|
Post by Transcix on Apr 12, 2014 1:19:10 GMT -5
The path, winding, as organic as beauty, the fringe of every contour lost in snow, sticks and leaves, it offers no trajectory, yet there aren't many places to walk. With the crisp, cold air and the quiet of nature upon a setting sun, the wise spirit knows no fear. As shadows subdue the light they reveal the stirring beauty of night and cast a spell on all unprepared. After a day in awe and dumbstruck, the arrival of night becons reverence and exaltation. The landscape as ruthlessly penetrating as truth, the movement of fire and ice reaches beyond the stars. Past the echoes of landmarks, between perfect clouds and perfect clocks, horizons converge in the twilight of awareness. The moonlit spirit glimmers like a jewel hung in darkness, casting the subtlest reflections, as passion is swooned in agony and the steady breath takes in yet another moment. From within, defining nothing at all, the booming silence and pressuring stillness arouse.
|
|
|
Post by laughter on Apr 12, 2014 8:03:45 GMT -5
The path, winding, as organic as beauty, the fringe of every contour lost in snow, sticks and leaves, it offers no trajectory, yet there aren't many places to walk. With the crisp, cold air and the quiet of nature upon a setting sun, the wise spirit knows no fear. As shadows subdue the light they reveal the stirring beauty of night and cast a spell on all unprepared. After a day in awe and dumbstruck, the arrival of night becons reverence and exaltation. The landscape as ruthlessly penetrating as truth, the movement of fire and ice reaches beyond the stars. Past the echoes of landmarks, between perfect clouds and perfect clocks, horizons converge in the twilight of awareness. The moonlit spirit glimmers like a jewel hung in darkness, casting the subtlest reflections, as passion is swooned in agony and the steady breath takes in yet another moment. From within, defining nothing at all, the booming silence and pressuring stillness arouse. nice ==== the boundary it can tear away or fade as in a whisper and afterwards no path remains not straight not long nor twister because from there that moment that never was and gone the veil between the out and in is only just a song it sounds a subtle sweet refrain the one that sets you dancing no floor for feet but stars above set in a dark hued trancing a love affair that never ends a falling that is endless but with no explanation just clues for those left restless
|
|
|
Post by laughter on Apr 13, 2014 9:15:14 GMT -5
|
|
|
Post by silver on Apr 17, 2014 1:30:17 GMT -5
“And you as well must die,” Edna St. Vincent Millay
And you as well must die, belovèd dust, And all your beauty stand you in no stead; This flawless, vital hand, this perfect head, This body of flame and steel, before the gust Of Death, or under his autumnal frost, Shall be as any leaf, be no less dead Than the first leaf that fell,this wonder fled, Altered, estranged, disintegrated, lost. Nor shall my love avail you in your hour. In spite of all my love, you will arise Upon that day and wander down the air Obscurely as the unattended flower, It mattering not how beautiful you were, Or how belovèd above all else that dies. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I've been outta juice for a while, so here's one I thought was good.
|
|
|
Post by silver on Apr 17, 2014 1:49:28 GMT -5
Wait...I found something better. “Epitaph to a Dog,” Lord Byron Near this spot Are deposited the Remains of one Who possessed Beauty without Vanity, Strength without Insolence, Courage without Ferocity, And all the Virtues of Man without his Vices. The Price, which would be unmeaning flattery If inscribed over Human Ashes, Is but a just tribute to the Memory of “Boatswain,” a Dog Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803, And died in Newstead Abbey, Nov. 18, 1808. When some proud son of man returns to earth, Unknown by glory, but upheld by birth, The sculptor’s art exhausts the pomp of woe, And stories urns record that rests below. When all is done, upon the tomb is seen, Not what he was, but what he should have been. But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still his master’s own, Who labors, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonored falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth – While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven. Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour, Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power – Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust, Degraded mass of animated dust! Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit! By nature vile, ennoble but by name, Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. Ye, who perchance behold this simple urn, Pass on – it honors none you wish to mourn. To mark a friend’s remains these stones arise; I never knew but one – and here he lies.
