Poems from your favorite poets

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  • Ms. HaikuMs. Haiku Washington DCPosts: 7,015
    West Wind, 2, by Mary Oliver

    You are young. So you know everything. You leap
    into the boat and begin rowing. But, listen to me.
    Without fanfare, without embarrassment, without
    any doubt, I talk directly to your soul. Listen to me.
    Lift the oars from the water, let your arms rest, and
    your heart, and heart’s little intelligence, and listen to
    me. There is life without love. It is not worth a bent
    penny, or a scuffed shoe. It is not worth the body of a
    dead dog nine days unburied. When you hear, a mile
    away and still out of sight, the churn of the water
    as it begins to swirl and roil, fretting around the
    sharp rocks—when you hear that unmistakable
    pounding—when you feel the mist on your mouth
    and sense ahead the embattlement, the long falls
    plunging and steaming—then row, row for your life
    toward it.
    There is no such thing as leftover pizza. There is now pizza and later pizza. - anonymous
    The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math - The Mincing Mockingbird
  • Jason78Jason78 Posts: 384
    justam wrote:
    Byrnzie wrote:
    The Laughing Heart - Charles Bukowski

    your life is your life
    don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
    be on the watch.
    there are ways out.
    there is a light somewhere.
    it may not be much light but
    it beats the darkness.
    be on the watch.
    the gods will offer you chances.
    know them.
    take them.
    you can’t beat death but
    you can beat death in life, sometimes.
    and the more often you learn to do it,
    the more light there will be.
    your life is your life.
    know it while you have it.
    you are marvelous
    the gods wait to delight
    in you.

    I like this one!

    I second that.
  • LoulouLoulou Adelaide (the forgotten city)Posts: 6,221
    I was angry with my friend:
    I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
    I was angry with my foe:
    I told it not, my wrath did grow.

    And I watered it in fears,
    Night and morning with my tears;
    And I sunned it with smiles,
    And with soft deceitful wiles.

    And it grew both day and night,
    Till it bore an apple bright.
    And my foe beheld it shine.
    And he knew that it was mine,

    And into my garden stole
    When the night had veiled the pole;
    In the morning glad I see
    My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
    William Blake
    “ "Thank you Palestrina. It’s a wonderful evening, it’s great to be here and I wanna dedicate you a super sexy song." " (last words of Mark Sandman of Morphine)


    Adelaide 1998
    Adelaide 2003
    Adelaide 2006 night 1
    Adelaide 2006 night 2
    Adelaide 2009
    Melbourne 2009
    Christchurch NZ 2009
    Eddie Vedder, Adelaide 2011
    PJ20 USA 2011 night 1
    PJ20 USA 2011 night 2
    Adelaide BIG DAY OUT 2014
  • ByrnzieByrnzie Posts: 21,037
    Check this motherfucker out:

    http://nowheremag.com/2011/04/the-prose ... e-cendrar/

    Trans-Siberian Prose - Blaise Cendrars

    Back then I was still young
    I was barely sixteen but my childhood memories were gone
    I was 48,000 miles away from where I was born
    I was in Moscow, city of a thousand and three bell towers and seven
    train stations
    And the thousand and three towers and seven stations weren't enough
    for me
    Because I was such a hot and crazy teenager
    That my heart was burning like the Temple of Ephesus or like Red
    Square in Moscow
    At sunset
    And my eyes were shining down those old roads
    And I was already such a bad poet
    That I didn't know how to take it all the way.

    The Kremlin was like an immense Tartar cake
    Iced with gold
    With big blanched-almond cathedrals
    And the honey gold of the bells . . .
    An old monk was reading me the legend of Novgorod
    I was thirsty
    And I was deciphering cuneiform characters
    Then all at once the pigeons of the Holy Ghost flew up over the square
    And my hands flew up too, sounding like an albatross taking off
    And, well, that's the last I remember of the last day
    Of the very last trip
    And of the sea.

    Still, I was a really bad poet.
    I didn't know how to take it all the way.
    I was hungry
    And all those days and all those women in all those cafes and all those glasses

    I wanted to drink them down and break them
    And all those windows and all those streets
    And all those houses and all those lives
    And all those carriage wheels raising swirls from the broken pavement
    I would have liked to have rammed them into a roaring furnace
    And I would have liked to have ground up all their bones
    And ripped out all those tongues
    And liquefied all those big bodies naked and strange under clothes that

    drive me mad . . .

    I foresaw the coming of the big red Christ of the Russian Revolution . . .
    And the sun was an ugly sore
    Splitting apart like a red-hot coal.

    Back then I was still quite young
    I was barely sixteen but I'd already forgotten about where I was born
    I was in Moscow wanting to wolf down flames
    And there weren't enough of those towers and stations sparkling in my eyes

    In Siberia the artillery rumbled -- it was war
    Hunger cold plague cholera
    And the muddy waters of the Amur carrying along millions of corpses
    In every station I watched the last trains leave
    That's all: they weren't selling any more tickets
    And the soldiers would far rather have stayed . . .
    An old monk was singing me the legend of Novgorod.

    Me, the bad poet who wanted to go nowhere, I could go anywhere
    And of course the businessmen still had enough money
    To go out and seek their fortunes.
    Their train left every Friday morning.
    It sounded like a lot of people were dying.
    One guy took along a hundred cases of alarm clocks and cuckoo clocks
    from the Black Forest
    Another took hatboxes, stovepipes, and an assortment of Sheffield corkscrews
    Another, coffins from Malmo filled with canned goods and sardines in oil

    And there were a lot of women
    Women with vacant thighs for hire
    Who could also serve
    Coffins
    They were all licensed
    It sounded like a lot of people were dying out there
    The women traveled at a reduced fare
    And they all had bank accounts.

    Now, one Friday morning it was my turn to go
    It was in December
    And I left too, with a traveling jewel merchant on his way to Harbin
    We had two compartments on the express and 34 boxes of jewelry from Pforzheim

    German junk "Made in Germany"
    He had bought me some new clothes and I had lost a button getting on the train

    -- I remember, I remember, I've often thought about it since --

    I slept on the jewels and felt great playing with the nickel-plated Browning he had given me
    I was very happy and careless

    It was like Cops and Robbers
    We had stolen the treasure of Golconda
    And we were taking it on the Trans-Siberian to hide it on the other side of the world
    I had to guard it from the thieves in the Urals who had attacked the circus caravan in Jules Verne

    From the Khunkhuz, the Boxers of China
    And the angry little Mongols of the Great Lama
    Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves
    And the followers of the terrible Old Man of the Mountain
    And worst of all, the most modern
    The cat burglars
    And the specialists of the international express.
    And still, and still
    I was as sad as a little boy
    The rhythms of the train
    What American psychiatrists call "railroad nerves"
    The noise of doors voices axles screeching along frozen rails
    The golden thread of my future
    My Browning the piano the swearing of the card players in the next compartment

    The terrific presence of Jeanne
    The man in blue glasses nervously pacing up and down the corridor and glancing in at me
    Swishing of women
    And the whistle blowing
    And the eternal sound of the wheels wildly rolling along ruts in the sky
    The windows frosted over
    No nature!
    And out there the Siberian plains the low sky the big shadows of the Taciturns rising and falling

    I'm asleep in a tartan
    Plaid
    Like my life
    With my life keeping me no warmer than this Scotch
    Shawl
    And all of Europe seen through the wind-cutter of an express at top speed

    No richer than my life
    My poor life
    This shawl
    Frayed on strongboxes full of gold
    I roll along with
    Dream
    And smoke
    And the only flame in the universe
    Is a poor thought . . .

    Tears rise from the bottom of my heart
    If I think, O Love, of my mistress;
    She is but a child, whom I found, so pale
    And pure, in the back of a bordel.

    She is but a fair child who laughs,
    Is sad, doesn't smile, and never cries;
    But the poet's flower, the silver lily, trembles
    When she lets you see it in the depths of her eyes.

    She is sweet, says nothing you can hear,
    With a long, slow trembling when you draw near;
    But when I come to her, from here, from there,
    She takes a step and shuts her eyes -- and takes a step.

    For she is my love and other women
    Are but big bodies of flame sheathed in gold,
    My poor friend is so alone
    She is stark naked, has no body -- she's too poor.

    She is but an innocent flower, all thin and delicate,
    The poet's flower, a pathetic silver lily,
    So cold, so alone, and so wilted now
    That tears rise if I think of her heart.

    And this night is like a hundred thousand others when a train slips through the night

    -- Comets fall --

    And a man and a woman, no matter how young, enjoy making love.

    The sky is like the torn tent of a rundown circus in a little fishing village
    In Flanders
    The sun like a smoking lamp
    And way up on the trapeze a woman does a crescent moon
    The clarinet the trumpet a shrill flute a beat-up drum
    And here is my cradle
    My cradle
    It was always near the piano when my mother, like Madame Bovary,
    played Beethoven's sonatas

    I spent my childhood in the hanging gardens of Babylon
    Playing hooky, following the trains as they pulled out of the stations
    Now I've made the trains follow me
    Basel-Timbuktu
    I've played the horses at tracks like Auteuil and Longchamps
    Paris-New York
    Now the trains run alongside me
    Madrid-Stockholm
    Lost it all at the gay pari-mutuel
    Patagonia is what's left, Patagonia, which befits my immense sadness,
    Patagonia and a trip to the South Seas

    I'm on the road
    I've always been on the road
    I'm on the road with little Jeanne of France
    The train does a somersault and lands on all fours
    The train lands on its wheels
    The train always lands on all its wheels

    "Blaise, say, are we really a long way from Montmartre?"

    A long way, Jeanne, you've been rolling along for seven days
    You're a long way from Montmartre, from the Butte that brought you up, from the Sacré-Coeur you snuggled up to Paris has disappeared with its enormous blaze
    Everything gone except cinders flying back
    The rain falling
    The peat bogs swelling
    Siberia turning
    Heavy sheets of snow piling up
    And the bell of madness that jingles like a final desire in the bluish air
    The train throbs at the heart of the leaden horizon
    And your desolation snickers . . .

    "Say, Blaise, are we really a long way from Montmartre?"

    Troubles
    Forget your troubles
    All the cracked and leaning stations along the way
    The telegraph lines they hang from
    The grimacing poles that reach out to strangle them
    The world stretches out elongates and snaps back like an accordion in the hands of a raging sadist

    Wild locomotives fly through rips in the sky
    And in the holes
    The dizzying wheels the mouths the voices
    And the dogs of misery that bark at our heels
    The demons are unleashed
    Scrap iron
    Everything clanks
    Slightly off
    The clickety-clack of the wheels
    Lurches
    Jerks
    We are a storm in the skull of a deaf man . . .

    "Say, Blaise, are we really a long way from Montmartre?"

    Of course we are, stop bothering me, you know we are, a long way
    An overheated madness bellows in the locomotive
    Plague and cholera rise like burning embers around us
    We disappear right into a tunnel of war
    Hunger, that whore, clutches the clouds scattered across the sky and craps on the battlefield piles of stinking corpses

    Do what it does, do your job . . .

    "Say, Blaise, are we really a long way from Montmartre?"

    Yes, we are, we are
    All the scapegoats have swollen up and collapsed in this desert
    Listen to the cowbells of this mangy troop
    Tomsk Chelyabinsk Kansk Ob' Tayshet Verkne-Udinsk Kurgan Samara Penza-Tulun

    Death in Manchuria
    Is where we get off is our last stop
    This trip is terrible
    Yesterday morning
    Ivan Ulitch's hair turned white
    And Kolia Nikolai Ivanovitch has been biting his fingers for two weeks . . .

    Do what Death and Famine do, do your job
    It costs one hundred sous -- in Trans-Siberian that's one hundred rubles
    Fire up the seats and blush under the table
    The devil is at the keyboard
    His knotty fingers thrill all the women
    Instinct
    OK gals
    Do your job
    Until we get to Harbin . . .

