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dd314
Stranger
Registered: 11/19/17
Posts: 10
Last seen: 4 years, 2 months
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THE ENIGMAS By Pablo Neruda
You've asked me what the crustacean spins between its gold claws and I reply: the sea knows. You wonder what the sea squirt waits for in its transparent bell? What does it wait for? I'll tell you: it's waiting for time like you. You ask me whom the embrace of the alga Macrocystis reaches? Inquire, inquire at a certain hour, in a certain sea that I know. You'll doubtlessly ask me about the accursed ivory of the narwhal, so that I'll tell you how the sea unicorn dies harpooned. You'll perhaps ask me about the halcyonic feathers that tremble in the pure origins of the austral sea? And about the polyp's crystalline construction you're no doubt pondering another problem, trying to unriddle it now? Do you want to know the electric matter of the sea floor's barbs? The armed stalactite that breaks as it walks? The hook of the fisher fish, music stretched out in the depths like a thread in the water?
I want to tell you that the sea knows this, that life in its coffers is wide as the sand, countless and pure, and amid sanguinary grapes time has polished the hardness of a petal, the medusa's light, and it has plucked the bouquet of its coral fibers from a cornucopia of infinite mother-of-pearl.
I'm nothing but the empty net that advances human eyes, lifeless in that darkness, fingers accustomed to the triangle, measurements of an orange's shy hemisphere.
I lived like you probing the interminable star, and in my net, at night, I awakened naked, the only catch, a fish trapped in the wind.
-------------------- “Hold to the now, the here, through which all future plunges to the past.” ― James Joyce, Ulysses
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DividedQuantum
Outer Head
Registered: 12/06/13
Posts: 9,851
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Re: Post a poem you like [Re: dd314]
#25144529 - 04/16/18 10:18 PM (5 years, 11 months ago) |
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Lovely!
-------------------- Vi Veri Universum Vivus Vici
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DividedQuantum
Outer Head
Registered: 12/06/13
Posts: 9,851
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There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Appareled in celestial light. The glory and the freshness of a dream.
--Wordsworth
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pineninja
Dream Weaver
Registered: 08/17/14
Posts: 12,468
Loc: South
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A Dream Within a Dream
BY EDGAR ALLAN POE
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow —
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand —
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep — while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
-------------------- Just a fool on the hill.
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DividedQuantum
Outer Head
Registered: 12/06/13
Posts: 9,851
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Re: Post a poem you like [Re: pineninja] 1
#25192039 - 05/08/18 05:50 PM (5 years, 10 months ago) |
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The Dream That Must Be Interpreted
by Rumi (trans. Coleman Barks)
This place is a dream. Only a sleeper considers it real.
Then death comes like dawn, and you wake up laughing at what you thought was your grief.
But there's a difference with this dream. Everything cruel and unconscious done in the illusion of the present world, all that does not fade away at the death-waking.
It stays, and it must be interpreted.
All the mean laughing, all the quick, sexual wanting, those torn coats of Joseph, they change into powerful wolves that you must face.
The retaliation that sometimes comes now, the swift, payback hit, is just a boy's game to what the other will be.
You know about circumcision here. It's full castration there!
And this groggy time we live, this is what it's like:
A man goes to sleep in the town where he has always lived, and he dreams he's living in another town. In the dream, he doesn't remember the town he's sleeping in his bed in. He believes the reality of the dream town.
The world is that kind of sleep.
The dust of many crumbled cities settles over us like a forgetful doze,
but we are older than those cities. We began as a mineral. We emerged into plant life and into the animal state, and then into being human, and always we have forgotten our former states, except in early spring when we slightly recall being green again. That's how a young person turns toward a teacher. That's how a baby leans toward the breast, without knowing the secret of its desire, yet turning instinctively.
Humankind is being led along an evolving course, through this migration of intelligences, and though we seem to be sleeping, there is an inner wakefulness that directs the dream,
and that will eventually startle us back to the truth of who we are.
-------------------- Vi Veri Universum Vivus Vici
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pineninja
Dream Weaver
Registered: 08/17/14
Posts: 12,468
Loc: South
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Now that's a poem to start my day.
-------------------- Just a fool on the hill.
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DividedQuantum
Outer Head
Registered: 12/06/13
Posts: 9,851
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Re: Post a poem you like [Re: pineninja] 1
#25193831 - 05/09/18 04:42 PM (5 years, 10 months ago) |
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-------------------- Vi Veri Universum Vivus Vici
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DividedQuantum
Outer Head
Registered: 12/06/13
Posts: 9,851
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I have listened And I have looked With open eyes. I have poured my soul Into the world Seeking the unknown Within the known. And I sing out loud In amazement.
