A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years.

but aren't they all random?

Monday, April 05, 2021

Comparative advantages of diametric opposite moral modes

Well, there is tremendous value in
readymades, if held and applied
conscience-model (rather than
obedience-model). A lot of those
rote to-do and to-don’t lists stand
forth revealed! Forged in the crucible
of centuries and millennia! Some good
go-bys there.

It’s just
a crippling stunt
to relate to them as binary
do/don’ts.

You gain no deeper sense of why
to bring to bear and aim and guide
when 1) two rules collide/conflict, or
2) where no rules seemly apply. Guidance
systems DOWN. Dive, dive! Duck & 
Cover, or charge like a knight 
on high horse and closed 
eyes, you must must must 

Stop passing the bong to the steed. 
Uncool. Does even one out of five
vets recommend? 

Not if they were in anything 
approaching to a cavalry division. 
That horse will swill down oats
double-time and start geeking out
on commercials. Unhealthy, 

unnatural for a horse. Of course, 

That’s the crux of what “moral
dilemma’s” supposed to be, isn't 
it? Guidance system crash. Don't
know the to-do from the to-don't
in this case-by-case mismatch 
debacle of exceptional unruliness.

Yet it didn't have to be that way.

Check it out, check it in. Some who
favor obedience mode with potato 
gravy and all the fixin's for tradition 
and ritual comfort's sake do nevertheless 

grow the ability and the stones 

to question, interrogate in and down. To tell
right from wrong by means of why, not just
"IT JUST IS. WRONG BECAUSE WRONG!
SAID SO." A seemingly-diehard devoted
rote to-do-don’ter can still find in and down
by grasp and examination, and come to know
as sure as you, or I: the why what they call
wrong is wrong. Know, for example and
per instance, what's wrong

with it

Now there’s aim that compasses. Suitable
for all occasions and calamities. A needle 
in suspense, sensitive to electrogravity 
twitch and biomoralelectric thunderclap 
lightningstrike dead-bang hit. It absorbs it, 
along with all consequence of being, 
straightens it out in a no-bull's hit 
reconciliation to coherency, powers up
and trades on the vibrations going forward.

Obedience or not, 

some of these fools ROCK. And I?
I am such a fool in great good cause
as to see that much, at least. Though
my own conscience is unprincipled
and un-scrupulous (all aim, no restraint 
to my drives-aligned valueset 
prioritized go-mode control), it cuts 
wickedly from core in all directions,
case, by case, on merit, from base. 

I get comparatively few complaints. 
Those I do get I receive gratefully, 
and if you really want to know 
voraciously. That's my feed-bag, 
fuel-tank and half my whole 
hullabaloo and hallelujah. 

So there’s that. I think a ton of people
interested in morals take assurance and
communion from the boxed set off-shelves
kits, relatable and citable.
Always on deal. These
are glad advantages.
Free as a steal, 
and not half so guilty 
a pleasure. To find good 
and feel good in good being, 
good doing, good aim 
and course-correction
as needed. 

More than one way to steer, 
and so long as one oneself 
is no bum no-sale self-con 
artist of denial of ownership 
in consequence of own chosen 
course and act? Examination's 
gonna get in where it fits in, 
and misfit mismatch grasps 
and holds flit to pages back 
in one's history. 

You keep a good index
of contents, and you keep 
driving forth to win, write 
your own endings, improve 
your consequence yourself
in aimed intent, step by step 
from self to better and best 
self. That's the fundament. 

What you shove up there's 
more your business. Do it 

Me? Well, heckfire, misfire, tarnation
and dang-blessed aim, I prefer my own
wuthering druthers, of course! Picture me
standing wrapped in flapping Byronic cloak,
grinning predatorially in the teeth of a thundercloud
-pileup of oncoming incoming gale forces and shaking
my cold fist at the icier heavens, booming defiance
in words best lost to the shrieking roar! MAD
AT THE WEATHER! AS PER! 

Awful done over as potential awesome. I do like
some harmless fun in with it, though. Serious business
need not be grave, yet. While we draw breath, sincerity
can uplift even seriousness to hope and light. Even
with a flip of frivolity in the wings. Especially that. 

There do seem few of us originalists, sworn and bound
by ad hoc found values self-sorted to importance and
brought to bear, loaded for bear and steered by bearings
more fixed within than the wheeling canopy of stars
is. Maybe there secretly, privately are many? An army?

And it’s just personal

to them. 

Or maybe 
they have some
misconception of moral
self-examined self-invention,
by which it seems likely to them
it's the hobby-province of whimwit
trash-talking loudmouth blatherskite
pipsqueaks, sown and reaped in 
their conceited fields, outstanding
in them by self-assessment and unable 

to separate wheat 
from chaff 
from corn. 

If only they knew 
how far. They are 
from scorn. Mine 
anyhow. I never 
had bumper-room 
for that cash crop. 

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