Gus More Poems

  Reign and Rain Have you noticed that Reign and Rain two words that sound the same have to do with Fire and Water; for Reign plus -ite is Reignite, and Rain is drops of water? And why it’s so and the need to know, is an Epistemological Political Matter. Etymology notwithstanding,  nor gaps in common logic - minds seek correlation while knowledge seems to frolic. Or is it that Rain and Reign as metaphors for tears and pain, indicate, perhaps too late, that tyranny has turned the Sovereign? Gus More © 2021 January https://www.patreon.com/gusmore

  Aggregate Discontents Aggregate Discontents have built up on this Continent. Sheeple People, lying Leaders, timid Reasonables, and malfeasance  - a heap  of Cognitive Dissonance. Instead of structural fixes, conflict flexes its muscles. Wrong is Right and  Right is Wrong The Left has left: Defense to Right, Civics to comedians and cartoons; and Economics to CEO’s,  and Banksters - far, far, away. And we here, the present -  hear the media, like fools in a Greek Drama. Perhaps there’s wisdom, and some solace, in the  Parable of The House Divided, that by any other name  is still in essence The Hegelian Dialectic recited. Gus More © 2021 January https://www.patreon.com/gusmore

  The Myth of Orchids Once upon a time, there was a Victorian Gentleman. Having caught his fancy he was introduced,  officially, to a Debutante. After exchanging customary greetings, he looked deeply into her eyes and asked “Flowers or Kids?” Would her answer be an acceptance, a postponement… an avoidance?  Would he chase the world over for a unique flower  in that relationship substitute known as  Courtly Love? ...or sublimate his desire with flowers,  markets,  profits? or... ...would they marry? The moment was transcendental, sustained in time and place; essentially fading into eternity then echoed by the void... Through millions of courtships - “Flowers or Kids?” was being, kept being, and continued to be asked; And with recurring frequency those specific flowers were named which we today call “Orchids”. © 2001 Gus More https://www.patreon.com/gusmore

  Mouse in a Cheese house There once was a mouse, who lived in a  cheese brick house. To eat himself  out of Home and of House, or defer instant gratification until winter had passed... was his cognitive dissonance - far beyond innocence, a balance of Wisdom and Passion, a Lesson of Rations - the Power of  Then over Now. Recounting and telling, he learned math and spelling -  figured it out - and had both food and dwelling, this mouse with a cheese brick House. Gus More © October 2019 All Rights Reserved https://www.patreon.com/gusmore

  The noticeably dropping temperatures of early evening; The imagined sound of a fox’s howl too faint to be true - suggested by the rustling winds of Late October and Early November; The browning, red and yellow leaves,  aloft on said Winds’ whirlings - ebb and flow; The friendly,  yet menacing grimace of a Jack-o-Lantern - traditionally aglow; The creaking sound of the heavy wooden entrance door; The sound of clogs and boots on the foyer’s wooden floor; The smell of coats  made of wool, and of leather, rack hung on entrance  - drying suspended; Transitions to sights and smells  of Holiday delights,  and friends being friendly; Wiley napping on the sofa, while Kirk and crew are TV Teleporting; The wood burning stove  warming your cozy cabin  during an Autumn to remember. Gus More © 2020 All rights reserved .

  The cobbled stone street carried rain into the gutter. Occasionally a wheel splashed some of it against the buildings. Drops that hadn’t found a crack slipped into the storm drain  and headed out to sea. “Bad weather doesn’t keep people off the streets in these parts.” commented a cabby to his fare just as the weather broke. A large plate glass window, retail shop marvel of the late 1800’s, refracted a neon sign’s light and mixed its message with the reflections of late afternoon. Inside, a restaurant, with a waiter  looking of a time when these surroundings were new. And yet, the years of weathering had fooled the average viewer into seeing him as they saw the street scene outside. However, despite his facial cracks,  that man was full of life. On inspired nights, he sang and played the accordion;  juggled glasses and bottles; and made up rhymes. “Fat fifths.” muddled a customer as a ferry boat blew a wall of sound from its whistle against the spectral explos...