Introduction
The “strange beginnings” of my poem parallels the strangeness I feel delving into autobiography to provide background on where and why this poem emerged. Born in Greece and adopted by a Greek-American family and brought to the United States at age three and a half, I became thoroughly Americanized within a few years. However, for most of my life I felt restless and viewed life as a wide-eyed, uncertain journey. I was reunited with my birthright with my first reading of Homer’s Odyssey, and this realization hit me like a ton of bricks during one rather lengthy Mediterranean cruise while I was serving in the U.S. Navy in the mid-1980s.
This epic poem, which is very much ethnographic in its excavation, having been written more than thirty years ago, is both unwitting and pedestrian as reflected in the unconventional rhyming schemes (both internal and external). Words are used as a bludgeon to tell a tale of life in general from the perspective of Odysseus (me, the protagonist). There is a deep embarrassment in delving into the realm of poetry, and most of us “scientists” (see, e.g., Giddings 1914) do not cherish sailing into such foreign waters. But one can always fall back on the identity principle from mathematics, namely, “If A then A” or, more colloquially, “It is what it is.” This is why identity is the ultimate foundational discourse.
STRANGE BEGINNINGS
The ultimate poem
Would have to have
All those elements
That when rolled into one
Would be better
Than all else.
Butter makes things greasier
And they slide around
Never knowing where they’ll wind up.
But not like a clock.
Because the tick-tock
Of a butter knife
Tapping against the side
Of a card table
Is not my idea
Of a good poem.
No, it must be different
It must be slower.
We rush into this project
Like our lives depend on it.
So we try to compensate.
Gyrations of a much higher order
Hopefully manifest themselves
Into one fantastic rhythm.
And on the border of sanity
Just this side of reality
Comes the answer.
The key.
Exactly 35 rotations
Of this handheld device
Will produce an effect
The desired result,
The penultimate poem.
And how’s that?
Well, let’s start from the top.
You see, we were once young.
We never knew when to stop.
We were having too much fun
Rambling on into the night.
We lit fires along the way
Blazing a path of reckless exuberance.
We set the pattern.
Set the wheels in motion.
The order is to go out there
And see how many times
You can pluck a lash
From the eye of life.
Go after it.
Give yourself ample time
To do it right.
Life sees things
We only dream about.
We are its fantasy.
Look past this discrepancy
And out of curiosity
Will emerge kind of a strange sensation
That will lead to a temptation
To compensate for illusions
Which you’ll feel
Are wrong and foolish.
Hogwash!
THE JOURNEY
These questions are natural.
Let it flow. Let it be you.
You will make the link.
You’re already on the brink
Of the discovery.
Just relax
And think to the future.
For you are young
And new to this world.
The seed of imagination
Has just been planted.
Give it time.
This history lesson is brought to you
Courtesy of the forces beyond.
We keep you tied to your post
We don’t let you get the most
Out of life.
We shut off stimuli
That would otherwise make it so easy
For all of you to see the way.
You know your place.
Rack your brain.
Try to rise above the rest.
You are all like
So many grains of sand,
Each one makes the whole
The whole is bland.
Like a barren desert
Which has no inhabitants.
An empty thing
That knows only reticence.
So where does one search
For that little something extra
That makes it all worth
The time and the effort?
If we are not able to comprehend
Our dilemma,
How can we hope to find a solution?
The task has been put forth.
Our efforts are well documented.
Find the elusive poem.
It’s been recommended
By another set of mouths
That heretofore never existed
That we should pool our resources,
Round up the horses,
Put it all into one big bag.
Clever I might add.
The ingredients are as follows:
17 secret telegrams
11 well known sayings, man
7 distant show of hands,
At least as far away
As the edge of the universe.
Along that stretch of land
That equates concepts
With concrete minuets.
What you can do
Is go back to the point
Where 2 plus 2
Equaled 4.
From there
Find out what went wrong.
Find out if you dare
The discord song
That’s been ringing in our ears
Since that time.
That’s been feeding our minds
Hyperbola rhymes.
Go back
You warrior of the present future,
Your one step back for man
Will give us the picture.
