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    marye
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    By suggestion, a place for the poets among us to post their words.

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  • trailbird
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    To Believe
    To Believe11/10/17 I have died a thousand deaths Still you take away my breath And Lord I need you by my side Or I won't make it through the night You've shown me things I never knew There's mystery in all you do And even if the sun don't shine I'll love you 'till the end of time You lift me up and lead me on You gave me hope when it was gone I saw your smile through my tears And knew there's nothing left to fear Some things we aren't meant to see And some things they won't ever be As long as it's still you and me There's still a reason to believe chorus And yes, there's still a magic we can share It's running through our fingers and it's floating in the air And yes, oh baby yes I still believe If we try we can find everything we need The seasons come the seasons go There's always something new to know Cause nothing ever stays the same The weather always wants to change So feel the sun and watch the storm And let each day a new love form A vision of what's meant to be To hold us for eternity And yes, there's still a magic we can share It's running through our fingers and it's floating in the air And yes, oh baby yes I still believe If we try we can find everything we need
  • Randall Lard
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    The Manifestations of the Voyage
    my house's stairway is seizedwith vertigo. Matter having forsaken its laws, we land in hell, ascending to heaven. Shadows move along ladders under the silence of ordinary things there is another silence: it belongs neither to the leaves nor to the dead with a crown of birds circling him a child is running in an abandoned house the stairway takes the measure of its own emptiness I myself am the stairway that Time has used in its funeral course wheels lift water in the gardens of Hama and come down not waiting for the river to put out the fire Here we are left with the river Seine and Paris's poisons. I prefer gardens where linden trees get ready for a lunar voyage The stairway that separates my room from my memory whispers in my ear... I am not at the mercy of men since trees live in my fantasies men and trees long for fire and call for the rain I love rains which carry desires to oceans. Between one airplane and another space is disoriented stars sneak into holes and brides go naked to wells their innocence wanes under our eyes You and I are made from a worm-eaten wood The Word has sunk we are left with no cry gesture or gaze silence to us is forbidden. We are threatened neither by life nor by death nor forced to admire the Spring I found earth-castles on the edge of the desert's torrents I took their marble stairs but could not find my way either up or down then I understood that I was in a state of non-reason and non-madness and that the gardens of Andalusia were standing ready to die. Two cities Two tears Let insanity keep between its skirts legs within its black eyes the fright of my adolescence and the nocturnal walk on the hills: which hill? I mean the kingdom that a man carries in his gut when his love's fulfilled. Two cities which are neither Beirut nor Damascus two tears: neither of alcohol nor of rain Yes there has been a truck and a blue-eyed woman from Russia —grey olive tree— I was a butterfly caught by a fire: neither the day's not the night's but the incandescence that radiates from the body like a receding sickness, Let tombs stay open! The stairway which leads to my room borrows its metals from Babylon The Prophet's Ascension had two movements we fell into whirlpools of mud and the wind followed his horse A tempest went after the sun's steps The Prophet swam through waves of clouds a river of gold carried his vessel and away from the sun he reached Paradise a Paradise made of light. The stairway which leads to my room leads to an observatory I own two telescopes to observe stars and black holes and take mechanized stairs which advance with no advance my hair spins with sunflowers Illegitimate is this linden tree which shakes by my door let us get ready for Hell! Cursed be messengers tossing about water's tranquility and building forest fences Oh that the wind go quicker than us! that we may be smothered by light! This linden tree standing by my door weights heavy on my days I will finally marry it and we shall bring children condemned to terror this tree looks at me with insistence: It will be kept waiting until Time's end. - Etel Adnan from "The Manifestations of the Voyage" from The Spring Flowers Own & The Manifestations of the Voyage.
