as freedom is a breakfastfood

by e. e. cummings

E.E. Cummings dressed in his First World War military

uniform. WWI was far more psychologically damaging

than the Second World War or, arguably, any other war since

because it was fought in packed trenches with little to no territorial

gains or losses as a result of the introduction of machine guns

and the blatant, constant use of chemical weapons, specifically

mustard gas. Near the end of the war, roaring, mammoth-like

tanks appeared on the battlefields, steamrolling barbwire

and plowing over trenches.  Even though the weaponry
mounted on the original tanks wasn't very effective,
the psychological effect upon morale was significant
in virtue of the loud rumble of their engines, their
seeming disregard for infantry fire, not to mention their
sheer size and the fact that most had never seen one before.
With enemy infantry charging behind the tanks, shielded,
the ensuing disarray was often enough to lead to an onslaught.
The nickname The War to End All Wars owes its existence
to the inhumane gruesomeness of the conflict.  In the end,
however, WWI wasn't won via territorial gains, but rather
by a flanking strategy that successfully cut-off the supply lines
pivotal to the survival of frontline troops of Germany and
the Austria-Hungary Empire.  Edward Estlin Cummings'
palpable zest and love of life is the result of having experienced
one of the most terrifying chapters in human history.  For more
information on the Era and its impact on Cumming's poetry,
read "since feeling is first" and the accompanying essay.

as freedom is a breakfastfood
or truth can live with right and wrong
or molehills are from mountains made
—long enough and just so long
will being pay the rent of seem
and genius please the talentgang
and water most encourage flame

as hatracks into peachtrees grow
or hopes dance best on bald men’s hair
and every finger is a toe
and any courage is a fear
—long enough and just so long
will the impure think all things pure
and hornets wail by children stung

or as the seeing are the blind
and robins never welcome spring
nor flatfolk prove their world is round
nor dingsters die at break of dong
and common’s rare and millstones float
—long enough and just so long
tomorrow will not be too late

worms are the words but joy’s the voice
down shall go which and up come who
breasts will be breasts thighs will be thighs
deeds cannot dream what dreams can do
—time is a tree(this life one leaf)
but love is the sky and i am for you
just so long and long enough





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For a review of the background to the life, poetic style, and historical context that shaped E. E. Cummings' exceptional body of work, please read the brief essay immediately after the following poem—

•  "since feeling is first"

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You may also enjoy these other poems by Edward Estlin Cummings:

• "now does our world descend"

• "if you like my poems"

• "love is more thicker than forget"

Some truths can only be stated in hidden ways

WARNING:  Do not stare at these images for longer than 5 minutes.  Staring at one for 15 minutes will change your color perception for several months.  This may make you curious, but please DON'T DO IT. See the McCollough Effect for more information.

Human perception is fragile and all-too-flexible because of the way neural connections work, mainly their speed and the velocity of any (and every) neural network's rate of change.


As we live in rigidly structured societies, with thousands of clear and unbreakable rules that cannot be ignored (e.g., get naked in public and see what happens!  No, I'm kidding....please don't!), there are some basic human truths, truths of nature, that can barely be stated and, when they are expressed, they must be hidden deep within metaphors.  The following is a clear example:

(For mobile users who cannot see the video embedded above, please click https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pVegpypXN1I)

"Know Thyself" was inscribed at the forecourt of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi.  Visitors to Delphi looking for advice from their Oracle, the greatest oracle that has ever existed, would find this message along their way.  I strongly urge you to follow it ---  Know yourself!

A little known fact about the Oracle of Delphi (which sheds light into the reality of psychics) is that visitors to it were made to wait for days before they finally entered to hear the advice they were seeking.  The visitors almost always left the Oracle baffled, perplexed, and astounded by the quality of the advice they received. What they didn't know is that the Oracle of Delphi would send out scouts immediately when a person arrived to gather as much information as they possibly could about that person.  There was nothing magical about the psychics at all.  It was their due diligence and long training and experience that made the Oracle of Delphi the most sacred and most influential oracle that has ever existed.


In the words of Walt Whitman:

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.


Published in Leaves of Grass, Final "Deathbed Edition", 1892.

Genius, by Mark Twain

Genius, like gold and precious stones,
is chiefly prized because of its rarity.

Geniuses are people who dash of weird, wild,
incomprehensible poems with astonishing facility,
and get booming drunk and sleep in the gutter.

Genius elevates its possessor to ineffable spheres
far above the vulgar world and fills his soul
with regal contempt for the gross and sordid things of earth.

It is probably on account of this
that people who have genius
do not pay their board, as a general thing.

Geniuses are very singular.
If you see a young man who has frowsy hair
and distraught look, and affects eccentricity in dress,
you may set him down for a genius.

If he sings about the degeneracy of a world
which courts vulgar opulence
and neglects brains,
he is undoubtedly a genius.

If he is too proud to accept assistance,
and spurns it with a lordly air
at the very same time
that he knows he can't make a living to save his life,
he is most certainly a genius.

If he hangs on and sticks to poetry,
notwithstanding sawing wood comes handier to him,
he is a true genius.

If he throws away every opportunity in life
and crushes the affection and the patience of his friends
and then protests in sickly rhymes of his hard lot,
and finally persists,
in spite of the sound advice of persons who have got sense
but not any genius,
persists in going up some infamous back alley
dying in rags and dirt,
he is beyond all question a genius.

But above all things,
to deftly throw the incoherent ravings of insanity into verse
and then rush off and get booming drunk,
is the surest of all the different signs
of genius.

Yawp and Whisper

by Javier Simonpietri


Vulnerable winds caress so mountain ranges whisper
despite owned waterfalls’ foreboded screaming
which resounding yawps engorge
to bleed farther toward tomorrow—
whispers are forgiven every chastised every,
with emblems searching every furrow.

Even if surmise, hardy branches tremble,
but growing seeds become,
discover, rising tall with pride,
happily repent and swear:
screams are sometimes worth more than whispers,
yet whispers yearn all dawns the same.

(Notwithstanding any I eternally encaged)
Never more lovely is spring than autumn;
fungi bore yet warlords weep;
everything is forever suspect and still
never more spritely is autumn than spring.

Just when (and true is) replaceable,
lump-sum comfort remains entertains,
seldom tastier than senses amiable,
or waking love, or living possibly ending,
or even an awe-striking random be.

Drink and sing, you wherever soul, a toast
in a lone prayer for the complacent undying:
All rejoice! The world’s colors are mine and yours.
It’s true that never more lovely is spring than autumn.
Sown seeds become though hardy branches tremble
yet both still feel pleasure, unlike whispers;
and never more spritely is autumn than spring,
since growing is whispering unlike screams.