I sit here in this chair, enveloped by sweet semi-darkness
With the light of my faithful companion.
As I gaze into its flame, it gazes back and whispers
In musings, light and simple.

Ah, the scent of sweet pine
How it tickles my nose.
I breath it in gently
And I become Forest!

I wonder if there may have been those men,
who, guided by an ancient star
whose light beamed down to desert sand
journeyed through their vision’s quest and into history?

Is there such a thing as grace?
And does it permeate the air we breath?
And if it does – imagine this! It dances, swirls, it leaps.
Then gently dives right into us.

Just look as Jupiter hangs, in numinous majestic array!
While deepest indigo space surrounds and bends to it.
I am left speechless, my heart jumping into my throat!
and Spirit softly murmuring, awakens the eternal question.

“Life, it’s just not fair”, you say.
“I have to pay the rent.
My shiny new car will have to wait.”
…Do you see those children over there?

The one with full-blown Aids who sleeps upon a bed of dirt?
The one whose little body has been claimed by cancer?
Look into their eyes and really, really listen!
Then answer the question: “Whose life, do you think, is just not fair?”

“Fall, fall, fall, hard-driven snow,
That I may lay upon your plush, plush blessing.”
A part of earth and sky and Everything; and, looking up
with eyes wide open, spreading wings, I may become Complete.

This Season calls forth a battle.
Two warriors, fierce, stand face to face.
Tell me whose side you will stand on – who becomes the Victor?
Hope or Fear – I leave it to you.

And all this while, this little flickering dancing flame
I have heard it softly whispering
“Do you want to be the one to curse the dark
or do you want, like me, to find what lies within It?”


Fear sucks, but it cann’t be entirely ignored.

For me, if I error it would be for hope.

“A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!”
A little knowledge or at least some tea leaves would be nice.

Lacking that go for hope!

Pascal’s wager?


That is great writing! Nice imagery, inspired and fluid, natural… simple yet profound… we certainly understand that the profound is often best expressed only by the simple. “Wisdom is the mundane transformed through brevity.”

Writing, particularly poetry, ought to reach down inside and move us to new and better places, novel experiences and perspectives. Your ‘musings’ here do certainly accomplish this! After all it was Nietzsche who said that good prose cannot be written but alongside poetry… Thank you for sharing your words with us :smiley:

And I would only add, not too unlikely! :sunglasses: :smiley: :stuck_out_tongue:

:banana-dance: :banana-dance: :banana-dance: :banana-dance: :banana-dance:


What is human?
Does this delusion really bleed

Why does no one care
& why do we only see what these others
show us?
The world and all creation
inside me
inside you too
That nothing exists outside of yourself.
This truth for which I have grown
a quiet

Your fire eyes and lythe figure
Dance swimming naked howling
at the moon.
Night beams and then we are off
Among the stars.

We cannot share each other
so we must learn to share ourselves
And that can be enough
it has to be.
And there’s no other way & I am

Rant rave rage
Pillage my soul
for trinkets
useful to the blind mass
of limbs and flesh and

You too
I know you too understand
But don’t cry, tho’ your soul swells
with tears.
shake free and fly
up here among the still
beasts &
up here with
the best
of us.

We were always free
There are those who never die
In whom life is purchased and alone
is preserved
And in which the galaxies revolve in
Godly wonders
of a godless existence.

So be with them
Light the flame
set laughter to
your eyes
and crack the page
Pull back that cover
to reveal

And of course
only me

Thank you, little reptilian one. :laughing:

Yes, fear can suck but it can also be a tool. We humans might be extinct today were it not for our sniffing out fear, telling us to fight or run. But there is that fear that doesn’t allow Hope to come in, that sort of creates a barrier.

Being that I had no idea what it meant, I looked it up (Shakespear’s Richard III). It supposedly refers to something that is needed that is unnecessary.

When i read it, I saw the horse as a metaphor for freedom, sort of like the inner spirit riding the wind. :laughing: One might indeed give up a kingdom for that.

Yes…reading a good book while sipping some Earl Grey (well, that’s what Captain Picard of the Starship Enterprise drank. For myself, a kingdom for a cup of strong coffee.

Pascal’s wager is for wimps!