  • jacob sackin
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    Story that includes over 150 Dead songs
    Check out my new 75-page novella, 'The Grateful Dead' that includes characters, places, scenes, and phrases from over 150 Grateful Dead songs. See if you can find them all! Synopsis: Jed tries to decide whether to return to Tennessee or stay in the land of Fennario where he lives the good life in a house with his friends: Cassidy, Mason, Stephen, August West, and Jack Straw. Here is the link to the story: https://wordpress.com/posts/drawingsstories.wordpress.com Jacob Sackin www.jacobsackin.com
  • Randall Lard
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    The Artist's Duty
    So it is the duty of the artist to discourage all traces of shameTo extend all boundaries To fog them in right over the plate To kill only what is ridiculous To establish problems To ignore solutions To listen to no one To omit nothing To contradict everything To generate the free brain To bear no cross To take part in no crucifixion To tinkle a warning when mankind strays To explode upon all parties To wound deeper than the soldier To heal this poor obstinate monkey once and for all To have kids with pretty angels To display his dancing seed To sail only in polar seas To laugh at every situation To besiege all their cities To exhaust the primitive To follow every false track To verify the irrational To exaggerate all things To inhabit everyone To lubricate each proportion To experience only experience To deviate at every point To offer no examples To dismiss all support To make one monster at least To go underground immediately To smell the shark's ass To multiply all opinions To work only in the distance To extend all shapes To acquire a sublime reputation To consort forever with the runaway To sport the glacial eye To direct all smouldering ambitions To frequent only the exterminating planets To kidnap the phantom's first-born To forego no succulent filth To masquerade as the author of every platitude To overwhelm the mariner with improper charts To expose himself to every ridicule To ambush their blow-nose Providence To set a flame in the high air To exclaim at the commonplace alone To cause the unseen eyes to open To advance with the majesty of the praying serpent To contrive always to be caught with his pants down To sprinkle mule-milk on the lifted brows of virgins To attach no importance whatever to his activity To admire only the absurd To be concerned with every profession save his own To raise a fortuitous stink on the boulevards of truth and beauty To desire an electrifiable intercourse with a female alligator To lift the flesh above the suffering To forgive the beautiful its disconsolate deceit To send the world away to crawl under his discarded pedestals To have the cunning of the imperilled wave To hide his lamentations in the shredded lungs of the tempest To recommend stone eyelashes for all candid lookers To attribute every magnificence to himself To maintain that the earth is neither round nor flat but a scomaphoid To flash his vengeful badge at every abyss To be revolted by only the sacred cow which piddles at the toes of the swamp To kneel with the blind and drunk brigands and learn their songs To happen To embrace the intemperate hermaphrodite of memory It is the artist's duty to be alive To drag people into glittering occupations To return always to the renewing stranger To observe only the funereal spectator To assume the ecstasy in all conceivable attitudes To follow the plundering whirlpool to its source To cry out nervously with every knock To stock his shelves with plaintive confessions and pernicious diaries To outflow the volcano in semen and phlegm To be treacherous when nothing is to be gained To enrich himself at the expense of everyone To reel in an exquisite sobriety To blush perpetually in gaping innocence To drift happily through the ruined race-intelligence To burrow beneath the subconscious To defend the unreal at the cost of his reason To obey each outrageous impulse To commit his company to all enchantments To rage against the sacrificing shepherds To return to a place remote from his native land To pursue the languid executioner to his hall bedroom To torment the spirit-lice To cover the mud with distinguished vegetation To regain the emperor's chair To pass from one world to another in carefree devotion To withdraw only when all have been profaned To contract every battering disease To peel off all substances from the face of horror To glue himself to every lascivious breast To hurl his vigorous cone into every trough To unroll the hide from that repugnant rhinoceros Time To refrain from no ownership To crowd the squat-rumped centuries into his own special residence To plunge beyond their smoking armpits - Kenneth Patchen
  • Randall Lard
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    Prerequisites for Preservation
    we're gonna need to get organizedlive beyond boundaries soften our hearts talk to each other we're gonna need to leave behind our baggage relinquish our comfort release our control co-exist we're gonna need to give up our addictions confront our pain ask for help give more than we take we're gonna need to dream bigger work harder get dirty take time we're gonna need to remember we're gonna need to forgive we're gonna need to let go we're gonna need to let go we're gonna need to feel fully revive our intuition make up our minds enact change we're gonna need to look at ourselves reconcile our ignorance sacrifice shame make amends we're gonna need to need less peel away the nonessential go hungry break a sweat we're gonna need to heal our fears tell our secrets share with our enemies love ourselves we're gonna need to study existence refine our dreams mediate our shadows cure our disbelief we're gonna need to practice magic we're gonna need to cherish water we're gonna need to grieve we're gonna need to move on we're gonna need to stay focused we're gonna need to be strong tend our commitment to beauty fuel our devotion to truth we're gonna need to pray we're gonna need to follow through endure burning we're gonna need to surrender we're gonna need to trust we're gonna need to give light we're gonna give light we are light we are - Naima Penniman
