"intelligences" poems
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More Structure, Bald Nature.
Intelligences without a Heart of Conscience.
Lost in the battle of Negligence.
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Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 2:59 AM UTC
Love is the scent with the lotus born.
It is the silent choirs of petals
Singing the winter’s harmony of uniform beauty.
Love is the song of the soul, singing to God.
It is the balanced rhythmic dance of planets -
sun and moon lit
In the skyey hall festooned with fleecy clouds –
Around the sovereign Silent Will.
It is the thirst of the rose to drink the sunrays
And blush red with life.
‘Tis the promptings of the mother earth
To feed her milk to the tender, thirsty roots,
And to nurse all life.
It is the urge of the sun
To keep all things alive.
Love is the unseen craving of the Mother Divine
That took the protecting father–form,
And that feeds helpless mouths
With milk of mother’s tenderness.
It is the babies’ sweetness,
Coaxing the rain of parental sympathy
To shower upon them.
It is the lover’s unenslaved surrender to the beloved
To serve and solace.
It is the elixir of friendship,
Reviving broken and bruised souls.
It is the martyr’s zeal to shed his blood
For the well-beloved fatherland.
It is the ineffable, silent call of the heart to another
heart.
It is the God-drunk poet’s heartaches
For every creature’s groans.
Love is to enjoy the family rose of petal-beings,
And thence to move to spacious fields -
Passing by portals of social, national, international
sympathy,
On to the limitless Cosmic Home –
To gaze with looks of wonderment,
And to serve all that lives, still or moving.
This is to know what love is.
He knows who lives it.
Love is evolution’s ameliorative call
To the far-strayed sons
To return to Perfection’s home.
It is the call of the beauty – robed ones
To worship the great Beauty.
It is the call of God
Through silent intelligences
And starburst of feelings.
Love is the Heaven
Toward which the flowers, rivers, nations, atoms,
creatures – you and I
Are rushing by the straight path of action right,
Or winding laboriously on error’s path,
All to reach haven there at last.
4k
You are Sherlock Holmes; cold, unyielding
I'm here just praying to be your Irene Adler
We match in intelligences, looks and laughs
I keep up with you while you spit theories and deductions
Even when you poke holes in mine
You make me better smarter faster stronger
....I make you soft...
There are alot of poems about unrequited love
This is not one of them
This is not one of them
I knew you loved me;
Since that day on bikes
Well aware of how the sun shone
Through my hair
But... Backed away at your advance
The rejection, to hard for you to handle
And as you peddled, away, uphill...fighting
With each pump of your legs
I wanted to say
I can't
Because just one kiss and I'll explode with love for you
I saw through your reasoning and never tried to fix you
This is not a poem about unrequited love.
This is a poem about when to realize some characters and some ideals are fiction for a reason
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC
In these restless days
we fight
for a bigger picture;
more broad of a scope,
to pull back the curtain.
We're building potential,
with preceding
relentless
force,
through these
mental worlds.
Strutting around
savvy *****
sauntering by
like we know
no better.
Selling ourselves
one phony token
at a time
to a Devil
wearing leather
stilettos.
Insulting our own
intelligences
by propagating
more absurd nonsense
to the masses.
We are institutionalized;
stricken
with a historic fate
that deep seated roots
reminds us
does not need
repeating.
Be the founder
of your mind;
your
house of cards.
Inhale completely,
releasing the one breath
that matters;
yours.
Smile and worry not,
you have only destroyed
the home
the misinformed
have built for you.
Pick up the Aces
and begin again.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
Sad. and it comes
tomorrow. again, grey the streaks
of work
shredding the stone
of the pavement, dissolving
with the idea.
of singular endeavor. herds, the
herds
of suffering intelligences
bunched,
and out of
hearing. though the day
come to us,
in waves
sun, air, the beat of the clock
though I stare at the radical world,
wishing it would stand still.
tell me,
and i gain at the telling of the lie and the waking against the heavy breathing of new light, dawn
shattering the naïve cluck of feeling.
what is tomorrow
that it cannot come today?
-Leroi Jones
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
Being disorganized and somewhat distracted
I seem to have misplaced the map that the universe provided at my birth.
You know the one:
it shows your perfect path through this lifetime-
so you can be at exactly the right place at exactly the right time
and use the talents and intelligences that the universe let you borrow
to achieve great and wonderful things.
It would be so nice to know that I was on the right path,
instead of guessing and hoping and straining to hear the angels
that I imagine are hoarse and frustrated from screaming:
Not that way!! The other way!!
or
Where the hell are you going?
Sep 4, 2011
Sep 4, 2011 at 3:19 PM UTC
human,
not quite human.
like us,
they are forever frozen in eliptical orbit
of the sphere where hell hath risen.
look up,
they view tiny totems of prospective intelligences.
hoping to death that the intelligent aren’t indifferent.
look down,
green vegetation overwhelms otherwise barren land,
which they possess no desire to cover with modern monoliths.
look within,
technicolour images are held amid each and every not quite mortal brain.
for on gliese 581 it is customary to accept marbles as eyes and the sun as a soul.
the only thing they ****
is the darkness that defines the earthling psyche.