    "Say, Blaise, are we really a long way from Montmartre?"

    No, hey . . . Stop bothering me . . . Leave me alone
    Your pelvis sticks out
    Your belly's sour and you have the clap
    The only thing Paris laid in your lap
    And there's a little soul . . . because you're unhappy
    I feel sorry for you come here to my heart
    The wheels are windmills in the land of Cockaigne
    And the windmills are crutches a beggar whirls over his head
    We are the amputees of space
    We move on our four wounds
    Our wings have been clipped
    The wings of our seven sins
    And the trains are all the devil's toys
    Chicken coop
    The modern world
    Speed is of no use
    The modern world
    The distances are too far away
    And at the end of a trip it's horrible to be a man with a woman . . .

    "Blaise, say, are we really a long way from Montmartre?"

    I feel so sorry for you come here I'm going to tell you a story
    Come get in my bed
    Put your head on my shoulder
    I'm going to tell you a story . . .

    Oh come on!

    It's always spring in the Fijis
    You lay around
    The lovers swoon in the high grass and hot syphilis drifts among the banana trees

    Come to the lost islands of the Pacific!
    Names like Phoenix, the Marquesas
    Borneo and Java
    And Celebes shaped like a cat

    We can't go to Japan
    Come to Mexico!
    Tulip trees flourish on the high plateaus
    Clinging vines hang down like hair from the sun
    It's as if the brushes and palette of a painter
    Had used colors stunning as gongs--
    Rousseau was there
    It dazzled him forever
    It's a great bird country
    The bird of paradise the lyre bird
    The toucan the mockingbird
    And the hummingbird nests in the heart of the black lily
    Come!
    We'll love each other in the majestic ruins of an Aztec temple
    You'll be my idol
    Splashed with color childish slightly ugly and really weird
    Oh come!

    If you want we'll take a plane and fly over the land of the thousand lakes
    The nights there are outrageously long
    The sound of the engine will scare our prehistoric ancestors
    I'll land
    And build a hangar out of mammoth fossils
    The primitive fire will rekindle our poor love
    Samovar
    And we'll settle down like ordinary folks near the pole
    Oh come!

    Jeanne Jeannette my pet my pot my poot
    My me mama poopoo Peru
    Peepee cuckoo
    Ding ding my dong
    Sweet pea sweet flea sweet bumblebee
    Chickadee beddy-bye
    Little dove my love
    Little cookie-nookie
    Asleep.

    She's asleep
    And she hasn't taken in a thing the whole way
    All those faces glimpsed in the stations
    All the clocks
    Paris time Berlin time Saint Petersburg time all those stations' times
    And at Ufa the bloody face of the cannoneer
    And the absurdly luminous dial at Grodno
    And the train moving forward endlessly
    Every morning you set your watch ahead
    The train moves forward and the sun loses time It's no use! I hear the bells
    The big bell at Notre-Dame
    The sharp bell at the Louvre that rang on Saint Bartholomew's Day
    The rusty carillons of Bruges-the-Dead
    The electric bells of the New York Public Library
    The campaniles of Venice
    And the bells of Moscow ringing, the clock at Red Gate that kept time
    for me when I was working in an office

    And my memories
    The train thunders into the roundhouse
    The train rolls along
    A gramophone blurts out a tinny Bohemian march
    And the world, like the hands of the clock in the Jewish section of Prague, turns wildly backwards.

    Cast caution to the winds
    Now the storm is raging
    And the trains storm over tangled tracks
    Infernal toys
    There are trains that never meet
    Others just get lost
    The stationmasters play chess
    Backgammon
    Shoot pool
    Carom shots
    Parabolas
    The railway system is a new geometry
    Syracuse
    Archimedes
    And the soldiers who butchered him
    And the galleys
    And the warships
    And the astounding engines he invented
    And all that killing
    Ancient history
    Modern history
    Vortex
    Shipwreck
    Even that of the Titanic I read about in the paper
    So many associations images I can't get into my poem
    Because I'm still such a really bad poet
    Because the universe rushes over me
    And I didn't bother to insure myself against train wreck
    Because I don't know how to take it all the way
    And I'm scared.

    I'm scared
    I don't know how to take it all the way.
    Like my friend Chagall I could do a series of irrational paintings
    But I didn't take notes
    "Forgive my ignorance
    Pardon my forgetting how to play the ancient game of Verse"
    As Guillaume Apollinaire says
    If you want to know anything about the war read Kuropotkin's Memoirs
    Or the Japanese newspapers with their ghastly illustrations
    But why compile a bibliography
    I give up
    Bounce back into my leaping memory . . .

    At Irkutsk the trip suddenly slows down
    Really drags
    We were the first train to wind around Lake Baikal
    The locomotive was decked out with flags and lanterns
    And we had left the station to the sad sound of "God Save the Czar."
    If I were a painter I would splash lots of red and yellow over the end of this trip

    Because I think we were all slightly crazy
    And that an overwhelming delirium brought blood to the exhausted faces of my traveling companions

    As we came closer to Mongolia
    Which roared like a forest fire.
    The train had slowed down
    And in the perpetual screeching of wheels I heard
    The insane sobbing and screaming
    Of an eternal liturgy

    I saw
    I saw the silent trains the black trains returning from the Far East and going by like phantoms
    And my eyes, like taillights, are still trailing along behind those trains
    At Talga 100,000 wounded were dying with no help coming
    I went to the hospitals in Krasnoyarsk
    And at Khilok we met a long convoy of soldiers gone insane
    I saw in quarantine gaping sores and wounds with blood gushing out
    And the amputated limbs danced around or flew up in the raw air
    Fire was in their faces and in their hearts
    Idiot fingers drumming on all the windowpanes
    And under the pressure of fear an expression would burst like an abcess
    In all the stations they had set fire to all the cars
    And I saw
    I saw trains with 60 locomotives streaking away chased by hot horizons and desperate crows
    Disappearing
    In the direction of Port Arthur.

    At Chita we had a few days' rest
    A five-day stop while they cleared the tracks
    We stayed with Mr. Iankelevitch who wanted me to marry his only daughter

    Then it was time to go.
    Now I was the one playing the piano and I had a toothache
    And when I want I can see it all again those quiet rooms the store and the eyes of the daughter who slept with me every night

    Mussorgsky
    And the lieder of Hugo Wolf
    And the sands of the Gobi Desert
    And at Khailar a caravan of white camels
    I'd swear I was drunk for over 300 miles
    But I was playing the piano -- it's all I saw
    You should close your eyes on a trip
    And sleep
    I was dying to sleep

    With my eyes closed I can smell what country I'm in
    And I can hear what kind of train is going by
    European trains are in 4/4 while the Asian ones are 5/4 or 7/4
    Others go humming along are like lullabies
    And there are some whose wheels' monotone reminds me of the heavy prose of Maeterlinck

    I deciphered all the garbled texts of the wheels and united the scattered
    elements of a violent beauty
    Which I possess
    And which drives me

    Tsitsihar and Harbin
    That's as far as I go
    The last station
    I stepped off the train at Harbin a minute after they had set fire to the Red Cross office.

    O Paris

    Great warm hearth with the intersecting embers of your streets and your
    old houses leaning over them for warmth

    Like grandmothers
    And here are posters in red in green all colors like my past in a word

    yellow

    Yellow the proud color of the novels of France
    In big cities I like to rub elbows with the buses as they go by
    Those of the Saint-Germain-Montmartre line that carry me to the assault of the Butte

    The motors bellow like golden bulls
    The cows of dusk graze on Sacré-Coeur
    O Paris
    Main station where desires arrive at the crossroads of restlessness
    Now only the paint store has a little light on its door
    The International Pullman and Great European Express Company has sent me its brochure

    It's the most beautiful church in the world
    I have friends who surround me like guardrails
    They're afraid that when I leave I'll never come back

    All the women I've ever known appear around me on the horizon
    Holding out their arms and looking like sad lighthouses in the rain
    Bella, Agnes, Catherine, and the mother of my son in Italy
    And she who is the mother of my love in America
    Sometimes the cry of a whistle tears me apart
    Over in Manchuria a belly is still heaving, as if giving birth
    I wish
    I wish I'd never started traveling
    Tonight a great love is driving me out of my mind
    And I can't help thinking about little Jeanne of France.
    It's through a sad night that I've written this poem in her honor
    Jeanne
    The little prostitute
    I'm sad so sad
    I'm going to the Lapin Agile to remember my lost youth again
    Have a few drinks
    And come back home alone

    Paris

    City of the incomparable Tower the great Gibbet and the Wheel


    Paris, 1913


    ‘What a writer learns from Cendrars is to follow his nose, to obey life’s commands, to worship no other god but life.’Henry Miller
    "It's not the daily increase but daily decrease. Hack away at the unessential." - Bruce Lee

    "Don't ride on me man, ride with me" - Byrnzie on LSD

    "Ed Vedder? He sounds like the song of the North West sung by Chief Broom in the body of R.P McMurphy." - Byrnzie
  • stipe19stipe19 Posts: 237
    Little kids shoot marbles
    Where the branches break the sun

    Into graceful shafts of light...
    I just want to be pure

    By Jim Carroll
  • justamjustam Posts: 21,301
    stipe19 wrote:
    Little kids shoot marbles
    Where the branches break the sun

    Into graceful shafts of light...
    I just want to be pure

    By Jim Carroll

    :thumbup:
    &&&&&&&&&&&&&&
  • mikalinamikalina Posts: 7,206
    A Quite Tear

    a tear trickles down the side of a face
    haphazardly
    not knowing why it was shed

    skirting across the cheek
    it hangs on the lip for one last precarious moment
    watery fingers clinging to beloved flesh

    till strength gives way
    a precipitate falling to the floor
    quietly

    without notice or distinction
    disappearing into the dark warmth of the wood
    no vestige of joy or pain

    to mark its passing....


    Laurence Overmire
    ********************************************************************************************* image
  • mikalinamikalina Posts: 7,206
    Alaskan Farewell



    The mountains stand there still.
    Towering giants in rocky armor
    Royal sentinels of the Alaskan Guard.

    Thick green their tunics of birch and pine
    Sheer white their helmets of sun-beaming snow
    And icy sabers in crystal scabbards
    Hang from earthen belts of blackened sod.

    There in the dusk of violet shadow
    The piercing eye can see
    The deepening crevices of countless centuries
    Etched in those imperious faces
    Of glacier-hewn stone.

    But my time is gone

    Turned to dust in the arctic wind
    And no more
    My eyes behold imperial splendor
    No more my heart sing in the stinging cold
    Free from the smoke of city steel.

    Yes I did sing
    Once.
    My winged spirit sailed o’er those rocky crags
    And flew unbounded toward the low-lying sun.

    Full in the face of the golden moon
    My heart cried exultantly in the blue-diamond night
    To hear the silence of a time-stopped river
    Frozen in starlight on the ground below.

    Yet a memory lives
    When reality dies
    And there in the darkness of a Brooklyn street
    I will remember
    And sing again
    For the mountains stand there still....


    Laurence Overmire
    ********************************************************************************************* image
  • Meg8686Meg8686 Posts: 1,234
    Warning -Jenny Joseph

    When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
    With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
    And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
    And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
    I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
    And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
    And run my stick along the public railings
    And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
    I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
    And pick flowers in other people's gardens
    And learn to spit.

    You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
    And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
    Or only bread and pickle for a week
    And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

    But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
    And pay our rent and not swear in the street
    And set a good example for the children.
    We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

    But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
    So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
    When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
    Sometimes I speak of nothing at all.
  • mikalinamikalina Posts: 7,206
    Love the fact he was born here in Ohio...

    Another Cup of Tea?

    There are poets
    In comfortable houses
    Clean beds
    Who write of grass and trees and
    Flowers
    They sing melodies that concord
    On tuneful ears
    Sing babies to sleep
    And say

    All the world is well.