--Rabindranath Tagore
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akira_akuma
Φύσις κρύπτεσθαι ὕψιστος φιλεῖ
Registered: 08/28/09
Posts: 82,455
Loc: Onypeirophóros
Last seen: 4 years, 2 months
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Portrait d'une Femme By Ezra Pound
Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea, London has swept about you this score years And bright ships left you this or that in fee: Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all things, Strange spars of knowledge and dimmed wares of price. Great minds have sought you — lacking someone else. You have been second always. Tragical? No. You preferred it to the usual thing: One dull man, dulling and uxorious, One average mind — with one thought less, each year. Oh, you are patient, I have seen you sit Hours, where something might have floated up. And now you pay one. Yes, you richly pay. You are a person of some interest, one comes to you And takes strange gain away: Trophies fished up; some curious suggestion; Fact that leads nowhere; and a tale for two, Pregnant with mandrakes, or with something else That might prove useful and yet never proves, That never fits a corner or shows use, Or finds its hour upon the loom of days: The tarnished, gaudy, wonderful old work; Idols and ambergris and rare inlays, These are your riches, your great store; and yet For all this sea-hoard of deciduous things, Strange woods half sodden, and new brighter stuff: In the slow float of differing light and deep, No! there is nothing! In the whole and all, Nothing that's quite your own. Yet this is you.
Commission By Ezra Pound
Go, my songs, to the lonely and the unsatisfied, Go also to the nerve-racked, go to the enslaved-by-convention, Bear to them my contempt for their oppressors. Go as a great wave of cool water, Bear my contempt of oppressors.
Speak against unconscious oppression, Speak against the tyranny of the unimaginative, Speak against bonds. Go to the bourgeoise who is dying of her ennuis, Go to the women in suburbs. Go to the hideously wedded, Go to them whose failure is concealed, Go to the unluckily mated, Go to the bought wife, Go to the woman entailed.
Go to those who have delicate lust, Go to those whose delicate desires are thwarted, Go like a blight upon the Dulness of the world; Go with your edge against this, Strengthen the subtle cords, Bring confidence upon the algae and the tentacles of the soul. Go in a friendly manner, Go with an open speech. Be eager to find new evils and new good, Be against all forms of oppression. Go to those who are thickened with middle age, To those who have lost their interest.
Go to the adolescent who are smothered in family- Oh how hideous it is To see three generations of one house gathered together! It is like an old tree with shoots, And with some branches rotted and falling.
Go out and defy opinion, Go against this vegetable bondage of the blood. Be against all sorts of mortmain
[end all calls to death]
Edited by akira_akuma (05/15/18 05:43 PM)
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Isalifrass
Stranger
Registered: 05/28/18
Posts: 75
Last seen: 2 years, 1 month
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Kubla Khan By Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Or, a vision in a dream. A Fragment.
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round; And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover! And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, A mighty fountain momently was forced: Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail: And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up momently the sacred river. Five miles meandering with a mazy motion Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man, And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean; And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far Ancestral voices prophesying war! The shadow of the dome of pleasure Floated midway on the waves; Where was heard the mingled measure From the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw: It was an Abyssinian maid And on her dulcimer she played, Singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight ’twould win me, That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome! those caves of ice! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware! Beware! His flashing eyes, his floating hair! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.
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DividedQuantum
Outer Head
Registered: 12/06/13
Posts: 9,851
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Re: Post a poem you like [Re: Isalifrass]
#25245172 - 06/02/18 09:58 PM (5 years, 9 months ago) |
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-------------------- Vi Veri Universum Vivus Vici
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pineninja
Dream Weaver
Registered: 08/17/14
Posts: 12,468
Loc: South
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"Masters Of War"
Come you masters of war You that build all the guns You that build the death planes You that build all the bombs You that hide behind walls You that hide behind desks I just want you to know I can see through your masks
You that never done nothin' But build to destroy You play with my world Like it's your little toy You put a gun in my hand And you hide from my eyes And you turn and run farther When the fast bullets fly
Like Judas of old You lie and deceive A world war can be won You want me to believe But I see through your eyes And I see through your brain Like I see through the water That runs down my drain
You fasten all the triggers For the others to fire Then you set back and watch When the death count gets higher You hide in your mansion' As young people's blood Flows out of their bodies And is buried in the mud
You've thrown the worst fear That can ever be hurled Fear to bring children Into the world For threatening my baby Unborn and unnamed You ain't worth the blood That runs in your veins
How much do I know To talk out of turn You might say that I'm young You might say I'm unlearned But there's one thing I know Though I'm younger than you That even Jesus would never Forgive what you do
Let me ask you one question Is your money that good Will it buy you forgiveness Do you think that it could I think you will find When your death takes its toll All the money you made Will never buy back your soul
And I hope that you die And your death'll come soon I will follow your casket In the pale afternoon And I'll watch while you're lowered Down to your deathbed And I'll stand over your grave 'Til I'm sure that you're dead
Dylan.
