Perspectives Of A Cold Eye #Poem by Jan Sand

 

We sail the seas of inclinations
Wherein some odd disease
That happily, in history, brought destructions
Only to jellyfish, and some random seaweed,
Decides to lunch on fishermen and giraffes
Or schoolchildren, just for laughs.
Thus humanity faces huge miseries
That arise in surprise that nature’s ways
Do not conform to hubristic expectations.
Thus leave, in wreckage, entire civilizations.

Our blue-green particle against the black whereupon we arose
To suppose some mythical brilliant blunderer fingered us
For ultimate domination in destinations to command
With mathematics and technologies to utilize all ecologies,
Create symphonies of coordination to sing
Wonders to leaf, foot and wing, that they coordinate to demonstrate
That everything complies to sensibilities that are wise.

Clearly, the necromancy of one plus one, the delights of the simple wheel,
Skewed the optimistic prospects towards other possibilities.
Einstein gifted us with shaped space and time but since the deadly stone hammer
And the arrowed bow still maintains their disciplines on human society and
No Zweistein nor Dreistein appeared to sensibilize obvious nuclear self-destruction,
We are left to drift into current insanities, inanities of butchery and seduction.
.
The querulous most perilous pursuit of the square root of minus one
That violates our logic and deep acception with perceptions quite undone
Into complexities. Simplicities of place, in quantum disarray with fuzzy puzzles that display
Our logic dissolved, decides to run away, to vanish in its sprout of agile strangenesses
That no one can easily accept, disentangle, or figure out, yet are undeniably real.

Nevertheless this weird distress is quickly gobbled up within our technologies
That swings an axe that manufactures acts where yes and no can persist into equal reality.
Our universe now enjoys the freedom to disagree with itself, where here and there just melts away.
Where night and day have become the fairy tales of shadows chasing starlight to chop time
Into useful building blocks of yesterdays and tomorrows, into years and centuries that gaze in horror
At eternity.

The chime of Donne’s bell is become a thunder that now menaces us all in its rapid approach,
Peculiarly of small consequence to where ear buds sing of fanciful nonsense to tickle deafness
Into a reality set to spring in salivation to gobble up whatever world we have left.

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