  • Randall Lard
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    American Smooth
    We were dancing - it must havebeen a foxtrot or a waltz, something romantic but requiring restraint, rise and fall, precise execution as we moved into the next song without stopping, two chests heaving above a seven-league stride - such perfect agony, one learns to smile through, ecstatic mimicry being the sine qua non of American Smooth. And because I was distracted by the effort of keeping my frame (the leftward lean, head turned just enough to gaze out past your ear and always smiling, smiling), I didn't notice how still you'd become until we had done it (for two measures? four?) - achieved flight, that swift and serene magnificence, before the earth remembered who we were and brought us down. - Rita Dove
  • Randall Lard
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    Love Dogs
    One night a man was crying, "Allah! Allah!" His lips grew sweet with the praising, until a cynic said, "So! I have heard you calling out, but have you ever gotten any response?" The man had no answer to that. He quit praying and fell into a confused sleep. He dreamed he saw Khadir, the guide of souls, in a thick, green foliage. "Why did you stop praising?" "Because I've never heard anything back." "This longing you express is the return message." The grief you cry out from draws you toward union. Your pure sadness that wants help is the secret cup. Listen to the moan of a dog for its master. That whining is the connection. There are love dogs no one knows the names of. Give your life to be one of them. - Rumi
  • slo lettuce
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    Happy Bicycle Day :)
    All the plans That were made Let them die Let them fade... After all's said and done Only here a moment Then the moment's gone I'll spend the day in my own way from In My Own Way - Ray LaMontagne 'Ouroboros'
  • Randall Lard
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    monk music
    Music functions in a pattern. Patterns. Patterns function in a whiz; the worse for patternistry which is not there. The gems of few lines. Then - music functions whole, patterns into system patterns. Thus do patterns become history and music - forms. Yes, do pages of phrases write motion, still things - that move, that have lines in mystery, because the best music then forms benign of misery. Blues yes! The blues do. But there is the music -in the blues that do and mercuriate to fire straight lines, non-curve, in monohorizontal unperplexed – in placate history with story-flight that flies faster than the bumblebees, yet with a blue aura: time in history does form this semblance, gravity in norm as unquested and easy, easily drawn. Straight go: time as music alive between the heats -plus-non-plus quicker in deed than Hurricane Jackson the heavyweight, more Alice in Wonderland before the feet think twice is Monk's music is. Feeling driving non-driving diz. - Henry Grimes
  • Randall Lard
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    Being Human
    I wonder if the sun debates dawnsome mornings not wanting to rise out of bed from under the down-feather horizon if the sky grows tired of being everywhere at once adapting to the mood swings of the weather if clouds drift off trying to hold themselves together make deals with gravity to loiter a little longer I wonder if rain is scared of falling if it has trouble letting go if snow flakes get sick of being perfect all the time each one trying to be one-of-a-kind I wonder if stars wish upon themselves before they die if they need to teach their young how to shine I wonder if shadows long to just-for-once feel the sun if they get lost in the shuffle not knowing where they’re from I wonder if sunrise and sunset respect each other even though they’ve never met if volcanoes get stressed if storms have regrets if compost believes in life after death I wonder if breath ever thinks of suicide if the wind just wants to sit still sometimes and watch the world pass by if smoke was born knowing how to rise if rainbows get shy back stage not sure if their colors match right I wonder if lightning sets an alarm clock to know when to crack if rivers ever stop and think of turning back if streams meet the wrong sea and their whole lives run off-track I wonder if the snow wants to be black if the soil thinks she’s too dark if butterflies want to cover up their marks if rocks are self-conscious of their weight if mountains are insecure of their strength I wonder if waves get discouraged crawling up the sand only to be pulled back again to where they began if land feels stepped upon if sand feels insignificant if trees need to question their lovers to know where they stand if branches waver at the crossroads unsure of which way to grow if the leaves understand they’re replaceable and still dance when the wind blows I wonder where the moon goes when she is in hiding I want to find her there and watch the ocean spin from a distance listen to her stir in her sleep effort give way to existence - Naima Penniman
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Conception,Birth., Beauty. Sickness, Old age, Death. Conception, Rebirth Stop. I just want To stop. Or at least Slow down At the Beauty part. Please?