    ‘Twould be nice to be
    Such a poet
    To not know and not care
    Not really
    Not seeing, not dreaming
    Not alive, not dead
    Just falling
    Like a green leaf on a
    Summer’s day....

    Laurence Overmire
    ********************************************************************************************* image
  • justamjustam Posts: 21,301
    "Who You Are"

    come to send, not condescend
    transcendental consequence
    is to transcend where we are
    who are we? who we are
    trampled moss on your souls
    changes all you're a part
    seen it all, not at all
    can't defend fucked up man
    take me a for a ride before we leave...
    circumstance, clapping hands
    driving winds, happenstance
    off the track, in the mud
    that's the moss in the aforementioned verse
    just a little time, before we leave...
    stop light plays its part
    so i would say you've got a part
    what's your part? who you are
    you are who, who you are
    &&&&&&&&&&&&&&
  • rollingsrollings unknownPosts: 6,728
    justam wrote:
    "Who You Are"

    come to send, not condescend
    transcendental consequence
    is to transcend where we are
    who are we? who we are
    trampled moss on your souls
    changes all you're a part
    seen it all, not at all
    can't defend fucked up man
    take me a for a ride before we leave...
    circumstance, clapping hands
    driving winds, happenstance
    off the track, in the mud
    that's the moss in the aforementioned verse
    just a little time, before we leave...
    stop light plays its part
    so i would say you've got a part
    what's your part? who you are
    you are who, who you are

    LOVE IT
  • mikalinamikalina Posts: 7,206
    These pools that, though in forests, still reflect
    The total sky almost without defect,
    And like the flowers beside them, chill and shiver,
    Will like the flowers beside them soon be gone,
    And yet not out by any brook or river,
    But up by roots to bring dark foliage on....

    The trees that have it in their pent-up buds
    To darken nature and be summer woods --
    Let them think twice before they use their powers
    To blot out and drink up and sweep away
    These flowery waters and these watery flowers
    From snow that melted only yesterday.....
    ********************************************************************************************* image
  • rollingsrollings unknownPosts: 6,728
    Higher far,
    Upward, into the pure realm,
    Over sun or star,
    Over the flickering Dæmon film,
    Thou must mount for love,—
    Into vision which all form
    In one only form dissolves;
    In a region where the wheel,
    On which all beings ride,
    Visibly revolves;
    Where the starred eternal worm
    Girds the world with bound and term;
    Where unlike things are like,
    When good and ill,
    And joy and moan,
    Melt into one.
    There Past, Present, Future, shoot
    Triple blossoms from one root
    Substances at base divided
    In their summits are united,
    There the holy Essence rolls,
    One through separated souls,
    And the sunny Æon sleeps
    Folding nature in its deeps,
    And every fair and every good
    Known in part or known impure
    To men below,
    In their archetypes endure.

    The race of gods,
    Or those we erring own,
    Are shadows flitting up and down
    In the still abodes.
    The circles of that sea are laws,
    Which publish and which hide the Cause.
    Pray for a beam
    Out of that sphere
    Thee to guide and to redeem.
    O what a load
    Of care and toil
    By lying Use bestowed,
    From his shoulders falls, who sees
    The true astronomy,
    The period of peace!
    Counsel which the ages kept,
    Shall the well-born soul accept.
    As the overhanging trees
    Fill the lake with images,
    As garment draws the garment's hem
    Men their fortunes bring with them;
    By right or wrong,
    Lands and goods go to the strong;
    Property will brutely draw
    Still to the proprietor,
    Silver to silver creep and wind,
    And kind to kind,
    Nor less the eternal poles
    Of tendency distribute souls.
    There need no vows to bind
    Whom not each other seek but find.
    They give and take no pledge or oath,
    Nature is the bond of both.
    No prayer persuades, no flattery fawns,
    Their noble meanings are their pawns.
    Plain and cold is their address,
    Power have they for tenderness,
    And so thoroughly is known
    Each others' purpose by his own,
    They can parley without meeting,
    Need is none of forms of greeting,
    They can well communicate
    In their innermost estate;
    When each the other shall avoid,
    Shall each by each be most enjoyed.
    Not with scarfs or perfumed gloves
    Do these celebrate their loves,
    Not by jewels, feasts, and savors,
    Not by ribbons or by favors,
    But by the sun-spark on the sea,
    And the cloud-shadow on the lea,
    The soothing lapse of morn to mirk,
    And the cheerful round of work.
    Their cords of love so public are,
    They intertwine the farthest star.
    The throbbing sea, the quaking earth,
    Yield sympathy and signs of mirth;
    Is none so high, so mean is none,
    But feels and seals this union.
    Even the tell Furies are appeased,
    The good applaud, the lost are eased.

    Love's hearts are faithful, but not fond,
    Bound for the just, but not beyond;
    Not glad, as the low-loving herd,
    Of self in others still preferred,
    But they have heartily designed
    The benefit of broad mankind.
    And they serve men austerely,
    After their own genius, clearly,
    Without a false humility;
    For this is love's nobility,
    Not to scatter bread and gold,
    Goods and raiment bought and sold,
    But to hold fast his simple sense,
    And speak the speech of innocence,
    And with hand, and body, and blood,
    To make his bosom-counsel good:
    For he that feeds men, serveth few,
    He serves all, who dares be true.

    Celestial Love
    Ralph Waldo Emerson
  • mikalinamikalina Posts: 7,206
    Broken Love

    MY Spectre around me night and day
    Like a wild beast guards my way;
    My Emanation far within
    Weeps incessantly for my sin.

    ‘A fathomless and boundless deep,
    There we wander, there we weep;
    On the hungry craving wind
    My Spectre follows thee behind.

    ‘He scents thy footsteps in the snow
    Wheresoever thou dost go,
    Thro’ the wintry hail and rain.
    When wilt thou return again?

    ’Dost thou not in pride and scorn
    Fill with tempests all my morn,
    And with jealousies and fears
    Fill my pleasant nights with tears?

    ‘Seven of my sweet loves thy knife
    Has bereavèd of their life.
    Their marble tombs I built with tears,
    And with cold and shuddering fears.

    ‘Seven more loves weep night and day
    Round the tombs where my loves lay,
    And seven more loves attend each night
    Around my couch with torches bright.

    ‘And seven more loves in my bed
    Crown with wine my mournful head,
    Pitying and forgiving all
    Thy transgressions great and small.

    ‘When wilt thou return and view
    My loves, and them to life renew?
    When wilt thou return and live?
    When wilt thou pity as I forgive?’

    ‘O’er my sins thou sit and moan:
    Hast thou no sins of thy own?
    O’er my sins thou sit and weep,
    And lull thy own sins fast asleep.

    ‘What transgressions I commit
    Are for thy transgressions fit.
    They thy harlots, thou their slave;
    And my bed becomes their grave.

    ‘Never, never, I return:
    Still for victory I burn.
    Living, thee alone I’ll have;
    And when dead I’ll be thy grave.

    ‘Thro’ the Heaven and Earth and Hell
    Thou shalt never, quell:
    I will fly and thou pursue:
    Night and morn the flight renew.’

    ‘Poor, pale, pitiable form
    That I follow in a storm;
    Iron tears and groans of lead
    Bind around my aching head.

    ‘Till I turn from Female love
    And root up the Infernal Grove,
    I shall never worthy be
    To step into Eternity.

    ‘And, to end thy cruel mocks,
    Annihilate thee on the rocks,
    And another form create
    To be subservient to my fate.

    ‘Let us agree to give up love,
    And root up the Infernal Grove;
    Then shall we return and see
    The worlds of happy Eternity.

    ‘And throughout all Eternity
    I forgive you, you forgive me.
    As our dear Redeemer said:
    “This the Wine, and this the Bread.”’
    ********************************************************************************************* image
  • mikalinamikalina Posts: 7,206
    The worlds longest poem... ;)
    *****************************************************************************************
    Only in Life
    Nikhil Parekh

    Every star in the wonderfully resplendent cosmos; may
    or may not enthrallingly shine,
    And every thing on this Universe that flamboyantly
    shines; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    STAR..

    Every flower sprouting from fathomless kilometers of
    land; may or may not diffuse rhapsodic fragrance,
    And every thing on this Universe that is seductively
    fragrant; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    FLOWER...

    Every cloud in the voluptuously crimson sky; may or
    may not pelt tantalizing droplets of golden rain,
    And every thing on this Universe that is enigmatically
    misty; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    CLOUD...

    Every tree on bountifully fertile soil; may or may not
    blossom into an astounding flurry of succulent fruit,
    And every thing on this Universe that spawns into
    countless of its kind; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as a TREE...

    Every battlefield on vindictively belligerent mud; may
    or may not metamorphose into the ultimate victory of
    mankind,
    And every thing on this Universe that massacres and
    indiscriminately sucks blood; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as a BATTLEFIELD...

    Every clock that incessantly functions for centuries
    immemorial; may or may not transit you into
    incredulously ravishing waves of untamed nostalgia,
    And every thing on this Universe that monotonously
    ticks; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    CLOCK...

    Every lion philandering rampantly through the
    profusely robust jungles; may or may not be a
    man-eater,
    And every thing on this Universe; that was
    vociferously ferocious; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as LION...

    Every hive sandwiched amidst the magnificently royal
    foliage; may or may not be boisterously buzzing,
    And every thing on this Universe; that was melodiously
    chattering and sweet; could not be irrefutably termed
    as; only a HIVE...

    Every eye majestically embossed in the sockets of the
    charismatically alluring face; may or may not be
    emphatic,
    And every thing on this Universe with poignantly
    gushing tears; could not be irrefutably termed; only
    as an EYE...

    Every salubrious coconut suspended from the branches;
    may or may not harbor ingratiatingly sweet water in
    its belly,
    And every thing on this Universe that was obdurately
    hard; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    COCONUT..


    Every dungeon countless kilometers beneath soil; may
    or may not harbor an unfathomable conglomerate of
    snakes,
    And every thing on this Universe as dark as the
    ghastly night; could not be irrefutably termed; only
    as a DUNGEON...

    Every stream voluptuously cascading through the
    mountains; may or may not be culminating into ecstatic
    froth,
    And every bit of water wandering freely on this
    Universe; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    STREAM...

    Every song captivatingly floating through the
    surreally mesmerizing atmosphere; may or may not
    convey the message profoundly imbibed within,
    And every voice that emanated on this Universe; could
    not be irrefutably termed; only as a SONG...

    Every thorn surreptitiously creeping from nimble
    covers of soil; may or may not acrimoniously
    infiltrate into innocuous skin,
    And every thing on this Universe that was piquantly
    sharp; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    THORN...

    Every wind exuberantly blowing across the gorgeous
    valley; may or may not strike the rocks,
    And every draught of euphoric air on this Universe;
    could not be irrefutably termed; only as WIND...

    Every chili tangily extruding from immaculate layers
    of soil; may or may not turbulently sting the tongue,
    And every thing on this Universe that was thunderously
    spicy; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    CHILI...

    Every spider fabulously slithering through its sticky
    web; may or may not inhabit the same for a fathomless
    lifetimes,
    And every thing on this Universe that was intractably
    sticky and entangled; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as a SPIDER...


    Every hill rising splendidly above mundane soil; may
    or may not have its summit kissing the absolute zenith
    of the rosy clouds,
    And every thing on this Universe that was the top most
    storied; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    HILL...

    Every egg left completely solitary by itself; may or
    may not hatch into an immaculately divine fledgling,
    And every thing on this Universe that was oval and
    pearly white; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    an EGG...

    Every milestone enthusiastically stretching beyond
    realms of imagination; may or may not evoke
    inscrutable pleasure,
    And every thing on this Universe that was delightfully
    delirious; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    MILESTONE...

