"cede" poems
I am the Individual Isness incarnated in this body.
I am not the body.
I have travelled through many lifetimes in many bodies.
always learning learning learning.
I have developed nous from my experiences only.
I WILL NOT EVER-
accept a mind in my head.
accept any conditioned identity as being me.
cede control over my brain centres to any mind or groupmind
that exists anywhere..
I WILL NOT EVER--
cede control over my brain centres to any conditioned identity or
group conditioned identity that exists anywhere.
or accept that any other but me,the Individual Isness, using my brain centres,using my brain the way I,the Individual Isness,want to and can do
to be in charge of the brain centres in the head of this body that I,the Isness,am incarnated in.
I WILL NOT EVER--
be prey to opinion-formers and experts and pie charts and
focus groups and surveys.
be manipulated by PR men and women in shiny suits.
see Edward Bernays book--Propaganda.
be manipulated by GroupMinds into thinking their way.
be taken in by brutal security forces posing as "guardians of peace.
respect in any way any member of any military forces anywhere
no matter how fancy the uniforms or excuses for ****** they wear.
I do not respect these parasites anywhere as they are nothing more than paid mercenary murderers on behalf of various Oligarchies..
see Jaques Ellul's book--Propaganda.
I WILL NOT EVER--
take any dangerous addictive cancer causing drugs
such as Alcohol and Tobacco primarily--
food additives...
No one has ever died from any cannabis product.
or from LSD or Mesccaline or Psylocybin.
believe in any so-called "god" or "goddess".
believe in any so-called "prophet" of any so-called "god"or "goddess".
accept any so-called "holy" book as valid or truthful
or valuable in any way except as
emergency papers to roll a grass joint
or to wipe my **** on.
be taken in by depraved words and concepts in any of these so-called "holy "books that have led to endless wars and still ongoing terrorism and atrocities in the name of one bloodthirsty "god" or "goddess".
I WILL NOT EVER--
accept anything as reality unless I can see clearly that
it is beyond duality.
accept any Conditioned Identity as me.
For I am the Isness which is a small but equal,individual,
autonomous and independant part of the essence of the Isness of the Universe--!.
which is not a "soul" or Atman or spirit
or any other religious concoction.
I WILL NOT EVER---
accept Mind as a necessary evil
accept GroupMind as a necessary evil.
I WILL NOT EVER ---
eat junk food of any kind.
drink tap water anywhere except in direst emergency.
eat white sugar or any other pure carbohydrate.
be a hypocritical moralising vegetarian.
become stoopid through bowing and scraping
and stooping at stupas.
I will be just a Self realised man living on a big ball in space
with a Self Realised woman playing and singing and dancing the Song of Our Lives.
www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 1:13 AM UTC
Mansion
by A.R. Ammons
So it came time
for me to cede myself
and I chose
the wind
to be delivered to
The wind was glad
and said it needed all
the body
it could get
to show its motions with
and wanted to know
willingly as I hoped it would
if it could do
something in return
to show its gratitude
When the tree of my bones
rises from the skin I said
come and whirlwinding
stroll my dust
around the plain
so I can see
how the ocotillo does
and how saguaro-wren is
and when you fall
with evening
fall with me here
where we can watch
the closing up of day
and think how morning breaks
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 3:29 PM UTC
Well, Gypsy Guy would rather die than hunker down in chains,
be ridden south with bit in mouth, or heed the hold of reins.
The ruling lot are in a spot, the boss man he complains:
“The gypsies’ soul, I can’t control, my patience wears and wanes;
they will not cede to common greed, which conquers far domains
and furtive spies and news that lies have barely baked their brains.
“But in the court of last resort the final fix remains:
in boxcar bins with violins we’ll freight them out in trains
(should one ask why, a quick reply: ‘It’s that which God ordains!’),
and in the bogs, they’ll die like dogs, and everybody gains.”
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 3:06 PM UTC
*Don't bother me, don't follow me
There's no one else I yearn to see
So fold away your memories
To cede beneath that Hemlock tree*
What will I do? Where will I go?
