Discussion in 'Art & Culture' started by Angelus, Nov 9, 2002.
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Wow! Would that all poetry were presented so slickly - now that it easily can be so. Rap and half the crap on YouTube would die off in minutes if the Brownings were reworked. Great stuff!
Is their happiness more important than your own?
Come—let me show you an empty throne.
From lodestone ladles to lunar mansions,
we’ll decipher puzzles with nine dot expansions.
Hear it?—a rousing old battle cry.
Bound to necessity—there are limits to "I."
Once told of men and mice.
Potentials spiraling with loaded dice.
Hope—the agony of desire.
Love to wit—wine to fire.
Proud assertions of self-control:
beware of the captain of his soul.
Whether in motion or at rest;
we’re all first mates at best.
In a realm of freedom and a realm of constraint,
who’ll condemn us—a glass coffin saint?
An unchangeable tyrant overhead;
aware of nothing—dead is dead.
Faith is made void—hollowed be thy name.
There’s no such thing as an absolute frame.
Come hither, Dilettante, nothing is set in stone.
Neither righteousness nor judgments inhabit the throne.
Ideals to die for—all have eaten from the tree.
Be free to nothingness—nothingness to free.
There was a child who was so mild
That no one thought of her as wild
And yet beneath her gentle face
Was chaos time could not erase.
And every day her pain would stay
Just out of reach, in no one's way.
And though she smiled, her soul was riled
Because it has been long defiled.
Yet, unreleased, her pain increased
Until her deepest longings ceased.
And in her mind she built the kind
Of fortress no one else could find.
Now all alone, in walls of stone,
A young girl guards her fragile throne.
And nobody can hurt her there,
And nobody can show they care.
So pain presumptuously plods on
With fear the queen and rage the pawn.
They fight to shield and yet to free
The little girl I once called Me.
A poem sent to me from a fellow fortress builder - 2011
~Author remains anonymous
Lovin' Her Was Easier
I have seen the morning burning golden on the mountain in the sky
Aching with the feeling of the freedom of an eagle when she flies
Turning on the world the way she smiled upon my soul as I lay dying
Healing as the colors in the sunshine and the shadows of her eyes
Waking in the morning to the feeling of her fingers on my skin
Wiping out the traces of the people and the places that I've been
Teaching me that yesterday was something that I never thought of trying
Talking of tomorrow and the money, love and time we had to spend
Loving her was easier than anything I'll ever do again
Coming close together with a feeling that I've never know before in my Time
She ain't ashamed to be a woman or afraid to be a friend
I don't know the answer to the easy way she opened every door in my mind
But dreaming was as easy as believing it was never gonna end
And loving her was easier than anything I'll ever do again
That from which the pulse beats
As drums bashing repeatedly
With a wild stare, an accompanied blush
The distant scape beckons
Raw energy, expansive space
Running forwards, spinning
Waving arms in all directions
Felling trees, launching an axe
This is when the adrenaline really spouts
Now racing straight
Continuing past the fires
Snake veins and an eight stroke heart
Spent scapes left behind
Along an unseen path
Demarcated, well demarcated
Unseen through bloodshot eyes
"My Goddddddddd, this takes me to eternity and back"
Shuffling and coiling, along the red production line
Steam and grease and iron spinning
Past waking hours, lust knows no rest
Work, as a door, fist marks, indentations
Then, as the pavement, head marks, concussions
What's left for sleep is passed over
Bricks bashed in with the face
"Maaaaake it more, take more, mooorree, Goddamn...."
Head, hands, face peeling time from the mold
A bat and a screaming headache
Spinning Visage, broken drywall
Pulling the strings above
Stilted motions of strength
Making them move
To pull the roof in
Then that which stopped short
Standing still next to a rail and a river
Carefully observing it flow
In increasingly predictable streams
Empty, as if anemic
Waiting silently even to death
Still, watching, listening
^interesting writing.. one can rest with it for a while, very little clutter, yet somewhat saddening, yet the passion for the writing itself is a gift. Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image!
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The World Wellness Web
has evolved from it's beginnings
will be achieved
such takes time and structure.
isn't a hierarchy
a field of legitimacy
Not The Best Writing
Don't put me in your livingwill
I have my own..
I prefer not to have an attention deficit disorder.
?Why do you need me as an additive in your chest to get through the day.
as if you weren't love
perhaps it is
that missed the starting gun.. that said "be you and no one else"""""""
I guess it may be true.
Some souls get themselves so muddy with stealing people into their will that their soul expires
from the wheel of incarnation.
It ain't me
it's just natural ethic.
You can't even begin to know what love is until you have mastered
that we are born individuate
he or she whom defends itself with other beings
or uses other beings to feel livingly
I guess it may be true
some souls expire.
To Beat The Devil
It was winter time in Nashville, down on music city row.
And I was lookin' for a place to get myself out of the cold.
To warm the frozen feelin' that was eatin' at my soul.
Keep the chilly wind off my guitar.
My thirsty wanted whisky; my hungry needed beans,
But it'd been of month of paydays since I'd heard that eagle scream.
So with a stomach full of empty and a pocket full of dreams,
I left my pride and stepped inside a bar.
Actually, I guess you'd could call it a Tavern:
Cigarette smoke to the ceiling and sawdust on the floor;
I saw that there was just one old man sittin' at the bar.
And in the mirror I could see him checkin' me and my guitar.
An' he turned and said: "Come up here boy, and show us what you are."
I said: "I'm dry." He bought me a beer.
