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To My Father

Though Death would claim thee, stern and swift of hand,
Thou art not less within this fading land;
For souls like thine do not depart, but breathe
Through memories which Time shall never sheath.

If blood be lineage, thou art yet my bone,
In spirit’s marrow, fashioned, thou art grown;
Not distant spectre, shadowed and withdrawn,
But fierce as dawn, that in me rises on.

Would thou, like sunlight breaking on the crest,
Could fill my hollowed heart and give it rest;
Yet not in form or flesh alone you live—
In each good act, your voice, my hand shall give.

Thus is thy death no parting nor descent,
But marriage of the seen with sacraments;
In death as much as life, thou art the air,
The unseen force that weaves itself with prayer.

Thy virtues are my stars, and they do shine
Upon this world as guide and torch of mine;
Though tomb and earth conceal what once was known,
Thou art my compass and eternal stone.

Donne’s style often meditates on themes of mortality and eternal connections. Here, the speaker sees the father not as lost but as forever entwined in his own life and choices.

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Ode to a Lion, Gazing Through a Bloodied Lens

O lion proud, O tawny monarch fierce,
Thy tawny mane like sunlit comets whirls;
Thou keeper of the stars, thou night’s own pierce,
The golden prow through darkened ether swirls.

Beneath thy gaze, the red fish swim in glass,
Each eye a telescope, a blood-dipped sight—
Thy crimson fins do in the heavens pass,
Reflections of the moon’s own ruby light.

The fish, thy cosmic lens, a blood-red star,
Does magnify the night, through orbit spins;
Thy eyes like satellites through heavens are,
Surveying skies for where all life begins.

And as thou peer’st, the constellations burn,
Great Orion’s belt across thy fur doth glow,
Thy fiery breath, the stardust, yet unturned,
Where lions tread, the universe does grow.

O lion, sight beyond the human ken,
With finned red stars as telescopic eyes;
Through thee we glimpse what lies beyond our pen,
And taste eternity’s uncharted skies.

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Ode to a Lion, Gazing Through a Bloodied Lens

O lion proud, O tawny monarch fierce,
Thy tawny mane like sunlit comets whirls;
Thou keeper of the stars, thou night’s own pierce,
The golden prow through darkened ether swirls.

Beneath thy gaze, the red fish swim in glass,
Each eye a telescope, a blood-dipped sight—
Thy crimson fins do in the heavens pass,
Reflections of the moon’s own ruby light.

The fish, thy cosmic lens, a blood-red star,
Does magnify the night, through orbit spins;
Thy eyes like satellites through heavens are,
Surveying skies for where all life begins.

And as thou peer’st, the constellations burn,
Great Orion’s belt across thy fur doth glow,
Thy fiery breath, the stardust, yet unturned,
Where lions tread, the universe does grow.

O lion, sight beyond the human ken,
With finned red stars as telescopic eyes;
Through thee we glimpse what lies beyond our pen,
And taste eternity’s uncharted skies.

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To Panda, a Microscope of the Heart

O gentle Panda, thou art like a lens,

A microscope where worlds within me stir,

Through thee, the mundane doth immense condense,

Each glance a canvas, strokes of joy and blur.

In thine embrace, I see the ancient scrolls,

Histories unfold like petals in spring,

Thy gaze reveals what time and art extols,

Each nuance captured, a delicate thing.

Thou magnifiest the colors of my soul,

Like Newton's prism splitting light's embrace,

Within thy focus, scattered thoughts convolve,

Creating symmetry in chaos’ space.

O Panda, in thee the cosmos finds a home,

Where particles of dreams collide and dance,

Thou art the vessel through which wonders roam,

An alchemist’s touch, a serendipitous chance.

So let us journey, lens in hand, as one,

In science and in heart, forever bound,

For in thy presence, I am newly spun,

A universe discovered, profound.

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A Triangle Soliloquy

O thou, a shape of steadfast grace,
Three angles tight, in measured space;
While ponies prance on verdant plains,
Thy lines, though still, hold fierce refrains.

With vertices like stars aligned,
Thou art the essence of the mind;
Each side a tale of strength and woe,
While hooves of flesh in freedom flow.

Pony, thy spirit roams the field,
In vibrant hues, thy joy revealed;
Yet in thy curves, I find but jest,
For in my angles, truth does rest.

