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She was just another schoolgirl

Dreams of marriage and of kids

She had devoted parents

They loved everything she did

Nothing could deter her

from the choice that she had made

Turning seventeen, she left her home

in Forest Glade

Moving north to Epsilon

She chose another route

She would be a dancer

Taking money from the suits

She started slow in Epsilon

A club girl from the start

She had a phony i.d

But she sure could play the part

Was she a dancer or an actress

Seems she was one and the same

She chose to go as Crystal

Though that wasn't her real name

She danced a bit and moved around

The lifestyle she liked

She was dancing up in Buffalo

When she met a guy named Mike

They dated and got married

Soon a kid was on the way

When he found out she was pregnant

He packed up and moved away

She was nineteen and without a chance

To get a better life

Who would want a dancer

With a kid to be his wife?

Nobody that she knew

That would be for sure

And just like the little girl she was

She always wanted more

She had her son, named Ferguson

She then enrolled in school

She was gonna be a big thing

She would not be no ones fool

She chose to keep on dancing

Working late nights, dancing hard

Saving up her money

So she'd get her son a yard

She was still a little girl deep down

She still had real big dreams

She didn't want the normal life

She wanted the extremes

She was a dancer, mother, daughter and

A sutdent every day

She had to keep them separate

Had to keep her lives at bay

She'd many personalities

Depending on her place

She handled each role expertly

With poise and with such grace

By day she was a mother

And a student on the side

She did both of them expertly

And she showed off both with pride

At night she was a dancer

Schoolgirl, teacher, and much more

She would be a patrons fantasy

But she hid down in her core

The little girl she really was

Stayed deep and far from them

She was also now an actress

Dancing, doing things for men

At night when she was finished

She would go home to her boy

She would bend and kiss him as he slept

For he was her pride and joy

She'd then go hit the shower

Washing all their dreams away

She would wash away their kisses

She would make herself okay

Each night she'd play another role

To keep the men entranced

She would change her look up daily

As on the stage she pranced

They'd pay her for her company

And they'd worship all she did

But, all she ever thought about

Was something better for her kid

She finished school in record time

A manager she'd be

She took a four year course

And she finsihed it in three

She didn't have the money

To quite make her dreams come true

But, she now had a diploma

And inside, her pride just grew

She was now a feature dancer

She was the top of mens desires

But the job was getting weary

In fact, our girl was tired

She had her different roles to play

Still mother, daughter, and

At night a dancer actress

In an pornographic land

She'd go home every night and see

Her son there in his bed

She'd go and have her shower

And she'd kiss him on his head

She'd wash away the garbage

Wash away her hidden life

Once again she thought of

Being a mother and a wife

Normalcy, would not be hers

She'd have to move along

She'd done well for her young boy

She had not done too much wrong

A new life far from Buffalo

Would be the thing to do

She's now a mother and a daughter

And she might live next to you

She broke the chains that bound her

Used her dancing to improve

Made herself much stronger

And she then did up and move

Now she doesn't go home late at night

To wash away the grime

She can go home and go out to play

To give her son some time

The sad fact is there's lots of girls

But not as strong as her

They do not escape the dancing

When they end up, no one's sure

But Crystal, she's a hero

For she made herself move on

She's a mother, actress, daughter

with a super cool young son

Where she went I don't know where

But, she ended up on top

Ther rumours were she married

In fact they said that he's a cop

they say that she's still out working

In the clubs, out with the girls

But she's no longer a dancer

She's out showing them the world

She's helping them get into school

They confess to her their sins

She knows of what they talk about

For she's been just where they've been

She doesn't go by Crystal

She now goes by her real name

But, she might just live next door to you

And to tell would be a shame.
Sabila Siddiqui Mar 2018
I don't know what it is to
live a balanced life.
For I tear at the seams,
and live in extremes.

When happiness embraces me,
I do not smile
But become the sun;
that glows, shine and gleams.

When sadness enwraps me
I don't drizzle, I rain
I become the hurricane of blue,
the abyss of the starless sky;
I become the void.

When anger smolders me;
I don't yell, I burn out my sanity
I become the boiling blood
and the explosion of heat.

When loss deprives me
I do not grieve, I do not tarnish
I break, shatter and tear
I become the heart that does not beat but bleeds.
I become the wailing wind that breezes through the cypress trees.

I am either cold like Vinson Massif
or soft like a marshmallow
For I am the one who experiences no in between.
life nomadic Jan 2013
A moment is never singular, exactly;
nothing on This Earth lasts, obviously.
Yet People still search to locate a focal point,
identify the axis, ground the spar tree.
Molecules have been examined down to Music;
infinite harmonies taking perceived shape,
Each element ever-changing as our senses are tuned.
Particles are waves of color, our own hand turning the kaleidoscope.

But our mind's-eye has been clouded;
Selfish fear of inconvenience escalating,
leading us all to the cliff of catastrophe.
Inching feet-forward hover over black air;  the void right there.
Regretful feet-backward discover lost ground,  toes grasped by gravity into falling gravel.
Stilled to painful awareness, but at least to finally see

Ancient Sequoia,
giants rooted in misty epochs,
wizened moss-covered faces sleepily meditating
under their own constellations turning.
We hated their shadows, felled them for the void, stole their place in the heartbroken sun.
Our vain history in tiny arrows obscures their rings of years like graffiti.
But in the hushed forest remaining, sheltering treasured few seedlings 6 inches tall,
One breath in lasts a season; one breath out purifies the years
with timeless patience for you as well.

There's no need to hurry;
wishes already happened when they are dreamed.
time was measured to distract.


A Humpback Whale arrives to calve in sanctuary’s dawn.
Still water, then her nose appearing,
then her monumental presence rising like a building;
then her entire whaleness levitating on her tail for a moment in our thin world.
Only faithful joy has that kind of power.
Then arching to fly,
and slamming, bursting, the surface for the generations to hear and feel.
She fills an ocean with her soul, a year with one song.
She is alive today, escaping slaughter
After swimming through the blood of her family spilled by our grandfather's harpoons,
Even with all the seas poisoned and starving,
Swim in the echoes of her call; she loves completely.


Keep no tally from the intangible past,
forgiving is possible.


Swimming Penguins
Birds evolved to fly in ocean.
Wings to flippers, feet stepping clumsily from water.
Yet eggs must still nest, their babies still breathe.
Safety is the very precipice of existence, on bitter ice at 60 below,
Sheltering their young clustered from blistering winds,
fasting from sustenance,
While heaven’s glorious Aurora flame silently over their winter dreams.

Extremes reveal the Sacred, but we’re confused.
Fear mistakenly chained with control; but both dissipate with acceptance.


A Serotinous Pine there,
Where winter snows soak into thirsty soil but relentless summer sun bakes motionless
Every plant a tinder held close to conflagration,
in a season's Russian roulette of forest fire.
This pine seals precious seed away from every spring’s promise,
lest burning destroys every one.
Only searing heat during torched consumption triggers the last gentle act,
At the knife’s edge of death itself,
opening cones of seeds.
Fluttering down to new life on the other side of time.
Tiny bright green amid black ashes.

This apocalypse was our contrivance, but so is the word.
Beginning of the End or End of the beginning, all the same.


So what then are we, on This Earth?
Cerebral Creatures, Storytelling Animals,
Minds created to sense spiritual constructs.
Living is the method of our creation,
Sheltering each other from inherited trials
With contrived joys and sufferings distracting each other
From the abyss both sides:
Soul freezing fearful cold of the Empty Void and consuming fire of Electric Chaos.

In the End, our sacrificing gift,  greater than ourselves,
for our children,
is God.
.
.
I already wrote this in two parts, but I've been working on and revising them to bring them together better.
.
Copyright © 2012 Anna Honda. All Rights Reserved.
Paul Butters Jan 2021
You pose and pout,
Seduction by superficial sauciness.
You tell me of your day
With that simpering voice,
Raising each last word
Long and loud.

You show me your flash cars,
Your sumptuous wardrobe
And who knows what else?

You and your kin call yourselves “Influencers” –
A great word,
But all you do is make people:
People who have grafted long and hard
For a little spare cash,
Go buy things they
Do not really need.

Right Said Fred was Right:
The global catwalk
Is a sham.

I too would love to be an “Influencer”,
Such a fine word,
But I would be one to encourage folk
To Love others,
Stop all this Conflict
Between polar opposites and extremes,
Fight only for the Common Good,
And make the world a better place
For All.

Paul Butters

© PB 15\1\2021.
Inspired by a TV programme about C21 Celebrity.
Feel Mar 2013
I've seen you in striped white,
I've seen you in black wrap-around tops,
I've seen you in stilettos,
I've seen you in Fitflops.

I've seen you in the bluest of days,
I've seen you in the rainiest of nights,
I've seen you in the face of the sun,
I've seen you in the wind-full of kites.

I've seen you in the trajectory of life,
I've seen you stare at me with care,
I've seen you in the droplets of water,
I've seen you in every castle in the air.