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Long time no hear, Free. Let us know if you're still kicking in Vermont's poet cathedral...
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What Anna said...
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A rose arousedInspires desires Arising as pyres Suspiring expire
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Musical notes fallSynapses register joy Crazy toe traction
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In Houghton-le-Spring,If you hear a bird sing, It wouldn’t be that rare I must say. But if you see one dance Then it must be from France In County Durham on holiday. It’s just too absurd To suggest British birds Partake in dances of any kind. At least not in full view, That will never do. British birds are far too refined. A poem from my latest collection of comic verse for Children... Further info here: http://originalwriting.ie/bookshop/poetry/a-poets-nonsensical-journey-t…
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Tears and Time Glistening Tears Crystalline Drops Streaming Alone Through Smiling Grooves Meeting Their Bed of Tissues like Flesh Leaves the Spirit to Depart From It Unable to Reverse It Nothing You Can Do The Drops of Reality in those Tissues... Could Water the Crops and Extinguish a Wildfire With Their... Painful & Somber Voyage. Ah but Now Those Tissues Become Like The Fabric of a Mother's Apron on a Sunny Afternoon. Oh... It Must Be Time To Play. 'Mother Mary Come's to Me Speaking Words of Wisdom... Let It Be." "La,la,la,la...."
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I don't have a poetic bone in my body(and I really do enjoy reading the poetry here), but a recent event which happened to me earlier this week during my lunch break inspired me to try my hand at this most cool haiku - so here goes: Flies on fresh dog doo squishing through my five bare toes should have stayed in bed not exactly enlightening or insightful (or"a heavy sense of Zen") but it does leave the reader with a vivid mental image..........lol and hope you are too :D PS. I was eating my daily refried bean sandwich when this happened and the irony was not lost on my laughing hyena coworkers.
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Promise Yourself... To be so strong that nothing can disturb your peace of mind. To talk health, happiness and prosperity to every person you meet. To make all your friends feel that there is something in them. To look at the sunny side of everything and make your optimism come true. To think of only the best, to work only for the best, and to expect only the best. To be just as enthusiastic about the success of others as you are about your own. To forget the mistakes of the past and press on to the greater achievements of the future. To wear a cheerful countenance at all times and give every living creature you meet a smile. To give so much time to the improvement of yourself that you have no time to criticize others. To be too large for worry, too noble for anger, too strong for fear, and too happy to permit the presence of trouble. By Christian D. Larson
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My brothers, if someone is detectedby sin, you who live by the spirit should gently set him right, each of you trying to avoid falling into temptation himself. 2 Help carry one another's burdens; in that way you will fulfill the law of Christ. 3 If anyone thinks he amounts to something, when in fact he is nothing, he is only deceiving himself. 4 Each man should look to his conduct; if he has reason to boast of anything, it will be because the achievement is his and not another's. 5 Everyone should bear his own responsibility. 6 The man instructed in the word should all he has with his instructor. 7 Make no mistake about it, no one makes a fool of God! A man will reap only what he sows. 8 If he sows in in the field of flesh, he will reap a harvest of corruption; but if his seed-ground is the spirit, he will reap everlasting life. 9 Let us not grow weary of doing good; if we do not relax our efforts, in due time we shall reap our harvest. 10 While we have the opportunity, let us do good to all men --- especially those of the house-hold of faith. GALATIANS 6: 1-10 NAB 1970
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The loneliest sound I knowfalls like hail on a tin roof. Each stone leaves its dent. Less permanent: the clattering cacophony of Chicken Little's forecast come true. Once, my sky had fallen; my voice was erased. Now, all I can do is type.
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Thanks Mike,(My personal lament follows yours) When you purse your lips like that does your anus pucker up as well? When you arrogantly deny obvious reality Are worms gnawing holes in your brain? Do you honestly believe we Wouldn't rather have to deal with you? Landlords are the greatest advertisement for collective, communal co-habitation. Thanks again Mike- all credit to you!