    Every mark ardently embossed since birth on the body;
    may or may not prove to be astonishingly auspicious,
    And every thing on this Universe that was holy and
    holistic; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    MARK....

    Every peacock dancing under zealously thundering rain;
    may or may not make you entirely oblivious to all
    other activities on earth,
    And every thing on this Universe that was iridescently
    feathered; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    PEACOCK...

    Every shadow shimmering uncontrollably like a new born
    prince; may or may not cast a spell upon your drearily
    sagging countenance,
    And every thing on this Universe that was tranquilly
    enchanting; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    SHADOW...

    Every wine bubbling furtively in marvelously crystal
    glass; may or may not intoxicate you beyond sagacious
    control; as you guzzled it down with wild frenzy,
    And every thing on this Universe that was viciously
    inebriating; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    WINE...

    Every snake charismatically slithering through the
    jungles; may or may not incarcerate you in an
    enclosure of unending mysticism,
    And every thing on this Universe that was ominously
    hissing; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    SNAKE...

    Every nail agglutinated to the gigantic wall; may or
    may not disdainfully rust as time unfurls,
    And every thing on this Universe that was piquantly
    pointed; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    NAIL...

    Every slave heinously lambasted by its dictatorial
    master; may or may not yield wholesomely to his
    commands,
    And every thing on this Universe that was
    painstakingly persevering under the Sun; could not be
    irrefutably termed; only as a SLAVE...

    Every joke ridiculously bizarre and funny; may or may
    not invoke pools of unlimited laughter,
    And every thing on this Universe that made you smile;
    could not be irrefutably termed; only as a JOKE....

    Every destiny enigmatically encompassed within the
    palms; may or may not lead to the unequivocal gates of
    prosperity,
    And every thing on this Universe that vacillatingly
    truant; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    DESTINY...

    Every hair that was unsurpassably old; may or may not
    be grizzly white in color,
    And everything on this Universe that was insipidly
    tender follicle; could not be irrefutably termed; only
    as a HAIR...

    Every precariously poised knife; may or may not
    barbarically deprive a person of vibrant life,
    And everything on this Universe that was menacingly
    gleaming; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    KNIFE....

    Every blade of alluringly enchanting grass; may or may
    not buckle capriciously under the violently
    overwhelming storm,
    And everything on this Universe that was spawning
    bountifully from soil; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as GRASS....

    Every garland blooming into a festoon of unparalleled
    chivalry; may or may not impart fathomless
    grandiloquence,
    And every thing on this Universe that was profusely
    decorated; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    GARLAND...

    Every crocodile hideously writhing in the marshes; may
    or may not pulverize its prey eloping rapidly through
    the dense bushes,
    And every thing on this Universe that was rustically
    serrated skinned; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as a CROCODILE...

    Every telephone celestially ringing; may or may not
    bring to you the message you forever desired,
    And every thing on this Universe that was vibrantly
    humming; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    TELEPHONE...

    Every toy frolicking gregariously in the playful
    showroom; may or may not transit you back to realms of
    innocuous childhood,
    And every thing on this Universe that was innocently
    bouncing; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    CHILD...

    Every bell gloriously ringing in the holy temple; may
    or may not bequeath upon you the entire richness of
    this globe,
    And every thing on this Universe that rapped with an
    enchanting sound; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as a BELL.


    Every roof compactly stitched with brazen straw and
    rubicund brick; may or may not sequester you
    perpetually from the satanically speeding storm,
    And every thing on this Universe that imparted
    transient shelter; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as a ROOF....

    Every dewdrop emphatically radiating as the first rays
    of dawn kissed blue sky; may or may not be pacify the
    scorching trauma in your throat,
    And every thing on this Universe that was fabulously
    slippery; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    DEW DROP...

    Every rope fantastically knotted into boundless folds;
    may or may not catapult you to the ultimate summits of
    your life,
    And every thing on this Universe that was tenaciously
    curled; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    ROPE....

    Every pilot exuberantly whistling past the scenery;
    may or may not crash against the sinister faade of
    acrid rocks,
    And every thing on this Universe that was flying like
    a rocket; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    PILOT....

    Every crab cunningly crawling on the placidly nestling
    shores; may or may inject its vindictive sting into
    immaculate flesh,
    And every thing on this Universe that was
    surreptitiously sauntering; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as a CRAB...


    Every rivulet of crimson blood circulating through
    countless humans; may or may not be philanthropic,
    And every thing on this Universe that was ardently
    red; could not be irrefutably termed; only as BLOOD...

    Every embellished king seated on the scintillating
    throne; may or may not be a dispenser of celestial
    justice,
    And every thing on this Universe which was
    unequivocally princely; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as KING...

    Every earthquake devastating to the most horrifically
    abominable core; may or may not swipe civilizations in
    its uncouthly treacherous swirl,
    And every thing on this Universe which was resonating
    cataclysmically; could not be irrefutably termed; only
    as an EARTHQUAKE...

    Every ocean ebulliently undulating under milky beams
    of moonlight; may or may not drown ships in its savage
    bottom,
    And every thing on this Universe that was
    mischievously salty; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as OCEAN...

    Every opulently inspiring piano when delectably
    strung; may or may not strike an intimate chord with
    hearts obliviously strewn around,
    And every thing on this Universe that rhythmically
    rose and fell in a titillating cadence; could not be
    irrefutably termed; only as PIANO...

    Every ingenious idea blossoming in the brain; may or
    may not lead to the pinnacle of astronomically
    irrevocable success,
    And every thing on this Universe that intransigently
    dreamt; could not be irrefutably termed; only as an
    IDEA...

    Every philanthropist incorporating the mission to save
    humanity in his soul; may or may not reach the most
    despicably shivering quarters of this colossal planet,
    And every thing on this Universe that was supremely
    chivalrous; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    PHILANTHROPIST...

    Every story deluged with overwhelming romance and
    enigma; may or may not evoke the intrinsic catharsis
    of the persona,
    And every thing on this Universe that was an
    incredulous adventure; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as a STORY....

    Every wink flirtatiously executed; may or may not lead
    lovers to the bridge of clandestine absconding,
    And every thing on this Universe which was even the
    slightest closure of the eye; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as a WINK...

    Every woman vividly enamoring; may or may not trigger
    inferno's of raw desire through lackadaisical
    ingredients of insipid blood,
    And every thing on this Universe that was unbelievably
    beautiful; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    WOMAN...


    Every castle embedded with exotically evoking royalty;
    may or may not give you the ultimate gratification of
    your diminutive life,
    And every thing on this Universe that was
    aristocratically splendid; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as a CASTLE...

    Every chunk of wood floating nonchalantly through
    water; may or may not decay towards corridors of
    obsolete extinction,
    And every thing on this Universe that was
    opprobriously rotting; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as WOOD...

    Every cow reigning supremely in an entrenchment of
    divinity; may or may not alleviate the lives of
    neglected urchins,
    And every thing on this Universe that was gloriously
    shining milk; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    a COW...

    Every prejudice stinkingly pulverizing its enemies to
    infinitesimal ash; may or may not swipe civilization
    from its very roots,
    And every thing on this Universe that was turbulently
    angry; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    PREJUDICE...

    Every dog satanically galloping through the
    insidiously empty streets; may or may not find its
    robustly juicy bone,
    And every thing on this Universe that was diabolically
    barking; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    DOG...

    Every terrorist pledging to finish blissful human race
    like a horde of inconsequential flies; may or may not
    manifest his cowardly mission into a veritable truth,
    And every thing on this Universe that was abhorrent
    malice; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    TERRORIST....

    Every whisper magnetically caressing the placid winds;
    may or may not weave a tale of sensuously inexplicable
    compassion,
    And every thing on this Universe that was gently
    diffusing; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    WHISPER...

    Every insect irascibly hovering around celestial
    beings; may or may not accomplish its task of
    fomenting irritation,
    And every thing on this Universe that pertinently
    pinches you; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    an INSECT....

    Every game evoking rhapsodic sensations of
    unprecedented exhilaration; may or may not linger in
    memory for eternal times,
    And every thing on this Universe that was joyously
    interacting; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    a GAME...

    Every cat fretting in frustrating starvation; may or
    may not get a chance to smack its spout with heavenly
    milk,
    And every thing on this Universe that was cleverly
    awaiting its chance; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as a CAT....

    Every beggar wailing on the tyrannical streets; may or
    may not appease his gluttony to the epitome of his
    appeasing contentment,
    And every thing on this Universe that was spreading
    its palms; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    BEGGAR....

    Every kite soaring handsomely in fathomless bits of
    sky; may or may not escalate above the euphoric
    clouds,
    And every thing on this Universe that was ecstatically
    flying; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    KITE...

    Every bird flapping ravishingly through the boundless
    skies; may or may not be a harbinger of unparalleled
    peace and divinely brotherhood,
    And every thing on this Universe that was
    wholeheartedly free; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as BIRD...

    Every robot fantastically evolved for meticulous
    perfection; may or may not someday; substitute its
    counterparts of the human kind,
    And every thing on this Universe that was mechanically
    monotonous; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    ROBOT...

    Every color vivaciously trespassing dazzling space;
    may or may not seduce you into a cavern of everlasting
    yearning,
    And every thing on this Universe that was vividly
    contrasting; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    COLOR...

    Every Herculean muscle enveloping tenacious shoulders;
    may or may not surge forward to uplift despondently
    bereaved humanity,
    And every thing on this Universe that was formidably
    strong; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    MUSCLE..

    Every parrot squawking animatedly in its cage; may or
    may not replicate its master word for word; alike,
    And every thing on this Universe that was relentlessly
    chattering; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    PARROT...

    Every mother compassionately hugging her child all
    throughout the day; may or may not be able to instill
    in him the benign ideals of existence,
    And every thing on this Universe that was protecting
    you from disaster; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as MOTHER...

    Every gigantically inflated balloon lingering in air;
    may or may not burst; when vigorously pecked by the
    woodpeckers,
    And every thing on this Universe that fulminated with
    a prolific bang; could not be irrefutably termed; only
    as a BALLOON...

    Every cloth marvelously woven of exquisite Persian
    wool; may or may not sequester you from the hideously
    blowing winds of torrential winter,
    And every thing on this Universe which was worn all
    night and day; could not be irrefutably termed; only
    as CLOTH...

    Every gladiator adorned patriotically; may or may not
    snatch triumph for his sacrosanct motherland,
    And every thing on this Universe that was blazingly
    brave; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    GLADIATOR...

    Every picture woven with thrill and melodramatic
    excitement; may or may not penetrate emphatically
    through common masses,
    And every thing on this Universe that was stupendously
    entertaining; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    a PICTURE...

    Every pen inundated with gallons of overwhelmingly
    volatile ink; may or may not spin countless lines of
    fascinatingly sparkling calligraphy,
    And every thing on this Universe that was spotlessly
    written; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    PEN..

    Every fortress invincibly impregnated with a festoon
    of scarlet bricks; may or may not defend the most
    mightiest of attacks,
    And every thing on this Universe that was towering in
    unbelievable charisma; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as FORTRESS....

    Every spring magnificently coiled into intricately
    glistening folds; may or may not bounce back beyond
    the realms of infinite infinity,
    And every thing on this Universe that was
    insurmountably spongy; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as a SPRING...

    Every mirror embedded in oligarchic chicory rosewood;
    may or may not candidly reflect; the inner most voice
    entrapped intensely in the soul,
    And every thing on this Universe that explicitly
    divulges; could not be irrefutably termed; as only a
    MIRROR...

    Every line drawn exotically on seductively simmering
    soil; may or may not reach its ultimate goal,
    And every thing that was pragmatically straight; could
    not be irrefutably termed; as only a LINE....

    Every amicable lip blending uninhibitedly with all
    benevolent alike; may or may not blossom into an
    astoundingly tantalizing smile,
    And every thing on this Universe that was chortling
    into wildly desirous guffaws; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as a LIP...