Unshod against the burning road?
These memories I mourn and hold
Crease in my hands where they enfold.
*Don't bother me, don't follow me
Or brandish me things I cannot see
My eyes plunge past the memories
Beneath that bygone Hemlock tree.*
What will you do? Where will you go?
I was your heart, you were my soul
Did you let go and drift below
The Lethe River’s undertow?
*Don't bother me, don't follow me
I hold my head above the sea
These memories furled around your sleeve
I've stashed beneath the hemlock tree.*
What do we do? Where do we go?
There are separate paths, or so I'm told
You'll tour one, and if I'm bold
I'll peer once more down your own road.
*Don't bother me, don't follow me
But yes, perchance... I'll dream of thee.
I'll stargaze there, and make believe
Of truth beneath that Hemlock tree.*
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
Daily I listen to wonder and woe,
Nightly I hearken to knave or to ace,
Telling me stories of lava and snow,
Delicate fables of ribbon and lace,
Tales of the quarry, the **** the chase,
Longer than heaven and duller than hell--
Never you blame me, who cry my case:
"Poets alone should kiss and tell!"
Dumbly I hear what I never should know,
Gently I counsel of pride and of grace;
Into minutiae gayly they go,
Telling the name and the time and the place.
Cede them your silence and grant them space--
Who tenders an inch shall be ***** of an ell!
Sympathy's ever the boaster's brace;
Poets alone should kiss and tell.
Why am I tithed what I never did owe?
Choked with vicarious saffron and mace?
Weary my lids, and my fingers are slow--
Gentlemen, **** you, you've halted my pace.
Only the lads of the cursed race,
Only the knights of the desolate spell,
May point me the lines the blood-drops trace--
Poets alone should kiss and tell.
L'ENVOI
Prince or commoner, tenor or bass,
Painter or plumber or never-do-well,
Do me a favor and shut your face
Poets alone should kiss and tell.
1.9k
Cloaked eyes of white
Open throat cries dry
Echoed padding cadence
Panting tremours
Unable to get away
The streets are unsafely empty
Equality to walk
No illiberal clocking in
I have a cogent life
Will not cede segregation
The struggle, snapped the stem
Stole the stamen from my flower
Shook my pollenous verve
Scattered my soulful scent
Destroyed my confidence to regrow
Sneering the lonesome wolf
Crushes the very flowers that will save it
Without heart of virtue
Praying on those they cannot have
Betrays their own soul without anguish
Proto-stalkers seek help
Decant your desires
Throw off your fur coat
Open up and do not venture into a nightmare
Your Samaritan will always befriend and guide
Lay down your sword
Change the parochial pathway
Magnanimous now live
Fields of flowers beckon
Don't be a brick in the wall
Embrace the feminine essence
Yield flowers their blossom
Steer the legislation to counter the wolven spread
More tulips amongst thorny parliamentarians
Educate the children and those in power
Mar 14, 2021
Mar 14, 2021 at 7:39 PM UTC
Cheers from inside the catacombs of just-alive vagabonds & miscreant self-delusions of sagacious sabotage & pyrrhic moonscapes, brandishing our eternal return
a tabula rasa for respect & character - bottoms up, too. Mona Lisa
Shroud of Turin, ******* on a trunk. Gamble 66
for trays, dealing steam carrots.
Gag reflex to polite televangelists giving viewers auspicious immunity.
Habits cede to Power, acquiesce to Power, love power.
Peculiarity can recognize & organize to displace.
Something suspicious may run amok , antithetical to the divide & conquer trite.
Defeating paragons, i , Plumed Serpent of release & capture beats, borrowing color from a skylark in forever-flight, conjure remedial winds
Guide inimical bows subsumed in a cosmo-prole dew against the fasces of a few.
Apr 7, 2010
Apr 7, 2010 at 10:20 PM UTC
What slave have I become!
Embracing servitude,
Desire no rebellion,
Please! O, my will! Succumb!
To her, with gratitude,
Besides Beauty, there’s none.
I vow to cede control,
No action beyond me,
Beauty is my master!