I've seen you dreaming,
I've seen you back in reality,
I've seen you physically Earthy,
I've seen you  emotionally Mars-y,

I've seen you sad and jubilant,
I've seen you troubled, but kept a smile,
I've seen you doubled - in poker,
I've seen you gone crazily wild.

I've seen you in green-blinking nails,
I've seen you return my stutters,
I've seen you stand tall - confident,
I've seen you slouch - don't matter.

I've seen you looking into empty spaces,
I've seen you looking into a tasty plate,
I've seen you doubt yourself,
I've seen you believing in fate.

I've seen you in the bakery,
I've seen you in a factory,
I've seen you in your beauty,
I've seen you in your most ball-sy.

I've seen you in the bus,
I've seen you read,
I've seen you pick up a microphone,
I've seen you speaking with speed.

I've seen you with a newspaper,
I've seen you with an iPad,
I've seen you with a t-shirt,
I've seen you stylishly clad.

I've seen you work hard,
I've seen you studied irresponsibly,
I've seen you proud,
I've seen you flicker embarrassingly.

I've seen you here,
I've seen you there,
I've seen you near,
I've seen you everywhere.

I've seen enough,
I've seen you in extremes,
I've seen you thorough,
I've seen you in teams.

I've seen you verily,
I've seen you truly,
I've seen so much inspiration,
I've seen you guilty.

I've seen "I've seen" 58 times,
I've seen you more than that few.
But I would've seen nothing more,
If I've seen none of you.
One must admit the soul searches
high and wide for others to see
as sorrow weeps, small happiness creeps
remorse is afloat, in our silk coat
emptiness appears, silence leers
fading shadow, is falling far below
Begging forgiveness, with lots of emptiness, it seems............

Cemented dreams, gone to extremes
Song of despair, not knowing who cares
Tears grabbing, hands jabbing
Wisps of cries, light up the sky....

Soul searches but disappearing
cries please help,
Holding lifeless, so breathless
Sobs of redemption, seize upon preemption
Full fledged devastation, marks no exemption
Temptress aching, no remaking......

Soul Searching Indeed!*

Debbie Brooks 2014
If only we could begin again and slow down the pernicious pace
We ruin our oceans, the land, our air even outer space.
If only we avoided such precarious paths that may lead to disparity
If only we knew what action is needed now, to deal with the reality.
Ecologists warned, yet still observe with ever-growing anxiety
the growth of harmful long-term effects on Earth's biodiversity.
If only the air wasn't gravely polluted, so the atmosphere begins to fail,
so wreathed by carbon dioxide layers, extremes to climate may prevail.
If only Earth's lungs cease being shrunk by profits heedless exploitation,
existing relationships are considered scarcely in these aberrations.
If only a solution for discarded synthetics which float in ugly hordes
on oceans global drifts, disaster occurs wherever it reaches landfall.
If only we can do something, a belated but resounding universal call,
If only we can safeguard the future before there are no options at all.
If only we could begin again and slow the ruinous pace... if only

If Only

M C Crowder
@scorsby
19th November 2018
I first wrote song lyrics in 1978, song lyrics not so long, but it's message hasn't changed
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
in most instances there is no real
criticism - just the debate as old
as the life of Aristotle, so lagging
behind modern liberty -
the deviations of the two extremes,
the nicely polished marble
and the coarse flint - a debate
concerning nouns -
one man will venture into marble
synonymousness -
another man will venture into
flint synonymousness - but still
the monism of saying one thing
adversely or conversely -
one layer on top of another,
like a wedding cake - sooner will
the adverse noun usage emerge -
sooner too will the converse noun
use emerge - and make battle for
what society is entitled to -
well, both! the pleasantries of the nouns
surrogate and mother, damnable
essentials of two homosexuals and
a ******* - i know, the former and
all the pleasantries and pigmented macaroons,
the latter and dirges and the dingy
back alley - one stands up for pleasantries
the other for the coarse mountain view -
one sees a mountain of the jagged panorama,
the other a normal distribution curve -
both have peaks, one's a woo ***(!) slide on
your ***, the other a carefully calculated
descent - so you wonder how certain words
are encoded to create a certain emotion -
one thing to understand a string of words:
do this do that, walk over here, walk over there -
and the other string of words:
feel this, feel that, think this, think that -
perplexing - mostly the dichotomy of seeing
and hearing - a dualism is an acceptance of
the two extremes as a constant -
a dichotomy is a lack of acceptance of the
two extremes, they are never consolidated -
dichotomy represents an active game of ping pong,
dualism represents: a ping pong table,
two ping pong rackets and a ping pong ball...
but no actual activity - dualism in theory,
dichotomy in practice.
Aoife Teese Jul 2014
i guess it was sort of ironic as it's a place where people to go to be treated that they couldn't properly take care of a plant. it may not have been their fault, but it was odd to see shriveled up leaves on top of the *** full of dirt, and a bamboo stick pointing up to give direction to what was no longer there. the *** itself was colorful, adorned in hues of red and blue to give hints toward the life that was once there, and maybe that's what i do for myself. i adorn myself in hues of purple, green, blue to imply a liveliness that i no longer feel deep within. to cover up an emptiness that once held some form of life, some form of happiness and innocence. it's not like i've had it hard, i mean, things haven't been absolutely bright and sunny but i haven't experienced great loss but somehow i have lost myself. it's an odd feeling, because i know i will be okay and that everything will turn out just fine but i can't believe that in my heart and i just can't feel okay. and maybe that's fine. it's healthier to express an emotion than to cover it up and hide it, because it will build upon itself until you can no longer withstand the weight and oh, god, i know how it feels to tremble and crumble underneath the weight of unfelt emotions.

but is this better?

i look to extremes to cure the numbness in my chest and i can't care if it's good for me or not.
It's hard to extol the merits of mankind
and to lavish excessive praise is insane;
recognize the gamut of vain emotion
and treatment of our brothers that's inhumane.

The natural nature of man is hardly good -
Proof is found in our vocabulary;
despite incredible accomplishments of this world,
poor relationships of man to extremes are still carried.

Our literature and news is littered
with ugly views of crime and hate.
For brief review of the damage perpetuated,
let's take time to reiterate.

There's slavery, ******, ******, torture,
greed, ****, hatred, genocide, racism,
bigotry, fear, starvation, thievery,
lasciviousness and terrorism.

Uncaring predators have always existed,
unable to overcome the evil within.
Such conditions show our need for a loving God,
to triumph over the presence and affects of sin.



Author Note:

From my book: Reaching Towards His Unbounded Glory
The ISBN is: 1-4196-5051-3

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
i get to be ridiculous, i'm an artist, it's only that my ridiculousness doesn't border with the Vatican City, or Switzerland that it's deemed "weird" (symbol use, also know as passing on misnomers, ~ - that's ambiguity, a stranger punctuation construct from the hyphen), it's weird because i'm attired in familiar clothing to an Essex loafer, i don't have the currency to buy fancy Pompidou mascara or lipstick and stroll with other drag queens at gay pride... i'm back-of-the-woods type of guy, on the Cartesian Libra heavyweight to the side of 'i think' than on the pigeon-**** weight side of 'i am' - mathematically speaking that's like 2 + 1 = 3 - "schizoid" thinking coupled to non-schizoid behavioural patterns therefore means... an increased threshold capacity for experiencing pain.