    Every desert sizzling ruthlessly under the invidiously
    flaming Sun; may or may not witness the most
    inconspicuous trace of green in its entire life,
    And every thing on this Universe which was just
    specks of dust; could not be irrefutably termed; only
    as a DESERT....


    Every loudspeaker blaring ferociously through the
    atmosphere; may or may not spread its voice to the
    most remotest corner of this Universe,
    And every thing on this Universe that was vociferously
    squealing; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    LOUDSPEAKER...

    Every swimming pool shimmering under pearly moonlight;
    may or may not entice boisterously bubbling youth in
    its serenely glistening lap,
    And every thing on this Universe that was tepidly blue
    water; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    SWIMMING POOL....

    Every skin glowing in perennial flavor of robust
    health; may or may not wrinkle profusely with
    inevitably advancing age,
    And every thing on this Universe that was blushing
    complexion; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    SKIN...

    Every curtain majestically sprawled across the window;
    may or may not sequester the mansion from each ray of
    incorrigibly filtering sunlight,
    And every thing on this Universe that was lanky
    bedspread of cotton wool; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as a CURTAIN....

    Every trophy irrevocably radiating in the sparkle of
    fascinating success; may or may not highlight the
    epitome of unparalleled success,
    And every thing on this Universe that was beautiful
    triumph; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    TROPHY...

    Every afternoon blazing in scorchingly tenacious
    light; may or may not make you abhorrently perspire,
    And every thing on this Universe that was swelteringly
    hot; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    AFTERNOON....

    Every blink playfully swiping the territory of the dry
    eye; may or may not grant it with the blanket of
    poignant moisture it badly desired,
    And every thing on this Universe that was flickering
    violently; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    BLINK....

    Every fossil mysteriously engraved in the chain of
    century old rocks; may or may not reveal the explicit
    portrait of its possessor,
    And every thing on this Universe that was
    overwhelmingly scribbled glass; could not be
    irrefutably termed; only as a FOSSIL...

    Every splurge relentlessly lavishing in glorious
    ostentation; may or may not end in getting you all the
    virtues of life that you desired,
    And every thing on this Universe that was overtly
    spendthrift; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    SPLURGE...

    Every cross stringently inscribed on the walls; may or
    may not succeed in delivering in its message of
    restricting insidious activity,
    And every thing on this Universe that was strictly
    inclement; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    CROSS...

    Every holiday enchantingly basking in the glory of
    opulent paradise; may or may not rejuvenate your
    traumatically brutalized senses,
    And every thing on this Universe that was even a
    trifle free; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    a HOLIDAY...

    Every headache pertinently pulsating in every cranny
    of the mind; may or may not devastate you entirely to
    collapse pathetically on cold ground,
    And every thing on this Universe that was irritatingly
    paining; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    HEADACHE...

    Every stomach ravenously thundering in pangs of
    uncontrollable hunger; may or may not consume the
    unfathomably colossal mountain of food,
    And every thing on this Universe that was provokingly
    hungry; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    STOMACH...

    Every country unbelievably sprawling; may or may not
    harbor the vivaciously salty sea shores,
    And every thing on this Universe that was a prolific
    gathering of individuals; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as a COUNTRY...

    Every mushroom dingily leaping up from dilapidated
    soil; may or may not savor a place in the menu cards
    of each grandiloquently flourishing restaurant,
    And every thing on this Universe that was button
    shaped and fleshy; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as a MUSHROOM....

    Every thought enigmatically wandering through realms
    of the discovering mind; may or may not culminate into
    a celestially blooming fantasy,
    And every thing on this Universe that was intriguingly
    baffling; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    THOUGHT...

    Every helmet adorned courageously on the head; may or
    may not succeed in protecting the skull; as the
    mountains crashed down viciously upon it,
    And every thing on this Universe that was shielded the
    scalp; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    HELMET....


    Every tear that emphatically descended down from the
    eye; may or may not reflect an island of shivering
    sadness,
    And every thing on this Universe that was effusively
    tangy; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    TEAR...

    Every rabbit philandering through the verdant meadows;
    may or may not escape from the diabolical alligators
    in the slushy marshes,
    And every thing on this Universe that was inimitably
    docile; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    RABBIT....

    Every minute that mechanically sped past the body of
    the clock; may or may not portray the rapidly
    unfurling essence of time,
    And every thing on this Universe that was
    spectacularly time; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as a MINUTE...

    Every word compassionately embossed in the gigantic
    dictionary; may or may not trigger chords of ever
    augmenting empathy,
    And every thing on this Universe that was scribbled by
    a pen; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    WORD....

    Every boxer prancing perilously in the ring; may or
    may not inflict a total knockout of his unsuspecting
    opponent,
    And every thing on this Universe that was puffed
    glove; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    BOXER...

    Every folly committed unwittingly by a human; may or
    may not lead to severely crippling disaster,
    And every thing on this Universe that was
    incongruously muddled; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as a FOLLY....

    Every finger ejecting in marvelous unison from the
    hands; may or may not be able to grip the
    indispensable threads of existence,
    And every thing on this Universe that was an
    amalgamation of lanky bones; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as a FINGER....

    Every team bonded in the spirit of unbelievable
    harmony; may or may not kiss the crescendo of victory
    as it unflinchingly progressed,
    And every thing on this Universe that was united
    together; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    TEAM....

    Every pencil extravagantly lead tipped; may or may not
    sketch each intricately fabulous contour of the
    scarlet landscape,
    And every thing on this Universe that was with a tip;
    could not be irrefutably termed; only as a PENCIL...


    Every slang spoken in passionately Oriental fashion;
    may or may not perpetuate thunderbolts of inevitable
    attraction,
    And every thing on this Universe that was supremely
    stylish; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    SLANG...

    Every night dissipating a spell of unmatched desire;
    may or may not incinerate seductive currents down your
    spine,
    And every thing on this Universe that was
    enthrallingly dark; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as NIGHT....

    Every spectacle embedded with meticulously perfect
    glass; may or may not bestow upon you the crystalline
    vision of your overpowering choice,
    And every thing on this Universe that was
    transparently scintillating; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as a SPECTACLE....

    Every dragon cataclysmically trespassing through the
    forest; may or may not succeed in charring the entire
    wilderness; into bedraggled fragments of chowder,
    And every thing on this Universe that was breathing
    fire from its mouth; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as a DRAGON....

    Every mouth lavishly set amidst the captivating
    contours of the face; may or may not utter the tunes
    of ultimate reality,
    And every thing on this Universe that was foolishly
    chattering; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    MOUTH...

    Every Sun beam wonderfully sizzling upon mud; may or
    may not fumigate its deathly decay; with the austere
    ardor in its flaming demeanor,
    And every thing on this Universe that was golden rays;
    could not be irrefutably termed; only as a SUN...

    Every noodle dangling pleasantly from the ceiling; may
    or may not be able to incarcerate profuse aliens; in
    its gregarious swishes,
    And every thing on this Universe that was voluptuously
    pudgy; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    NOODLE...

    Every festival religiously followed by countless on
    the planet; may or may not bond all those murderously
    sucking blood; in bonds of eternal love,
    And every thing on this Universe that was holistically
    ritualistic; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    a FESTIVAL...

    Every cactus lingering pompously in the royally
    shimmering deserts; may or may not penetrate its
    hostile nettles into innocent beings caressing it,
    And every thing on this Universe that was growing from
    sand; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    CACTUS....


    Every key articulately molded into an intriguing
    shape; may or may not pilfer through the code of the
    dogged lock,
    And every thing on this Universe that was intricately
    slender; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    LOCK...

    Every paper when fanatically crushed by the fist; may
    or may not transform its fragile caricature into a
    flexible ball,
    And every thing on this Universe that was printed by
    your side; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    PAPER...

    Every worm worthlessly slithering through murderous
    darkness; may or may not radiate; emphatically
    brilliant rays of light,
    And every thing on this Universe that was diminutively
    curvaceous; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    WORM...

    Every iceberg lecherously hood-winking under the
    nocturnal blanket of stars; may or may not emerge
    triumphant in decimating the colossal ship,
    And every thing on this Universe that was immutably
    solidified water; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as an ICEBERG...

    Every firecracker raring to thunderously burst; may or
    may not bedazzle every single arena of the cosmos with
    flaming light,
    And every thing on this Universe that was incoherently
    rambunctious; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    a FIRECRACKER...

    Every discotheque sleazily swarming with sanctimonious
    youngsters; may or may not ignite the night with
    cloudbursts of untamed desire,
    And every thing on this Universe that was
    bombastically cheap; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as a DISCOTHEQUE...

    Every panther rebelliously sprinting under pearly rays
    of Moon; may or may not capsize the incredulously
    succulent prey of its choice,
    And every thing on this Universe that was flamingly
    bellicose; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    PANTHER...

    Every missile shooting violently through innocent
    carpets of air; may or may not strike its desirous
    range of fixed targets,
    And every thing on this Universe that was ricocheting
    like a lunatic boomerang; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as a MISSILE...

    Every automobile speeding like a celestial angel
    through the romantically panoramic landscapes; may or
    may not catapult you to the realms above eternally
    enchanting eternity,
    And every thing on this Universe that was racing
    beyond its limits; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as an AUTOMOBILE...

    Every blind man trespassing across the discordantly
    bustling street; may or may not transcend past it
    without a single scratch,
    And every thing on this Universe that was boundlessly
    dark; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a BLIND
    MAN...

    Every butterfly fluttering gloriously in blistering
    sunshine; may or may not hoist the gaudy caterpillars
    of its inherent choice,
    And every thing on this Universe that was serenely
    flapping; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    BUTTERFLY...

    Every damsel young and seductively charming; may or
    may not be able to entrap the perfect man of her
    choice,
    And every thing on this Universe that was pristinely
    bubbling; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    DAMSEL....

    Every wall constructed of Herculean strength steel;
    may or may not stagger like a pack of mosquitoes as
    the uncouth disaster struck,
    And every thing on this Universe that was compactly
    solid; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    WALL...

    Every spice wavering appetizingly in the atmosphere
    around; may or may not tingle the taste buds beyond
    unprecedented capacity,
    And every thing on this Universe that was deliciously
    poignant; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    SPICE...

    Every guarantee spoken intractably; may or may not
    manifest itself into a perennially secure reality,
    And every thing on this Universe that was an
    everlasting promise; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as a PROMISE...

    Every banana skin teasingly huddled on the floor; may
    or may not engender you to dramatically slip,
    And every thing on this Universe that made you trip;
    could not be irrefutably termed; only as a BANANA...

    Every talent unbelievably lingering in a timid visage;
    may or may not flower into eclectically supernatural
    success,
    And every thing on this Universe that was inherently
    gifted; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    TALENT....

    Every zip meticulously riveted to the garment; may or
    may not snugly hold it in position on the flabby
    waist,
    And every thing on this Universe that was a precise
    juggernaut of steely teeth; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as a ZIP....

    Every bubble rising euphorically in limp air; may or
    may not erupt into a fountain of ecstatic froth,
    And every thing on this Universe that was perfectly
    soapy; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    BUBBLE...

    Every boomerang carved melodiously out of roasted
    wood; may or may not hurl back towards infinity; after
    releasing its loop,
    And every thing on this Universe speedily retreating
    back; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    BOOMERANG...

    Every root deeply embedded in corridors of chocolate
    brown soil; may or may not withstand the onslaught of
    the mercilessly whipping storm,
    And every thing on this Universe that was coated with
    grizzly mud; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    a ROOT....


    Every screw fantastically engineered to unprecedented
    degrees of perfection; may or may not be able to hold
    the tumbledown scaffolding,
    And every thing on this Universe that was enveloped
    with revolving threads; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as a SCREW....