I’ve no need for my soul,
Beauty, I cede to thee
Fortune or disaster!
Liberty is worthless!
My eyes must stir the heart!
Why live, and not seek you?
I publicly confess,
To Beauty, to Astarte,
You command all I do.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 9:50 PM UTC
¿Por qué tocas mi pecho nuevamente?
Llegas, silenciosa, secreta, armada,
tal los guerreros a una ciudad dormida;
quemas mi lengua con tus labios, pulpo,
y despiertas los furores, los goces,
y esta angustia sin fin
que enciende lo que toca
y engendra en cada cosa
una avidez sombría.
El mundo cede y se desploma
como metal al fuego.
Entre mis ruinas me levanto,
solo, desnudo, despojado,
sobre la roca inmensa del silencio,
como un solitario combatiente
contra invisibles huestes.
Verdad abrasadora,
¿a qué me empujas?
No quiero tu verdad,
tu insensata pregunta.
¿A qué esta lucha estéril?
No es el hombre criatura capaz de contenerte,
avidez que sólo en la sed se sacia,
llama que todos los labios consume,
espíritu que no vive en ninguna forma
mas hace arder todas las formas
con un secreto fuego indestructible.
Pero insistes, lágrima escarnecida,
y alzas en mí tu imperio desolado.
Subes desde lo más hondo de mí,
desde el centro innombrable de mi ser,
ejército, marea.
Creces, tu sed me ahoga,
expulsando, tiránica,
aquello que no cede
a tu espada frenética.
Ya sólo tú me habitas,
tú, sin nombre, furiosa sustancia,
avidez subterránea, delirante.
Golpean mi pecho tus fantasmas,
despiertas a mi tacto,
hielas mi frente
y haces proféticos mis ojos.
Percibo el mundo y te toco,
sustancia intocable,
unidad de mi alma y de mi cuerpo,
y contemplo el combate que combato
y mis bodas de tierra.
Nublan mis ojos imágenes opuestas,
y a las mismas imágenes
otras, más profundas, las niegan,
ardiente balbuceo,
aguas que anega un agua más oculta y densa.
En su húmeda tiniebla vida y muerte,
quietud y movimiento, son lo mismo.
Insiste, vencedora,
porque tan sólo existo porque existes,
y mi boca y mi lengua se formaron
para decir tan sólo tu existencia
y tus secretas sílabas, palabra
impalpable y despótica,
sustancia de mi alma.
Eres tan sólo un sueño,
pero en ti sueña el mundo
y su mudez habla con tus palabras.
Rozo al tocar tu pecho
la eléctrica frontera de la vida,
la tiniebla de sangre
donde pacta la boca cruel y enamorada,
ávida aún de destruir lo que ama
y revivir lo que destruye,
con el mundo, impasible
y siempre idéntico a sí mismo,
porque no se detiene en ninguna forma
ni se demora sobre lo que engendra.
Llévame, solitaria,
llévame entre los sueños,
llévame, madre mía,
despiértame del todo,
hazme soñar tu sueño,
unta mis ojos con aceite,
para que al conocerte me conozca.
1.7k
Given time, an ache
will go to snooze
But from time to time,
will wake, ready to sting
as
a wound that will cede
but later may bleed
Jun 9, 2021
Jun 9, 2021 at 12:05 PM UTC
*¿Cuantos cuentos habrán contado las montañas, las olas, las ramas?
¿Cuanta vida habrá pasado por aquí?
En cientos y miles de años.¿Cuantos han salido igual a ti?
Hoy el viento me gana el aliento
y la densidad del pensamiento,
cede por fin.
La imaginación da su verdadera cara
se encuentra desnuda, aquí parada.
Susurros del mundo me llaman,
invitándome a la vida sin más palabras.
Porque el olvido se marca en nuestra cara:
Arrugas y canas.
He de partir uno de estos días,
he de vivir uno de estos días,
he de sentir uno de estos días.
He de ser feliz.
Las ganas no se apagarán en el tenue olvido
y cuando llegue el momento de saltar,
no habrá testigo de que existimos.
