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RAJ NANDY Aug 2018
THE ENIGMA OF TIME IN VERSE: PART TWO
Dear Friends, having introduced ‘The Enigma of Time in Verse’ in Part One, along with few selected poetic quotes, I now mention what some of the important Philosophers thought about Time down the past centuries. But while doing so, I have tried my best to simplify some of those early concepts for better understanding and appreciation of my readers. If you like it, kindly re-post the poem. Thanks,  – Raj Nandy of New Delhi.

          THE ENIGMA OF TIME IN VERSE : PART TWO
   I commence by quoting Sonnet 60 of Shakespeare about Time,
   Hoping to seek some blessings for this Part Two composition of
   mine!
“Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
  So do our minutes hasten to their end;
  Each changing place with that which goes before,
  In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
  Nativity, once in the main of light,
  Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown’d,
  Crooked elipses ’gainst his glory fight,
  And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
  Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth
  And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow,
  Feeds on the rarities of nature’s truth,
  And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:
  And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.”

              PHILOSOPHY OF TIME
Animals are said to live in a continuous present,
Since they have no temporal distinction of past, future,
or the present.
But our consciousness of time, becomes the most
distinguishing feature of mankind.
Though we are mostly obsessed with objective time, -
As the rotation of our Earth separates day from night.
With the swing of the pendulum and the ticking of clocks,
Which regulates our movements, while we try to beat the clock!
But the ancient theologians and philosophers of India and
Greece,
Who were among the first to ponder about the true nature
of all things,
Had wondered about the subjective nature of time;
Was time linear or cyclic, was time endless or finite?

GREEK PHILOSOPHERS ON TIME:
I begin with Heraclitus, the Pre-Socratic philosopher of 6th Century BC born in Ephesus.
He claimed that everything around us, is in a constant state of change and flux.
You cannot step into the same river twice Heraclitus had claimed,
Since water keeps flowing down the river all the while and never
remains the same.
This flow and change in Nature is a process which is ceaseless.
The only thing which remains permanent is impermanence!
Here is a quote from poet Shelley reflecting the same idea:
“World on world are rolling ever
  From creation to decay
  Like the bubbles on a river
  Sparkling, bursting, borne away.”

Now Heraclitus was refuted by Parmenides, born in the Greek colony of Elea,
On the western coast of Southern Italy, as his contemporary.
Parmenides said that our senses deceive us, since all changes are mere illusory!
True reality was only eternal and unchanging ‘Being’, which was both indivisible and continuous - filling up all space.
Zeno, a pupil of Parmenides, through his famous ‘Paradox of Achilles and the Tortoise’ had shown, that when the tortoise was given a head start,
Swift footed Achilles could never catch up with the tortoise,
Since the space between the two were infinitely divisible, resulting in the impossibility of movement and change in motion!
Now the Greeks were never comfortable with the Concept of Infinity.
They preferred to view the universe as continuous existing ‘Being’.  
However, unlike Heraclitus’ ‘world of change and flux’,
Both Parmenides and Zeno have presented us, with a static unchanging universe!
Thus from the above examples it becomes easy for us to derive,  
How those Ancient Greeks had viewed Time.
Time has been viewed as a forward moving changing entity;
And also as an illusory, continuous and indivisible Being!
To clarify this further I quote Bertrand Russell from his ‘History of Western Philosophy’;
“Creation out of nothing, which was taught in the Old Testament, was an idea wholly foreign to Greek philosophy. When Plato speaks of creation, he imagines a primitive matter, to which God gives form as an artificer.”

PLATO AND ARISTOTLE ON TIME:
For Plato, time was created by the Creator at the same instance when he had fashioned the heavens.
But Plato was more interested to contemplate on things which lay
beyond the sway of time and remained unchangeable and eternal;
Like absolute Truth, absolute Justice, the absolute form of Good and Beauty;
Which were eternal and unchangeable like the ‘Platonic Forms’, and were beyond the realm of Time as true reality.
Plato’s pupil Aristotle was the first Greek philosophers to contemplate on reality inside time, and provide a proper definition as we get to see.
He said, “Time is the number of movement in respect to before and after” - as a part of reality.
To measure time numerically, we must have a ‘before’ and an ‘after’, and also notice the difference objectively.
Therefore, time here becomes the change which we see and experience.
Time takes on a linear motion moving from the past to the present;
And to the unknown future like a moving arrow travelling straight.
Aristotle had developed a four step process to understand everything inside of Time and within human experience:
(a) Observe the world using our senses,
(b) Apply logical rules to these observations,
(c) To go back and consult past authorities, if your logic agrees with their logic,
(d) Then only you can come to a logical conclusion.

No wonder in our modern times, experiments conducted by the LDC or the Large Hadron Collider, located 100m underground near the French-Swiss border,
By going back in time simulates the ‘Big Bang’ conditions, that moment of our universe’s first creation.
The scientists thereby, study the evolution of our universe with time, which  resulted in the  finding of the Higgs Boson !  (On 4thJuly 2012)

NOTES :  All elementary particles interacting with the Higg's Field & obtain Mass, excepting for photons & gluons which do not interact with this field. Mass-less photons can travel at the
speed of light with a mind boggling 186,000 miles per second! Now this LDC is a Particle Accelerator 27 kms long ring-shaped tunnel, made mostly of superconducting magnets, inside which two high-energy particle beams are made to travel close to the speed of light in opposite directions, and the shower of particles resulting from the collision is closely examined, presuming that these similar shower of particles must have been produced at the time of the ‘Big Bang’ some 13.8 million years ago, at the time of Creation! Sound like fiction? Well, Prof. Peter Higgs got the Noble Prize for Physics, for locating the particle called ‘Higgs Boson’ among those shower of particles, on 10th Dec. 2013.

