Some Poems That We Might share ....

[Arcturus Descending]

I love this!!

I Know The Way You Can Get
Hafiz

I know the way you can get
When you have not had a drink of Love:

Your face hardens,
Your sweet muscles cramp.
Children become concerned
About a strange look that appears in your eyes
Which even begins to worry your own mirror
And nose.

Squirrels and birds sense your sadness
And call an important conference in a tall tree.
They decide which secret code to chant
To help your mind and soul.

Even angels fear that brand of madness
That arrays itself against the world
And throws sharp stones and spears into
The innocent
And into one's self.

O I know the way you can get
If you have not been drinking Love:

You might rip apart
Every sentence your friends and teachers say,
Looking for hidden clauses.

You might weigh every word on a scale
Like a dead fish.

You might pull out a ruler to measure
From every angle in your darkness
The beautiful dimensions of a heart you once
Trusted.

I know the way you can get
If you have not had a drink from Love's
Hands.

That is why all the Great Ones speak of
The vital need
To keep remembering God,
So you will come to know and see Him
As being so Playful
And Wanting,
Just Wanting to help.

That is why Hafiz says:
Bring your cup near me.
For all I care about
Is quenching your thirst for freedom!

All a Sane man can ever care about
Is giving Love!

From: 'I Heard God Laughing - Renderings of Hafiz'

[Arcturus Descending]

The Princess: Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font.
The firefly wakens; waken thou with me.

Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.

Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.

Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.

Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake.
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.

Ah...

[inevitablewilliam]

Well i am not posting any poem over here but can't stop myself for commenting over it. You people have written nice poems and i must appreciate the creativity of all of you.

[Arcturus Descending]

Well i am not posting any poem over here but can't stop myself for commenting over it. You people have written nice poems and i must appreciate the creativity of all of you.

Welcome.

Ah, if only, just speaking for myself, I was capable of writing the poetry that I've put in here.

This is poetry that has been written by renowned Poets, not by us.

Read my opening lines in the beginning of the thread.

And please - do feel free to sit down next to the fire and warm yourself and order a drink - I will personally serve you. And when you've come to feel cozy and your belly is blissfully warm from your drink, you can then get up on the stage and read your favorite poems that so move you - and that you love. Oh, and by the way, there are a number of uniquely-shaped candles on the table over by that large bay window. Feel free to get one, place it on your table and light it. It is yours to take home when you leave - as a 'treasure' of your unforgettable Moment here. Below is my favorite candle.

31755.jpg (16.72 KiB) Viewed 789 times

[Shepherdess]

STARFIRE

Outside on a winter's night when the rain begins to fall
There's a chill in the air and the howl of the wolves
While the rain beats at the door

Seven kings will ride on the wind up towards the mountains high
And the only sound that will break the air is the warrior's bitter cry

When the dawn of a new song will see the day
Then the strongest hearts grow old
And the warrior stands on top of the hill in the snow

Dark night with a glimmering light in the distance up ahead
In the forest they dwell with a misty spell no one hears what once was said
And the eagle fly through the clouds while the earth bleeds dark and cold
When the voices of men will ring out again all creation shall unfold

When the color of night will fade to light
As the mysteries unfold
And the warrior stands on top of the hill in the snow

And we're standing one and all fighting 'til we fall
Hoping for a better day
Never giving in until we find the words, 'til we find the words to say
'til we find the words to say...

Burning starfire, shine in the sky
For the lives of great men, who stand by your side
When the night falls, on we will ride
For no lost souls will live on forever

Midnight on the valley below still the horsemen follow through
There's a forest that leads to the foot of the hill that inside the magic holds
Seven strong they ride on along to the place where sorrow lies
And the shadows of the night will no longer hide all their mysteries come
undone

When the dusk of a full moon will see the light
And the weaker hearts go cold
And the warrior stands on top of the hill in the storm

And we're standing one and all fighting 'til we fall
Hoping for a better day
Never giving in until we find the words, 'til we find the words to say
'til we find the words to say...

Burning starfire, shine in the sky
For the lives of great men, who stand by your side
When the night falls, on we will ride
For no lost souls will live on forever

And we're standing one and all, fighting 'til we fall
Hoping for a better day
Never giving in until we find the words, 'til we find the words to say
'til we find the words to say...