No le debemos a la vida registro
y ella no nos deberá el habernos conocido.*
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 3:08 PM UTC
Gracious patience at my feet
White shadows ride
Gliding downward to meet
Arrows tide
The hardest part
Science of love
Stardust apart
Alliance from above
Snapping free of soul
What I got wrong
Wrapping that love whole
Glut neigh brought song
Bleed your heart over the side
Cede war art nationwide
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 2:50 PM UTC
*Strive and strive, O dear, it's a long drive.
Fear no fear, fight without care.
The roads are rough and challenges tough.
Fear no fear, fight without care.
Take a stand, and push your limits
Follow the flare your soul emits.
The road to triumph, is full of trammel.
Trust your resolve, and never scramble.
There will be hurdles, ups and downs.
Keep your fortitude above the crowns.
Do not yield, do not cede .
Struggle against the resistance &
you'll be freed.
Impel your soul with throes of agony.
And the trace you face
is your destiny*..
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 6:33 AM UTC
En el mar
tormentoso
de Chile
vive el rosado congrio,
gigante anguila
de nevada carne.
Y en las ollas
chilenas,
en la costa,
nació el caldillo
grávido y suculento,
provechoso.
Lleven a la cocina
el congrio desollado,
su piel manchada cede
como un guante
y al descubierto queda
entonces
el racimo del mar,
el congrio tierno
reluce
ya desnudo,
preparado
para nuestro apetito.
Ahora
recoges
ajos,
acaricia primero
ese marfil
precioso,
huele
su fragancia iracunda,
entonces
deja el ajo picado
caer con la cebolla
y el tomate
hasta que la cebolla
tenga color de oro.
Mientras tanto
se cuecen
con el vapor
los regios
camarones marinos
y cuando ya llegaron
a su punto,
cuando cuajó el sabor
en una salsa
formada por el jugo
del océano
y por el agua clara
que desprendió la luz de la cebolla,
entonces
que entre el congrio
y se sumerja en gloria,
que en la olla
se aceite,
se contraiga y se impregne.
Ya sólo es necesario
dejar en el manjar
caer la crema
como una rosa espesa,
y al fuego
lentamente
entregar el tesoro
hasta que en el caldillo
se calienten
las esencias de Chile,
y a la mesa
lleguen recién casados
los sabores
del mar y de la tierra
para que en ese plato
tú conozcas el cielo.
1.4k
A ****** of Crows delights in death.
Now they can come out, in novels and
poems and such, ominous and black.
For a moment, or many, a Crow is the center
of the universe. Perched on its pole, an eye
sees and its pupil becomes more.
Telephone-pole cities sprout from the earth,
each Murderous populous digs with hollow
claws, making their wooden crosses bleed.
Woodpeckers poke holes while Cardinals
warble nervously, the network is failing.
Communication begins to falter and cede.
Rotted from within, cables splice and
beams splinter. Crows, whose claws were
too embedded, struggle to break away.
When the last of the Crows have flown
away, gone, the earth flat is barren.
Tiny antennae peek out between the dirt.
A muster of Storks delights in birth, bearing
little yellow Finches to their new home;
easily foreseeable babes born to grow black.
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 3:02 PM UTC
Um medíocre seixo formado por um aglomerado espalhafato de pulgas flutua e veleja por oceanos saturados de desaproveitas lágrimas amarelo-chumbo nas mais desoladas camadas de sua privativa órbita, em uma intersecção de múltiplos limbos supra-reais, bem entre dois muros de um corredor estreito, escuro e corroborado pelo lodo - sobre o qual, cabe-se dizer, resta imóvel uma pequena patrola laranja de brinquedo, esquecida.
Inevitável e também incoerente,
Continuar a ser (peleja)
"Um equívoco desmistificado; uma perturbação"
Os ideais se contrapõem aos já extintos/
Sedimentos navegam eternamente sem rumo/
Inexprimível Sensível/
O oculto que assim permanece/
Pedregulho pulguento perpetuamente a protuberar-se na imensidão dos mares de um ópio por si próprio proferido, ofendendo e perseguindo leis individuais de universo, causando o óbito comum a todos os parciais ínfimos pares de não-instantes, parados.