-------------------- Just a fool on the hill.
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DividedQuantum
Outer Head
Registered: 12/06/13
Posts: 9,851
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Re: Post a poem you like [Re: pineninja] 1
#25280791 - 06/20/18 11:19 AM (5 years, 9 months ago) |
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The Walrus and the Carpenter
by Lewis Carroll
"The sun was shining on the sea, Shining with all his might: He did his very best to make The billows smooth and bright — And this was odd, because it was The middle of the night.
The moon was shining sulkily, Because she thought the sun Had got no business to be there After the day was done — "It's very rude of him," she said, "To come and spoil the fun."
The sea was wet as wet could be, The sands were dry as dry. You could not see a cloud, because No cloud was in the sky: No birds were flying overhead — There were no birds to fly.
The Walrus and the Carpenter Were walking close at hand; They wept like anything to see Such quantities of sand: If this were only cleared away,' They said, it would be grand!'
If seven maids with seven mops Swept it for half a year, Do you suppose,' the Walrus said, That they could get it clear?' I doubt it,' said the Carpenter, And shed a bitter tear.
O Oysters, come and walk with us!' The Walrus did beseech. A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk, Along the briny beach: We cannot do with more than four, To give a hand to each.'
The eldest Oyster looked at him, But never a word he said: The eldest Oyster winked his eye, And shook his heavy head — Meaning to say he did not choose To leave the oyster-bed.
But four young Oysters hurried up, All eager for the treat: Their coats were brushed, their faces washed, Their shoes were clean and neat — And this was odd, because, you know, They hadn't any feet.
Four other Oysters followed them, And yet another four; And thick and fast they came at last, And more, and more, and more — All hopping through the frothy waves, And scrambling to the shore.
The Walrus and the Carpenter Walked on a mile or so, And then they rested on a rock Conveniently low: And all the little Oysters stood And waited in a row.
The time has come,' the Walrus said, To talk of many things: Of shoes — and ships — and sealing-wax — Of cabbages — and kings — And why the sea is boiling hot — And whether pigs have wings.'
But wait a bit,' the Oysters cried, Before we have our chat; For some of us are out of breath, And all of us are fat!' No hurry!' said the Carpenter. They thanked him much for that.
A loaf of bread,' the Walrus said, Is what we chiefly need: Pepper and vinegar besides Are very good indeed — Now if you're ready, Oysters dear, We can begin to feed.'
But not on us!' the Oysters cried, Turning a little blue. After such kindness, that would be A dismal thing to do!' The night is fine,' the Walrus said. Do you admire the view?
It was so kind of you to come! And you are very nice!' The Carpenter said nothing but Cut us another slice: I wish you were not quite so deaf — I've had to ask you twice!'
It seems a shame,' the Walrus said, To play them such a trick, After we've brought them out so far, And made them trot so quick!' The Carpenter said nothing but The butter's spread too thick!'
I weep for you,' the Walrus said: I deeply sympathize.' With sobs and tears he sorted out Those of the largest size, Holding his pocket-handkerchief Before his streaming eyes.
O Oysters,' said the Carpenter, You've had a pleasant run! Shall we be trotting home again?' But answer came there none — And this was scarcely odd, because They'd eaten every one."
-------------------- Vi Veri Universum Vivus Vici
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DividedQuantum
Outer Head
Registered: 12/06/13
Posts: 9,851
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Domestic fury and fierce civil strife Shall cumber all the parts of Italy. Blood and destruction shall be so in use, And dreadful objects so familiar, That mothers shall but smile when they behold Their infants quartered with the hands of war, All pity choked with custom of fell deeds, And Caesar’s spirit, ranging for revenge, With Ate by his side come hot from hell, Shall in these confines with a monarch’s voice Cry “Havoc!” and let slip the dogs of war, That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial.
Julius Caesar Act III, Scene 1 by Wm. Shakespeare
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DividedQuantum
Outer Head
Registered: 12/06/13
Posts: 9,851
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We place no reliance On virgin or pigeon; Our Method is Science, Our Aim is Religion.