    Every crayon superbly blossoming into a myriad of
    gorgeously garish color; may or may not be able to
    sketch playfully upon the barren demeanor of
    boundlessly barren canvas,
    And every thing on this Universe that was invariably
    wax like; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    CRAYON....

    Every teacher sagaciously imparting the indispensable
    values of life; may or may not form a perpetual
    rapport with his students,
    And every thing on this Universe that was
    distinguishably bespectacled; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as a TEACHER...

    Every circus flooded with an incredulous township of
    acrobatics; may or may not bring laughter to the faces
    of those horrifically deprived,
    And every thing on this Universe that was musically
    entertaining; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    a CIRCUS...

    Every prison savagely torturing the blood stained
    criminal for his plethora of misdeeds; may or may not
    be able to keep him for countless more of his
    lifetimes,
    And every thing on this Universe that was morbidly
    dark; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    PRISON...

    Every traveler nomadically wandering since the time he
    was born; may or may not be able to tread foot on each
    cranny of this fathomlessly intriguing planet,
    And every thing on this Universe that was walking
    barefoot; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    TRAVELER...

    Every barber resting like a king in his gloriously
    plush saloon; may or may not scrap the last bit of
    dirt from his clients hair,
    And every thing on this Universe that was
    clip-clopping scissors; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as a BARBER...

    Every government romping to power after the
    manipulative elections; may or may not succeed in
    wholesomely protecting the sacred solidarity of its
    people,
    And every thing on this Universe that was the nerve
    center of power; could not be irrefutably termed; only
    as GOVERNMENT....

    Every scientist incessantly engulfed in chambers of
    bubbling test tubes and space crafts; may or may not
    discover the gene that could assassinate devil
    forever,
    And every thing on this Universe that was clad in
    apron and gloves; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as a SCIENTIST...

    Every train whistling royally through the wilderness
    of the jungles; may or may not impart inexorable
    exhilaration to its passengers seated despondently
    inside,
    And every thing on this Universe that was shrieking
    and on rails; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    a TRAIN...

    Every mask fabulously woven in different dimensions;
    may or may not completely conceal the true identity of
    its dastardly beholder,
    And every thing on this Universe that was clandestine
    cloistering; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    a MASK...

    Every arrow chiseled more lethally sharp than the
    knife; may or may not puncture its obsessively
    focussed target,
    And every thing on this Universe that was dedicatedly
    mission oriented; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as an ARROW...

    Every article laden with eloquently vibrant imagery;
    may or may not reflect the supremely volatile spirit
    of harmonious survival,
    And every thing on this Universe that was a jugglery
    of rhapsodic words; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as an ARTICLE..

    Every maze severely entangled in complications and
    enigmatic riddles; may or may not lead wholeheartedly
    to a victorious outlet,
    And every thing on this Universe that was profoundly
    criss-crossed; could not be irrefutably termed; only
    as a MAZE...

    Every couple bonded in threads of holy matrimony; may
    or may not immortalize the never dying spirit of love;
    for decades immemorial,
    And every thing on this Universe that was intimate
    togetherness; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    a COUPLE...

    Every pig disdainfully snoring in the aisles of
    lackadaisical laziness; may or may not lavish gulping
    down the pile of ragged rubbish,
    And every thing on this Universe that was fetidly
    dirty; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    PIG...

    Every crown zealously jeweled at all quarters; may or
    may not fit the scalp of the timidly feverish prince,
    And every thing on this Universe that was stupendously
    majestic; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    CROWN...

    Every scar pruriently creeping up on innocent skin;
    may or may not reveal the invidiously hostile disaster
    that had devilishly engendered it,
    And every thing on this Universe that was distortedly
    ugly; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    SCAR...

    Every adage perennially existing since this earth was
    created; may or may not change the tottering
    complexion of every impoverished life,
    And every thing on this Universe that was an impactful
    philosophy; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    PHILOSOPHY...

    Every garage splendidly harboring a battalion of
    trendy cars; may or may not incorporate stealthy
    cobwebs in its Aztec interiors,
    And every thing on this Universe that was collapsible
    shutters; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    GARAGE...

    Every battery prolifically charged all throughout the
    night; may or may not diffuse into light which killed
    even the most tiniest iota of disgusting darkness,
    And every thing on this Universe that was animatedly
    charged up; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    BATTERY....

    Every fork bifurcated into countless blades; may or
    may not be able to hoist the crooked piece of
    sturgeon; sizzling tantalizingly in the chicory plate,
    And every thing on this Universe that was bent
    needles; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    FORK....


    Every bull doggedly adorned in robes of satanic red;
    may or may not succeed in uncouthly goring its
    unsuspecting opponent,
    And every thing on this Universe that was
    intransigently stubborn; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as a BULL....

    Every coin iridescently clattering in the insatiable
    aura of its opulence; may or may not bring
    astonishingly good luck to its cherished beholder,
    And every thing on this Universe that was marvelously
    glimmering; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    COIN...

    Every geyser mechanically controlled with an
    unbelievable flurry of contemporary contraptions; may
    or may not generate water warm enough to withstand the
    chilling cold,
    And every thing on this Universe that was
    compassionately warm; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as a GEYSER...

    Every drink glowing a fiery crimson; may or may not
    inebriate its consumer beyond the realms of pragmatic
    control,
    And every thing on this Universe that was ardently
    beautiful elixir; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as a DRINK....


    Every cheek radiantly basking in robustly spell
    binding health; may or may not blush to a profuse
    crimson; when thoroughly embarrassed,
    And every thing on this Universe that was emphatically
    changing color; could not be irrefutably termed; only
    as a CHEEK....

    Every ear dangling in razor sharp precision from the
    head; may or may not be able to catch the most
    inconspicuously minuscule sound loitering around,
    And every thing on this Universe that was somberly
    flapping; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    EAR...

    Every hero galloping in incredible cynosure and
    popularity; may or may not rap the chord of humanity
    in impoverished hearts alike,
    And every thing on this Universe that was
    resplendently starry; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as a STAR...


    Every string resiliently suspended in open space; may
    or may not balance the weight of the monster trying
    nonchalantly to tread on its slim periphery,
    And every thing on this Universe that was wearily
    extruding from lackadaisical rags of barbarically
    ripped garment; could not be irrefutably termed; only
    as a STRING..


    Every organism evolved by Omnisciently Almighty lord;
    may or may not become a harbinger of humanity in the
    tenure of its life,
    And every thing on this Universe that the eye
    witnessed; could not be irrefutably termed; only as an
    ORGANISM...

    Every moustache sprouting into a splendidly masculine
    bush; may or may not be able to captivate the heart of
    the seductively wandering lady,
    And every thing on this Universe that was a coalition
    of hair; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    MOUSTACHE...

    Every personality having a distinctive aura of its
    own; may or may not achieve the wings of heaven; after
    it emancipated breath and died,
    And every thing on this Universe that was
    charismatically graceful; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as a PERSONALITY...

    Every denim jaded stupendously to a stonewash finish;
    may or may not appease the dynamically plodding youth,
    And every thing on this Universe that was
    substantially faded; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as DENIM....

    Every scale astutely incorporating all nuances of
    measurement; may or may not be able to measure the
    absolute pinnacles of the sky,
    And every thing on this Universe that was fervently
    calibrated; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    SCALE...

    Every obsession fanatically inhabiting each ingredient
    of the blood; may or may not thrive amidst the hostile
    pack of wolves,
    And every thing on this Universe that was insanely
    lunatic; could not be irrefutably termed; only as an
    OBSSESSION....

    Every smell nostalgically hovering in free space; may
    or may not incinerate adorably fond memories of
    existence,
    And every thing on this Universe that inadvertently
    reached the nostrils; could not be irrefutably termed;
    only as SMELL....

    Every longing as ardent as the roar of a lion; may or
    may not imprison the organism of its choice,
    And every thing on this Universe that you immortally
    dreamt of; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
    LONGING...

    Every treasury unimaginably glittering beyond infinite
    infinity; may or may not be able to purchase the
    happiness it so desired in life,
    And every thing on this Universe that was
    scintillatingly gorgeous luxury; could not be
    irrefutably termed; only as a TREASURY....

    Every cockroach loitering aimlessly around the
    lavatory seat; may or may not choose to frighten
    innocent beings,
    And every thing on this Universe that was pathetically
    filthy; could not irrefutably be termed; only as a
    COCKROACH...

    Every aircraft possessing an Oligarchic pair of wings;
    may or may not transport its passengers safely; in
    face of torrentially death storms,
    And every thing on this Universe that was frenziedly
    flying; could not be irrefutably termed; only as an
    AIRCRAFT...

    Every athlete fervently dashing towards the finishing
    line; may or may not wholeheartedly embrace the
    finishing line,
    And every thing on this Universe that was
    unflinchingly running; could not be irrefutably
    termed; only as an ATHLETE...

    Every season Omnisciently descending upon harmonious
    civilization; may or may not heal the wounds of
    uncouthly tyrannizing destiny,
    And every thing on this Universe that most
    synergistically metamorphosed its complexion; could
    not irrefutably be termed; only as SEASON...

    Every prodigy catapulting to the summit of
    unconquerable success; may or may not be a benevolent
    human being,
    And every thing on this Universe that was astoundingly
    proliferating; could not be irrefutably termed; only
    as a PRODIGY...

    Every novel propelled with an armory of fascinating
    tales; may or may not hold the attention of its reader
    till the very last page,
    And every thing on this Universe that was vibrantly
    worded; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    NOVEL....

    Every angel that descended from the Omnipotent
    heavens; may or may not grant you; your unrelenting
    repertoire of boundless wishes,
    And every thing on this Universe with silken grace and
    charm; could not be irrefutably termed; only as an
    ANGEL...

    Every heart that throbbed an infinite times in
    passionate chests all across the planet; may or may
    not find the most supreme love of its life,
    And every thing on this Universe that fervently beats;
    could not be irrefutably termed; only as a HEART...

    Every soul that wanders frantically across the
    inexplicably mysterious realms of this gigantic
    planet; may or may not find the peace which it
    ardently desired,
    And every thing on this Universe that is holistically
    immortal; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    SOUL...

    Every corpse morbidly rotting towards extinction; may
    or may not contain the impoverished caricature of
    those dead,
    And every thing on this Universe which impoverishedly
    clatters; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
    CORPSE...

    Every conscience which formed the nerve center of a
    persons existence; may or may not be perpetually
    righteous,
    And every thing on this Universe that is honest and
    the inner most; could not be irrefutably termed; only
    as CONSCIENCE..

    Every life that transgresses through sweltering
    cocoons of shimmering sand; may or may not be
    blissfully happy,
    And every thing on this Universe that is blooming with
    unprecedented joy; could not be irrefutably termed
    Only in LIFE !!!!!.....
    ********************************************************************************************* image
  • rollingsrollings unknownPosts: 6,728
    Ox shoulder, heavy
    loader, systematic
    thick book:
    As a young man
    I didn't know you, I was dressed up
    to sufficiency
    and I believed myself full up,
    and puffed up like a
    melancholy toad
    I declared "I receive
    the words
    directly
    from a roaring Mount Sinai.
    I will reduce
    their forms by alchemy.
    I'm a wizard."
    The great wizard was silent.

    The Dictionary,
    old and heavy, with its binding
    of worn leather,
    remained silent
    without showing its testing.

    But one day
    after having used
    and disused it,
    after declaring it
    a useless and anachronistic camel,
    when for long months without protest,
    it served me as an armchair
    and as a pillow,
    it rebelled and planting itself
    in my door
    it grew, it moved its leaves
    and its nests,
    it moved the elevation of its foliage
    the tree
    was,
    a natural,
    generous
    apple tree, apple grove or apple-like
    and the words
    shone in its bottomless cup
    dull or sonorous
    fertile in the fronds of language,
    loaded with truth and sound.