the first time i smoked marijuana
(and i didn't know how to roll
a joint of marijuana and tobacco)
was the happiest time of my life,
i exercised a lot, practised Roman bulimia
unconsciously - no pills, nothing,
******* down my throat, later
i trained the *suprahyoid
and the infrahyoid
muscles so well that
i could just throw the chocolate bars up,
trained them so well as if i was gagging
on a *****... but to keep a body image,
well, you know, to look **** (add sarcasm
with the italics) you have to do what women
do, for me it was a Roman Bulimia,
for them, dieting - it was weird owning
a different body from the one i own now,
c.c.t.v. Narcissus-shadow stalker was all a craze back then,
too much self-conscious ******* wrapped in
a ***** and sent to a daycare centre -
it feels great these days, drinking 70cl of whiskey
a night, and why would i be bragging without
a bowler hat and a cane a butterfly prim
on my neck and a neat suit?
i read Bulgakov, that'll do, i have an operatic
cat at this moment, i've never heard so many variations
of meow after the doors to the garden are closed
and he's told to remain indoors after 9p.m.,
he sits on the bathroom windowsill and wants
to be nannied in the lap while someone smokes
downstairs... 'fella, same fresh air down here as up there'...
it's more of a fox than a cat...
he matured to be ~10 kilograms, and so's a mature fox,
i know, i weighed one, cutting a work's pay for
some sanitary worked one night
when i was eager to buy a few beers... mature foxes
~10 kilograms minus 21 grams (you know, the
Higgs' boson of soul, alejandro gonzález iñárritu -
but why add ñá so close? it's -nia- anyway,
so Mexico or e ** ** **, the Mexican Hew, huh?
ah... Habana!)
swear to god, never heard so many variations...
where was i? ah, adapting Bach's polyphony within
poetry, could have been a king david, but i smashed
my lyre... i never liked the cheap one-man tennis
and a brick wall of poetry within claim of stiffening repeats:
rhyme... bounce... rhyme... Bunsen! rhyme... bounce...
rhyme... Bunsen! ya-d'ah ya-d'ah ya-d'ah...
a carousel in Golders Green where all the payots
flew off and made french pastry curls... cinnamon... mm.
and two books i wish i'd written -
closed society and it's allies, the alt. to Popper's
antonym based yawn-epic - Karl, falsifier -
and anger and restlessness, the alt. to a Danish
epic by Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling -
alt. say it as it is - ******* is like a bow-tie event,
a moth a butterfly event - the ******* was
there for a reason, pleasure from *******
when your *** partner was "feeling tired",
men and women are both libido struck sometimes
to extremes, they mentioned f.g.m. but didn't mention
m.g.m., with ******* you ain't chasing, you ain't
playing the dating game - circumcision gave
women the upper hand, the toy machine of manhood,
you have ******* for a reason, it's not in line with
ancient Hebraic laws where you have to do 613 things
to obey... and with ******* you're less likely to
go Boko Haram cuckoo and steal girls for their ******* -
i believe the fabled conversation between Zeus and
Hera is necessary - women derive more pleasure
from ***... but men derive more pleasure from life -
well, if you have *******, see the image problem?
i'm dressed... you're undressed... i have two capacities
and a tool to curb my libido, you have jack and a stockpile
of nukes - with a cigar smoking duke on percussion
that only takes one press and the whole orchestra starts
up with a crescendo rather than a build-up.
oh right... the first time i started smoking marijuana i
was 21... i remember it clearly, i don't know how i managed
to roll a joint... Edinburgh 2007, Montague Street,
i rolled one... smoked it... lay on the floor...
and giggled my way through Daft Punk's album human
after all
- giggled and danced horizontally...
solipsism at it's finest... later i met a girl who said that
*** after marijuana was so much better than sober...
i beg to disagree... given that solo moment,
and ******* prostitutes drunk, esp. in Amsterdam,
where i don't have to feel any English sensibilities on the matter.
Jerry Desbrow Nov 2013
OLD HOUSE

They retain precious memories,
intimate feelings of inhabitants
passing through its sagging doors.

Romantic are seekers of forgotten times
memories encased in hard wood floors;
as lath plastered walls ooze remnants of a
history while we; when inclined listen.

We don't go very often, to abandon houses,
perhaps on a dare, or at Halloween.
Are we passed enjoying extremes into this
another world, musty energy a curious child.

That was the yesterday
which now waits behind
musty, dusty, derelict halls.

I stand I stand at paint chipped banister,
a faded worn carpet once carried dancing feet,
children playing before they sleep. The
broken coat tree on the floor.

From the third floor murmuring,
a wind storm jars
loose fears, of time
once lost to dreams.

Echos billow from
each room, curtains hanging
yellowed by a sun where
dancing light through holes in damask lace.

Mice gremlin's artful droppings,
tracks of nature on dirt strewn floor.
Broken shards from window
panes, confetti after New Years day.

Branches scratched
etched paths, tracks like graffiti
on sill its unread words, a glif
eerily cast shadows trigger echos from the past.

Jagged memories protrude from every corner
mixing with new, enriching our fantasies
bringing us closer renewed;
these musty memories long forgotten.

Like waves rushing back;
flooding a mind like broken
dikes they crash into our world,
Rembrandt's paintings on canvas fading.

Silent footsteps outside a door,
we hear laughter from bedroom walls;
a smell a whiff of hot butter ***, silent
conversation coming our way.

Old Doc Masters listened at my chest, as
I read all by candle light, Sherlock detective stories
or the Tell Tale Heart of Poe or
Othello; all masters in the past.

A Grandfather clock
stands silent, keeping time,
lost its tick yet still striking,
it stands tall, upon a clueless floor.

Knowledge lost to a past
in a house so worn,
births, deaths, wars, wrapped
forgotten, encased by neglect,

I visited a house besotted,
neglected waiting to be
remodeled into another century
moving it to present times.

Ajerry
Archival Jan 5, 2011
Edited and rewritten Nov 1 2013 / ajanon/ Jerry
Bluejay Nov 2014
If only you could understand
the power of your dreams -
or the strength you truly have cause
life's sorrows are mere extremes.

Reach for the sky,
chase the wind,
fly away - be free
don't let yourself end.

Here you are a beautiful soul
you can hold all that you
could ever want or need
just don't be so blue.

Dry those tears,
smile a lot,
you'll be O.K.
give life a shot.

For if you don't open your eyes
you'll never know all things must
come to an end, if they
don't you're the dream to Bust.

Pop!
....Pop!
..........POP!

There go another
poor soul's hopes
dreams, and wishes...