Only in this way can we accomplish
What it is we’ve attempted.
Now to collect our thoughts
For just a moment,
We should gather up all the ornaments
That dazzle the child,
Because in his eyes
Everything bright and shiny
Has no disguise,
Only conclusive proof
That the senses take to
These living tributes
Of a world all glossed over
In silver and see-through.
Multidimensional levels
Of high order thought
Wouldn’t even perceive
This thing we have wrought.
The search continues.
It weaves through the vast outskirts
Of the ruins that our forefathers
Left behind for us,
Extending beyond unknowable boundaries.
One by one
We see remnants of something familiar.
Piece by piece
The puzzle glimmers,
Growing bright and then fading
Like a heart made of light,
Its blood oozing in and out
Of chambers too vast
To comprehend just yet.
It is night.
The darkness is like velvet,
It caresses our wanton thoughts,
Leaving us in a stupor.
Blind as we go we flaunt
Our newfound playground.
And we realize that we love it here.
Let’s stay for a while.
Suspended in a miasma
Of some sticky kind of plasma
We drift ever so pleasurably
To a point that is presumably
Closer to our destiny.
The city of poems.
Here, words are not ideas
Rhymes are not Korea
As in
Korea me, Korea you
Korea see, Korea do.
Not Asian.
Japan is the farthest thing
From my mind.
I’m alone at this time.
The other members of the entourage
Have broken off.
Their voyage has ended.
It is only I
And this strange new world
That scurries by,
And I don’t know where to begin.
PATRIARCHY
Think back big guy.
What is that lie
That you told yourself?
Was it that you could do
Anything you liked?
Even write the perfect rhyme?
It’s kinda spooky
But yes, that’s it.
I guess I’m kinda lucky
That I’m not a vegetable yet.
I still have my wits
And you can bet I’ll rule this town
With an iron hand.
I’ll give it all I can.
This is where I wanted to be.
Destiny does as destiny sees.
I’m the big shot in town,
It’s time to get down to business.
Make preparations to see her highness,
The queen of rhyme.
There’s no king here
So I’m just in time.
Everything is falling into place:
I accepted the assignment,
I tried the combinations,
I climbed through countless stages
To get to where I am.
I left the others back there
In limbo land
To meet an empty fate of unfinished thoughts
And unfulfilled dreams.
Clutching the relics of their ancient past,
They’ll flutter back to anonymity
Never having known that at last
The rules of parity
Have equalized all scores.
And on the shores of an alphabet sea
I see a reflection,
Yes, it’s really me.
I must go a little further.
My queen awaits
And she will nurture
All my wildest dreams.
I’ll hold her in my arms
This woman who holds the key.
She’ll show me all her charms
To impress the likes of me.
The staff she holds in her hand
Gives her great power
To rule this land.
So I’ve been told.
The way I figure it,
If I play my cards right
I shall make her my wife
And finally take what is mine.
There’ll be no jokers to interfere
With what I must do here.
Because once I am king
Of my own little world
The power I’ll wield
Is the power of words.
Perfection is but a hop and skip away,
I dive head first into the fray.
She is 35 years of age,
I remember this number
From back in the haze.
The pieces keep filling in
The puzzle because now
I know that her magical staff
Is that sacred cow,
That handheld device
That when turned so many times
Will yield what I’m after,
The ultimate rhyme.
Rockets ignite and flags unfurl!
It makes complete sense.
Give it to me girl!
I’ve discovered the secret
To ruling this place.
I’d hope that you’d share it with me,
It’s only fair.
To everything turn, turn, turn
This is my theme song
(Giving credit to the Byrds).
Once I am finished
With this final step
I will revel in realizing
That I have slept
With the queen of my dreams
And made her my wife
And took full control
Of a world and my life.
I am whole.
I have consumed the bits,
The pieces are in place.
It’s kind of a tight fit
But nevertheless
The poem is complete.
My job is done,
But I worry about my son.
What have I left him
Here on this world?
He will not know the joy of sports
Of throwing a baseball
Or knocking on doors
When he goes to sell papers
To work for a little
So he can save up
For that bike or that fiddle.