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Thanks slo and Anna, but how would I like it to be credited? Two shy of a dozen formicidae, would do it, I'm thinking: By Ten Ants
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the cats don't knowwhat to think about the bats flying mice flickering shadows of night fall the cats sit alert eyes skyward ears rotoring tracking the bats high-pitched clicking flitting ravenously by
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LONE GOOSE The flocks of geese are Headed south Honking and screeching And forming into vees Flying all night alone Now the day breaks But he doent know it, he doesn't rest Or even slow down He's got to get back To his one true love The only one who Knows his sound He calls and calls As he flaps and flaps For he knows she Has many suitors And their bright feathers Might lure her away So the day breaks With a north wind And dense fluffy clouds And he honks her name And flaps and flaps.
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"They are like treesplanted along the riverbank, bearing fruit each season without fail. Their leaves never wither, and in all they do, they prosper." -Psalm I:3 NLT Beautifully did Sunday morning become Sunday Afternoon. The Grateful Dead Hour Rocked the Repeat Function of no.1083. "In the end there's just a song..." "Gonna make em shine..." -Lovelight Intact- ~ sherbear, XO!
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Nice to see you back in the poet's hangout. You've been missed!
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Hey now. Hew now. Hai-ku Hai-ku all day. Joco mo fe no na na Oops. I ran out of syllables. Needed one more. Sucks when that happens.
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My girlfriend left me a prose note today, which I then arranged as lines of verse and added a title: Two Unshooed One fly in here and I swear the door was opened momentarily while carrying the litter out front Second fly in the front house not sure how that one got in
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GOOD HEART A GOOD HEART IS BOTH IMPORTANT AND EFFECTIVE IN DAILY LIFE. IF IN A SMALL FAMILY, EVEN WITHOUT CHILDREN, THE MEMBERS HAVE A WARM HEART FOR EACH OTHER, A PEACEFUL ATMOSPHERE WILL BE CREATED. HOWEVER, IF ONE OF THE PERSONS FEELS ANGRY, IMMEDIATELY THE ATMOSPHERE IN THE HOUSE BECOMES TENSE. DESPITE GOOD FOOD OR A NICE TELEVISION SET, YOU WILL LOSE PEACE AND CALM. THUS THINGS DEPEND MORE ON THE MIND THAN ON THE MATTER. MATTER IS IMPORTANT, WE MUST HAVE IT, WE MUST USE IT PROPERLY BUT IN THIS CENTURY WE MUST COMBINE A GOOD BRAIN WITH A GOOD HEART. H.H. THE XIV TH DALAI LAMA -------------------------------(-----@ Paper produced by hand and is a double dowel scroll with a hand- braided multi-colored string for hanging. Brought to my home from A World Peace Ceremony. Indeed, a wonderful mediation for All, xo.
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THE RIVER IS HERE Down the mountain the river flows, And it brings refreshing wherever it goes, Through the valleys and over the fields The river is rushing, and the river is here. The river of God sets our feet to dancing; The river of God fills our hearts with cheer; The river of God fills our mouths with laughter, And we rejoice for the river is here. By Andy Park
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What do you see while yougaze into a high mountain pool? Do you perceive the reflection of your exquisite Spirit? What do you feel while you tread the mossy carpet of a virgin forest? Do you feel the heartbeat of It's enchanted Sacred Ground? What do you know while you stare in wonder at the dark, stormy skies? Do you then know the forceful Power of the Great Spirit? What do you see? What do you feel? What do you know? May you acknowledge the voice within, and harken to its power and wisdom. -The Dawning Ember
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ParallaxProcessing
I am writing
about writing

capitalized first person singular pronoun
present tense auxiliary-verb progressive aspect verb
preposition gerund

I was writing
about writing and
then I wrote
more about writing

capitalized first person singular pronoun past
tense auxiliary-verb progressive aspect verb
preposition gerund conjunction adverb capitalized
first person singular pronoun past tense verb
adjective preposition gerund

I have written
about writing
and written writings
about those writings

capitalized first person singular pronoun past tense
auxiliary-verb past tense verb preposition gerund
conjunction past tense verb gerund preposition
demonstrative pronoun gerund


You are reading
about reading

capitalized second person plural pronoun
present tense auxiliary-verb progressive aspect verb
preposition gerund

You were reading
about reading and
then you read
more about reading

capitalized second person plural pronoun past
tense auxiliary-verb progressive aspect verb
preposition gerund conjunction adverb second
person plural pronoun past tense verb adjective
preposition gerund

You have read
about reading
and read readings
about those readings

capitalized second person plural pronoun past tense
auxiliary-verb past tense verb preposition gerund
conjunction past tense verb gerund preposition
demonstrative pronoun gerund
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Now I know why I never did well in English! Excellent poem with simmering symmetry!