Hold on to yourself

-don't end up
............like that...........
Descend from Heaven, Urania, by that name
If rightly thou art called, whose voice divine
Following, above the Olympian hill I soar,
Above the flight of Pegasean wing!
The meaning, not the name, I call: for thou
Nor of the Muses nine, nor on the top
Of old Olympus dwellest; but, heavenly-born,
Before the hills appeared, or fountain flowed,
Thou with eternal Wisdom didst converse,
Wisdom thy sister, and with her didst play
In presence of the Almighty Father, pleased
With thy celestial song.  Up led by thee
Into the Heaven of Heavens I have presumed,
An earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air,
Thy tempering: with like safety guided down
Return me to my native element:
Lest from this flying steed unreined, (as once
Bellerophon, though from a lower clime,)
Dismounted, on the Aleian field I fall,
Erroneous there to wander, and forlorn.
Half yet remains unsung, but narrower bound
Within the visible diurnal sphere;
Standing on earth, not rapt above the pole,
More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchanged
To hoarse or mute, though fallen on evil days,
On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues;
In darkness, and with dangers compassed round,
And solitude; yet not alone, while thou
Visitest my slumbers nightly, or when morn
Purples the east: still govern thou my song,
Urania, and fit audience find, though few.
But drive far off the barbarous dissonance
Of Bacchus and his revellers, the race
Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian bard
In Rhodope, where woods and rocks had ears
To rapture, till the savage clamour drowned
Both harp and voice; nor could the Muse defend
Her son.  So fail not thou, who thee implores:
For thou art heavenly, she an empty dream.
Say, Goddess, what ensued when Raphael,
The affable Arch-Angel, had forewarned
Adam, by dire example, to beware
Apostasy, by what befel in Heaven
To those apostates; lest the like befall
In Paradise to Adam or his race,
Charged not to touch the interdicted tree,
If they transgress, and slight that sole command,
So easily obeyed amid the choice
Of all tastes else to please their appetite,
Though wandering.  He, with his consorted Eve,
The story heard attentive, and was filled
With admiration and deep muse, to hear
Of things so high and strange; things, to their thought
So unimaginable, as hate in Heaven,
And war so near the peace of God in bliss,
With such confusion: but the evil, soon
Driven back, redounded as a flood on those
From whom it sprung; impossible to mix
With blessedness.  Whence Adam soon repealed
The doubts that in his heart arose: and now
Led on, yet sinless, with desire to know
What nearer might concern him, how this world
Of Heaven and Earth conspicuous first began;
When, and whereof created; for what cause;
What within Eden, or without, was done
Before his memory; as one whose drouth
Yet scarce allayed still eyes the current stream,
Whose liquid murmur heard new thirst excites,
Proceeded thus to ask his heavenly guest.
Great things, and full of wonder in our ears,
Far differing from this world, thou hast revealed,
Divine interpreter! by favour sent
Down from the empyrean, to forewarn
Us timely of what might else have been our loss,
Unknown, which human knowledge could not reach;
For which to the infinitely Good we owe
Immortal thanks, and his admonishment
Receive, with solemn purpose to observe
Immutably his sovran will, the end
Of what we are.  But since thou hast vouchsafed
Gently, for our instruction, to impart
Things above earthly thought, which yet concerned
Our knowing, as to highest wisdom seemed,
Deign to descend now lower, and relate
What may no less perhaps avail us known,
How first began this Heaven which we behold
Distant so high, with moving fires adorned
Innumerable; and this which yields or fills
All space, the ambient air wide interfused
Embracing round this floried Earth; what cause
Moved the Creator, in his holy rest
Through all eternity, so late to build
In Chaos; and the work begun, how soon
Absolved; if unforbid thou mayest unfold
What we, not to explore the secrets ask
Of his eternal empire, but the more
To magnify his works, the more we know.
And the great light of day yet wants to run
Much of his race though steep; suspense in Heaven,
Held by thy voice, thy potent voice, he hears,
And longer will delay to hear thee tell
His generation, and the rising birth
Of Nature from the unapparent Deep:
Or if the star of evening and the moon
Haste to thy audience, Night with her will bring,
Silence; and Sleep, listening to thee, will watch;
Or we can bid his absence, till thy song
End, and dismiss thee ere the morning shine.
Thus Adam his illustrious guest besought:
And thus the Godlike Angel answered mild.
This also thy request, with caution asked,
Obtain; though to recount almighty works
What words or tongue of Seraph can suffice,
Or heart of man suffice to comprehend?
Yet what thou canst attain, which best may serve
To glorify the Maker, and infer
Thee also happier, shall not be withheld
Thy hearing; such commission from above
I have received, to answer thy desire
Of knowledge within bounds; beyond, abstain
To ask; nor let thine own inventions hope
Things not revealed, which the invisible King,
Only Omniscient, hath suppressed in night;
To none communicable in Earth or Heaven:
Enough is left besides to search and know.
But knowledge is as food, and needs no less
Her temperance over appetite, to know
In measure what the mind may well contain;
Oppresses else with surfeit, and soon turns
Wisdom to folly, as nourishment to wind.
Know then, that, after Lucifer from Heaven
(So call him, brighter once amidst the host
Of Angels, than that star the stars among,)
Fell with his flaming legions through the deep
Into his place, and the great Son returned
Victorious with his Saints, the Omnipotent
Eternal Father from his throne beheld
Their multitude, and to his Son thus spake.
At least our envious Foe hath failed, who thought
All like himself rebellious, by whose aid
This inaccessible high strength, the seat
Of Deity supreme, us dispossessed,
He trusted to have seised, and into fraud
Drew many, whom their place knows here no more:
Yet far the greater part have kept, I see,
Their station; Heaven, yet populous, retains
Number sufficient to possess her realms
Though wide, and this high temple to frequent
With ministeries due, and solemn rites:
But, lest his heart exalt him in the harm
Already done, to have dispeopled Heaven,
My damage fondly deemed, I can repair
That detriment, if such it be to lose
Self-lost; and in a moment will create
Another world, out of one man a race
Of men innumerable, there to dwell,
Not here; till, by degrees of merit raised,
They open to themselves at length the way
Up hither, under long obedience tried;
And Earth be changed to Heaven, and Heaven to Earth,
One kingdom, joy and union without end.
Mean while inhabit lax, ye Powers of Heaven;
And thou my Word, begotten Son, by thee
This I perform; speak thou, and be it done!
My overshadowing Spirit and Might with thee
I send along; ride forth, and bid the Deep
Within appointed bounds be Heaven and Earth;
Boundless the Deep, because I Am who fill
Infinitude, nor vacuous the space.
Though I, uncircumscribed myself, retire,
And put not forth my goodness, which is free
To act or not, Necessity and Chance
Approach not me, and what I will is Fate.
So spake the Almighty, and to what he spake
His Word, the Filial Godhead, gave effect.
Immediate are the acts of God, more swift
Than time or motion, but to human ears
Cannot without process of speech be told,
So told as earthly notion can receive.
Great triumph and rejoicing was in Heaven,
When such was heard declared the Almighty’s will;
Glory they sung to the Most High, good will
To future men, and in their dwellings peace;
Glory to Him, whose just avenging ire
Had driven out the ungodly from his sight
And the habitations of the just; to Him
Glory and praise, whose wisdom had ordained
Good out of evil to create; instead
Of Spirits malign, a better race to bring
Into their vacant room, and thence diffuse
His good to worlds and ages infinite.
So sang the Hierarchies:  Mean while the Son
On his great expedition now appeared,
Girt with Omnipotence, with radiance crowned
Of Majesty Divine; sapience and love
Immense, and all his Father in him shone.
About his chariot numberless were poured
Cherub, and Seraph, Potentates, and Thrones,
And Virtues, winged Spirits, and chariots winged
From the armoury of God; where stand of old
Myriads, between two brazen mountains lodged
Against a solemn day, harnessed at hand,
Celestial equipage; and now came forth
Spontaneous, for within them Spirit lived,
Attendant on their Lord:  Heaven opened wide
Her ever-during gates, harmonious sound
On golden hinges moving, to let forth
The King of Glory, in his powerful Word
And Spirit, coming to create new worlds.
On heavenly ground they stood; and from the shore
They viewed the vast immeasurable abyss
Outrageous as a sea, dark, wasteful, wild,
Up from the bottom turned by furious winds
And surging waves, as mountains, to assault
Heaven’s highth, and with the center mix the pole.
Silence, ye troubled Waves, and thou Deep, peace,
Said then the Omnifick Word; your discord end!
Nor staid; but, on the wings of Cherubim
Uplifted, in paternal glory rode
Far into Chaos, and the world unborn;
For Chaos heard his voice:  Him all his train
Followed in bright procession, to behold
Creation, and the wonders of his might.
Then staid the fervid wheels, and in his hand
He took the golden compasses, prepared
In God’s eternal store, to circumscribe
This universe, and all created things:
One foot he centered, and the other turned
Round through the vast profundity obscure;
And said, Thus far extend, thus far thy bounds,
This be thy just circumference, O World!
Thus God the Heaven created, thus the Earth,
Matter unformed and void:  Darkness profound
Covered the abyss: but on the watery calm
His brooding wings the Spirit of God outspread,
And vital virtue infused, and vital warmth
Throughout the fluid mass; but downward purged
The black tartareous cold infernal dregs,
Adverse to life: then founded, then conglobed
Like things to like; the rest to several place
Disparted, and between spun out the air;
And Earth self-balanced on her center hung.
Let there be light, said God; and forthwith Light
Ethereal, first of things, quintessence pure,
Sprung from the deep; and from her native east
To journey through the aery gloom began,
Sphered in a radiant cloud, for yet the sun
Was not; she in a cloudy tabernacle
Sojourned the while.  God saw the light was good;
And light from darkness by the hemisphere
Divided: light the Day, and darkness Night,
He named.  Thus was the first day even and morn:
Nor past uncelebrated, nor unsung
By the celestial quires, when orient light
Exhaling first from darkness they beheld;
Birth-day of Heaven and Earth; with joy and shout
The hollow universal orb they filled,
And touched their golden harps, and hymning praised
God and his works; Creator him they sung,
Both when first evening was, and when first morn.
Again, God said,  Let there be firmament
Amid the waters, and let it divide
The waters from the waters; and God made
The firmament, expanse of liquid, pure,
Transparent, elemental air, diffused
In circuit to the uttermost convex
Of this great round; partition firm and sure,
The waters underneath from those above
Dividing: for as earth, so he the world
Built on circumfluous waters calm, in wide
Crystalline ocean, and the loud misrule
Of Chaos far removed; lest fierce extremes
Contiguous might distemper the whole frame:
And Heaven he named the Firmament:  So even
And morning chorus sung the second day.
The Earth was formed, but in the womb as yet
Of waters, embryon immature involved,
Appeared not: over all the face of Earth
Main ocean flowed, not idle; but, with warm
Prolifick humour softening all her globe,
Fermented the great mother to conceive,
Satiate with genial moisture; when God said,
Be gathered now ye waters under Heaven
Into one place, and let dry land appear.
Immediately the mountains huge appear
Emergent, and their broad bare backs upheave
Into the clouds; their tops ascend the sky:
So high as heaved the tumid hills, so low
Down sunk a hollow bottom broad and deep,
Capacious bed of waters:  Thither they
Hasted with glad precipitance, uprolled,
As drops on dust conglobing from the dry:
Part rise in crystal wall, or ridge direct,
For haste; such flight the great command impressed
On the swift floods:  As armies at the call
Of trumpet (for of armies thou hast heard)
Troop to their standard; so the watery throng,
Wave rolling after wave, where way they found,
If steep, with torrent rapture, if through plain,
Soft-ebbing; nor withstood them rock or hill;
But they, or under ground, or circuit wide
With serpent errour wandering, found their way,
And on the washy oose deep channels wore;
Easy, ere God had bid the ground be dry,
All but within those banks, where rivers now
Stream, and perpetual draw their humid train.
The dry land, Earth; and the great receptacle
Of congregated waters, he called Seas:
And saw that it was good; and said, Let the Earth
Put forth the verdant grass, herb yielding seed,
And fruit-tree yielding fruit after her kind,
Whose seed is in herself upon the Earth.
He scarce had said, when the bare Earth, till then
Desart and bare, unsightly, unadorned,
Brought forth the tender grass, whose verdure clad
Her universal face with pleasant green;
Then herbs of every leaf, that sudden flowered
Opening their various colours, and made gay
Her *****, smelling sweet: and, these scarce blown,
Forth flourished thick the clustering vine, forth crept
The swelling gourd, up stood the corny reed
Embattled in her field, and the humble shrub,
And bush with frizzled hair implicit:  Last
Rose, as in dance, the stately trees, and spread
Their branches hung with copious fruit, or gemmed
Their blossoms:  With high woods the hills were crowned;
With tufts the valleys, and each fountain side;
With borders long the rivers: that Earth now
Seemed like to Heaven, a seat where Gods might dwell,
Or wander with delight, and love to haunt
Her sacred shades: though God had yet not rained
Upon the Earth, and man to till the ground
None was; but from the Earth a dewy mist
Went up, and watered all the ground, and each
Plant of the field; which, ere it was in the Earth,
God made, and every herb, before it grew
On the green stem:  God saw that it was good:
So even and morn recorded the third day.
Again the Almighty spake, Let there be lights
High in the expanse of Heaven, to divide
The day from night; and let them be for signs,
For seasons, and for days, and circling years;
And let them be for lights, as I ordain
Their office in the firmament of Heaven,
To give light on the Earth; and it was so.
And God made two great lights, great for their use
To Man, the greater to have rule by day,
The less by night, altern; and made the stars,
And set them in the firmament of Heaven
To illuminate the Earth, and rule the day
In their vicissitude, and rule the night,
And light from darkness to divide.  God saw,
Surveying his great work, that it was good:
For of celestial bodies first the sun
A mighty sphere he framed, unlightsome first,
Though of ethereal mould: then formed the moon
Globose, and every magnitude of stars,
And sowed with stars the Heaven, thick as a field:
Of light by far the greater part he took,
Transplanted from her cloudy shrine, and placed
In the sun’s orb, made porous to receive
And drink the liquid light; firm to retain
Her gathered beams, great palace now of light.
Hither, as to their fountain, other stars
Repairing, in their golden urns draw light,
And hence the morning-planet gilds her horns;
By tincture or reflection they augment
Their small peculiar, though from human sight
So far rem
III Jun 2015
The truth is, I’m not really sure who I am.  She told us to draw ourselves and then to draw our souls; so I drew my face scratched and uneven, just as I’ve always seen it, and frowned at the result both in the mirror and on the paper.  The only soul I’ve ever really known was the one that shone through the strokes of the keys I punched, the scrawling of ink on paper in mismatched arrays of awkward thoughts, disorientated and unorganized, shaded different spews of emotion and rearranged through the lens of ever last viewer’s eye.  Even so, this soul that is composed of words that defined me painted a picture vivid in its contrast, though blurry from both afar and close enough to squint, no details able to be made out.  These words that have wrapped around my soul rubbed raw from the time my skin first flinched at the cool March air cannot be deciphered by their author, though I know somehow that their letters flowing into one another say more than any curve of my face ever could.  These words are black and white, two extremes crafted in the pallet of the Universe’s toolshed, and perhaps that’s exactly what I am.  Black or white.  I’m dark and lost and scrounging for some rusting wall or tree branch to cling to as to ensure the shimmering waves, onyx and charcoal in their nature with the flow of blood in its spine, do not flood into my mouth at a rate in which is too quick to balance myself upon them, or, I’m white, drifting snow from a cloud scraping the vast expanse of brilliant blue gazing as a sky above all the world, pure, innocent, unscathed with the potential for creation in vibrancies yet unknown, or to be ripped to bits, scattered amongst piles of cream and autumn leaves drained of their color beneath months of shivering frost.  And so, perhaps any physical representation of my being would be all wrong, because that’s not what I am.  Myself, my soul, it resides in the murky depths of heights I’ve yet to discover, tethered endlessly and uncertain among the caverns of my inners, pink and mushy, stirred and ******, untouched from the harsh light of a world encased in brevity.
Alin May 2015
Hello Little Prince
Your Eyes Shine
Like Emeralds Of Pines
Your Hair Made Of the Sun
You travel from Star to Star