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Apr 18, 2014 9:14:42 GMT -5
I am told I own a field; Dew-dappled lawns beneath Clear and empty skies. My feet long to feel the velvet grass, To walk among lillies as they weep For silent joy. I cannot find the way to my field Save in dreams, and here among The ruins of reality I lie. But sing to me the hymns of This sacred space and I, Will join the happy lillies In a chorus of delight
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Apr 18, 2014 18:16:36 GMT -5
Magdelene
She sees the aching hands of a tongue-tied Solomon Locked in stone; Hands that long to plunder the sea blown back, To stifle sea-girls dreaming with their songs, So she chides: "In Europe they dance with osteriches over their heads, Shall you preach?" She laughs at me seeking a hint of a crack in the shell, Laughs and eludes me, Gathering toadstools up for a brunch, Evoking rhythms of ancient bodily hymns, says: "Sweat is the sweetest of smells".
|
|
|
Post by laughter on Apr 18, 2014 18:44:52 GMT -5
sexy one dude.
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Apr 22, 2014 10:45:14 GMT -5
I will lie like any man In the trampled, sullen earth And though desires make their plans, The grave shall show just what their worth.
Good I've been, no saint, but right To all who've crossed my way before At times I've lent them real light; A lamp in darkened corridors.
But fall I will and married fast To dust of men unknown to me The robber, liar, lame outcast Shall blend in deaths blind alchemy
With sighs of mourning, I accept The fate of flesh and bone: My autonomous oath unkept I shall not stand alone.
|
|
|
Post by laughter on Apr 22, 2014 10:53:59 GMT -5
I've actually found muse in the wars as well. It came when standing apart from them ... best place to be by far.
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Apr 22, 2014 11:12:22 GMT -5
Photographs surround, Me disguised with different DNA The uncertain smile on command Baring teeth.
Fading 8.5 X 11 construction paper cave art A rainbow arching like an old Inchworm.
An assortment of text and charts Relaying data and processes Flowcharts of productivity.
A stack of cracked CD cases Housing digital desire And other promises.
Aching feet Throbbing and hot.
The hum of an HVAC system. Some sliding metal drawers And a pepper grinder.
Inquisitive focus searching and awaiting Thought details for kindling Crumpled and surrounded with the driest tinder.
The sound of a striking match, quickly ensuing flame The smell of sulfer.
What burns?
It all remains minus the invisible dry epidermus Exfoliating with fire, Step right up.
|
|
|
Post by laughter on Apr 22, 2014 11:15:09 GMT -5
edgy
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Apr 22, 2014 11:37:21 GMT -5
Christ, somewhere ‘round here is that NUKE button. Who cares if it’s red if all the lights are out? Shoulda made it glowing instead of this wannabe batphone sh.it. And why put it in the same room with all these other buttons? Fu.ck the pencilnecks who designed this thing. When it’s time for inciting Armageddon, IT’s TIME, dammit! One button, no distractions, easily pushed in all conditions. Not even a thought is needed.. Just a momentary wisp of focus.
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Apr 22, 2014 22:14:22 GMT -5
Eternity is something Spoken of in halls By dusty men in holy coats Who claim they've heard it's call
But as for me, I turn my ear From heavens ancient sound; I swim in tides of time But in eternity, I drown.
|
|
|
Post by charliegee on Apr 26, 2014 13:36:10 GMT -5
I haven't been writing much lately. It is a combination of a vacating muse coupled with the prospect of possible heart surgery or, at the least, some more medication to add to the ever growing list. I seem to have an ascending aortic aneurysm (see, some things are looking up!) coupled with cardiomyopathy, idiopathic hypertrophy and coronary artery disease. What this adds up to is possible treatment with meds, another stent, a pacemaker or some unnanounced and unknowable (at this point anyway) surgery. I'll see the cardio surgeon on Thursday so he can take his own measurements and, hopefully, shed some light as to what direction we'll be going. As always, your prayers and well wishes are always appreciated.
|
|