Burning starfire, shine in the sky
For the lives of great men, who stand by our side
When the night falls, on we will ride
For no lost souls will live on forever

No lost souls will live on for...ever
Dragonforce

[jonquil]

From A Shropshire Lad, by AE Housman:

XIV

There pass the careless people
That call their souls their own;
Here by the road I loiter,
How idle and alone.

Ah, past the plunge of plummet,
In seas I cannot sound,
My heart and soul and senses,
World without end, are drowned.

His folly has not fellow
Beneath the blue of day
That gives to man or woman
His heart and soul away.

There flowers no balm to sain him
From east of earth to west
That's lost for everlasting
The heart out of his breast.

Here by the labouring highway
With empty hands I stroll:
Sea-deep, till doomsday morning,
Lie lost my heart and soul.

[Ascolo Parodites]

Pasolini.








I am a force of the Past.
My love lies only in tradition.
I come from the ruins, the churches,
the altarpieces, the villages
abandoned in the Appennines or foothills
of the Alps where my brothers once lived.
I wander like a madman down the Tuscolana,
down the Appia like a dog without a master.
Or I see the twilights, the mornings
over Rome, the Ciociaria, the world,
as the first acts of Posthistory
to which I bear witness, for the privilege
of recording them from the outer edge
of some buried age. Monstrous is the man
born of a dead woman’s womb.
And I, a fetus now grown, roam about
more modern than any modern man,
in search of brothers no longer alive.

[Arcturus Descending]

From A Shropshire Lad, by AE Housman:

XIV

There pass the careless people
That call their souls their own;
Here by the road I loiter,
How idle and alone.

Ah, past the plunge of plummet,
In seas I cannot sound,
My heart and soul and senses,
World without end, are drowned.

His folly has not fellow
Beneath the blue of day
That gives to man or woman
His heart and soul away.

There flowers no balm to sain him
From east of earth to west
That's lost for everlasting
The heart out of his breast.

Here by the labouring highway
With empty hands I stroll:
Sea-deep, till doomsday morning,
Lie lost my heart and soul.

That's really very sad but I can't put my finger on why, at least not yet. But i will. It sort of also reminds me of William Butler Yeats for some reason.

[Arcturus Descending]

Pasolini.

I am a force of the Past.
My love lies only in tradition.
I come from the ruins, the churches,
the altarpieces, the villages
abandoned in the Appennines or foothills
of the Alps where my brothers once lived.
I wander like a madman down the Tuscolana,
down the Appia like a dog without a master.
Or I see the twilights, the mornings
over Rome, the Ciociaria, the world,
as the first acts of Posthistory
to which I bear witness, for the privilege
of recording them from the outer edge
of some buried age. Monstrous is the man
born of a dead woman’s womb.
And I, a fetus now grown, roam about
more modern than any modern man,
in search of brothers no longer alive.

Hi, how are you today, a/k/a Vanitas? That poem sort of reminds me of this picture:

3248405933_5749a983a6.jpg (108.76 KiB) Viewed 752 times

Can you imagine the passion, patience and the love that it took to do what those men (and perhaps some women too) did to record history? From morning to night, by candlelight, every little character that went into that parchment. I realize that Pasolini's poem may not be about that but somehow that's what it reminds me of...recording time and history. It's a very poignant poem.

[Ascolo Parodites]

I can do more than imagine it.


And how is it going? I'm still addicted to pain killers.










































And I am not out yet, so good.

[Arcturus Descending]

I can do more than imagine it.


And how is it going? I'm still addicted to pain killers.










































And I am not out yet, so good.

Ah, yes, of course. Your writing. You're not out yet? Is that why you left all that space there? I didn't want to take away that space, especially if you make it out in a matter of minutes, you need somewhere you can 'be'. And you see, women really are not the only ones enslaved. We are all capable of being, or becoming enslaved...we just all choose our own form of manacles. It is an individual thing. I know for myself that if I truly want to be free, there is that suffering that must come first and then I know that I must give up that suffering in order to be free. That alone can be a monumental task. But sometimes, we simply do not want to be free. There is something that holds more meaning than freedom obviously. Or perhaps it is because nothing holds meaning at times that we shackle ourselves. And truth to tell, freedom is not really the most important thing...sometimes suffering to become is....but that also needs to be tendered with love and mercy...and it goes on. I think I need coffee.