I draw  each day since you are gone
in all color and form - sound and line
for our rejuvenating living particle
made of crystal of truth
I sense you water my lost dream

I the lover the queen of All Darkness
I the lover the goddess of All Light
remain unreachable
reside on  both -
of your own making they say
- undying and unborn star

Outside of the two or one
you travel to All the glittering
unknown but remembering
of those starting and ending
to recollect living pieces
of that forgotten dream

as if a scent to remember
from lavender fields
brought by a distant whispering
of a northern sky
to fade away
if you choose not to hear

Your experiences- real - reach as vivid pulse
of  a song -  a mantra of love
My roots sense to mature wisdom in all tones of Reds
Innocent is my heart longing for your glowing face
the greens of my leaves reflect
the color of the light of our secret seeing

I shall play no more games of extremes
for you to visualize of me other than what I am
I surrender to you  fully because I know you have seen
many of rose gardens and touched and smelled and cherished
each one - as vital as the cool mountain stream singing for
me the myth of your love spreading

I shall no more play games other than the truth that connected us inseparably
We gave birth to fertility through the bite not more painful than a thorn on my stem
Our love born of the poison of the serpent that connected us
We travel to be healed and to heal the universe
in our shell as we experience to learn and teach
not a mystery but a technology is love where
I shall see you again beyond the body

I the lover of healing fully flowing on one line
Crossed valleys made of fractals of blessings
My colorless strong hair carrier of red blue yellow and green glitter
on streams reaching the oceanic clearing as the victorious salty jump of a whale

As the Heart purifies its Crystal - We Be  One -
Our Home - You - I -. The Rose -
Not the Unreachable - The Dark - None of those Extremes -
but a Rose is I Just  like One of the Many Other Ones -
but One Of a Kind on A Tiniest but A Home for Us Planet  Under Stars
Us --  The Little Prince - The Rose - bring love to universe - when whoever on planets looks up  in pure knowing - to Skies shall sense among all other  Stars Skies and Hearts -  a Universe  made of  Glowing  Vibrating Expanding Delivering Joy is  Divine Love
of the Rose and the Little Prince and the Tiniest Planet made of a living Crystal Heart of Dreams
of the Drawer or of the Reader or of the Dreamer or of You or of I
for Little Prince  and my sister who made me to reread this book of wisdom :)
You are no longer young,
Nor are you very old.
There are homes where those belong.
You know you do not fit
When you observe the cold
Stares of those who sit

In bath-chairs or the park
(A stick, then, at their side)
Or find yourself in the dark
And see the lovers who,
In love and in their stride,
Don't even notice you.

This is a time to begin
Your life. It could be new.
The sheer not fitting in
With the old who envy you
And the young who want to win,
Not knowing false from true,

Means you have liberty
Denied to their extremes.
At last now you can be
What the old cannot recall
And the young long for in dreams,
Yet still include them all.
Andrew Rueter Dec 2017
There is dirt mixed with blood
Underneath our fingernails
Our life is mixed with mud
While we fight and flail
The struggle is for my agency
Otherwise I feel they're ****** me
I feel they are replacing me
With an imposition of their will
Love as vast as the sea
Wouldn't get them their fill
Their emotions they ****
For a ****** thrill
That could be achieved by a pill
But instead they use power
For they understand in this hour
There is a mentality
Of fatality
Where we minimize our enemies to their negative desires
So we can build with our allies oppressive empires
Until the whole world is on fire
And these rapists can do as they please
When it's systemic they do it with ease
In a world without trust
They are the beneficiaries
They care only for lust
With actions incendiary
Burning the forest they hide in
Where our secrets provide their shade
Because overwhelming suspicion pervades
The image of all strangers
We see only danger
And our judgement is skewed
When everybody is considered a ******
Yet there are only a few

There is a moment
When I make a ****** decision
I am not sure what the recipient's reaction will be
There are two negative extremes to this situation:
1. I will **** them
2. They will falsely accuse me of ****
Our ****** lives are navigating these issues of trust
Between those extremes
But when our definition of ****
Starts to define the victim's comfort
As more important than the violator's intent
We show an unwillingness to understand and a bias
Which would give anyone reason to not trust someone
And the ****** atmosphere becomes one of uncertainty
People get into relationships so they don't have to worry about it
But bachelors must consider these things
**** victims must too
As well as the man sitting in prison for fraudulent claims
One has been illegally *****
The other has been ***** legally
I'd imagine both might see a world of rapists afterwards
Yet there are only a few
Momo Watanabe Jun 2014
Instead of investing your time reading thick calculus books why open the stitches of my skin and smell the bare flesh and blood that existed primarily because it was lonely. Instead of studying a cell wall under the microscope, you should have tried to locate where I was behind the walls that I carelessly built. Instead of fixing someone’s car, come home fast and see why I broke down and be acquainted with the beating my heart, at least listen to it once in awhile like an old radio playing on repeat, your voice is the only track in my tape and your existence is the miracle of a thousand years.
Yes, this is the extremes. Welcome to my love.
Lauren Marie Jun 2015
I only ask of you to aim for balance. No one, not even yourself, is expecting you to fall into another category of extremes. In life we have more than the black and white. I don’t just want you to see the grey, but the kaleidoscope of colors this beautiful world has to offer.
MdAsadullah Dec 2015
Put 'Goodness' of a good man on test.
In moderate clime it might appear best.

Examine the 'Goodness' in extremes.
It will be different from what it seems.

Leave 'Goodness' under the desert sun.
To help 'Goodness' there should be none.

With magnifying glass check its sphere.
Cracks and fissures are sure to appear.