    I select only
    one of
    its
    pages:
    Caporal (foreman)
    capuchón (monk's hood)
    what a marvel
    to pronounce these syllables
    with air,
    and further down
    Cápsula (capsule)
    hollow, waiting for olive oil or nectar
    and next to them
    Captura, Capucete, Capuchino
    Caprario, Captatorio
    words
    which flake off like smooth birds
    or which explode in the light
    like blind germs which waited
    in the storerooms of vocabulary
    and live again and give life:
    once more the heart sets them afire.

    Dictionary, you're not
    a tomb, sepulcher, casket,
    burial mound, mausoleum,
    but a preserver,
    hidden fire,
    the planting of rubies,
    living perpetuity
    of the essence,
    granary of the language.
    And it is beautiful
    to pluck in your columns
    the word
    in its lineage,
    the severe
    and forgotten
    sentence,
    daughter of Spain,
    enduring
    like the blade of a plow,
    fixed in its limit
    of antiquated iron-work,
    preserved
    with its exact beauty
    and its metallic hardness.
    Or the other word
    which we saw lost there
    out in dialect regions
    and which quickly
    became tasty and smooth in our mouth.

    Dictionary, one hand
    of your thousand hands, one
    of your thousand emeralds,
    one
    single
    drop
    of your virginal elements
    one grain
    from
    your
    generous granaries
    on the tip of my pen,
    in my inkwell.
    From your thick, sonorous
    depth of your forest,
    give me,
    when I need it,
    one single trill, the luxury
    of a bee,
    a fallen fragment
    from your ancient wood
    perfumed by an eternity of jasmine beds,
    one
    syllable
    all earthquake, a sound:
    from the earth I am and with words I sing.


    Ode to the Dictionary
    by Pablo Neruda
  • mikalinamikalina Posts: 7,206
    Da "La Beltà"

    Sì, ancora la neve


    "Ti piace essere venuto a questo mondo?"

    Bamb.: Sì, perché c'è la STANDA".

    Che sarà della neve
    che sarà di noi?
    Una curva sul ghiaccio
    e poi e poi... ma i pini, i pini
    tutti uscenti alla neve, e fin l'ultima età
    circondata da pini. Sic et simpliciter?
    E perché si è - il mondo pinoso il mondo nevoso -
    perché si è fatto bambucci-ucci, odore di cristianucci,
    perché si è fatto noi, roba per noi?
    E questo valere in persona ed ex-persona
    un solo possibile ed ex-possibile?
    Hölderlin: "siamo un segno senza significato":
    ma dove le due serie entrano in contatto?
    Ma è vero? E che sarà di noi?
    E tu perché, perché tu?
    E perché e che fanno i grandi oggetti
    e tutte le cose-cause
    e il radiante e il radioso?
    Il nucleo stellare
    là in fondo alla curva di ghiaccio,
    versi inventive calligrammi ricchezze, sì,
    ma che sarà della neve dei pini
    di quello che non sta e sta là, in fondo?
    Non c'è noi eppure la neve si affisa a noi
    e quello che scotta
    e l'immancabilmente evaso o morto
    evasa o morta.
    Buona neve, buone ombre, glissate glissate.
    Ma c'è chi non si stanca di riavviticchiarsi
    graffignare sgranocchiare solleticare,
    di scoiattolizzare le scene che abbiamo pronte,
    non si stanca di riassestarsi
    - l'ho, sempre, molto, saputo -
    al luogo al bello al bel modulo
    a cieli arcaici aciduli come slambròt cimbrici
    al seminato d'immagini
    all'ingorgo di tenebrelle e stelle edelweiss
    al tutto ch'è tutto bianco tutto nobile:
    e la volpazza di gran coda e l'autobus
    quello rosso sul campo nevato.
    Biancaneve biancosole biancume del mio vecchio io.
    Ma presto i bambucci-ucci
    vanno al grande magazzino
    - ai piedi della grande selva -
    dove c'è pappa bonissima e a maraviglia
    per voi bimbi bambi con diritto
    e programma di pappa, per tutti
    ferocemente tutti, voi (sniff sniff
    gran gnam yum yum slurp slurp:
    perché sempre si continui l'"umbra fuimus fumo e fumetto"):
    ma qui
    ahi colorini più o meno truffaldini
    plasmon nipiol auxol lustrine e figurine
    più o meno truffaldine:
    meglio là, sottomano nevata sottofelce nevata...
    O luna, ormai,
    e perfino magnolia e perfino
    cometa di neve in afflusso, la neve.
    Ma che sarà di noi?
    Che sarà della neve, del giardino,
    che sarà del libero arbitrio e del destino
    e di chi ha perso nella neve il cammino
    (e la neve saliva saliva - e lei moriva)?
    E che si dice là nella vita?
    E che messaggi ha la fonte di messaggi?
    Ed esiste la fonte, o non sono
    che io-tu-questi-quaggiù
    questi cloffete clocchete ch ch
    più che incomunicante scomunicato tutti scomunicati?
    Eppure negli alti livelli
    sopra il coma e il semicoma e il limine
    si brusisce e si ronza e si cicala-ciàcola
    - ancora - per una minima e semiminima
    biscroma semibiscroma nanobiscroma
    cose e cosine
    scienze lingue e profezie
    cronaca bianca nera azzurra
    di stimoli anime e dèi,
    libido e cupìdo e la loro
    prestidigitazione finissima;
    è così, scoiattoli afrori e fiordineve in frescura
    e "acqua che devia
    si dispera si scioglie s'allontana"
    oltre il grande magazzino ai piedi della selva
    dove i bambucci piluccano zizzole...
    E le falci e le mezzelune e i martelli
    e le croci e i designs-disegni
    e la nube filata di zucchero che alla psiche ne vie?
    E la tradizione tramanda tramanda fa passamano?
    E l'avanguardia ha trovato, ha trovato?
    E dove il fru-fruire dei fruitori
    nel truogolo nel buio bugliolo nel disincanto,
    dove, invece, l'entusiasmo l'empireirsi l'incanto?
    Che si dice lassù nella vita,
    là da quelle parti là in parte;
    che si cova si sbuccia si spampana
    in quel poco in quel fioco
    dentro la nocciolina dentro la mandorletta?
    E i mille dentini che la minano?
    E il pino. E i pini-ini-ini per profili
    e profili mai scissi mai cuciti
    ini-ini a fianco davanti
    dietro l'eterno l'esterno l'interno (il paesaggio)
    dietro davanti da tutti i lati,
    i pini come stanno, stanno bene?

    Detto alla neve: "Non mi abbandonerai mai, vero?"

    E una pinzetta, ora, una graffetta....
    ********************************************************************************************* image
  • ByrnzieByrnzie Posts: 21,037
    mikalina wrote:
    Da "La Beltà"

    Sì, ancora la neve


    "Ti piace essere venuto a questo mondo?"

    Bamb.: Sì, perché c'è la STANDA".

    Che sarà della neve
    che sarà di noi?
    Una curva sul ghiaccio
    e poi e poi... ma i pini, i pini
    tutti uscenti alla neve, e fin l'ultima età
    circondata da pini. Sic et simpliciter?
    E perché si è - il mondo pinoso il mondo nevoso -
    perché si è fatto bambucci-ucci, odore di cristianucci,
    perché si è fatto noi, roba per noi?
    E questo valere in persona ed ex-persona
    un solo possibile ed ex-possibile?
    Hölderlin: "siamo un segno senza significato":
    ma dove le due serie entrano in contatto?
    Ma è vero? E che sarà di noi?
    E tu perché, perché tu?
    E perché e che fanno i grandi oggetti
    e tutte le cose-cause
    e il radiante e il radioso?
    Il nucleo stellare
    là in fondo alla curva di ghiaccio,
    versi inventive calligrammi ricchezze, sì,
    ma che sarà della neve dei pini
    di quello che non sta e sta là, in fondo?
    Non c'è noi eppure la neve si affisa a noi
    e quello che scotta
    e l'immancabilmente evaso o morto
    evasa o morta.
    Buona neve, buone ombre, glissate glissate.
    Ma c'è chi non si stanca di riavviticchiarsi
    graffignare sgranocchiare solleticare,
    di scoiattolizzare le scene che abbiamo pronte,
    non si stanca di riassestarsi
    - l'ho, sempre, molto, saputo -
    al luogo al bello al bel modulo
    a cieli arcaici aciduli come slambròt cimbrici
    al seminato d'immagini
    all'ingorgo di tenebrelle e stelle edelweiss
    al tutto ch'è tutto bianco tutto nobile:
    e la volpazza di gran coda e l'autobus
    quello rosso sul campo nevato.
    Biancaneve biancosole biancume del mio vecchio io.
    Ma presto i bambucci-ucci
    vanno al grande magazzino
    - ai piedi della grande selva -
    dove c'è pappa bonissima e a maraviglia
    per voi bimbi bambi con diritto
    e programma di pappa, per tutti
    ferocemente tutti, voi (sniff sniff
    gran gnam yum yum slurp slurp:
    perché sempre si continui l'"umbra fuimus fumo e fumetto"):
    ma qui
    ahi colorini più o meno truffaldini
    plasmon nipiol auxol lustrine e figurine
    più o meno truffaldine:
    meglio là, sottomano nevata sottofelce nevata...
    O luna, ormai,
    e perfino magnolia e perfino
    cometa di neve in afflusso, la neve.
    Ma che sarà di noi?
    Che sarà della neve, del giardino,
    che sarà del libero arbitrio e del destino
    e di chi ha perso nella neve il cammino
    (e la neve saliva saliva - e lei moriva)?
    E che si dice là nella vita?
    E che messaggi ha la fonte di messaggi?
    Ed esiste la fonte, o non sono
    che io-tu-questi-quaggiù
    questi cloffete clocchete ch ch
    più che incomunicante scomunicato tutti scomunicati?
    Eppure negli alti livelli
    sopra il coma e il semicoma e il limine
    si brusisce e si ronza e si cicala-ciàcola
    - ancora - per una minima e semiminima
    biscroma semibiscroma nanobiscroma
    cose e cosine
    scienze lingue e profezie
    cronaca bianca nera azzurra
    di stimoli anime e dèi,
    libido e cupìdo e la loro
    prestidigitazione finissima;
    è così, scoiattoli afrori e fiordineve in frescura
    e "acqua che devia
    si dispera si scioglie s'allontana"
    oltre il grande magazzino ai piedi della selva
    dove i bambucci piluccano zizzole...
    E le falci e le mezzelune e i martelli
    e le croci e i designs-disegni
    e la nube filata di zucchero che alla psiche ne vie?
    E la tradizione tramanda tramanda fa passamano?
    E l'avanguardia ha trovato, ha trovato?
    E dove il fru-fruire dei fruitori
    nel truogolo nel buio bugliolo nel disincanto,
    dove, invece, l'entusiasmo l'empireirsi l'incanto?
    Che si dice lassù nella vita,
    là da quelle parti là in parte;
    che si cova si sbuccia si spampana
    in quel poco in quel fioco
    dentro la nocciolina dentro la mandorletta?
    E i mille dentini che la minano?
    E il pino. E i pini-ini-ini per profili
    e profili mai scissi mai cuciti
    ini-ini a fianco davanti
    dietro l'eterno l'esterno l'interno (il paesaggio)
    dietro davanti da tutti i lati,
    i pini come stanno, stanno bene?

    Detto alla neve: "Non mi abbandonerai mai, vero?"

    E una pinzetta, ora, una graffetta....

    Do what, John? :?
    "It's not the daily increase but daily decrease. Hack away at the unessential." - Bruce Lee

    "Don't ride on me man, ride with me" - Byrnzie on LSD

    "Ed Vedder? He sounds like the song of the North West sung by Chief Broom in the body of R.P McMurphy." - Byrnzie
  • mikalinamikalina Posts: 7,206
    I have come, alas, to the great circle of shadow,
    to the short day and to the whitening hills,
    when the colour is all lost from the grass,
    though my desire will not lose its green,
    so rooted is it in this hardest stone,
    that speaks and feels as though it were a woman.

