PHILOSOPHER BY THE SEA

    The philosopher observed the waves,
    Each wave had gold twists, seaweed,
    The waves' gold hair, each wave, a mermaid.

    But the philosopher said there are
    Too many mermaids in the turbulent sea
    For a philosopher to love mermaids.

    The philosopher asseverated that all
    Generalizations such as "mermaids"
    Are unrealities since generalizations

    Never fit particular cases.
    Only the radical singularity
    Of the concrete particular is reality.

    So while the philosopher sipped
    Campari and dry vermouth, speculated,
    The radical singularity of a mermaid

    Appeared, gold twists for hair,
    Her upper body, pale, freckled skin.
    Her freckled breasts had pale coral nipples.

    The philosopher was too absorbed
    In his exquisite and erudite cogitations
    To notice this singular mermaid. She swam away.

    SAMUEL JOHNSON KICKED A STONE,
    REALLY BELIEVED HE KICKED A STONE

    As the philosopher said, even the empiricist
    Who struggles to see the object as it really is
    Cannot be sure what he perceives to be real
    Really is real. Light conditions can disfigure
    A coffin to appear as a chalice, a Holy Grail.
    Love of a girl with gold twists in her hair
    Can turn an abandoned bottle cap into a cathedral.
    Words can fool one into believing
    He saw, even touched, a slender angel
    Who wears only a translucent silver shawl
    Decorated with silver opaque lilies.
    The girl with whom the philosopher drank champagne,
    Asked, "How do you know
    You are holding me naked in your arms?"
    The philosopher looked at her, said, "I don't"

    THE PHILOSOPHER SAYS SWEET THINGS TO HIS BELOVED

    The transformed body speaks, says,
    Do not go into orange groves and weep
    Because you have no soul. Do not
    Sit in front of jazz bands, drink champagne
    And cry because you really do not have a body.
    If you go to the seashore, the jelly fish, pink and globular,
    Will tell you. When you recognize
    The body and the soul are phantasies,
    You will on your way to having a transformed body.
    You will have lost unhappiness and found happiness.
    Don't believe philosophers any more
    Than you believed those who live by lies,
    Priests, professors, politicians and parents, but you
    Can believe the purveyors of truth, jelly fish.

    PHILOSOPHERS AS DRUNKARDS

    Drunk philosophers roll in rye grasses As Shelley rolled on the pavement Among fuzzy brown seeds When he was in love in Florence. These philosophers became inebriated by aporias. Aporias are far superior to vodka, Gin, or whiskey for passing out in public. One philosopher as he rolled, declared love is wonderful Because all love ends in aporias.

    GIRLS WHO WEAR CLOTHES COLORED PIER-POLE GREEN

    Girls who wear clothes colored
    Pier-pole green that fall and outline
    The hemispheres of perfect breasts
    With this singular green blending
    With their abundant gold twists
    That are their hair charm and distract
    Philosophers from talking about
    Binary oppositions. As philosophers
    Gaze at the inexplicable mysteries
    Of their eyes and eyelashes despise
    A binary opposite system that privileges
    Souls over bodies. In conclusion,
    As philosophers gaze at the motions
    Of girls' lips as girls drink champagne,
    Philosophers despise all philosophical vocabularies.

click for larger view

Alley 52
Alley 52

 

Alley 53
Alley 53

DuaneLocke
Duane Locke
2716 Jefferson Street
Tampa, FL 33602-16200
[BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE: Duane Locke, Doctor of Philosophy in English Renaissance literature, Professor Emeritus of the Humanities, was Poet in Residence at the University of Tampa for over 20 years. Has had over 2,000 of his own poems published in over 500 print magazines such as American Poetry Review, Nation, Literary Quarterly, Black Moon, and Bitter Oleander. Is author of 14 print books of poems, the latest is WATCHING WISTERIA ( to order write Vida Publishing, P.O. Box 12665, Lake, Park, FL. 33405-0665, or Amazon or Barnes and Noble). Since September 1999, he became a cyber poet and started submitting on-line, and since September 1999 he has added to his over 2,000 print acceptances with 1,195 acceptances by e zines.
     He is also a painter. Now has exhibitions at Thomas Center Galleries (Gainesville, FL) and Tyson Trading Company (Micanopy, FL) Recently a one-man show at Pyramid Galleries (Tampa, FL)
     Also, a photographer, has had 116 of his photos selected for appearance on e zines. He photographs trash in alleys. Moves in close to find beauty in what people have thrown away.
     He now lives alone in a two-story decaying house in the sunny Tampa slums. He lives isolated and estranged as an alien, not understanding the customs, the costumes, the language (some form of postmodern English) of his neighbors. The egregious ugliness of his neighborhood has recently been mitigated by the esthetic efforts of the police force who put bright orange and yellow posters on the posts to advertise the location is a shopping mall for drugs. His alley is the dumping ground for stolen cars. One advantage Of living in this neighborhood, if your car is stolen, you can step out in the back and pick it up. Also, the burglars are afraid to come in on account of the muggers.
     His recreational activities are drinking wine, listening to old operas, and reading postmodern philosophy.]

TOP spacer.gif - 807 Bytes messageboard feedback spacer.gif - 807 Bytes interview spacer.gif - 807 Bytes email spacer.gif - 807 Bytes rarrow.gif - 74 Bytes to forum spacer.gif - 807 Bytes BACK to front
© 1998-2001 DuaneLocke / the-hold.com - all rights reserved