[size=200]TSUNAMI[/size]… :banana-dance: :banana-dance: :banana-dance:

Ah, sweet sovereign mystery of my desert soul!! Had I but only known that my Musings were so irresistably powerful as to resurrect you out of your profound sleep from the depths of your ocean floor, I would have hollered you back long before this.

But all Arcturus could do was to rise and to rise … up through that most sublime and deeply purple impenetrable veil; and, in her rising into the heights, did she glimpse you, through the waters of time as in a dream, in your softly, surging slumber.

Alas, the loneliest of things in the Universe are those unuttered words, which left unheard, cannot call us home.

Thank you. You make me want to :banana-dance: :banana-dance: :banana-dance: Coming from you, that is a tsunamic compliment.

You are welcome, Three Times Great. Sometimes for me, writing poetry is like deep-sea diving; and, at other times, it’s like climbing Mt. Everest. But it is as much exhilarating as it is a challenge. :angelic-blueglow:

Haha, I bow to nothing or no one - well, maybe to a Tsunami - :stuck_out_tongue: only kidding of course. :laughing: Like Freddie’s ‘idols’ we shall topple death from its throne, not a throne nor a grave shall it have - but an existential Roar. I’ll have to get back to you on what that intuitive Freudian slip means when I’ve figured it out.

Balm can be good but even better is that which tastes horrible and hurts but is more healing. Aside from that, maybe I don’t understand what you you said there.

Ah, those dancing bananas. They feel wonderful, don’t they? :laughing:
:banana-dance: :banana-dance: :banana-dance: :banana-dance: :banana-dance: :banana-dance: :banana-dance: :banana-dance:
[size=200]SOAR, TSUNAMI, SOAR![/size] :evilfun:

Very nice, arc.

…really…this is all you had to say. :smiley:

:laughing: WHY? 8-[

Hi Arcturus,

My horse metaphor was meant to indicate that I am relatively desperate to know that I am not hoping for ghost stories and fairy tales to be true.

My wife tells me that I am a wimp frequently.

Thanks Ed

:laughing: Well, a little knowledge then would be just what you need to dispel that fear of yours. Unless you want to go on trust…there are no ghosts (except for the ones we create within us) and well fairy tales can point to truths but there are not always happy endings, especially with truth. Read a littlle Nicholas Sparks and he will teach you that seldom are there happy endings.

Forget what your wife tells you. Do you think that you’re a wimp? :stuck_out_tongue:

I am going to chew up this yummy good soul food for thought and then swallow and digest it. It deserves much more than a quick bite and swallow. And I may even have C, C and L with it. :laughing: It is beautiful. I think JM would have liked you. :banana-dance:

Hi Arcturus,

I don’t think I am a wimp. Just cautious.

On rare occasion, when I am reasonably certain that I am right AND that my actions are required for some greater good - keep someone else from being injured - I will go for it, even at long odds.

Thanks Ed

That is quiet the compliment :smiley: Thank you :blush: :confused: :-k :stuck_out_tongue: :smiley:

:banana-dance: :banana-dance: :banana-dance:

C, C and L… mmm sounds wonderous!

:wink: :sunglasses: :banana-dance:

Dance banana!

Your own poem isn’t bad either… this free-style format lends itself well to spontaneous creativity. Those like JM and CB really reveal the casual, natural grace of the form. Although structures and rhyming poetry is great as well, of course.

Here’s a nice little gem:

it’s no good
after all.
it has been cut in half
drawn and
quartered and
hung out to dry.

it was hardly good
even when it was good.

the ego gets caught
in a web of desire
the ego creates that strange mirage,

I need a new home for my ego.
who will she be
this time?


Ah, but there can be such beauty in sadness.

One more, just for fun :smiley:
(I think we all know one or two people who might fit the descriptions here):

very painful to write this
of course
but most poets are just big
accepting readings
taking university chairs
praying for tenure
writing books on poetic
technique and

very painful to write this
of course
but hardly as painful
attempting to read

having said the above
there goes
my last chance
to join their


:laughing: :laughing: :laughing: =D>


Three Times Great,

Your poem really is beautiful! It just pulled me in…all of it!

A poem is a spider web
Spun with words of wonder,
Woven lace held in place
By whispers made of thunder.