Simple things,
Simple world,
But not here.
I feel like a fool.
REGRETS?
I’ve altered my reality
For the sake of what?
The perfect poem?
I think not.
There’s no such thing as perfect
I must have been deranged
This thing that infected me
It’s kinda like the mange.
It spread to all parts of my being
And entered my soul
And brought me to a place
Where I never belonged.
Where reason comes and goes
About as often
As a train rolls down the tracks,
Every 30 minutes or so.
35 to be exact.
My dear beloved wife
I used you so
You welcomed me here
Then I tossed you to and fro
And made myself king
And sired a son
And found the perfect poem
It was second to none.
And now I am here
With nothing left at all,
My energy level
Is just about to fall
All the way down
Along with everything else.
I didn’t realize until now
That this place is kept alive and vibrant
By the hope, by the secret
That it contains.
Our hopes and dreams
Kept this world thriving
Kept possibilities open
Kept new dreams arriving.
Until I came along
And smudged its makeup,
It was so easy
And such a mistake, son.
This is a lifeless world
Thanks to me.
You will never forgive
The things I’ve done to thee.
Remorse and failure are the end result
Of my selfishness.
I wish not to face this world
Your highness.
Those on high
Who have viewed this atrocity
Will probably banish me
To the nether world,
To the dark region
Where we once played as children
And wondered about the light,
With no rhyme or reason
Just hopeless meandering,
We never knew better.
I’m back with them now
To go frolic with the litter.
It’s kinda funny
We are back amongst our own
It gives a warm feeling in the tummy
We’re children, we’re teachers,
We’re home.
We’ve taught the world what not to do.
Our transgressions are child’s play.
We grab for the sparkling ball
It’s all we know today.
In our cribs lined up in a row
We change the world
By growing old.
The poem that we reach for
Is not within our grasp
We are told not to touch it
But we stand fast.
And as we grow we continue to pursue
This thing that we were never
Supposed to do.
The endless cycle starts again
A world of pleasure, a world of sin.
We suckle at the breast
Of reckless abandon,
We live the life
Of a gambler playing bandit.
We take our chances
And steal as we like
The world is our playground
As you’ve already seen twice.
The milk puts us in a myopic state
Our senses go reeling
And time’s running late.
In time we will forget this endeavor
We are easily bored.
We float like a feather
Gently falling back
To where we once were.
The original intention
Implanted in our brains
Is forever lost now
And that which remains
Is but a figment of a dream
To mull over as we like.
BACK HOME
It just seems to me
That the math isn’t tidy
The angles of the triangle
Don’t add to 180.
We are at the crucial stage
Where things went awry
It’s up to us all
To set it back right.
Give us one last chance
To redeem ourselves.
The world will never know
For better or for worse
If indeed we succeeded
In eliminating the curse
That we inflicted upon humankind
And that other world I ruled divine.
Because reality is real
Whether it be altered or not.
I was a lucky one.
In another place I saw the difference
I heard the shot
That was never heard ’round the world.
For our people were deafened
By a vibratory whirl
Of machine-like reactions
Which twisted at the fiber
Almost tearing apart their lives
And throwing them asunder.
I did not want this.
I returned again and again
To repeat the same mistake
To repent for all of them.
Get off the merry-go-round.
It’s time to go home
For good.
Say goodbye to your wife, your son.
Goodbye my love, goodbye.
My son, you are half real
And half imagination.
I wanted to tell you before I left
Your mother will explain the rest.
It’s way too complex
To explain to you right now
You’re only a child.
Please don’t frown.
One day you’ll learn from the terrors
Of the world that I come from.
Maybe someday you’ll go
But don’t come looking for the perfect poem
Or you’ll be on the road forever
Searching, just like me.
An unending escalator
That was never meant to be
But somehow exists.
Don’t ask me why it is,
It’s time to cease
And desist from all of this.
And the guardians looked down
Upon their flock.
The serendipity and mirth
Are almost overwhelming.
A world of children
That know way too much,
Grabbing for elusive butterflies
That dance but are never caught.
And one little guy
In the middle of it all
He looks just like me.
“It’s your son. He came after all.”
