Tuesday, April 13, 2010

New Sonnet: On the Anthropic Principle III

I went to show this new sonnet to my wife and editor and she said, "I'm sick of sonnets."  So this may be the last one for awhile, as I aim to please.  My mood continues to hold and I am so grateful not to be depressed that I would dance a jig if my back permitted it.

Now, like most of earth's prisoners,  I am merely subject to the normal negative emotions of we all endure, though I've a mind to work on my mental chatter and bring it more in accordance with the light.

As I used to tell patients, "Antidepressants aren't supposed to make you happy, only normal--just as miserable as the rest of us but no more."

On the Anthropic Principle III

Footsteps-to-spring bloom yellow underfoot.
Rare irises purple the general green.
Sunlight is harvested from leaf to root
And God inhabits more than the machine.
Beneath blue wonder I do wonder what
The hell and whom all this was furnished for.
Could it be man, that whimpering, sniveling snot?
Ungrateful, spiteful, hateful, worse, a bore?
Were I an angel I would take offense
At such anthropocentric poppycock.
Given man’s nature, it does not make sense
That all the universe is his to grok.
Still the Hubble telescope implies
We are the only conscious pair of eyes.

1 Kilorat,



  1. About a year ago I was in eastern Washington State, in Yakima, visiting a friend who is one of the growers out there. Over my morning coffee I happened to read in the thin local newspaper of the suicide of Nicholas Hughes, a name not known to me, who according to the paper was the son of Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath, both names known to me, and I knew how Sylvia Plath ended her life. Nicholas Hughes was a researcher at the state university in Fairbanks, Alaska, where, according to the short article, he hanged himself. I asked my friend, What’s this doing in the Yakima paper? Turns out the Plath family is big in the valley, packing 1000 CARLOADS of apples every October. When I was in the far north some years ago, I would hear of worst case scenarios in more detail than was in the paper. Towards the end of March, when the temperature was still twenty below, one of buddies hanged himself from the collar beam of an unheated garage. Found the next day, the body was frozen rock hard. You couldn’t even drive an ice pick into it.

  2. Definitely confirms bipolar disease as genetic. A terrible thing, but I understand it wholeheartedly. Were it not for my religion and the ones I love most, I might have already committed suicide. I don't blame those who do it, I don't think the Almighty does either, although there was a time when they couldn't be buried in consecrated ground, just like actors.


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