Now place 'Goodness' on mountaintop.
Keep it in position with the help of prop.

Leave it in Bone-chilling cold and depart.
Within days it will crumble and fall apart.
Aaron LaLux Feb 2018
Spent the last 3 nights with 4 girls,
I’m tired no spare tire I’ll spare you the details,
riding ***** in the fast lane,
trying to drive faster than the Evils,
didn’t even know the girls nor did I protect myself,
so I hope I don’t get a virus like an email,
on E she’ll flood like a sea swell,
caught in the rush blinded by the light so I don’t see well,

meanwhile,

while we’re free as a dolphin or a bird,
high in a hive liking life like where the bees dwell,
they as in the ones that hate are outta water,
like a fish or better yet like a beached whale,

well,
if you’ve got stories pray tell,
and if you don’t then please step aside,
and let a real Story teller tell the tales,

see I go through it do you don’t have to do it,
all in all the time see I saw my chance and I took it,
because life is a one way street there’s no rewind or repeat,
so take every opportunity because you never want to have to say you blew it,

I really do it,

I worldwide travel with the girls I gather,
life’s a trip that’s why we stay fly,
head in the clouds feet on the ground,
if you want to find my you can check Cloud 9,

doing fine,
with some fine felines,
at kitty corner with a *****,
intoxicated from their provocative nature no need for wine,

and don’t get me wrong,
that’s kitty with two T’s not two D’s,
see I like my women fully developed,
I like a nice bush and a good pair of *******,

here kitty kitty,
I know I’m a dog but I won’t bite,
what I will do however,
is give you the ride of your life,

and that’s no lie,

and please don’t fight,
see I’m man enough to satisfy 4 at the same time,
while most men can’t even satisfy one,
at home with a limp **** and a wife that’s dissatisfied,

but hey cheer up maybe you should go the queer route,
because it’s obvious that you can’t please the women in your life,
with a physical addiction to ****** that that’ll help your ***** condition it’s sad bro,
see really men are just born with the skills to please we don’t even need to try,

that’s why I spent the last 3 nights with 4 girls,
I’m tired no spare tire I’ll spare you the details,
riding ***** in the fast lane,
trying to drive faster than the Evils,
didn’t even know the girls nor did I protect myself,
so I hope I don’t get a virus like an email,
on E she’ll flood like a sea swell,
caught in the rush blinded by the light so I don’t see well,

and that’s fine because these Divine Felines support me well,
and in return I support them too,
I’ve got their back 100%,
anything they want I’m willing to do,

they are my reason for being,
they are the breath in my lungs,
they are the motivation to keep proceeding,
to succeed in getting things done,

so when they call I come,
and when they’re on they come,
and they help each other out too,
because that’s half the fun,

fck,

almost feels better when I feel the pleasure,
of two women coming together at the same time,
than when I come myself I mean I’m over that,
I’d rather hold a cobra cat’s back as she has an ******* attack up her spine,

completely addicted to the feeling we get when,
we’re all coming in unison moving in tune as one,
it’s really the only reason I live I love every part of it,
everything else is just moments that happen to and from,

seriously,
everything else other than sensuality with me **** C’s,
is just external experiences that happen,
during all that time that is in between,

every meal every movie every drive every hike,
is just the decoration around the core of my life,
see the core of my life is the women I love,
which explains why I was with 4 women in 3 nights,

and just to be clear they were all together,
friends that wanted to share me and have no other man,
see all those fantasies that other guys have,
well that’s my real life so blessed that people are like “****”,

“How do you do it?”,
well I start with the truth then move with the music,
you either have it or you don’t and I’m a Natural Born Lover,
I’ve been blessed with these gifts from God and I use this,
to caress every princess that’s in distress from not being pleasured,
see I’ve realized that most of the men out there are stupid and useless,
their sensual sentiments have been censored they don’t even know how to enter,
students without a mentor detectives without any leads in other words they’re clues,

while I’ve realized the Divine Nature of the Divine Feline,
and how to balance extremes,
see there’s a fine line between Love & Hate,
which is why most women want to both moan and scream,

there’s a fine line between treating a girl like a ****,
and treating a girl like a queen,
because a lot of women like to be both in control and controlled,
you know what I mean,

they want to make love sometimes,
and other times they want to ****,
they want you to be gentle with them one day,
and then the next they’ll want you to be rough,

there’s almost a form of mental telepathy,
to fully be able to communicate in a way that’s correct,
but above all else please remember one thing,
before anything else there must be respect,

so have respect for every women in your life,
and the rest will likely naturally follow,
and then one day maybe you two,
can have 4 women together in one night and feel like you’re Apollo,

spent the last 3 nights with 4 girls,
I’m tired no spare tire I’ll spare you the details,
riding ***** in the fast lane,
trying to drive faster than the Evils,
didn’t even know the girls nor did I protect myself,
so I hope I don’t get a virus like an email,
on E she’ll flood like a sea swell,
caught in the rush blinded by the light so I don’t see well…

∆ LaLux ∆

new book for FREE here: www.scribd.com/document/367036005/The-Sydney-Sessions-12-Steps
David Hilburn Apr 2023
Patience's home
Sweet and merciful, the tows of resolve?
Account me the silence, the hint of some
Verily fascinated, the tools of cares know the world...

Livid, the tale between two legends
Found curiosity, saviors share of woes...
To remember the clash of waits, worth, and winds
The clue of frustration, if not forces to believe, hold...

Running avarice, the told whisper of when
A prayer has sat right in front of you...
Can a heart be ever so erudite, a sincere occur to then?
Just one more stone of merit, of a liberty to collect who...

Since we are here, the total of unity...?
For a quiet question, sought by instinct
And the callous might we admit; is a reason, a ready...
Quote of vanity and its verisimilitude, and with a wink...

The eyes of existence
Realizing the poise if not poignancy of few's
And looking long beyond the order of meaning's resilience
Can the past of love, be the future for kinder soon's?
Olivia McCann Sep 2014
Maybe my writing
Will improve
When strewn over
Blue lined graph paper,
Tiny boxes,
Coaxing out order,
Perhaps even
Clarifying boundaries
Between crazed truth,
And detrimental lies.

The grid putting
Poem in context,
Poem like graph,
Displaying
Levels of THC
Depression
Number of Kisses
Tears Cried
Outliers of secrets uttered.
Box and whisker plot
Displaying anxiety,
Skewed data toward extremes.

No.
Linear writing would
Reveal the chaos inside.
I can't fit the poems
To the squares.
A graph can't really cry
The way a person can.
There's a losing feeling
Etched in pen
On a harshly graded
Parcel of mathematical quizzing
That a poem has no place to
Instill in me.

And no one would
Be able to read my work
The way they tell you to show it.
My poems have no color coding.
Definition between data
Becomes hazy as
Layers of black are added
In empty,
All encompassing anger.
And I smoke while I write tonight,
Haze growing,
Lines wobbled,
And I may have put a poem
On a piece of graph paper
But it's nothing like the math homework
That stays in my backpack.
Needless to say, I wrote this on graph paper.
storm siren Aug 2016
I love in extremes,
And I love you too much.

There is all of me,
And then there is all of me.

I love you with all that I am,
And with all that I have,
And I love you too much,
But I'd rather love you too much,
Than not at all.

Because I either love and care
With every part of me,
Or I don't seem to care for caring
At all.

I love you too much,
But I love you so much,
That too much is okay.

And you're the light
That makes my heart so bright,
And maybe I love you too much,
But if I give you all of me,
Will you gladly accept?

It's a risk
I am more
Than willing
To take.

Settle roots
Inside my heart,
And call it home.
I love you too much,
Can we watch our roots grow?

