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THE POET AS SCIENTIST

THE POET AS SCIENTIST, THE POET AS SCIENTIST

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The Geek's Raven
[An excerpt, with thanks to Marcus Bales]

Once upon a midnight dreary,
fingers cramped and vision bleary,
System manuals piled high and wasted paper on the floor,
Longing for the warmth of bedsheets,
Still I sat there, doing spreadsheets:
Having reached the bottom line,
I took a floppy from the drawer.
Typing with a steady hand, I then invoked the SAVE command
But got instead a reprimand: it read "Abort, Retry, Ignore".

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Form input - by Günter Born

Monday, July 07, 2008

Jesus in Hell

The Mountain stood tall.
Five fathoms high, four fathoms wide,
The Mountain stood tall.
And the Mountain shook and thundered,
The Mountain poured forth rain,
At its peak
Throughout the eternal plain
Midst the groans and sighs of the multitude
Of desperate searching souls in turpitude.
The Mountain shuddered and thundered,
A clamoring peak,
Great and subtle in its Holiness,
Wise and ancient in its consciousness
With pools like eyes at its peak,
Glittering with mirthfulness
Great gash of a mouth, that would speak
"'Forgive them, Oh Lord, for they know not
What they do!'"
And thundering peals of laughter
Midst the terrible slaughter
Of the eternal plain.

"Why, this little fellow,
bloody, beaten, struggling for breath
reminds me of Job.
But Job at least had the sense
To question his maker
Though twas I who was his true nemesis."

Blue sulpher, green fume
A great light above
The Son of Man
Descends like a dove.

Eternal cries of joy and pain
Grief and hope, fear and longing
Moans and sighs confounding
Mixt the sounds of bitter lamentations
Whilst triumphant
The clarion call of the dying groan
Of man's gift of love
Consummates a cacophony
Unknown to mortal man.

"Well, my boy, you seem a bit humbler,
Than when we last met, in the desert.
I trust you see the error of you ways.
I offered you the world
And now, I trust, you see the ways of the world."

The Son of Man, a bit the worse for wear,
Wiped away a tear.

"My Father shall soon free me
from your slavery."

"Your Father!"
The Mountain thundered.
"Why, I am your only Father, here.
But, fear not, my boy.
As Job was a mere toy
In the hands of the Lord
So shall you be, to me.
You shall be under his hand
At my command."

"I do not wager
With the Devil,"
Quoth the Son of Man,
Defiant.

"Oh, no wager required,
I merely wish to see
Over the course of many centuries
How passeth the progress
Of Man as God.
What horrendous genocides
What bizarre depravaties
What detestable enormities
Your mere presence may unleash
On all unsuspecting humanity.
And, at the end, we shall see,
Who hath fared the better.
Job, the Lord, you or me.
So, Begone!"

© Copyright Jerome Raymond Kraus (2008)

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