[Three Times Great]

Safe Despair it is that raves--
Agony is frugal.
Puts itself severe away
For its own perusal.

Garrisoned no Soul can be
In the Front of Trouble--
Love is one, not aggregate--
Nor is Dying double--

~Emily Dickinson

[Evening]

Friendship IXX by Khalil Gibran

And a youth said, "Speak to us of Friendship."

Your friend is your needs answered.

He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving.

And he is your board and your fireside.

For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace.

When your friend speaks his mind you fear not the "nay" in your own mind, nor do you withhold the "ay."

And when he is silent your heart ceases not to listen to his heart;

For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed.

When you part from your friend, you grieve not;

For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.

And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit.

For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught.

And let your best be for your friend.

If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also.

For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill?

Seek him always with hours to live.

For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness.

And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures.

For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.


What an awesome poem this is...and what a gift, to have such a friend.

[Three Times Great]

Ah, Evening, that poem is so beautiful.. such friends are a treasure, always.

------

As if the Sea should part
And show a further Sea --
And that -- a further -- and the Three
But a presumption be --

Of Periods of Seas --
Unvisited of Shores --
Themselves the Verge of Seas to be --
Eternity -- is Those --

~Emily Dickinson

[Three Times Great]

The Grace -- Myself -- might not obtain --
Confer upon My flower --
Refracted but a Countenance --
For I -- inhabit Her --

~Emily Dickinson

[Three Times Great]

That sacred Closet when you sweep --
Entitled "Memory" --
Select a reverential Broom --
And do it silently.

'Twill be a Labor of surprise --
Besides Identity
Of other Interlocutors
A probability --

August the Dust of that Domain --
Unchallenged -- let it lie --
You cannot supersede itself
But it can silence you --

~Emily

[Three Times Great]

Not One by Heaven defrauded stay --
Although he seem to steal
He restitutes in some sweet way
Secreted in his will --

~Emily

[Three Times Great]

The tree
Often ponders on sunshine
And rain
Reflected their own
On pleasure and pain

Depth of experience may not
Follow size
That simplest perception
Alone
Renders wise

Within its own niche to
The tree life's made
Known
May conceive the world's depth
Such as no man has done

For to render an image
Or construct argument
Merely approximate
Crude to life's touch
Imminent

Thus lacking reflections
Imagined up high
Added after the fact
By the human
Mind's eye

How art we know different
'Tis for otherwise
Tree's senses grander
Expounded of size?

Or man's careful senses alone
Compare nigh
To dew quivered branches
Or leaves quiet
Sigh?

[Arcturus Descending]

A Dying Brain

Do you recall how I was once your fire –?
And we, a regal cloud of unity
Meandering through the closing blues of night,
Commanding stars to glitter;
Dawn to blush?

Your answer comes in ever-blanking stares:
A wall that blocks the know,
Damping down the glow that used to emanate
From clear and lucid eyes.
They've lost the will to recognise.

But hear! We are fifty years together –
And once we writhed in pleasure –
Drowning in emotion,
That which was our prime.

You don't recall.
You only lie as vegetation
Scattered on the ground:
A living mound of flesh,
Devoid of any neural mesh
To let you say 'I'm sound.'

Don't worry Dear,
For I'm aware with memory!
I'll tell you how we were.
We have our right of history!

If you could just concur.

Mark R Slaughter 2009


All one ever has is the Now.

[Three Times Great]

A Dying Brain

Do you recall how I was once your fire –?
And we, a regal cloud of unity
Meandering through the closing blues of night,
Commanding stars to glitter;
Dawn to blush?

Your answer comes in ever-blanking stares:
A wall that blocks the know,
Damping down the glow that used to emanate
From clear and lucid eyes.
They've lost the will to recognise.

But hear! We are fifty years together –
And once we writhed in pleasure –
Drowning in emotion,
That which was our prime.

You don't recall.
You only lie as vegetation
Scattered on the ground:
A living mound of flesh,
Devoid of any neural mesh
To let you say 'I'm sound.'

Don't worry Dear,
For I'm aware with memory!
I'll tell you how we were.
We have our right of history!

If you could just concur.

Mark R Slaughter 2009


All one ever has is the Now.

That is so, so sad...

...

