All The Ivied Leagues-Paul Nachbar
The Nascent of Cosmos-Larry Gowdy Children of the Atom-Quinn Tyler Jackson Oh, we are the children of the atom, Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche's Mustache-Paul Nachbar I too long for the more than man But yield to need: This entity must daily feed Upon the humble fruits and meats: I also bleed. I too reach for the more than man But yield to truth: Inside this humble space and time It is an inch or two I climb I also rest. I too hope for the more than man But yield to love: Beneath the empty sky I find That with no love there is no mind; I also bend. I too wish for the more than man But yield to fate: These two lungs process every breath Upon the one way path to death; I also dream. Love at 200MHz-Quinn Tyler Jackson
Feed a Rock Star, Starve A Poet-Paul Nachbar I make my ten bucks for each hour They pay me for my pleasure: While I compose ye tiny poems TO be consumed at leisure; I make my ten bucks for each hour And they take half in taxes My spirit's mighty mighty sore But poetry relaxes. It does not scream or rant or rave Or molest pets and flowers It rarely inspires theft or rape But will amuse for hours; But being human I compete With others for the Money Compared with The Big, Big , Big Show Here almost isn't any; The Rock Star earns in every breath What I earn in the hour And though I will not starve to death I have so little power; But booming music it will pay Far much, much more than Mozart And screaming passion rules the day Much more than any Fine Art; And so they get the Golden Girls Who also are good hagglers, While I receive the literate, The might-have beens and stragglers; My doctor says I can't complain It was my own decision Instead of selling shiny cures I sell my private vision; My doctor's fee, paid for the state Informs me where my place is; He gets each hour ten times my wage Yes life has it's disgraces; The world works thusly, so they say Don't be a simple dreamer The shining trophy will conceal The all-too-human schemer; I make my ten bucks for each hour Which does not lead to riches But it is better work by far Then that of digging ditches; I make my ten bucks for each hour And they take half in taxes* My spirit's mighty mighty sore But poetry relaxes. * My mother pointed out, as the wife of a former CPA, that the government does not actually take half of my hourly salary in taxes. However, since, I am a social security recipient who is deemed capable of (very) part-time work, the social security folks do take back one dollar for every two dollars earned above and beyond $80 per month. In addition, my federally- financed supported apartment has raised my rent to compensate for the additional income I now have (less than $200 per month). Can't get away with anything these days!!! Sonnet for Insomniacs-Quinn Tyler Jackson I close my eyes, and try to kiss the night, But functions in my head derive 'til dawn, If we are the stuff that dreams are made on, What if we don't sleep, can't turn off the light Of conscious sparks and drift to dreams? Or might This be a reverie I live anon, Not when into sleep I've finally gone? 'T were true, then up is down, and left is right, But surely there is a dreamlike aspect To my wakeful days. Perhaps the answer Flickers near my eyes, burning to their core, That I, with eyes open, do not suspect, But when dark Morpheus holds me closer, It all seems not to matter anymore. 
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