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Purpose of This Letter This is now, beloved, the second letter I am writing to you in which I am stirring up your sincere mind by way of a reminder, that you should remember the words spoken beforehand by the holy prophets and the command- ment of the Lord and Savior spoken to the apostles. Know this first of all, that in the last days mockers will come with their mocking, following after their own lusts, and saying, "Where is the promise of His coming? For ever since the fathers fell asleep, all continues just as it was from the beginning of creation. For when they maintain this, it escapes their notice that by the word of God the heavens existed long ago and the earth was formed out of water and by water, through which the world was destroyed, being flooded by water. But by His word the present heavens and earth are being reserved for fire, kept for the day of judgement and destruction of ungodly men. But do not let this one fact escape your notice, beloved, that with the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years like one day. The Lord is not slow about His promise, as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing for any to perish but for all to come to repentance. But the day of the Lord will come like a thief, in which the heavens will pass away with a roar and the elements will be destroyed with intense heat, and the earth and its works will be burned up. Since all these things are to be destroyed in this way, what sort of people ought you to be in holy conduct and godliness, looking for and hastening the coming of the day of God, because of which the heavens will be destroyed by burning, and the elements will melt with intense heat! But according to His promise we are looking for new heavens and a new earth, in which righteousness dwells. Therefore, beloved, since you look for these things, be diligent to be found by Him in peace, spotless and blameless, and regard the patience of our Lord as salvation; just as also our beloved brother Paul, according to the wisdom given him, wrote to you, as also in all his letters, speaking in them of these things in which some are hard to understand, which the untaught and unable distort, as they do also the rest of the Scriptures, to their own destruction. You therefore, beloved, knowing this beforehand, be on your guard so that you are not carried away by the error of unprincipled men and fall from your own steadfastness, but grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. To Him be the glory, both now and to the day of, eternity. Amen. -2 PETER 3
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They say that a warren is a networkof interconnecting burrows, like a rabbit hole, hence, Haynes can be seen as a space into which we fall, like Alice tumbling, we watch as the composition of the whole flashes by while revealing its many notable parts, like Tears of a Clown, Norwegian Wood, Eleanor Rigby, Mountain Jam, and so much more as yet to be determined.
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Tend to have more have an intimate relationship with black ice... Stylish, low-profile crampons, anyone?
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A few years ago my wife and I were walking to a theater to see Lou Reed. I slipped on the blackest of black ice, landed square on my back. It hurt, a lot. Other folks -- complete strangers -- walking down the same sidewalk stopped to make sure that I was ok, helped me up, and so on. My wife? Barely able to stand herself...because she was laughing so hard. Apparently it was the funniest thing she's ever seen. She still talks about it. Thanks, sweetheart.