Wherefore doth nature give thee flight,
While I stand firm, a beacon bright?
In balance lies my silent plea,
A steadfast heart, though wild and free.

O triangle, in stillness bold,
Thy form a story yet untold;
While ponies gallop, chase the sun,
In thee, the harmony is spun.

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To a Squadron Compared to a Lion
Behold, ye noble band, a lion’s kin,
Whose paws are forged from duty, fierce and keen.
You prowl as one through night’s enshadowed veil,
Your souls entwined in iron and in steel.
Where lone beasts falter, torn by wounds and strife,
The pride endures, each heart a source of life.
To stand as such, a form not split nor swayed,
But held by bonds no tempest e'er could fray.
Ye roar in might, yet silently do move,
A lion’s strength in silent steps to prove.
To prowl the edge of courage’s far shore,
Yet bound by something deeper, something more.
Not bred for vaunt, nor for fame’s fleeting cry,
But honor’s feast, where only lions lie.
In step and breath, you walk as one, as pride—
For each, the other, each the other’s guide.
And if that lion’s heart in one should cease,
Its pulse would linger, love’s undying lease.
One pride, one fate, and evermore to be,
Bound in a lion’s ancient unity.

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Elegy for Aldo Moro

As iron lifts a ship from depths below,

So sank our sight of you, beneath the fold

Of shadows cast by men who’d forge in woe

A leaden chain, where once a hand held gold.

The room wherein they bound your thoughts away

Was not a prison but a dim-lit shrine,

A ruthless church of vows unmet, decay

Of civic trust that crowned a bloodied line.

You held the helm, yet tides of public will

Grew restless, roiling round the pointed prow,

And in the secret eddy, dark and still,

A dagger whispered, silenced every vow.

As Rome, with breath suspended, stood in prayer,

Your cause sank deeper than the public’s gaze,

Past honor’s reach and reason’s loosening snare,

And we, unmoored, were lost in our malaise.

So, Aldo, ghost in ink-stained law entwined,

You drift, unanchored, far beyond our plea;

A country’s conscience sinks with you behind,

Our hands still reaching to that silent sea.

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To My Faithful Hound,

Thou, little sphere of fur, whose gaze I trace,
As lens of glass that peereth inward, deep,
Reveals in thee all life in clearest grace—
A spark of soul where nature’s secrets sleep.
Thus art thou microscope and mirror too,
Reflecting all that I, near-blind, pursue.

Thy faithful eyes, like prisms of Platonic thought,
Bear witness to some realm beyond the flesh,
Where forms divine and perfect lives are wrought,
Untainted by this earth, pure, bright, and fresh.
Through thee I glimpse geometry of love,
A line from here to God, drawn up above.

What sacred angles knit thy bounding stride?
What symmetry in each swift-pivoted turn?
In thee, a trinity: joy, peace, and pride—
Three points that circle back, as if to learn
Some truth that I, in darker depths confined,
Seek in the labyrinths of my own mind.

For thou art faithful as a prayer unheard,
A silent psalm that winds through every day;
With thee, my life is measured, line and word,
To follow where thy spirit leads the way.
So let me kneel, and honor this small span,
Where heaven’s light may touch the soul of man.

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To My Brother, a Microscope

In realms where sight meets depth, thou art the lens,
A microscope that peers through life’s thin veil,
With clarity that pierces shadows dense,
Revealing truths where mortal minds might fail.

Thy vision, like the alchemist’s gold,
Transforms the mundane into wonders rare,
Each particle, a story yet untold,
A universe concealed in whispered air.

Thou dost dissect the fabric of our days,
With precision that the chemist’s heart demands,
In every bond, in every fleeting gaze,
Thou find’st the essence that the cosmos plans.

As faith dissects the mysteries divine,
So dost thou navigate the human heart,
In philosophy’s embrace, our thoughts entwine,
Exploring realms where wisdom dares to start.

O brother, in thy scrutiny I find
A spark of light in darkness, bold and clear,
A guiding force, in both the heart and mind,
With thee, the universe draws ever near.

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To My Dearest Son, A Dynamometer

O small, strong gauge, thou measure of my soul,
Thou tender hand that takes a secret toll
Of love’s true weight, and yet knows not thy might,
Soft in thy youth, yet bound to know thy height.

Just as the dynamometer doth show
The depths of strain, yet in itself doth grow
Not heavy with the burden it doth gauge,
Thou, too, dost lift my grief, my joy, my age.