Charles Ghigna

Your first challenge to us as humans here…

…is very powerful. It calls us to explore who we ‘really’ are as humans, to look deeply within ourselves. We call ourselves ‘human’ though at times it’s difficult to know what that even means. I ask myself: This is human?! This is who we are?! - when I’ve observed how capable and willing we are to destroy one another in order to ‘be’ and to ‘have’ more than one another. This is evolution? No, I don’t think most of us have begun even to feel the pinprick of this delusion…a slowly-seeping ooze of reality might empty us where we are left with our nothingness.

…and then this beautiful rainfall comes along…

What sad and moving words…beautiful pathos, awareness, sacrifice…a vision of Love. To see through ourselves into ‘that’ loneliness and vulnerability is having the courage to be human. At least, You, in your loneliness, know it. The tragedy is in not accepting and embracing what is far more real than the junkie trinkets at our disposal. And that is ‘not’ self-defeatist…we cannot transcend what we cannot see/know.

There is an image which I receive as I read your poem of a flower, fragile yet determined, at the same time, that struggles to break through a sheet of hard ice and it succeeds standing up through that ice blossoming! It’s an incredible image I intuit through your poem.

This quote:

Wonderful sensuous energy here where we flow into our fluid, primal human aspect. How many of us are capable of doing this – can life even get any better than this? If a flower, when disturbed, is really felt by a star (paraphrased) how much more so would our dancing swimming naked howling at the moon and sliding up a night beam and soaring among the stars change the universe? You can almost hear millions of galaxies singing “Alleluia, Rejoice!”

What you described above in your poem is far more human than any trinkets we might reach for to satisfy our dead rotting flesh.

You absolutely had me on “So be with them tonight.” =P~

I like the one about the little soulworms that fly out of the nest for the resurrection.
Henry Miller


I have drunken deep of joy, And I will taste no other wine tonight. (but your poem)
Percy Bysshe Shelley

Addendum: If I seem to have gotten a bit carried away here #-o I do apologize. Couldn’t help myself. :banana-dance: :banana-dance: :banana-dance: :banana-dance: :banana-dance:

You are welcome. I’ve taken notice of how your above smilies have evolved. :stuck_out_tongue: Even smilies must struggle to become, against all odds and inertia. :imp:

Perhaps some Frangelico…yummy. Just might send me to bo’ya moon. :cry: But who would holler me back?

Isn’t bad either :astonished: :confused: Do you know that I sweated enough blood in creating that poem to give someone a transfusion? Only kidding there. :stuck_out_tongue:
:banana-dance: :banana-dance: :banana-dance:

Yes, sadness must be beautiful because we humans indulge in it and in our melancholy. Sadness is sort of like the twilight to me…stillness and whispering. We must listen! If it takes us on a journey into ourselves and reveals shiny gems waiting to be picked up, it’s good but if it just leaves us in bo-ya moon, well, then, we must have someone waiting to pull us back. May we ALL have someone waiting.

:frowning: Me? #-o [-o< :angry: [-( :-k :-" :sunglasses:

With that, perhaps he not only walked over the bridge but burned it behind him. But oh such fun it is to swim your way back or to float back, on your back, especially if it is night-time and the stars are out. That’s a beautiful poem Charles, just waiting to happen.

As the poems go into the thousands, you realize that you’ve created very little.”

“….but still hang around and drink with
Mozart, Bach, Brahms and the
some buddies
some men
sometimes all we need to be able to continue alone
are the dead
rattling the walls
that close us in.”

Sometimes the dead are much more inspiring than the living…how sad…unless we are graced enough to find that inspiring photon beam that enters into us.

Wonderful to be speaking with you again, TTG, and welcome back. I hope that you are well.

Yes, the certainly must :smiley:

Holler? But surely you know I would come in after you! And then we could either escape, or choose to remain there… :banana-dance: It would be tempting, would it not?

I can tell how you put yourself into your poem, expressed the essence of your soul in the moment you wrote it in… “isn’t bad” was merely a (perhaps poorly chosen) figure of speech not in any way meant to demean or downplay the effort from which your poem sprang forth and took to flight… but I’m sure you knew that already :smiley: Poems are certainly wonderful vehicles for intuiting others. I think not only does the reader intuit the author, but it seems that the author must also intuit the reader of her/his works - especially when they are aware of certain people who will be reading them.

Do you think that we can gain insight into someone else merely by representing the image of them in our own minds? By thinking about them, calling them to mind and then smiling at the thought of the other? I think this happens with poetry all the time; really, I think this is the basis of all mutual understanding… it explains why like minded people intuit each other so easily, and how those who are close in spirit can learn more about each other through learning more about themselves.