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there once was a band with a websitethat lett people chat all night with millions of topics including philanthropics but a motive of profit started to make it a bad fit and nobody named rhino could change it we're all left to wonder was it an IT blunder or deadhead rhinoids with heads split asunder that was driving their website under in retrospect so simple hire people who can make websites a wonder and stop the product/commercial blunder and you'll sell a shitload of product happily everafter before a bust of Jerry in alabaster plaster
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Unity in the Mystical Body I plead with you, then, as a prisoner for the Lord to live a life worthy of the calling you have received, 2 with perfect humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another lovingly. 3 Make every effort to preserve the unity which has the Spirit as its origin and peace as its binding force. 4 There is but one body and one Spirit, just as there is but one hope given all of you by your call. 5 There is one Lord, one faith, one baptism; 6 one God and Father of all, who is over all, and works through all, and is in all. Ephesians 6: 1-6 NAB
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"though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; i have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night" -from her beautiful poem, "the old astronomer"
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God in His infinite wisdom Did not make me very wise- so when my actions are stupid They hardly take God by surprise -langston hughes
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We do not care-That much is clear. Not enough Of us care Anywhere. We are not wise- For that reason Mankind dies. To think Is much against The will. Better- And easier- To kill. -langston hughes' poem "war and wisdom"
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I For the longest while I didn't think I had anything to say. Then, it occurred to me that maybe the problem was there was no one I wanted to say anything to. Now, I'm not so sure, either way, but I'm listening more mindfully, and hearing words yet unspoken, again and again, and with such resounding clarity at times that I am moved to write the thoughts I think I have heard II Part of my reluctance, if you could call it that, to be my own bellringer for the longest while, it was decades if a day, arises from the knowledge, of which I am fairly certain following years of informal field research into the issue, that it has indeed all been said before, and probably said better than my meager poetic means will ever come to muster. I saw no point, then, in being derivative, knowing well that was all I would ever be. III Any self-imposed silence, I knew, would be unoriginal. But I was no Stoic in my having-nothing-to-say, nor would I ever be confused with a silently suffering saint. Even with not a thing to say, I always found injustices to make noise about, if only to draw attention to my plight, which, to my recollective secondary sight looks as unfocused as it was unfounded, but at the time it seemed real and imposing enough for me to raise a serious stink about. IV What gives a bell its tone is not simply the material of which the chime is cast, which, otherwise arranged, would only clank or clang. Rather, it is the void defined by the placement of material wherein emerges the ringing.
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LOVE is patient;live is kind. Love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable- or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrong but rejoices in the right. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things, Love never ends. This is apart of a beautiful picture all set in pink roses in bloom that I had given my Dad long ago that has just came back to me. Sher-ing the love my Dad gave... to me, xo!
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Saved a blue jellybean todayFrom his arch-enemies Acid and enzymes Named him "Puddles" Put a collar on him And together we walked home Puddles has taken to his new Surroundings rather well And the neighbors just adore him But the only thing this Stubborn-ass, blue mule is good at Is "staying" So Puddles and I had a Heart-to-heart And cleared the air And from that gentle session, I learned If I breathe on Puddles just right.....just right He will ever so kindly oblige and "roll over" Awwwwwwwwwwwwww....... Sweet, blue Puddles You're a keeper -sl
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The Unknown Date It's of an uncontrollable time. There...just... to be waiting for Spring (sigh) I've not waited for the lush Earth the buds upon the Maple. I guess- ever, so I hath something new today in the cold. The frozen milky snow to all be drunk and the sweet breeze to dry the rocks and hills. Then on the true greens of the fertile soil the beginning of the end begins again.
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most often what I so dearly miss is that pure loving tender kiss the kind that came out of nowhere.. influenced by purpose the kind that could take a long day of my misery and melt it into a gently flowing stream of something other-worldly the kind that could make me feel like everything here on earth is exactly as everything should be the kind that softly silently profoundly cried out I love you and I care
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Full of mycelliumRichness of blue Comes right on cue.
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sittinghours on end glued to this screen ingesting beautiful poetry from the vault empty fridge laundry piled high blessed assured it's clearly all of you's thoughtful fault
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So beautiful are these writingsI've kept with a vast keeping of black and whites filled with greatness and nothingness- collectively. An excerpt from- THE PILLOW BOOK OF SEI SHONAGON TRANSLATED AND EDITED BY IVAN MORRIS I. In Spring It Is the Dawn In spring it is the dawn that is most beautiful. As the light creeps over the hills, their outlines are dyed a faint red and wisps of purplish cloud trail over them. In summer the nights. Not only when the moon shines, but on dark nights too, as the fireflies flit to and fro, and even when it rains, how beautiful it is! In autumn the evenings, when the glittering sun sinks close to the edge of the hills and the crows fly back to their nests in threes and fours and twos; more charming still is a file of wild geese, like specks in the distant sky. When the sun has set, one's heart is moved by the sound of the wind and the hum of the insects. In winter the early morning. It is beautiful indeed when snow has fallen during the night, but splendid too when the ground is white with frost; or even when there is no snow or frost, but it is simply very cold and the attendants hurry from room to room stirring up the fires and bringing charcoal, how well this fits the season's mood! But as noon approaches and the cold wears off, no one bothers to keep the braziers alight, and soon nothing remains but piles of white ashes. COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY PRESS NEW YORK