July 6, 2013

The Tanuri Saga is a microcosm of the war between good and evil which will go on until the last ding-dong of history sounds. In a final confrontation, a hero will come forth to fight for all that’s right and good, and win. Politicos and preachers, terrorists and tyrants–these are the enemies of life:

Witch doctors in gray disguise,
Unseen in their suits and ties,
Promise peace and paradise
With creeds of servitude and sacrifice,
Where deadly altruism reigns,
And leaves the world in chains.

Like shamans in their drunken zeal,
Who hate reality for being real,
Standing where once heroes stood,
They hate the good for being good;
Mocking all that’s bright and new,
They hate the truth for being true.

So a prophecy, Stranger, about a mutineer,
An outlaw who someday will appear
And fight for life and love,
In a time and place we can’t know of–
A forest glen, a desert plain, a barren mountain shelf–
Who will dare to be herself
And with bloodied blade or rebel’s pen
She’ll fight and save the world again.

Like a Seraphim with sword ablaze,
She’ll cleave the murky wall of night
And Freedom! Freedom!
In a tidal wave of light
Will rush–will gush through
And crush the pimps and parasites,
The men of power-lust and promises,
And wash them into hell.

Men will celebrate her victory
With cannonade and bells,
And learn again what life is worth;
But another rival for the earth
Awaits to stifle freedom’s breath:

Hear me, Pilgrim, through the joyous din:
The Egoist, unsatisfied
Will find the final foe is Death;
With reason as her guide,
She’ll meet this ancient enemy
And win.

–May, 2013

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I wanted a poem about  the evolution of man’s brain,  from the time man evolved from killer-ape ancestors to sometime in the future,  when,  with a vastly improved I.Q.   and  concomitant scientific knowledge,   man can to some extent overcome Death and learn to live indefinitely.    This poem began as a sonnet  (14  lines with orthodox rhyme scheme),  but the form was too restrictive.


An ape-like form appeared with club in hand,
Cast by seraphs from a peaceful land,
The crafty outcast, a child of strife,
Became the king of killers who valued life.

He claimed the teeming world as his domain,
And, clad in color, challenged Death’s dreary reign;
The creature stood erect and laid his plan
Against the tyrant, and the chase began.

As the outlaw trailed him down the centuries,
Death called on gods from all the skies and seas;
Then rallied other allies standing by,
Those who hated life but chose to lie:

Priests in black who promised paradise,
Shabby saints with creeds of sacrifice,
Politicos with power as their aim,
All parasites for whom theft was a game;

O’erwhelmed by truth, all these fled the fray,
And the hunter found his foe alone one day,
When even Time had left its twin behind,
Enchained by the weapon of the mind.

Rejected last lines: Vanquished by the weapon of man’s mind.
Routed by the weapon of man’s mind.
Captured on the journey of the mind.

–June 2013, added to “Sonnets to the Hunter”

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