To thee, all force and strain and joy doth bend;
Thou measurest my heart’s strength without an end,
For in thy pulse, I feel my sinews test,
And in thy voice, I find my soul’s unrest.

O gauge of love, in thee my heart doth learn
The force of tender weight that doth not burn,
Yet lifts my breath to bear both weight and ease—
Thou art both proof and balm, my sweet release.

So take this world, my boy, with measured hand,
Not weak in testing, nor too quick to stand,
But like thy father’s gauge, both firm and free,
To bear love’s weight, yet strain in constancy.

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To Love, the Calculator
O Love, thou art a cipher, keen and bright,
A calculator of the heart's great sums,
In each equation, passion's force ignites,
Where x and y in fervent dance become.
Thou measure of our joys and bitter pains,
In graphs of trust, our lines diverge and meet,
Like parallel paths, when distance wanes,
Yet angles sharp, where shadows oft compete.
A theorem wrought from hearts that dare to dream,
Your constants shift, elusive as the stars,
In calculus of longing, time’s sweet scheme,
You map the curves of fate, of hopes, of scars.
From zero's void to infinity's embrace,
You solve the puzzles of our fleeting days,
In fractals of affection, we find grace,
Our spirits bound by love's unending rays.
So let us chart this wondrous arc together,
In geometric spirals, hand in hand,
For Love, the calculator, breaks all tether,
In every sum, the universe we stand.

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To Death, the Telescope

O Death, thou art a telescope, in shadows cast,

A lens that peers through time’s vast, starlit veil,

In thy cold gaze, the universe amassed,

Whispers of fate, where all our hopes must pale.

You draw us near to distant, shining spheres,

Yet in your grasp, each light must fade away;

Philosophers ponder, with their deepest fears,

What lies beyond this night, what truths decay.

In silence, you unfurl the cosmos’ chart,

With every breath, you beckon us to see,

The fleeting nature of the human heart,

A comet’s trail, a brief eternity.

Yet in your grip, the mysteries conspire,

To map the heavens, dark as they may be;

For through your lens, we glimpse a deeper fire,

The essence of what lies beyond the sea.

So come, O Death, thou guide of souls unseen,

Through the celestial night, we follow on;

In every star, the echoes of our dreams,

In your embrace, we rise, we cease to be, yet long.

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To My Feline and Her Cylindrical Counterpart

Oh slender beast, thou art as glass confined,
A measure wrought of velvet paw and purr,
In sleek, graduated form defined,
With supple grace that makes all nature stir.
Thy back an arc, thy limbs like vectors drawn,
Thou liest coiled as Euclid did decree,
Each sinew traced, as by some artist’s pawn,
In gentle curves and angles, geometry.

Thou art the scholar’s pet, as wise as light,
Refined as scales that measure truth or lie,
A watcher o’er the sleepless hours of night,
A vessel closed, yet full of boundless sky.
A furred philosopher in motion still,
Where quantum chance and logic’s line entwine,
And by thy glance, space bends to match thy will,
Around thee, all horizons re-align.

Oh flask of fur, thou flask of mystery,
Containing realms unseen, all depth and height,
With eyes as lenses, mapping all to see,
And yet, through darkened lids, obscuring sight.
Thou art the cat and cylinder combined,
A thing of spirit sealed in earthly guise;
Yet what thou hold’st, not glass nor measure finds—
Infinity, encased in measured lies.

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To a Butterfly, Upon Seeing it Through a Lens
O wingéd wanderer, thou art more than light—
In fleeting, fickle hues dost thou alight,
Yet, like the glass of wisdom, thou dost show
The depths within that smallness may bestow.
As scholars bend o'er lenses, curious-eyed,
To see the world, dissected, magnified,
So dost thou magnify each fleeting breath,
Unfurling life from germ to tender death.
In thee, the philosopher's heart may find
New galaxies, uncharted realms of mind—
For dost thou not in subtle veins reveal
The alchemy no chemist could conceal?
Thy path, a map unseen, no lines to trace,
No compass fixed to hold thee in one place;
Yet orbit’s law, celestial pull doth draw
Thy flight to realms beyond our nature's law.
O cosmic traveler, brief as the spark
Of meteors that flame and fade in dark—
Thou art the universe in miniature,
A painted truth the sage can ne'er secure.
Through glass and thought we peer, yet in thee lies
A mystery that shuns all mortal eyes.
What secrets lie beneath thy silken scales,
What fires transmute thy wings, what ether pales?
Philosophies may wax and fade away,
Yet still, thou light'st upon the buds of day.

