I feign,
Thy look in main,
Pos'd with presented cane,
But well they see all me by lane.
She wants a man bearing a soft new vein,
So all these habits will belong to me ingrain'd.
Wilt thou keep with my clumsy walk, and I'll see you humane.
For women of the shallow lot do follow in a doting train,
As I strut with a swarthy walk, dressed full prim for defying all my pain.
Enlightened I am, cool for knowing secrets thee may hope to find; still thee I reign.
They begin to suspect my origins are falsely made to create a man level and sane.
My treatment seen as foolish talk, while deserters (once friends) call out my game.
But thee who had all seen it first did tell it me and made me plain,
Extend your thought for my repute paraphras'd you'd sain,
"Listen, young boy. It is a game where none doth gain;
That if you get wisdom in thy quick brain,
Rejected you become the bane,
Your presence they refrain.
These things inane,
Disdain."
By Evan Gunn Wilson
8/23/2011
8/16/2011
Love Letters
To Vicky -
"As you wish" cliche' may seem,
But Victoria's love, insubordinate's loss.
And if for other's love you deem,
Bring crusades to you as like the cross.
To your service,
Stu
---------------------------------
To Vicky -
At once when we had parted ways,
Your letters grew in length and mass.
So p'raps Victoria's love I may,
Take it full or leave it pass.
Formerly ignorant of thy love,
Steve
---------------------------------
To Stu -
How may I say with gracious response,
Of your kind, but grovelling tone;
That once I fell for your sweet ringing saunce,
A spine to be had, a submission of drones.
To be taken or left, with respect,
Vicky
---------------------------------
To Steve -
All at once by surprise you took,
My committed love, and received my honor.
Your gallantry met with no lustful look,
I exalt you high for not being the fawner.
At you will and discretion,
Vicky
By Evan Gunn Wilson
"As you wish" cliche' may seem,
But Victoria's love, insubordinate's loss.
And if for other's love you deem,
Bring crusades to you as like the cross.
To your service,
Stu
---------------------------------
To Vicky -
At once when we had parted ways,
Your letters grew in length and mass.
So p'raps Victoria's love I may,
Take it full or leave it pass.
Formerly ignorant of thy love,
Steve
---------------------------------
To Stu -
How may I say with gracious response,
Of your kind, but grovelling tone;
That once I fell for your sweet ringing saunce,
A spine to be had, a submission of drones.
To be taken or left, with respect,
Vicky
---------------------------------
To Steve -
All at once by surprise you took,
My committed love, and received my honor.
Your gallantry met with no lustful look,
I exalt you high for not being the fawner.
At you will and discretion,
Vicky
By Evan Gunn Wilson
8/08/2011
Hot Headed, Light Heart
The stubborn cannot view themselves as wrong, but what comes as more significant is whether or not others view them as wrong. The pride of life is a shallow thing and not much can be said about these people other than that their self serving tendencies have done them more wrong than right. Simply, when they become stubborn they are attempting to reverse the mounds of evidence that point towards them being wrong. In the end they only appear as a fool to the world and no dignified creature.
But I write not of that man. He may not learn anything till he admits he knows nothing. I write for another. Not in praise, but a clearing of the perspectives that have misinterpreted his actions. I write for the light hearted stubborn man. He who decides to hold to his position no matter what, while he has solemnly accepted his defeated stance. He loses the battle and still he fights for what he believes, but still he fights with resignation; with a smile on his face that says, "Gentle opponent, you have made me the unorthodox; good sir, you have made me taboo; gracious master, you have made me the insane. I, who am comically loyal to my stance, proved'st me wrong; for I lie here in the dirt and suck up the humors that may only make me weaker. Great victor, may I, by your leave, oppose you still in an arm wrestle that has predetermined consequences? I ask as a light hearted mule."
This supplication is all that must be understood when dealing with this man. How is he treating the loss? Does he attempt to return to it later to convince you still that he was right? Does he become embittered? No. Not this man of whom I speak. The experience for both parties should walk warily; all things said should be taken in good faith, provided that it is a discussion between Christians. And it should be noted that no hard feelings are solidified by the light hearted mule; but merely he plays a game.
Why is he this way? It is annoying. Well, quit being annoyed. He practices. Practice makes perfect. What is he practicing for, that warrants such blatant stubbornness? Sophistry. He wants to become a sophist. The sophist is a master of argument. His skill and talent in this typically cursed practice is so tuned, so precise, so threatening that he is able to argue any point regardless if he believes it, or regardless if it is objective truth. We will argue it and win. So, the youth that attempts such goals will lose and he will know it, but his stubbornness teaches him. It presents himself opportunity to practice (all in good fun and light hearts, if I can't stress that enough) the art of sophistry.
But I write not of that man. He may not learn anything till he admits he knows nothing. I write for another. Not in praise, but a clearing of the perspectives that have misinterpreted his actions. I write for the light hearted stubborn man. He who decides to hold to his position no matter what, while he has solemnly accepted his defeated stance. He loses the battle and still he fights for what he believes, but still he fights with resignation; with a smile on his face that says, "Gentle opponent, you have made me the unorthodox; good sir, you have made me taboo; gracious master, you have made me the insane. I, who am comically loyal to my stance, proved'st me wrong; for I lie here in the dirt and suck up the humors that may only make me weaker. Great victor, may I, by your leave, oppose you still in an arm wrestle that has predetermined consequences? I ask as a light hearted mule."
This supplication is all that must be understood when dealing with this man. How is he treating the loss? Does he attempt to return to it later to convince you still that he was right? Does he become embittered? No. Not this man of whom I speak. The experience for both parties should walk warily; all things said should be taken in good faith, provided that it is a discussion between Christians. And it should be noted that no hard feelings are solidified by the light hearted mule; but merely he plays a game.
Why is he this way? It is annoying. Well, quit being annoyed. He practices. Practice makes perfect. What is he practicing for, that warrants such blatant stubbornness? Sophistry. He wants to become a sophist. The sophist is a master of argument. His skill and talent in this typically cursed practice is so tuned, so precise, so threatening that he is able to argue any point regardless if he believes it, or regardless if it is objective truth. We will argue it and win. So, the youth that attempts such goals will lose and he will know it, but his stubbornness teaches him. It presents himself opportunity to practice (all in good fun and light hearts, if I can't stress that enough) the art of sophistry.
The Light Heart of the Youthful Opinionated
Tender young man on leave of thought,
Presents his case to the tiring room;
Not long after he starts, receives a shot,
Demoralized falls by that elder fume.
"Get thee gone, Boy! And do not Loom!",
Their aged epithets blocks his say,
Goes on, resigned, but seen to bray.
The rumors begin to flourish about,
That this young man's stubborn mind,
Cannot admit his wrong to the rout,
And rather is as the prideful kind.
But these family, friends he finds,
Cannot conceive the joy he brings,
For his opinions light hearted sings!
By Evan Gunn Wilson
Presents his case to the tiring room;
Not long after he starts, receives a shot,
Demoralized falls by that elder fume.
"Get thee gone, Boy! And do not Loom!",
Their aged epithets blocks his say,
Goes on, resigned, but seen to bray.
The rumors begin to flourish about,
That this young man's stubborn mind,
Cannot admit his wrong to the rout,
And rather is as the prideful kind.
But these family, friends he finds,
Cannot conceive the joy he brings,
For his opinions light hearted sings!
By Evan Gunn Wilson
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