The Poetry Thread

Post your poetry here.

Abstract wrote:

Post your poetry here, its not necessary but please try to at least read the poem before you or one above and comment on it before you post.

Hmmm...unless I am mis-reading your meaning, Abstract...

If I were to post a poem of mine here, I might be a bit uncomfortable knowing that someone found it 'necessary' or compulsory to at least 'try' to make a comment or respond to it...unless I am NOT understanding your meaning. I would simply post it and hope that they might want to respond - then detach from it. But i would actually prefer that they possessed and felt the total freedom NOT to...if that's what they chose.

One might be surprised how freeing allowing others to be free is...once we've detached from a thing. It might actually allow for total irresistable contentment. And of course, having just said that, perhaps I ought not to have even written the above. Ah, it can be such a difficult thing to understand and to know about freedom - where our own begins and ends and another's in relation to that.

So many more unanswered questions...I think it was Rumi who said that we need to learn to 'live' our questions more than to find their answers...and at some point, the answers will be found within the living of the questions. That's paraphrased of course. Reminds me of how we ought better to learn how to live our philosophy rather than simply (key word-simply) philosophizing...we learn much more through our experiences...but then again, it IS also philosophy that allows for the experience of the learning and the wisdom gained.

Sorry - this thread has NOT been disrailed. Just took another rail...

VaerosTanarg wrote:

Abstract wrote:

Post your poetry here, its not necessary but please try to at least read the poem before you or one above and comment on it before you post.

Hmmm...unless I am mis-reading your meaning, Abstract...

If I were to post a poem of mine here, I might be a bit uncomfortable knowing that someone found it 'necessary' or compulsory to at least 'try' to make a comment or respond to it...unless I am NOT understanding your meaning. I would simply post it and hope that they might want to respond - then detach from it. But i would actually prefer that they possessed and felt the total freedom NOT to...if that's what they chose.

One might be surprised how freeing allowing others to be free is...once we've detached from a thing. It might actually allow for total irresistable contentment. And of course, having just said that, perhaps I ought not to have even written the above. Ah, it can be such a difficult thing to understand and to know about freedom - where our own begins and ends and another's in relation to that.

So many more unanswered questions...I think it was Rumi who said that we need to learn to 'live' our questions more than to find their answers...and at some point, the answers will be found within the living of the questions. That's paraphrased of course. Reminds me of how we ought better to learn how to live our philosophy rather than simply (key word-simply) philosophizing...we learn much more through our experiences...but then again, it IS also philosophy that allows for the experience of the learning and the wisdom gained.

Sorry - this thread has NOT been disrailed. Just took another rail...

I edited it I had qualms about saying that anyways...

Abstract wrote:

VaerosTanarg wrote:

Abstract wrote:

Post your poetry here, its not necessary but please try to at least read the poem before you or one above and comment on it before you post.

Hmmm...unless I am mis-reading your meaning, Abstract...

If I were to post a poem of mine here, I might be a bit uncomfortable knowing that someone found it 'necessary' or compulsory to at least 'try' to make a comment or respond to it...unless I am NOT understanding your meaning. I would simply post it and hope that they might want to respond - then detach from it. But i would actually prefer that they possessed and felt the total freedom NOT to...if that's what they chose.

One might be surprised how freeing allowing others to be free is...once we've detached from a thing. It might actually allow for total irresistable contentment. And of course, having just said that, perhaps I ought not to have even written the above. Ah, it can be such a difficult thing to understand and to know about freedom - where our own begins and ends and another's in relation to that.

So many more unanswered questions...I think it was Rumi who said that we need to learn to 'live' our questions more than to find their answers...and at some point, the answers will be found within the living of the questions. That's paraphrased of course. Reminds me of how we ought better to learn how to live our philosophy rather than simply (key word-simply) philosophizing...we learn much more through our experiences...but then again, it IS also philosophy that allows for the experience of the learning and the wisdom gained.

Sorry - this thread has NOT been disrailed. Just took another rail...

I edited it I had qualms about saying that anyways...

Darn - and now I sit here questioning my own right to write what I did. How do we express our views without infringing on the rights of others - or can we even ever? It is not such an easy task. I hope that you did not edit yourself because of what I said...even though you said you had qualms about saying it...STILL... How do we speak our minds without risking hurting another? I'm not saying you were hurt by this. It's just a question...

"We risk the hurting and the pain...
What? Do we have that much to gain...
Are our selves in such demand
that another's self we would remand
to court the risk of fetters?
Where does freedom enter in?

lol

I'll throw one o0ut there:

A green glaze, reflecting the sun it moves to.
Its pixel cells soaking in energy
Worth more of a notice?
Can’t.
Its growing is a butterfly.
Affecting all with its winded effections
Its pollen smelling wherever
I am
More notice is not possible.
Difference is
Of lighting, of angle
The similar
Patterns
Never the same
Yet perfectly common
Its vulgarity is a beautiful feeling

Birth

My eyes lose the battle with darkness
And so I am veiled
My breath loses me
And my I becomes else
A breadth of wind across space
Walking upon stepping stones; man, beast, beings and All
Recited by their presence
And so held in existence
And so many I’s
Until they converge again
And me again
I am
I am being born

Very nice Abstract.