“does this make them human?”
what is human?
Aug 3, 2011
Aug 3, 2011 at 3:56 PM UTC
One another’s best
we two sat by a bank
where the wild violet grew,
holding hands, holding
each other’s gaze,
we thread a double skein
of pictures propagated
by our eyes
whilst inner thoughts
(our souls perhaps?)
negotiate, as we like statues
still, say nothing.
If someone standing near
could hear our silent speech
a pure concoction they would
take away, of you and I,
of ecstasy unperplexed
telling how we love, (not ***
but all that makes both one,
each this and that.
Just as the violet redoubles still
and multiplies, our love with
one another interanimates;
we know of what we’re made:
we are intelligences,
and our bodies simply spheres.
We owe them thanks because
they thus did us, to us
at first convey.
And so we sit
our fingers knitted
into that subtle knot
which makes us man
and woman, but one to all
who look upon our love revealed.
Love's mysteries grow in our thoughts
but the body is where it lives.
We’ve heard this dialogue of one
and know it belongs in our bodies too.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 8:07 AM UTC
This world.
A place where we're force to live
Under its seemingly endless amount of tests
Apon with it's vast beauty
And hardships to endevor.
What are we searching for?
That's a question I can not answer..
As humans, our intelligences as of now "looks high."
We have an understanding of what's around us, Yet we know nothing at all of why we're here,
If there is any reason at all..
Some of us try to find out our own answers
Although, it's normally just "what we wanted all along."
Maybe the reason we want someone is because, we know we'll all go..
Living forever
We'd have nothing we'd want.
"Like a person who only has money,
They say it can't buy happiness."
So maybe, that's the same with life.
Our happiness comes from knowing we could lose anything,
And that this is actually everything.
Family
Friends
Your love
And all exsperiences of life.
Why else would we rather sacrifice ourselves for another?
Unless the life you have really does means nothing
But everything to someone.
just a concept of another greater importance
A symbol that is "yourself"
Representing the importance of life
With it's meanless definition,
Which to us, is important.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 10:31 PM UTC
Dawn breaks,
Awaking me to our universe:
Ever expanding,
Into infinite space.
Billions of stars,
Planet and moons.
Countless possibilities,
Multiverse or not.
Too vast to comprehend.
Together we are
But a leaf in the forest,
Drop in the ocean,
Grain of sand on the beach.
Lost in orderly chaos.
One sparkle in a firework display.
Logically there should be higher powers
And maybe one supreme being, ruling all.
Call it Gods or God
Whatever you like.
Feel free to choose your own.
Select from the maelstrom of energy and life
That is out there.
Choose from intelligences way beyond our reckoning.
For names are nothing but convenience
For we ants
As we look up at the stars.
Paul Butters
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 4:41 AM UTC
In this weary confusion I have come to learn that I have never stood alone
I have never placed one foot in front of the other without another
This body is not who I am nor who I was meant to be
I am the soul inside that is actually living
Breathing is the body that now is
While I am here and can actually see it
Here on this earth away from what we call the galaxy
Where my thoughts are connecting to
As higher intelligences are actually speaking with me
Teaching me, and guiding me
As I learn how to be
As I learn how to hear
As I learn how to see
"Ask and you shall receive"
But first you must know how to ask
You must learn how to listen
You must learn how to react
To the answers when they are not always so obvious
It could come from someone else's conversation
It could come from a chorus
It could come from any direction
It could be something you read
Just know it is your jurisdiction
Your truth and your truth only
Truths tend to be different
Most find mine to be far out
Too crazy for them
Wishing I'd find another route
They find too much time in their own truth to be satisfied
They live in their own fear
In a way our realities could never collide
I am stuck on this, because it has lifted me
I am now a better person
The light has touched me
Or I, it
Either way we are connected
Together we exist
Together we are working on a new world
Some day I just hope
That in my mind you will come to see this
And resurrect it
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
Le meilleur moment des amours
N'est pas quand on a dit : « Je t'aime. »
Il est dans le silence même
À demi rompu tous les jours ;
Il est dans les intelligences
Promptes et furtives des cœurs ;
Il est dans les feintes rigueurs
Et les secrètes indulgences ;
Il est dans le frisson du bras
Où se pose la main qui tremble,
Dans la page qu'on tourne ensemble
Et que pourtant on ne lit pas.
Heure unique où la bouche close
Par sa pudeur seule en dit tant ;
Où le cœur s'ouvre en éclatant
Tout bas, comme un bouton de rose ;
Où le parfum seul des cheveux
Parait une faveur conquise !
Heure de la tendresse exquise
Où les respects sont des aveux.
348
"No one would have believed in the early years of the 21st century
that our world was being watched
by intelligences far greater than our own;
that as men busied themselves about their various concerns,
'they' observed and studied,
the way a man with a microscope might scrutinize the creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water.
With infinite complacency, men went to and fro about the globe, confident of our empire over this world.
Yet across the gulf of space, intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic regarded our planet with envious eyes and slowly, and surely, drew their plans against us."
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 6:54 AM UTC