He nodded at my guitar and said: "It's a tough life, ain't it?"
I just looked at him. He said: "You ain't makin' any money, are you?"
I said: "You've been readin' my mail."
He just smiled and said: "Let me see that guitar.
"I've got something you oughta hear."
Then he laid it on me:
"If you waste your time a-talkin' to the people who don't listen,
"To the things that you are sayin', who do you think's gonna hear.
"And if you should die explainin' how the things that they complain about,
"Are things they could be changin', who do you think's gonna care?"
There were other lonely singers in a world turned deaf and blind,
Who were crucified for what they tried to show.
And their voices have been scattered by the swirling winds of time.
'Cos the truth remains that no-one wants to know.
Well, the old man was a stranger, but I'd heard his song before,
Back when failure had me locked out on the wrong side of the door.
When no-one stood behind me but my shadow on the floor,
And lonesome was more than a state of mind.
You see, the devil haunts a hungry man,
If you don't wanna join him, you got to beat him.
I ain't sayin' I beat the devil, but I drank his beer for nothing.
Then I stole his song.
And you still can hear me singin' to the people who don't listen,
To the things that I am sayin', prayin' someone's gonna hear.
And I guess I'll die explaining how the things that they complain about,
Are things they could be changin', hopin' someone's gonna care.
I was born a lonely singer, and I'm bound to die the same,
But I've got to feed the hunger in my soul.
And if I never have a nickle, I won't ever die ashamed.
'Cos I don't believe that no-one wants to know.
By Blind Pathos
From my chair
Through the air
I want my info now
Truth or dare
I don’t care
Give me info now
Hip wired infolites
Something bout usage rights
Whereas my info wow
Flying flags ever knowing
Looking back never going
Here’s my info now
Meaning without content
Exists without it being sent
The contents meaning slowly dies
Contending feeds on sorefull eyes
Mercy typo pings brindle blogger
Immortal mention 2 NSA loggers
Wikimaster with google goggles
Seeks truthess acknak for boondoggle
Give me just a little push
My parental burning bush
Life lite the snippet deluxe
Youtube the world gone amuck
By Blind Pathos
There will be no secrets
Nowhere to hide
The left and right outwitted
And little brother inside
The drones and data crawlers delve
Dreams and nightmares being ourselves
Compiled evidences mount concern
While mankind’s bridges burn
Our cyborg image never shown
Our accessories scent allured us
Hums of technology a pleasant moan
We breathed deep the aroma’s service
Bandwidth culture firmly in place
Everyman has no face
Ethnicity of avatar and clan of choice
Everyman selects a voice
The blind face themselves feeling
Something’s missing out of sight
Reaching for the cognitive ceiling
Surrendering for wrong and right
To machines constant drumming
The overfuture’s coming
Where there’s nothing left to do
And no difference from me to you
As it were by 1969 ish
I am confused
at the continuous invent
of the materialization
of human form..
the sickness of continued population increase
with really only cluttered integrity to show,
It's not as if people actually get a long perfectly at all.
they slop the air with commentary of slight and neglect
humans evolved into form,
what on earth are they doing
multiplying human form on and on
with what seems little regard for Life..
And the kid was supposed be a person.
The mess of opinionated/
what actually is an ?opinion
guess I wouldn't know
I'd rather 'not bother.
Toooooooo Much Double Time
"make it true
"make it so
you think your bright
yet you exemplify hellllllllll
with your cluttered ronism that destroys realtime
righteous overt negligence is materially destructive
as coversion is unfit.
Why do you ask such things?
Do you know what the future brings?
Is it better to seethe?
Art like air allows you to breathe.
All men are slaves. None are free.
The torch-bearing whore is necessity.
Do you think me a fool, for my love of tomorrow?
Should my delight linger into one's own barrow?
Shall I trust in the spinning of the triads?
And yet, speak nothing of the dyads?
They are my pleasure, my pain.
I yield to their needs, their gain.
When I risk, does my reason pause?
They are my reason. They are my cause.
If deprived of such delight
by weak resentment and petty spite.
My fury, my passion, my love will embark.
I will guard my purpose, protect my mark.
The key that unlocks my passion's cage
will put all of heaven in a rage.
Shall you seek solace like a child in a womb?
Take away love and your earth is a tomb.
where it was,
the united nations
a good idea for political and social peace.
ooooohh the sidelines of social and textual ?!illegitimacy.
and the familial whip of tooo much.
& strange excessions.
?!what is this ?!now
of compass ?! regarding religion,philosophy or skin color?.
?what are we raceing for?what for?!
?!what of legitimacy????????????. and not wanting or demanding a ?kisss for !!!!something
Allllllll these sideline things
the crime of sensual war, ?littering our planet with negligence and superfluous industrialization.
Some say, some said,
back when before the 1500's
"Like what life represents
?what will thisearth look like thousands of years from now..
It isn't and wasn't meant to beeeeee
a place of greed and human error....
*lost by cause*
one can choose to choose
to live life as a good person or
one can end up garnering oneself into being an idiot............
an idiot plays wargames.
an idiot enjoys voyeurism.
an idiot thinks he or she has rights to punish,harm, and alter beings single liberty
.it never is too late to choose to be a good person
how a harmful being whom is relishing in the wrong kinds of fun.. ?!wake
to the idea of being ?!good
A little ditty from the 'nam days:
Love the system and fight the war
but don't as what you're fighting for
lest you fight the system and hate the war
Separate names with a comma.