--Aleister Crowley
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DividedQuantum
Outer Head
Registered: 12/06/13
Posts: 9,851
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The Girl of Cadiz
By Lord Byron
O, NEVER talk again to me Of northern climes and British ladies; It has not been your lot to see, Like me, the lovely Girl of Cadiz. Although her eyes be not of blue, Nor fair her locks, like English lasses, How far its own expressive hue The languid azure eye surpasses! Prometheus-like, from heaven she stole The fire that through those silken lashes In darkest glances seems to roll, From eyes that cannot hide their flashes; And as along her bosom steal In lengthened flow her raven tresses, You ’d swear each clustering lock could feel, And curl'd to give her neck caresses. Our English maids are long to woo, And frigid even in possession; And if their charms be fair to view, Their lips are slow at love’s confession; But, born beneath a brighter sun, For love ordained the Spanish maid is, And who, when fondly, fairly won, Enchants you like the Girl of Cadiz? The Spanish maid is no coquette, Nor joys to see a lover tremble; And if she love or if she hate, Alike she knows not to dissemble. Her heart can ne’er be bought or sold,— Howe’er it beats, it beats sincerely; And, though it will not bend to gold, ’T will love you long, and love you dearly. The Spanish girl that meets your love Ne’er taunts you with a mock denial; For every thought is bent to prove Her passion in the hour of trial. When thronging foemen menace Spain She dares the deed and shares the danger; And should her lover press the plain, She hurls the spear, her love’s avenger. And when, beneath the evening star, She mingles in the gay Bolero, Or sings to her attuned guitar Of Christian knight or Moorish hero, Or counts her beads with fairy hand Beneath the twinkling rays of Hesper, Or joins devotion’s choral band To chant the sweet and hallowed vesper, In each her charms the heart must move Of all who venture to behold her. Then let not maids less fair reprove, Because her bosom is not colder; Through many a clime ’t is mine to roam Where many a soft and melting maid is, But none abroad, and few at home, May match the dark-eyed Girl of Cadiz.
-------------------- Vi Veri Universum Vivus Vici
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pineninja
Dream Weaver
Registered: 08/17/14
Posts: 12,468
Loc: South
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My partners not Spanish but I'll be reading her that as if she is.
-------------------- Just a fool on the hill.
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pineninja
Dream Weaver
Registered: 08/17/14
Posts: 12,468
Loc: South
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Re: Post a poem you like [Re: pineninja] 1
#25356823 - 07/30/18 08:55 PM (5 years, 7 months ago) |
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In a dark time, the eye begins to see, I meet my shadow in the deepening shade; I hear my echo in the echoing wood-- A lord of nature weeping to a tree. I live between the heron and the wren, Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den. What's madness but nobility of soul At odds with circumstance? The day's on fire! I know the purity of pure despair, My shadow pinned against a sweating wall. That place among the rocks--is it a cave, Or a winding path? The edge is what I have.
A steady storm of correspondences! A night flowing with birds, a ragged moon, And in broad day the midnight come again! A man goes far to find out what he is-- Death of the self in a long, tearless night, All natural shapes blazing unnatural light.
Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire. My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly, Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I? A fallen man, I climb out of my fear. The mind enters itself, and God the mind, And one is One, free in the tearing wind.
by Theodore Roethke
-------------------- Just a fool on the hill.
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Nataraja_Shiva
Philosophus
Registered: 05/15/18
Posts: 325
Loc: Earth
Last seen: 1 year, 8 months
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Re: Post a poem you like [Re: pineninja] 1
#25365205 - 08/03/18 08:08 PM (5 years, 7 months ago) |
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A stranger I met while on a long journey introduced me to Rainer Maria Rilke.
From out of the Book of Hours -
I read it in your word, and learn it from the history of the gestures of your warm wise hands, rounding themselves to form and circumscribe the shapes that are to come. Aloud you said: to live, and lo: to die, and you repeated, tirelessly: to be. And yet there was no death till murder came. Then through your perfect circles ran a rent and a cry tore, scattering the voices that not long before had gently blent to utter you, to carry you, bridge across the abyss —
And what they since have stammered are the fragments only of your old name.
-------------------- "Life is warfare and a strangers sojourn, the only lasting fame is oblivion" - Marcus Aurelius FastFreds Media Cookbook Mad Seasons guide to hidden contams How it should and shouldn't look Ultimate Tek Compendium
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Gonzo the Eternal
In Sterquiliniis Invenitur
Registered: 05/09/18
Posts: 480
Last seen: 4 years, 6 months
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Invictus by William Earnest Henley
Out of the night that covers me Black as the pit from pole to pole I thank whatever Gods may be For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud Under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears looms but the horror of the shade And yet the menace of the years finds, and shall find me, unafraid.
It matters not how straight the gate How charged with punishment the scroll I am the master of my fate I am the captain of my soul
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