Dominion lasts until obtained --
Possession just as long --
But these -- endowing as they flit
Eternally belong.

How everlasting are the Lips
Known only to the Dew --
These are the Brides of permanence
Supplanting me and you.

~Emily

[Three Times Great]

Her Bliss

Death is in the flower's heart –
Why to cry for life of any petal?

Death in purple ink of weary pens
Betrays the written yearnings
On her scented paper.

Death is laughing in her cry;
Her broken heart forlorn upon the sleeve.

Death ignores the plight of any purity –
He doesn’t care or seem to be aware of
What her dewy eye desires,
For Death beckoned:

'Embrace the jar! '
And yes, she did –
For Death, of course.

After all, no other man would
Open up her hand and bid her with a kiss,
So Death became her bliss.

-Mark Slaughter


...wow.. silence..

[Three Times Great]

Juno Gave the Summer

A sun for hearts – tempered rhythm in her flares;
The naked tan – bikini line a cry for stares;
Gregarious green, beguiled by colours en rapport –
The park’s alive! So what’s to hanker after more?

Children scream while parents dream their fantasies,
Igniting under brilliance –
They think they share resilience to the
Ultraviolet hues –
To lie displayed au naturel
Is what they’d rather choose!

And Helios peers at lovers in their
Heady worlds: vibrant leas to
Roam in hand; calming seas –
Satin sand insensible as
Water runs her ripples cross the
Shore – so like the park, it really
Cries for very little more!

In the garden, roses clamber for attention –
Pouting blooms, wafting scent –
Our floral monarch June’s event!
And fingers green receive the praise
From toiling hard for coloured blaze.

Compelled, I walk the countenance of sunny June
As Mother Nature danced amok in her saloon
Of roaring life, that came of youth in early spring
And nurtured in maternal warmth beneath her wing.

Eyes bedewed, I mellow in a reverie
– Hope renewed –
As Juno saw to suckle me with
Quintessential summer.

-Mark Slaughter

[Arcturus Descending]

Her Bliss

Death is in the flower's heart –
Why to cry for life of any petal?

Death in purple ink of weary pens
Betrays the written yearnings
On her scented paper.

Death is laughing in her cry;
Her broken heart forlorn upon the sleeve.

Death ignores the plight of any purity –
He doesn’t care or seem to be aware of
What her dewy eye desires,
For Death beckoned:

'Embrace the jar! '
And yes, she did –
For Death, of course.

After all, no other man would
Open up her hand and bid her with a kiss,
So Death became her bliss.

-Mark Slaughter


...wow.. silence..

Yes, this guy's imagery is beautiful...and it's so haunting. He can really write poetry.

Death is so deeply within the very flow of life. And reminds us to LIVE Deeply.

[Arcturus Descending]

I was looking for some Native American poetry and found this. It is so moving...it gave me the shivers.

I LIVE AS MAN

I have run as the wolf, on through the night

over many terrain, past tree at knee height.

I have felt the warmth of his fine shaggy coat,

I have howled the cold breath from his deep throat.

I have flown as the Eagle over waters and land,

Felt the feeling of freedom from my winged hands.

Soared high above vibrant valleys below,

Through rainbows and sunsets and clouds of snow.

I have swam as the Dolphin in seas deep and blue,

Over coral reefs and wonders so wild and so new,

Raced with ships and with fish then dived down deep,

Played as an angel in a watery sleep. I have galloped as

Horse with wind in my mane,

Stood high on the mountains over a golden plain,

Whinnied to skies, and bowed to the ground,

Rumbled my hoofs echoing thunder sounds.

I have fought as the Bear, so mighty and bold,

Felt the power of my swing on foes of old,

I have hunted with skill and speed of paw,

Then rested in caves through winters so raw.

I have traveled as Man mile upon mile,

By road, sea and air in various style,

I have dreamed through the eyes of lives so unique,

But these dreams humble me...

for it is as Man that I am weak...
J. Saunders©1998

[Three Times Great]

That is a great poem

___

Those not live yet
Who doubt to live again --
"Again" is of a twice
But this -- is one --
The Ship beneath the Draw
Aground -- is he?
Death -- so -- the Hyphen of the Sea --
Deep is the Schedule
Of the Disk to be --
Costumeless Consciousness --
That is he --

~Emily