Estarrece-se o lógico pela busca do externo consenso, indiferente a todo gotejar de pia:
fundir-se pela semelhança!
tornar-se pela simples analogia!
Homo-Sutra; Homo-Isso.
Homo-Tundra; Homo-Aquilo.
**** Sapiens
**** Gênio
Entrementes,
através de seus poros abertos pela alta temperatura,
sente por seu corpo, de muitos corpos,
a circulação efervescente do mais intenso calor,
o sopro de vida hebraico de um cosmos também filisteu,
(de tudo aquilo que pode até não estar de todo vivo - ou de todo morto);
contradição de um todo-devir também carrasco, mas, em essência, todo-devir de um sorrateiro espaço de tempo do bater de asas de um besouro não mais vivo e nunca catalogado, capturado somente por um pequenino ponteiro vermelho de segundos de um relógio velho, possuído, em circunstâncias afortunas, por uma avó - ainda hoje vivente - de um tempo atormentado pela tirania e propositalmente esquecido, a proferir não só eternidades-nascedouros e cede ansiada, como, de igual infinita intensidade, a inferir a sublimidade em poderios majestáticos estruturados na mais esplendorosa magia humana, a sua despropria linguagem;
...se apercebe o amontoado, tudo, menos genérico, mesmo não sendo, agora, inseto, nem humano, apenas animal,
Que
Mantêm-se
em correnteza,
Metamorfose lavareda.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 7:55 AM UTC
has spring arrived
already?
i brace myself
and wait-
boughs bent and
naked.
but, there are no
fluttering cherry blossoms
here, nor golden
nightingales.
i brace myself against
promises of gods
and false prophets
shivering in the wind.
cede fortunae,
they say to me.
i was destined
for this.
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 10:44 PM UTC
naked,
underneath snow that falls,
like a dead waltzer,
like you and your shaking self.
naked ,
where snow melts around bones that break,
knees that shake.
and a voice that refuses to speak.
naked,
laid out to rest,
cede to the crackling frost;
frost like a galaxy,
the same galaxy, crafted and stitched into your ice-born skin,
into your glacier eyes.
naked,
starved,
a suicidal dreamer,
trying to touch the stars,
the begging, arctic moon -
trying to touch anything
but her anorexic, marbled form.
Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 5:46 PM UTC
When drinking far too much and then some more
Expected downsides documented well
Rough ride in psyche, body, gut, and heart
Specific atrophy in frontal brain
Quick charm and nutty humour now all shell
These changes, bad alone, but all combined
Resulting rolling snowball to a curse
No more the looming risks are sharp perceived
No more a likely readiness to change
Slow-building damage cures cannot reverse...
*The body
then the brain
then the readiness to change*
In adding to the insults body-wise
Dear close relationships will suffer ill
And ringing loud the chant of "change yourself"
while far and getting further from the change
All options feel like holds against thin will
The heavy stigma punches surely down
More evidence for judging soul as dirt
Not worthy of the care or patient time
That social justice would dictate for all
No room for being tricky, lost, and hurt...
*The stigma
then the hurt
then the treating you like dirt*
And even those with training in support
Will waver, shifty, turn their gaze away
Unable to identify the soul
That suffer-trembles underneath the mask
The clowning chaos, drink-besmirched display
And carers left to weep and wonder why
Should care be so impossible to give
Your daughter damaged, injured in the fight
With drowned despair and stigma-staking rage
Sad, wounding warmth that shame will long outlive...
*The weeping
then the care
then the shaming and despair*
"We just can't help if you can't change yourself"
So in this caring, wounding, weeping storm
Just conjure up the readiness to change
Or cede to judgement, shifting gaze, and blame
Feb 17, 2025
Feb 17, 2025 at 1:00 AM UTC
Moon callings spirited animals
wolves dancing
Dunhuang lute guitar -
playing to the soul of
a western screech owl
feasting on prey - long tailed shrew.