Your smile and care
Planted a seed within me,
And now I sit among the branches
Of the tree it has become,
Swinging my legs,
Smiling at you from afar.
And we've come so far,
And I love you too much.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=byHSQoemFvI

Written to the song North by Sleeping At Last, inspired by the love in my heart for my Bluebird.
CharlesC Feb 2013
Our many voyages
of desert and sea
the harshness observed..
smooth cushioned water
becomes raging storm..
a splitting violence
this external turbulence
kindles jolts of anger
then fear and supplication..
finally the Question..

tumult and danger
seem forceful prompts
suggesting surrender to
veils of indifference..
yet some find now
new possibility arising
to trace one's journey:
jagged roaring storm
stimulates and brightens
fading light within..

in these extremes
depths awaken heights
new sisterhood appears..
in one's journey log
a backward look
records hidden leaps
of courage and faith..
real awareness
of one's precarious
life String...
see Stephen Crane
"The Open Boat"
Bee Jul 2018
darling
let us fill our lungs
with corruptive smoke
and descend into delirium
so we may appreciate the moments
when our breaths consist
of purely air

let us drown our stomachs with poison
so we may savor the potent mix
of acid and alcohol
searing our throats
and numbing our skin

let us sink our teeth
into the ripe flesh
of the forbidden fruit
and swallow the pit
while we´re at it

let us drink to forget
and kiss like careless strangers
as we bury ourselves under bodies
so we may feel something other
than the weight of the world

let us dance beneath a storm
not of rain
but of blood spilling out
of open wrists
with mouths gaping
and hearts shattered

let us relish these blurred eyes
and hazy memories
as our hands touch
but do not meet
let us hold each other too tight
skin bleeding into skin
nail marks freckling your back

i can no longer hear the music
so let us sing our beautiful lies
take my hand
and let us run through grayed streets
with reckless abandon
and as we go
we can pick the roses
allowing their thorns
to imprint new scars
between our fingertips

let us tear the feathers
from a white dove
so we may weave ourselves
wings to fly
to touch the sun
and steal icarus´ name

let us ignore our ambitions
and explore extremes together
let us shatter our expectations
and as two beings collide
let us breathe each other in
and indulge as if it were
our last moment on earth

darling
let us taste death together


x.
Nigel Morgan Apr 2013
It took him a week to master thought-diversion. He would leave home to walk to work and the moment the door was shut it was as though she followed him like a shadow on snow. If he wasn’t careful the ten-minute walk would be swallowed up in an imagined conversation. He had already allowed himself too many dark thoughts of tears and silences. He saw her befreckled by weeks in a light he had only read about. She would be a stranger for a while, a visitor from another world (until she gradually lost the glow on her skin and the smell of Africa became an elusive memory). He was frightened that he would be overwhelmed by her physical grace enriched by   southern summer and the weight of her experience, having so little to offer in return. So he practised thought diversion: as her shadow entered his consciousness he would divert his attention to China of the Third Century and what he would write next about Zuo Fen and her illustrious brother.

Sister and brother Zou gradually took on a fictional life. This he fuelled by reading poetry of the period and his daily beachcombing along the shores of the Internet. He built up an impressive bibliography for his next visit to the university library. Even in the Han Dynasty there was so much material to study, though much of it the stuff of secondary sources.

One morning he took down from his library shelf Max Loehr’s The Great Painters of China and immediately became seduced by the court images of Ku Kai’chih. This painter is the only artist of this period of Chinese antiquity to be represented today by extant copies. There was also a possible original, a handscroll in The British Museum. It is said Ku was the first portrait artist to give a psychological interpretation of the person portrayed. Before him there seems in portraiture to have been little differentiation in the characterization of figures. His images hold a wonder all their own.

As David looked at the book’s illustrative plates, showing details from The Admonitions of the Instructress to the Palace Ladies, the world of Zuo Fen began to reveal itself. A ‘palace lady’ she certainly was, and so possibly similar to the image before him: a concubine reclines in her bamboo screen and silk-curtained bed; her Lord sits respectively at right-angles to her and half-way down her bed. The artist has captured his feet deftly lifting themselves out of square-toed slippers, whilst Zuo Fen drapes one arm over the painted bamboo screen, her manner resolute and confident. Perhaps she has taken note of those admonitions of her instructress. Her Lord has turned his head to gaze at her directly and to listen. Restless hands hide beneath his gown.

        ‘Honoured Lord, as we have talked lately of flowing water and the symmetry of love I am reminded of the god and goddess of Xiang River’.
       ‘In the Nine Songs of Qu Yaun?’
       ‘Yes, my Lord. The opening verse has the Prince of Xiang say: You have not come; I wait with apprehension / And wonder who makes you prevaricate on your island / When I am so splendidly and perfectly attired in your honour?
       ‘Hmm. . . so you favour this new gown.’
       ‘It is finely made, but perhaps does not suit the light of this hour’.
       ‘Let the Yangzi River flow calmly, / I look for you, but you have not come.’
      ‘I gaze at the distance in a trance, /  Only to see the grey green waters run by.

        ‘Honourable Companion, I fear you feel my mind lies elsewhere . ‘
       ‘I know you ride the cassia boat downstream.’
       ‘Indeed, my oar is of cassia and my rudder of orchid’.
        ‘I fancy that you build a house underwater, thatching it with a roof of lotus leaves . . .’
       ‘Well, if that is so, drop your sleeves into the Yangzi River and present the thin dress you wear to the bay of Li.’
       ‘I am in awe of my Lord’s recall of such verses . . . I love the Lady of Xiang’s description of the underwater house . . . with its curtains of fig leaves and screens of split basil.’
      ‘But will you send me all the spirits of Juiyi mountains to bring me to your side . . . will they come together as numerous as clouds?’
      ‘My Lord, my nose perspires . . .’
      ‘I offer my jade ring to the Yangzi River / and yield my jade pendant to the bay of Li. / I gather galingale fronds on an islet of fragrant grasses, / still hoping to present them to you. / If I leave, I might not have another chance. / So I’d rather stay here and linger a little longer.’
        ‘I gather the powerful roots of galingale / hoping to offer them to you who are still far away. / If I leave, I might not have another chance. / So I’d rather stay here and linger a little longer
.’
      ‘Even though your nose perspires and your ******* harden . . .’
        ‘Kind Lord, you have taken the wrong role in the dialogue. Surely it is the Plain Girl who gives such advise to the Yellow Emperor.’
        ‘And I thought only men read the Sunujing . . .’
        ‘You forget I have a dear brother . . .’
       ‘With whom you have read the Sunujing! . . and no I have not forgotten . . . he sought permission to travel to the Tai mountains, some fool’s errand my minister states.’
         ‘He may surprise you on his return.’
        ‘Only you can surprise me now.’
       ‘My Lord, you know I lack such gifts . . . I hear your sandals dropping to the floor’.
      ‘I sail my boat ever closer to the wind / and the waves are
stirred like drifting snow.’
     ‘I can hear my beloved calling my name. / I shall hasten so that I can ride beside him.



She seemed so child-like in that singular room of the garden annex. Her head had buried itself between the two pillows so only her ever-curling hair was visible. Opening a small portion of the curtains drawn across the blue metalled-framed French windows, he gazed at her sleeping in the dull light of just dawn. Outside a river-mist lay across the autumnal garden where they had walked yesterday before their tour of the estate. Unable to sleep he had sat in their hosts’ kitchen and mapped their guided walk in the rain, noting down his observations of this remote valley in a sprawling narrative. On the edge of moorland it was a world constrained and contained, with its brooding batchelor-owned farms and the silent legacy everywhere of a Victorian hagiographer and antiquarian. As he wrote and drew, snapshot-like images of her intervened unbidden. She both entranced and purposeful in a physical landscape she delighted in and knew how to read. Although longing to lie next to her he had sat gently for a moment on her bed, feeling the weight of her sleeping form move towards him as the mattress sagged, his bare feet cold on the stone floor. He placed his poem on the empty companion pillow, and returned through the chill of unheated rooms to the desert warmth of the Agared kitchen.


Lying in your arms
I am surprised to hear a voice
That seems in the right key
To sing what is in my heart.

After so many dark
inarticulate hours
I,  desperate
To express this love
That drowns me,
Suddenly come up for breath
(after floundering in
the cold water of night)
to find there were words
like little boats of paper
carrying a tea light,
a vivid yellow flame
on the black depths,
floating gently towards you . . .

Oh log of memory
record these sailing messages
So carefully placed, rehearsed,
Launched and found complete.

Knowing I must not talk of love,
Knowing no other word
(feeling the shape of your knee
with my right hand),
knowing this time will not
come again, I summon
to myself one last intimacy
before the diary of reason closes.


Zou Fen often wrote about herself as a rustic illiterate, country-born in a thatched hut, but given (inexplicably) the purple chamber at the Palace. As the daughter of a significant officer of the Imperial Court she appears to have developed a fictional persona to induce and taste the extremes of melancholy. Otherwise she is mind-travelling the natural world from her courtyard garden, observing in the growth of a tiny plant or the flight of distant bird, the whole pattern of nature. These things fill her rhapsodies and fu poems.

As a young man Zuo Si had wild flights of fantasy. He imagined himself as a warrior. In verse he recalls reading Precepts on the Art of War by Ssu-ma Jang Chu. With a scholar’s knife he writes of quelling the barbarian hordes (the Tibetans) in their incursions along the Yang-tze. When triumphant he would not accept the Emperor’s gift of a title and estate, but would retire to a cottage in the country. Then again, as a student scholar, he describes failure, penury and isolation ‘left stranded like a fish in a pond, without – he hasn’t a single penny in his account: within – not a peck of grain in the larder.’ He was never thus.

Like all good writers sister and brother Zou were the keenest observers. They took into and upon themselves what they saw and gathered from the lives of others, and so often their playful painted characters hide the truth of their real lives. David looks at his dishevelled poetry and wonders about its veracity. He always thought of Rachel as his first (and only) reader; but what if she were not? What would he write? What would his poems say?

*I lie on my back in her bed.
On her stomach, her arm on my chest,
She props herself against me
so that I see her face in close up.
She gazes
out of the window

I don’t think I have slept at all,
My own bed was so cold.
She warms me for a while.

