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poetry
Jun 7, 2016 13:45:18 GMT -5
Post by charliegee on Jun 7, 2016 13:45:18 GMT -5
thanks Zin .. this one is purely imagination ...
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poetry
Jun 8, 2016 4:10:18 GMT -5
Post by zin on Jun 8, 2016 4:10:18 GMT -5
thanks Zin .. this one is purely imagination ... Wow, it's a powerful imagination! and somehow I guess that you can be a poker-face at times : ) The picture is a scene from the latest video I liked (PJ Harvey - the Wheel). I just think it's impressive, too..  |
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poetry
Jun 17, 2016 6:26:07 GMT -5
Post by zin on Jun 17, 2016 6:26:07 GMT -5
This is a bit too dreamy for me but I like to read Rimbaud frequently...
Ophelia
(...)
II
O pale Ophelia! beautiful as snow!
Yes child, you died, carried off by a river!
- It was the winds descending from the great mountains of Norway
That spoke to you in low voices of better freedom.
It was a breath of wind, that, twisting your great hair,
Brought strange rumors to your dreaming mind;
It was your heart listening to the song of Nature
In the groans of the tree and the sighs of the nights;
It was the voice of mad seas, the great roar,
That shattered your child's heart, too human and too soft;
It was a handsome pale knight, a poor madman
Who one April morning sat mute at your knees!
Heaven! Love! Freedom! What a dream, oh poor crazed Girl!
You melted to him as snow does to a fire;
Your great visions strangled your words
- And fearful Infinity terrified your blue eye!
III
- And the poet says that by starlight
You come seeking, in the night, the flowers that you picked
And that he has seen on the water, lying in her long veils
White Ophelia floating, like a great lily.
Arthur Rimbaud
translated by Oliver Bernard
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poetry
Jun 21, 2016 10:36:32 GMT -5
Post by zin on Jun 21, 2016 10:36:32 GMT -5
I'm out of order because of heat Daytime: sleep time Nighttime: thinking of walk areas, whining "but it is late" and then of swimming, "but it is early" - for vacation.. Organism reminds of itself like this "you were free of me? sure!" O my psyche! free yourself! without a permanent revolt, of course!  |
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Post by zin on Jun 30, 2016 18:26:32 GMT -5
a house will come out of the 'yet'
beauty's wandering will go into a rest
grand concourse will grow invisible fences
just to experiment with passing chances
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poetry
Jul 2, 2016 2:53:34 GMT -5
zin likes this
Post by laughter on Jul 2, 2016 2:53:34 GMT -5
a house will come out of the 'yet' beauty's wandering will go into a rest grand concourse will grow invisible fences just to experiment with passing chances and if by chance your net should catch that key that unlocks every latch where would you go to build that home? or would you instead just roam? with no roof to keep you down upward onward with no sound with no fence to reign you in outward ever with no tether you let the world make it's own weather |
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poetry
Sept 5, 2016 0:56:06 GMT -5
Post by laughter on Sept 5, 2016 0:56:06 GMT -5
spaghetti is like a koan to me all connected and wirey. all things can be used for happiness, satisfaction. Buddha can be used for happiness and satisfaction. But a Buddha is not spaghetti. Ummmmm, I wouldn't be too sure about that. When sages have been asked, "What is Buddha?", these are a few of their answers: 1. "Three pounds of flax." 2. "Sh*t on a stick." 3. "That which asked the question." If they had been Italian, perhaps spaghetti would have been one of their answers. LOL |
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Post by glimmer on Oct 18, 2016 4:24:14 GMT -5
how buried
is poetry
how lost
this thread?
not lost
when found
but the eye
to the needle
yes indeed
steady this
hand to suchness
of task
focus will
not of itself
thread it
resolve may
help. here
is once
again thread
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Post by zin on Oct 18, 2016 16:54:09 GMT -5
how buried is poetry how lost this thread? not lost when found but the eye to the needle yes indeed steady this hand to suchness of task focus will not of itself thread it resolve may help. here is once again thread Thank you for bringing up the thread glimmer : ) I -for one- haven't forgotten the poetry threads but I'm no poet! From time to time I think of quoting Rumi.. here's one.. Shadow and Light Source BothHow does a part of the world leave the world? How does wetness leave water? Don't try to put out fire by throwing on more fire! Don't wash a wound with blood. No matter how fast you run, your shadow keeps up. Sometimes it's in front! Only full overhead sun diminishes your shadow. But that shadow has been serving you. What hurts you, blesses you. Darkness is your candle. Your boundaries are your quest. I could explain this, but it will break the glass cover on your heart, and there's no fixing that. You must have shadow and light source both. Listen, and lay your head under the tree of awe. When from that tree feathers and wings sprout on you, be quieter than a dove. Don't even open your mouth for even a coo. Rumi (translation C. Barks) |
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poetry
Oct 19, 2016 19:01:59 GMT -5
Post by zin on Oct 19, 2016 19:01:59 GMT -5
If you want what visible reality
can give, you're an employee.
If you want the unseen world,
you're not living your truth.
Both wishes are foolish,
but you'll be forgiven for forgetting
that what you really want is
love's confusing joy.
Rumi (translation C. Barks)
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Post by laughter on Oct 20, 2016 2:38:49 GMT -5
hello poetry and philosophy some hemotology this barnacle attaching to the side of billy carnegie mc hammer cant touch this. I saw cat and cat fighting this evening under the moon. not with my own eyes I heard some loud commotion in the bushes and then some fat cat runs out. Cats are stupid for fighting. Can't we have some peace? Pieces of mind scattered around littering the landscape You can see them, but they don't have a shape There's noise involved, but there is no sound. You're just hearing things They have no scent and no, you certainly can't touch them So please Put the hammer down And slowly Back away ...  |
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poetry
Oct 20, 2016 2:49:24 GMT -5
zin likes this
Post by laughter on Oct 20, 2016 2:49:24 GMT -5
a crowd greets the horizon as the gold of life comes and goes adding warmth to the water, and putting on the endless show in the distance, wispy ghosts dance languidly in a vast blue ballroom they enchant the spires below that reach toward them in a manmade stretch the riotous skymob might appear disordered but the wry pair of onlookers at the shore know better |
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Post by zin on Oct 31, 2016 20:02:51 GMT -5
a crowd greets the horizon as the gold of life comes and goes adding warmth to the water, and putting on the endless show in the distance, wispy ghosts dance languidly in a vast blue ballroom they enchant the spires below that reach toward them in a manmade stretch the riotous skymob might appear disordered but the wry pair of onlookers at the shore know better  |
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poetry
Nov 1, 2016 12:16:08 GMT -5
zin likes this
Post by laughter on Nov 1, 2016 12:16:08 GMT -5
a crowd greets the horizon as the gold of life comes and goes adding warmth to the water, and putting on the endless show in the distance, wispy ghosts dance languidly in a vast blue ballroom they enchant the spires below that reach toward them in a manmade stretch the riotous skymob might appear disordered but the wry pair of onlookers at the shore know better  between the now and yesterday diamonds they do shine bouncing bits of the infinite cast along a line from birth to death the water waves facets many and true lapping gently giving life a vibrant fluid hue in an instant, in a gleam a point explodes in time a brilliant silent truth is told neither yours nor mine a gift so precious, no price can tell the value of the stone on the enternal ocean everywhere is home |
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poetry
Nov 13, 2016 20:10:26 GMT -5
Post by silver on Nov 13, 2016 20:10:26 GMT -5
..-...-....-.....-
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
~P. B. Shelley
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