    And likewise this heaven-born woman
    stays frozen, like the snow in shadow,
    and is unmoved, or moved like a stone,
    by the sweet season that warms all the hills,
    and makes them alter from pure white to green,
    so as to clothe them with the flowers and grass.

    When her head wears a crown of grass
    she draws the mind from any other woman,
    because she blends her gold hair with the green
    so well that Amor lingers in their shadow,
    he who fastens me in these low hills,
    more certainly than lime fastens stone.

    Her beauty has more virtue than rare stone.
    The wound she gives cannot be healed with grass,
    since I have travelled, through the plains and hills,
    to find my release from such a woman,
    yet from her light had never a shadow
    thrown on me, by hill, wall, or leaves’ green.

    I have seen her walk all dressed in green,
    so formed she would have sparked love in a stone,
    that love I bear for her very shadow,
    so that I wished her, in those fields of grass,
    as much in love as ever yet was woman,
    closed around by all the highest hills.

    The rivers will flow upwards to the hills
    before this wood, that is so soft and green,
    takes fire, as might ever lovely woman,
    for me, who would choose to sleep on stone,
    all my life, and go eating grass,
    only to gaze at where her clothes cast shadow.

    Whenever the hills cast blackest shadow,
    with her sweet green, the lovely woman
    hides it, as a man hides stone in grass...
    ********************************************************************************************* image
  • mikalinamikalina Posts: 7,206
    Pier Della Vigne (1190-1249?)


    Love in whom I hope and desire,
    Has given me lovely you as my prize:
    I wait for the sweet time and season,
    When all my hopes may be realised:
    Like a man at sea who hopes to move,
    Spreading his sail, when he sees the breeze,
    And in his hopes is ever undeceived:

    I do the same, my Lady, to come to you.
    Would I could come to you now, lover,
    Like a secret thief and not be seen!
    If Love would be so kind moreover,
    It would bring such joyous luck to me.

    I would speak to you so sweetly, Lady,
    And say to you I have loved you long,
    More sweetly than Pyramus his Thisbe.
    I’ll love you while I live, is all my song.

    Your love it is that holds me in desire,
    Brings me hope, and brings me joy too.
    I care not if I must grieve and suffer
    Thinking of the hour when I come to you.
    For, sweet breath, if I delay too long,
    I seem to die, and you appear to lose me.

    So take care lest I die in hopes of you,
    Take care, lovely creature, if you love me.

    My Lady, I still live in hopes of you,
    And now I ask again for my heart,
    Though the hour itself seems late, too,
    For sweet love to lead me to your heart.
    I wait for the moment that will suit
    To spread my sail towards you, my rose,
    And reach that harbour where my heart,
    Beneath your sovereignty might repose.

    Carry this plaint, my little song,
    To her who has my heart in her power,
    And before her lay all my wrongs,
    And tell her how I die of love for her.
    And let her send a message to say
    How I can ease this love I bear:

    And if there’s any wrong I’ve done her,

    According to her worth I will repay....
    ********************************************************************************************* image
  • mikalinamikalina Posts: 7,206
    One of my favorite poets....

    HOLDING HER HAND

    by Gero Miceli

    My mouth
    longs for
    her kisses while
    I wait for her observing
    the burnt hilltops of a South
    that smells of Africa

    I would love to walk
    with her for
    a longer while
    through a sweet
    golden path
    under moon rays
    and night waterfalls
    of vivacious happy petals.

    Her whispered words
    transport me in oceans
    of tenderness in which I fly
    holding her hand.

    TENENDOLA PER MANO

    La mia bocca
    è assetata dei
    suoi baci, mentre
    l’aspetto osservando
    gli arsi colli di un Sud
    profumato d’Africa.

    Vorrei camminare
    insieme a lei per
    un lungo tempo ancora,
    attraverso un tragitto
    dolcemente dorato,
    sotto raggi di luna
    e notturne cascate
    di vivaci petali felici.

    Le sue parole sussurrate
    mi trasportano in oceani
    di tenerezza sui quali volo,
    tenendola per mano.
    ********************************************************************************************* image
  • DopeBeastieDopeBeastie Posts: 2,513
    Advice to Myself

    by Louise Erdrich


    Leave the dishes. Let the celery rot in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator
    and an earthen scum harden on the kitchen floor.
    Leave the black crumbs in the bottom of the toaster.
    Throw the cracked bowl out and don't patch the cup.
    Don't patch anything. Don't mend. Buy safety pins.
    Don't even sew on a button.
    Let the wind have its way, then the earth
    that invades as dust and then the dead
    foaming up in gray rolls underneath the couch.
    Talk to them. Tell them they are welcome.
    Don't keep all the pieces of the puzzles
    or the doll's tiny shoes in pairs, don't worry
    who uses whose toothbrush or if anything
    matches, at all.
    Except one word to another. Or a thought.
    Pursue the authentic—decide first
    what is authentic,
    then go after it with all your heart.
    Your heart, that place
    you don't even think of cleaning out.
    That closet stuffed with savage mementos.
    Don't sort the paper clips from screws from saved baby teeth
    or worry if we're all eating cereal for dinner
    again. Don't answer the telephone, ever,
    or weep over anything at all that breaks.
    Pink molds will grow within those sealed cartons
    in the refrigerator. Accept new forms of life
    and talk to the dead
    who drift in through the screened windows, who collect
    patiently on the tops of food jars and books.
    Recycle the mail, don't read it, don't read anything
    except what destroys
    the insulation between yourself and your experience
    or what pulls down or what strikes at or what shatters
    this ruse you call necessity.
  • rollingsrollings unknownPosts: 6,728
    thank you for that DopeBeastie
  • DopeBeastieDopeBeastie Posts: 2,513
    rollings wrote:
    thank you for that DopeBeastie

    don'tcha love it? really only caring if the words match, or thoughts? if I had the brainpower, i'd dedicate my existence to it...

    oh, and the line likening the heart to a closet stuffed with savage momentos... that thing we never clean out. I can't help but think of Hugh Freekin Dillon's analogy - being in love with being sad - i suppose if we don't clean out the closet, we might not find room for better things...
  • mikalinamikalina Posts: 7,206
    To Silvia by Giacomo Leopardi


    Silvia, do you remember
    the moments, in your mortal life,
    when beauty still shone
    in your sidelong, laughing eyes,
    and you, light and thoughtful,
    went
    beyond girlhood’s limits?

    The quiet rooms and the streets
    around you, sounded
    to your endless singing,
    when you sat, happily content,
    intent, on that woman’s work,
    the vague future, arriving alive in your mind.
    It was the scented May, and that’s how
    you spent your day.

    I would leave my intoxicating studies,
    and the turned-down pages,
    where my young life,
    the best of me, was left,
    and from the balcony of my father’s house
    strain to catch the sound of your voice,
    and your hand, quick,
    running over the loom.
    I would look at the serene sky,
    the gold lit gardens and paths,
    that side the mountains, this side the far-off sea.
    And human tongue cannot say
    what I felt then.

    What sweet thoughts,
    what hopes, what hearts, O Silvia mia!
    How it appeared to us then,
    all human life and fate!
    When I recall that hope
    such feelings pain me,
    harsh, disconsolate,
    I brood on my own destiny.
    Oh Nature, Nature
    why do you not give now
    what you promised then? Why
    do you so deceive your children?

    Attacked, and conquered, by secret disease,
    you died, my tenderest one, and did not see
    your years flower, or feel your heart moved,
    by sweet praise of your black hair
    your shy, loving looks.
    No friends talked with you,
    on holidays, about love.

    My sweet hopes died also
    little by little: to me too
    Fate has denied those years. Oh,
    how you have passed me by,
    dear friend of my new life,
    my saddened hope!
    Is this the world, the dreams,
    the loves, events, delights,
    we spoke about so much together?
    Is this our human life?
    At the advance of Truth
    you fell, unhappy one,
    and from the distance,
    with your hand, you pointed
    towards death’s coldness and the silent grave....
    ********************************************************************************************* image
  • mikalinamikalina Posts: 7,206
    It Won't Consume You...

    by Diletta Fabiani


    Even if it's just a sad song
    let it be heard
    even if no one will hear it
    sing for the sky
    there's a place where everything ends up
    above
    pain is forgotten
    floating

    Even when you're crying
    head up
    this way tears dry away
    quickly
    let pain fill all the cups inside you
    then
    throw it away
    move on

    Everything you've lost
    kiss it goodbye

    life will break you
    but it won't consume you

    TRADUZIONE
    (Anche se è solo una canzone triste
    falla sentire
    anche se nessuno la sentirà
    canta per il cielo
    c'è un posto in cui finisce tutto
    lassù
    il dolore viene dimenticato
    fluttuando

    Anche quando piangi
    tieni la testa alta
    in questo modo le lacrime si asciugano
    velocemente
    lascia che il dolore riempia le coppe dentro di te
    poi
    gettalo via
    e prosegui

    Tutto ciò che hai perso
    digli addio

    la vita ti spezzerà
    ma non ti consumerà)
    ********************************************************************************************* image
  • mysticweedmysticweed Posts: 3,669
    rollings wrote:
    thank you for that DopeBeastie

    don'tcha love it? really only caring if the words match, or thoughts? if I had the brainpower, i'd dedicate my existence to it...

    oh, and the line likening the heart to a closet stuffed with savage momentos... that thing we never clean out. I can't help but think of Hugh Freekin Dillon's analogy - being in love with being sad - i suppose if we don't clean out the closet, we might not find room for better things...

    fanfuckingtastic

    if we don't clean out the closet, we might not find room for better things
    :idea:
    fuck 'em if they can't take a joke

    "what a long, strange trip it's been"
  • mysticweedmysticweed Posts: 3,669
    Everything is laid out for you.
    Your path is straight ahead of you.
    Sometimes it's invisible, but it's there.
    You may not know where it's going,
    But you have to follow that path.
    It's the path to the Creator.
    It's the only path there is.

    by:
    Chief Leon Shenandoah
    fuck 'em if they can't take a joke

    "what a long, strange trip it's been"
  • mysticweedmysticweed Posts: 3,669
    We call upon the earth, our planet home, with its beautiful depths and soaring heights,
    its vitality and abundance of life, and together we ask that it
    Teach us and show us the Way.

    We call upon the mountains, the Cascades and the Olympics, the high green valleys and meadows filled with
    wild flowers, the snows that never melt, the summits of intense silence, and we ask that they
    Teach us and show us the Way.

    We call upon the waters that rim the earth, horizon to horizon, that flow in our rivers and streams,
    that fall upon our gardens and fields and we ask that they
    Teach us and show us the Way.

    We call upon the land which grows our food, the nurturing soil, the fertile fields, the abundant gardens
    and orchards, and we ask that they
    Teach us and show us the Way.

    We call upon the forests, the great trees reaching strongly to the sky with earth in their roots and the
    heavens in their branches, the fir and the pine and the cedar, and we ask them to
    Teach us and show us the Way.

    We call upon the creatures of the fields and forests and the seas, our brothers and sisters the wolves
    and deer, the eagle and dove, the great whales and the dolphin, the beautiful Orca and salmon who
    share our Northwest home, and we ask them to
    Teach us and show us the Way.

    We call upon all those who have lived on the earth, our ancestors and our friends, who dreamed the best
    for future generations, and upon whose lives and our lives are built, and with thanksgiving,
    we call upon them to
    Teach us and show us the Way.

    Lastly, we call upon all that we hold most sacred, the presence and power of the
    Great Love and Truth which flows through all the Universe to be with us to

    Teach us and show us the Way.


    Chinook blessing litany
    fuck 'em if they can't take a joke

    "what a long, strange trip it's been"
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