All night
I’ve been thinking
what to say to her,
and now I am too weary
to speak.

I am in despair,
Yet I ache with joy
At having her so close.

I wish I knew who I was,
What I could be,
What I might become.

A voice tells me
that such intimacy
will not come again.
Lucky Queue Nov 2012
A body and soul stretched to extremes
Yin and yang
The most and least of both worlds
Opposite sides of the coin
Cleansing and pure
Tainting and pitch
Light and dark
Of the purest white
And the most tainted black
Earth and air and fire and water and aether
Sun and rain
The brightest and hottest fires of sun
Beating and firing heat from the bottomless flames of hell
Breaking into a cold sweat without cease
The flaming evil of health
Rain and sun
The darkest and iciest rain of clouds
Pouring and drenching from the endless pools of heaven
Chilling into a cleansing soak never long enough
The freezing good of pain
The contradictions, the back and forth
The intelligent confusion
The stupid direction
The leather and biker tough guy
The shy and bookish sweet girl
The false realities and true lies
Love in strangers and indifference in close friends
Hope in troubled times and loss in peaceful
Banding together the unlikelies
Separating the probabilities
Pain in love and happiness
Contentment in fear and despair
The sound of one hand clapping.
Strangely whimsical title for my outpouring of passion, but I suppose it follows with the oxymorons and backwards-forwardsness...
Dhaye Margaux May 2014
Bakit ang umaga'y salaming nagniningning
At ang aking gabi'y sineng walang tabing?
Bakit ang magdamag ay tila araw mandin
Na kung di masilip ay tila kulang pa rin?

Sa oras na laging kita'y maalala
Balintataw manding anyo mo'y makita;
Ngiti ng puso ko'y anghel ang kapara
Dala ng pagsuyong ikaw ang may likha.

Di man naglalayag ang anyo kong lugod
Naglalakbay naman sa aking pagtulog;
Diwa at puso ko'y nawalan ng takot
Laging ako't ikaw yaong nasasangkot.

Saang mundo kayang di ka mamamasdan?
Wala nga sapagkat tanging ikaw lamang;
Takbo ng panaho'y di namamalayan
Basta't laging ikaw itong kaulayaw.

Daigdig mang ito'y tuksong kumakaway
Kung tayong dalawa'y landas na makulay;
Musika ng puso ay aalingawngaw
Mundo'y paraisong doo'y laging ikaw!


English Version:

You Will Always Be There

Oh, why each morning is like a bright looking glass
And my night's like a theater without a curtain?
Tell me why an overnight seems like a new day
That when I can't see you, life seems so uncertain?

Each moment that I cannot see you, my dearest
Even your shadow is always enough for me
My heart always smile like that of an angel's beam
Brought by this precious love only I could see.

Though I couldn't reach you with these frail arms and hands
I can still touch you, my dear, in my cherished dreams
My mind and my heart, they were strong, I'm not afraid
Only you and I, we can get through the extremes.

In what kind of world does this heart couldn't see you
If there's only one image in these eyes of mine?
Our time is running fast and yet we cannot feel
When you're here beside me, I will always be fine.

If this world of ours is a waving temptation
It would still be a bright path when we truly care
Rhythm of our hearts will echo and resonate
A place is paradise where you'll always be there!
A Filipino poem with an English version.
Kelly Mar 2022
the violent extremes
of my feelings
leave me breathless
at peace - in unrelenting moments
explosive - in calmness, unprovoked markers
of pleasantry, or people pleasing

i tackle invasive cruelty
curled into myself with tear streamed cheeks

i fight kindness blindly
and self-berate
riding the waves that i ******* hate

all of this is me
all of the extremes
but i'll hurt myself before
these things
cause others to bleed.
hurt people shouldn't hurt people
Mary K Oct 2014
2am
It's 2am and she's not asleep
Planning for a life she knows she won't keep
Looking for stars while the sky cries rain,
She wants to let go, but she knows it's in vain.
It looks like she's given up on all of her dreams,
She's both happy and sad, the two extremes.
Picturing someone arriving at her door
A prince in dark armor, prepared for the war.
She gathers her weapons and looks to the sky
She'll fight a great battle, but she wants to die.
It's 3am now and the storm hasn't passed
She closes her eyes, finally, at last.
The last of her blood drips to the floor,
It's over now, her pain is no more.
Take heed of loving me;
At least remember I forbade it thee;
Not that I shall repair my unthrifty waste
Of breath and blood, upon thy sighs and tears,
By being to thee then what to me thou wast;
But so great joy our life at once outwears;
Then, lest thy love by my death frustrate be,
If thou love me, take heed of loving me.

Take heed of hating me,
Or too much triumph in the victory;
Not that I shall be mine own officer,
And hate with hate again retaliate;
But thou wilt lose the style of conqueror
If I, thy conquest, perish by thy hate;
Then, lest my being nothing lessen thee,
If thou hate me, take heed of hating me.

Yet, love and hate me too;
So, these extremes shall neither’s office do;
Love me, that I may die the gentler way;
Hate me, because thy love is too great for me;
Or let these two themselves, not me, decay;
So shall I live thy stage, not triumph be;
Lest thou thy love and hate and me undo,
To let me live, O love and hate me too.
Lavina Akari Aug 2017
6/16

it could be good
feeling in extremes when positive
emotions surface.
unfortunately,
my intense emotion is easily influenced
and on this planet
everything good dies quickly

i wish i was good
Bharti Singh Mar 2016
As a kid when I heard the stories
Of heavens and hells
And gods and ghosts
I thought of those to be true
But as I grew
My education warned me
Not to trust that view

As a child when my elders advised
Do unto others as you would have them do to you
I thought they were impractical
Ignorant of smartness required
To manage things through

By far I thought I was the wise
To have known it all
Realized late in time
How great was that fall

Superficial logic, intellectual materialism
Cloaked my natural state of true mind
Boosting desires, sterile opinions
Leaving the true sense behind

I am thankful to the nature
For giving me an opportune
To study the greatest reality
Why humans are marooned

Time and space are eternal
I am just the part of that infinite
The one awarded with human form
For some past intentions right
I should not take pride in that
For where I am today
Later might be someone else’s part

Man who decoded the mystery of mind
Taught this decades ago
Guard thoughts, actions, and speech
To reach the real goal
Not judge anything and any being
Instead focus on developing clear seeing
As everything is ever changing
Including ones birth realms
A full mind just exhibits knowledge
Only in empty mind wisdom reaps
Don’t get swayed by extremes
Middle way is the path of keep

Now I understand
Message behind the moral stories
What one sows is what one reaps
One gets heavenly pleasures or hellish pain
Exclusively based on law of deeds
One gets what one deserves
For law of nature never fails

But latent power within
Can turn it all around
If not enlightenment
One can at least find in life
A decent ground
Now and in future!
Dedicated to one of the greatest teachers "Shakyamuni Siddharth Gautama Buddha".

One superman that I call him for encouraging people to exploit their power of minds to the fullest to experience peace that they look for in the external sources.  Just like body needs exercise to remain fit, mind needs stillness to be wise. Meditation is the tool to exercise the mind.

It's simple, yet difficult for most.

Buddha (Founder of Buddhism)
Ishika Aug 2018
Who can tell?
Whether malice has its own purity?
If odor has its own fragrant smell?

Does right wrong right
Or wrong right wrong?
Could darkness have its own light?

What do you know?
Guilt might have its own innocence
For all you know
Humility and modesty
Could just be a show

This is how life is
You either laugh hard
Or you cry in pain
You love too much
Or you die in vain

If you don’t make someone smile
You end up being a bore
If you dress up too guile
You are tagged a *****

You may be very pretty
but deceitful in act
You may be called ugly
but are beautiful in fact

In sadness
you’re creative
In happiness
well that is tentative
and yet sans it too
you may appear narrative

If you know too much
you realize how less you knew
If you are too ignorant
you realize that all lies are just few

Humor shames trivialities
Irony is the truth about absurdities
We scorn at all harsh realities
So we smile at its mockeries

Could love really be true?
And hatred absolutely false?

Is sadness a gloom
Covered in joy so sparse
like a dull audience
forced in its applause?

Without a doubt
A truth has a lie hidden
Simply because
The mirror isn’t clear
It hides many flaws
and your aesthetic sin
deep within

If you counted the seconds
and minutes and the hours
Will you still be wasting time?

Or would you still
have to make an orange juice
out of a dainty lime?

What’s rhetoric
if a question has an answer
if silence it’s own message
and guns and bullets
its own power?

What’s the point
If you’re devising a plan
for your future
to become a big man

And you still say
that you don’t know
what might happen tomorrow

That it all looks bleak and dark
And you sit there
not working hard
you crib and worry
and fake a smile
to everyone
you appear
as blithe as a lark

We dwell with glee
In a world where
two extremes meet
Order deals with its chaos
And chaos struggles for order

Everyone fights
for the latter
And to straighten
an imbalanced balance
and dispel a dulcet clatter.

— The End —