I have little energy for something lyrical. I will try to let my mind speak without interfering.

__
When Johnson came to the stone, he replied, before the stone had even asked him the question of life and death: "death!". So Johnson became, in his later days, life.

When Jackson came to the stone, he awaited patiently until the stone asked. But the stone never asked and Jackson died, waiting.

When Eduard came to the stone and asked the stone a question, the stone answered by silence. Eduard then sat down and mourned.

When Tybalt came to the stone, the stone revealed itself to the soul of God and came crashing down like hail on the heads of the escaping slaves.

When Henriette came to the stone, she touched it and wondered: where have I seen this stone before?

God came to the stone and eliminated the doubt of which it was made.

From whence did I come into this doggedy room...?
With sharp corners in the edges where my eyes want to fall,
And elsewhere, everywhere, a red warm fog?

How comes it that these daggers hang from my backpack?
Dripping colors that seem to have no name,
Inscribed on each handlebar, a sigul?

O if I were to tell you boy,
Where these hanging heads have come from,
Perhaps you would not want to know.

No More Poems

Poems?
No more poems.
Ideas?
No more ideas.
Satisfaction?
No more satisfaction.
Oh, for fuck's sake,
I would do it again.

Curse inside an urn
on my back, tied to my path
through the desert sands, grains, worlds
crushing them together in my choiceless path
until I pause and bow down
observe the small things,
be amidst them, and encounter an insect
a god among worlds, a perfection of rage
free as I am, far freeer in fact
on these desert sands of my path;
I am sure the bug has no path.
He has appetite but no mind
he is fixed but not in prisoned
he does not suspect his happiness,
but I can see the worlds he is about to conquer.

So god is among men, too large to see, too large to influence anything with precision, but seeing all sorts of happiness that the man for himself does not see, but will remember when he is old. Men grow toward god in their age because god-beard is no more and less than a kind reflection.

Thus the lord commands us; arbitrarily, and only when we happen to be in his path;
if there is a lord at all he is a wanderer, seeking the bliss of the world.

Or:
god is a position
The human hierarchy is a job application
the closer to the top, the heavier the job appears;
until the one who is thrust onto the throne must be
a saint, or god himself...

God is the shadow of the king.

Or his past.

Or both, maybe -
god is that curse in the urn that is used to pouring forth blessings;

thousand ways to kill god.

1: have him arrested for substance abuse and sent to witness the spirit of his creation in incarceration until it breaks him.
2: throw him to the dogs, it'll turn out there's no flesh on the bones and no bones on the flesh.
3: ask him: why did you create me?
etc etc

fill in the blanks
there's a barrel of powder in the corner
of Atreus' vault

The fame of famous poems rob them of their magic. Or maybe its the pedagogical distortion, so fitting to this poem.

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream---and not make dreams your master;
If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son!

Ok, here goes, after all this time, an attempt at a poem.

------------------------------------------------------------

I walked a long time with no flag
I still have no flag
But...

I came accross, in my path, a window
It had a shining sigul
I for once,
In my life,
I accepted empire

Doesn't fit with anything
Except with itself
And how magnanimously it does that
How it commands itself

Oh well, oh well, said the well
Happyness is these small things
And by the time they realize
I'll have built thirty levels of moat and a loyal guard
I have my own designs
But they don't include
Allowing this one to fail

The strange is the real
the ways in which nature wars with herself
confuses herself to overcome
and hide all that doesnt


where the dark and the fire meet, the writing is on the wall



angles, aims, lenses, games,
all fair and square, lambs without qualms
except wat is this
draft


a window, far away in a long long hall
has slowly opened.

i dont write poems

poems write me

I wonder what was done to the molecules you used to be, how they fell into atoms, what remained of you in them. I now think an atom can be coloured by human spell.  
May these atoms find their path down the rivers and into the oceans where life is born in each moment, may they rejoice as algae in the green eyes of the nymphs where Poseidon dwells, and then may lightning strike them and may the electricity bind together a life under a new constellation, a new moon and a new star, a new chariot and a new staff, a new mansion and a new nest of troublesome rodents and leprechauns... a new weird waking dream in which we may meet again.

Damned was the world for not being adequate to you. I was part of that inadequate world. I felt it then, but I no longer feel it now. We've gone on the warpath, my friend. It is good out here, with the ripping wind and the bloody moon. I wonder if you would have liked it.