walks away, in that fine season

when the world is leafed with gold and red, to build anew

                                                        to follow better model?