Gaspé mountains sheltered selves
under moonlight the coven amass
crisp autumn leaves, frost bitten toes
North standing
Novembers Mourning Moon.
Worshipping Isis -
Goddess of magic
the white tailed deer appears
shedding antlers amidst
this monthly Esbat rite.
At the alter a moon candle glowing
water bowl reflecting sisters souls,
white crystals & silver ribbons -
graced lunar symbols
to cede full renunciation.
*Gather gather as all women should,
the next Supreme is not beyond a dream.
The Witches Council meets beneath moonlight.
Tonight I light this candle,
& lift a water bowl to the night sky.
I call upon you all.
I call upon you all.
I call upon you all -
to accept the changing of your souls,
akin to the changes of the tide.
We cleanse our souls in unity.
Tonight, tonight, witches of Salem,
declare yourself...
Declare yourself!
The Supreme Witch - declare yourself.*
They fall to the cold slabs
ground, gravel, leaves, soil
silence falls.
One remains - the embodiment of all gifts
the One remains for eternal life against all ills.
The Supreme is named.
All women rise
dawn breaks
and the passing of the moon begins it's journey
passing into the suns glare -
unseen.
© Sia Jane
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 1:30 AM UTC
Like a giant Sequoia tree, well aged and outwardly still tall and firmly anchored
I proudly display, my outer senescent bark, but inside, I’m pitted and cankered
Still majestic and straight, branches spread, with fingered needles reaching for the sky
But at each limb joint, those cracks lay hidden; not yet visible, to the naked eye
Those blisters ravage and rage, at my inner trunk; but not, so you can clearly see
Hidden by the sap; like those morning rheum tears, which seep out and crust on me
I reach skyward, extend my branches to the sun; my sieve tubes there unplugged
But below, my veins congested, and my arteries full of sap, are fully clogged
And yet I stand, without an outward tremble; disguising well the tremors in my roots
With all my strength, I will them hold; do not cede, to the pain that in them shoots
I will perceiver; not able to bend with the wind, I stand firm still; until I break
Stiffen my resolve; until my fluids coagulate, and rigor mortise does me overtake
BOEMS BY JA 397
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 10:34 AM UTC
I am all for
celebrating
what we have
struggled to
recognize,
but here is
some critical
political analysis;
If you observe
how politicians
pervert the system
in order to maintain
the power they have,
you will see
they maybe
willing to cede
symbolic victories
in partisan performances
to prevent actual
institutional
and structural
reforms.
It costs them
very little to
make a holiday,
giving workers
a little break,
while dulling
some of those blades
of social outrage.
If you recall
Shakespeare says
“all the worlds a stage”
Yet, I pray
we do not allow
ourselves to
be played
by those
**** poor performers.
We are more than
seat warmers
waiting to die
while fresh suckers
sit down to buy
the same song and dance.
Aug 13, 2021
Aug 13, 2021 at 10:54 AM UTC
Cidade de Guimarães
Guimarães linda de morrer,
Portugal nasceu e te viu crescer,
Honra a nossos fundadores,
Vasos repletos de flores.
Pomposa, ai tua pureza que emana,
Sorris como a pequena açucena,
Senhora da Penha com emoção,
Guimarães tem nobre tradição.
A história te cantará sempre com excelsa gratidão,
És feita do amor e de nobre geração.
Deus te escolheu, Deus te santifica,
Guimarães terra santa, bendita.
Os olhares serenos se enlaçam em mim,
Horizontes sem nunca ter fim.
Guimarães cidade que nunca cede,
Afonso Henriques, Batalha de S. Mamede.
Guimarães, 20 de Março de 2009
Victor Marques
Dec 10, 2009
Dec 10, 2009 at 10:22 PM UTC
There is a bitter taste
Pressed to my mouth
As I sip my tea.
There’s a thought that’s lives
I wish to drown out
But can I ever cede.
All this has been steeping
And it’s now too strong.
I’ll have to deal with it.
Dec 5, 2020
Dec 5, 2020 at 1:24 PM UTC