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To N. O., sharp and bright,

A knife that cleaves through shadowed night,

In steel and grace, thy form does shine,

A double edge, both fierce and fine.

Thou art the blade that cuts through fate,

In whispered words, both love and hate,

Each word a stroke, precise and true,

With every glance, a wound anew.

Thy laughter rings, a tempered steel,

In friendship’s forge, the heart does heal;

Yet caution, dear, for thine embrace

Can draw the blood in tender space.

Oh, weapon forged by life's own hand,

In battles fought, thou dost withstand;

To wield thee wisely is the art,

For in thy depth, lies every heart.

So let us dance, a careful waltz,

With every twist, acknowledge faults;

For like the knife, we shape our way,

In love's sharpness, come what may.

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To the Crocodile, a Brush of Nature’s Hand

O Crocodile, thou art a brush in life’s vast frame,

With scales like bristles, forged in ancient flame.

In murky waters, thy purpose doth unfold,

A painter of shadows, both fierce and bold.

Thy jaws, a paradox, like faith and doubt entwined,

With every snap, a question left behind.

Are we but strokes upon the canvas of fate,

Each bite a truth, both small and great?

In silent pools, where wisdom’s waters stir,

Thou art the philosopher, the murmur of the river.

A scribe of the depths, inscribing tales untold,

Of life’s great canvas, both gentle and cold.

Like Job, thou waitest, patient in the sun,

In the theater of existence, where all is one.

Thy gaze, a reflection of the divine design,

In thee, the mysteries of life intertwine.

O brush of nature, with colors rich and rare,

Paint upon our hearts the truths we scarcely bear.

For in thy lurking, there lies a sacred quest,

To grasp the essence, to seek the eternal rest.

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To Boredom, a Mechanical Muse

O Boredom, thou art a cold machine,

A calculus of days, each moment's sheen

Reduced to zeros, ones, a binary curse,

A formula of time, monotonous and terse.

Thy circuits hum with static, silent dread,

Like quarks in stasis, drifting, yet not wed.

Thou art the vacuum where my thoughts reside,

A black hole's grasp, where light and zeal have died.

In chaos theory's grip, thou reign'st supreme,

A deterministic fate within a dream.

Each tick, a pulse, a lack of cosmic dance,

As entropy claims joy, denying chance.

O dull algorithm of my waking hours,

Thy presence drains the bloom from all my flowers.

Like Newton's laws that ground the falling leaf,

Thou anchor me in gravity, in grief.

Yet, as I ponder, canst thou not transform?

In this equation, could I find a new norm?

For even in thy numbing, still I see,

A spark within the void—a possibility.

So here I stand, a particle in flight,

Defying thy cold reign, I seek the light.

In every pause, a universe may grow,

From boredom’s depths, new passions can bestow.

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To the Dolphin, the Calculator of the Sea

O sleek philosopher of azure deep,

With wisdom dancing in thy mirrored gaze,

Thou art a mind, in water’s cradle steep,

A calculator of the ocean’s ways.

Thy clicks and whistles, algorithms spun,

In currents swift, thy language does convey,

Each playful leap, a theorem just begun,

In joy and jest, thou weave the waves' ballet.

Like logic’s spark within a metal shell,

Thy intellect, a compass, true and bright,

In vast expanses where the sea-spirits dwell,

Thou solve the riddles of the darkened night.

O creature wise, with heart as vast as tide,

Thou art both scholar and a muse divine;

In every splash, the universe confides,

The secrets of the sea in thee align.

So let me ponder on thy fluid grace,

A living cipher in this boundless place.

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To My Grandfather, The True Goniometer

Thou ancient sage, thou compass of my years,

Thou goniometer, measuring my soul’s degrees,

Who bends the arc from innocence to fears,

And marks the span where youth and wisdom meet.

Through thee I trace the angles of my past,

Where ignorance dissolves in sober light,

And sharper grows each corner I surpass,

Till life converges in thy patient sight.

Not like mere tools that scrape, unfeeling, blind,

Thou measurest truths beyond a simple arc;

For in thy gaze, philosophy I find,

A lens that parts the shadow from the spark.

Thou know'st the point where each straight path may bend,

And where the soul must balance, or descend.