Am I rambling? :astonished: :frowning: :laughing: lol… this tsunami is still stretching its waves…

I like that, “must be beautiful”. I do agree!

Sadness is like this, you are right; stillness and whispering, waiting… like a soft voice that rises up to us on the gentlest of breezes, ready to share the secrets of our heart with us it we can but only listen.

And if you ever do make it to that tranquil, magic pond of dreams, don’t be surprised if you find me already there… so come sit down beside me, for I will save a seat for you!

:banana-dance: :smiley: :sunglasses:

Ah… I couldn’t agree more. To interpret poetry with poetry… do you realise that you have a gift, Arc? To speak the divine tongue of metaphor, the language of the soul and the stars, is no common gift. “One is moved by beauty only to the extent that one has that beauty already within oneself.” -me (is that narcissistic of me to quote myself?) lol… (don’t answer that). No just kidding, you can answer :slight_smile:

:banana-dance: :banana-dance: :banana-dance: :banana-dance: :banana-dance:

Wonderful! Charles is such a gift to us! I need to read more… ((picks up “Slouching Toward Nirvana”…) :laughing:

“Ah, to be kissed intimately by photons”… now where have I heard that beautiful and poetic expression before? O:)

It is great to be back! :smiley: This tsunami has been surging away for far too long. It seeks refuge in its home, and of course it finds that home only and always within the sublime comfort of those rare others, of its own kind and likeness… even (especially!) of the reptilian variety… :smiley: :wink:



Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine,
Unwind the solemn twine, and tie my Valentine!

Oh the Earth was made for lovers, for damsel, and hopeless swain,
For sighing, and gentle whispering, and unity made of twain.
All things do go a courting, in earth, or sea, or air,
God hath made nothing single but thee in His world so fair!
The bride, and then the bridegroom, the two, and then the one,
Adam, and Eve, his consort, the moon, and then the sun;
The life doth prove the precept, who obey shall happy be,
Who will not serve the sovereign, be hanged on fatal tree.
The high do seek the lowly, the great do seek the small,
None cannot find who seeketh, on this terrestrial ball;
The bee doth court the flower, the flower his suit receives,
And they make merry wedding, whose guests are hundred leaves;
The wind doth woo the branches, the branches they are won,
And the father fond demandeth the maiden for his son.
The storm doth walk the seashore humming a mournful tune,
The wave with eye so pensive, looketh to see the moon,
Their spirits meet together, they make their solemn vows,
No more he singeth mournful, her sadness she doth lose.
The worm doth woo the mortal, death claims a living bride,
Night unto day is married, morn unto eventide;
Earth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true,
And Earth is quite coquettish, and beseemeth in vain to sue.
Now to the application, to the reading of the roll,
To bringing thee to justice, and marshalling thy soul:
Thou art a human solo, a being cold, and lone,
Wilt have no kind companion, thou reap’st what thou hast sown.
Hast never silent hours, and minutes all too long,
And a deal of sad reflection, and wailing instead of song?
There’s Sarah, and Eliza, and Emeline so fair,
And Harriet, and Susan, and she with curling hair!
Thine eyes are sadly blinded, but yet thou mayest see
Six true, and comely maidens sitting upon the tree;
Approach that tree with caution, then up it boldly climb,
And seize the one thou lovest, nor care for space, or time!
Then bear her to the greenwood, and build for her a bower,
And give her what she asketh, jewel, or bird, or flower—
And bring the fife, and trumpet, and beat upon the drum—
And bid the world Goodmorrow, and go to glory home!

~Emily Dickinson

Where to go now?
The next train has gone,

I felt the shudder strong
afraid as I was
to step & sing
these carefree nights
so alien
in this

Tracks curved
the earth wide
We’d lost where we’d been
of love, and only
memory knows it best,
But memory too
does forget
at times.

Rushing into us
this vision
erasing lies
& angel’s
bleeding wounds and
soft tears
with Your candor and
And now the fire
as the heart yawns itself
to bed
once again,
as precious a

May that we awake
new body bed
and life
strange room
angles across foreign
the minutest tracings
along the
To sit up playful
and no longer
but free
in one’s divine

When two share
but do not add
that can be