NOW TO LIGHTEN UP MY READERS MIND, FEW TIME QUOTE I NOW PROVIDE :

“TIME WASTES OUR BODIES AND OUR WITS,
  BUT WE WASTE TIME, SO WE ARE QUITS!” – Anonymus.

‘Time is a great Teacher, but unfortunately it kills its Pupils!’ – HL Berlioz

“Lost , yesterday, somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two
   golden hours,
   Each set with sixty diamond minutes.
   No reward is offered, for they are gone forever!” – Horace Mann


PLOTINUS & ST. AUGUSTINE ON TIME:
Now getting back to our Philosophy of Time, there was Plotinus of the 3rd Century AD,
The founder of the mystical Neo-Platonic School of Philosophy.
He had followed Plato’s basic concept of Time as “the moving image of eternity.”
Mystic Plotinus tried to synthesize both Aristotle and Plato by saying that the entire process of cosmic creation,
Flows out of the ONE  through a series of emanation!
This ONE gave rise to the ‘Divine Mind’ which he called the ‘Realm of Intelligence’ and is an aspect of reality,
When everything is understood in terms of Platonic Forms of Truth, Justice, the Good, and Beauty.
However, the later Christian theologians had interpreted this ONE of Plotinus, -
As the Christian God, the Divine Creator of the Universe.
For God is eternal, in the sense of being timeless, in God there is no before or after, but only a timeless present.

Now this lead St. Augustine, to formulate a very admirable relativistic theory of Time!
St. Augustine, the greatest constructive teacher of the Early Christian Church, had written in Book XI of his ‘Confessions’ during  5th century AD, -
His thoughts about the enigma of Time which had perplexed the Greek philosophers of earlier centuries.
To simplify St. Augustine’s thoughts, I now paraphrase for the sake of clarity.
Time can only be measured while it is passing, yet there is time past, and time future in reality.
To avoid these contradictions he says that past and future can only be thought of as present: ‘past’ must be identified with memory, and ‘future’ with expectation.
Since memory and expectation being both present facts, there is no contradiction.  
“The present of things past is memory, the present of things present is sight; and the present of things future is expectation,” - wrote St. Augustine.

This subjective notion of time led St. Augustine to anticipate Rene Descartes the French philosopher the 17th Century,
Who proclaimed “Cogito, ergo sum” in Latin, meaning “I think, therefore I am”, and is regarded as the Father of Modern Philosophy.

Now cutting a long story short I come to Sir Isaac Newton, well known for his Laws of Motion and Gravity.
Newton speaks of ‘Absolute Time’ which exists independently, flowing at a consistent pace throughout the universe, which can only be understood mathematically.
Newton’s ‘Absolute Time’ had remained as the dominant concept till the  early years of the 20th Century.
When Albert Einstein formulated ‘Theory of Space-time’ along with his Special and General Theory of Relativity.

Now the German philosopher Leibniz during 17th century, had challenged Newton with his anti-realist theory of time.
Leibniz claimed that time was only a convenient intellectual concept, that enables to sequence and compare happening of events.
There must be objects with which time can interact or relate to as ‘Relational Time’ he had felt.
Ernst Mach, like Leibniz towards the end of 19th Century, said that even if it was not obvious what time and space was relative to,
Then they were still relative to the ‘fixed stars’ i.e. the bulk of matter in the universe.

CONCEPT OF TIME AS 'SPECIOUS PRESENT' :
During late 19th century, Robert Kelley introduced the concept of ‘spacious present’, which was the most recent part of the past.
Psychologist and philosopher William James developed this idea further by describing it as ‘’the short duration of which we are immediately and incessantly sensible’’
William James also introduced the term “stream of consciousness” into literature as a method of narration,
That described happenings in the flow of thought in the mind of the characters, - likened to an internal monologue!
This literary technique was later used by James Joyce in his famous novel ‘Ulysses’.

TIME CONCEIVED AS DURATION: HENRI BERGSON (1859 -1941)
Next I come to one of my favourite philosopher the French born Henri Bergson.
The Nobel Laureate and author of ‘Time and Free Will’ and ‘Creative Evolution’.
Will Durant in his ‘Story of Philosophy’ says Bergson was ‘the David destined to slay the Goliath of materialism.’
It was Bergson’s ‘Elan Vital’ that life force and impelling urge, Which makes us grow and transforms this wandering planet into a theatre of unending creation.
For Bergson, time is as fundamental as space; and it is time that holds the essence of life, and perhaps of all reality.
Time is an accumulation, a growth, a duration, where “duration is the continuous progress of the past which gnaws into the future and which swells as it advances.
The past in its entirety is prolonged into the present and abides there actual and acting.
Duration means that the past endures, that nothing is lost.
Though we think with only a small part of our past; but it is with our entire past that we desire, will, and act.”
“Since time is an accumulation, the future can never be the same as the past, -
For a new accumulation arises at every step, and change is far more radical than we suppose…the geometric predictability of all things, Which is the goal of a mechanistic science, is only a delusion and a dream!”  
Bergson goes on in his compelling lyrical style:            
“For a conscious being, to exist is to change, to change is to mature,
to mature is to go on creating one’s self endlessly. Perhaps all reality is time and duration, becoming and change.”
Bergson differed with Darwin's theory of adaptation to environment, and stated;
“Man is no passively adaptive machine, he is a focus of redirected force, a centre of creative evolution.”

Martin Heidegger, the German thinker in his ‘Being and Time’ of 1927, had said:
“We do not exist within time, but in a very real way we are time!”
Time is inseparable from human experience, since we can allow the past to exist in the present through memory;
And even allow a potential future occurrence to exist in the present due to our human ability to care, and be concerned about things.
Therefore we are not stuck in simple sequential or linear time, but can step out of it almost at will!

CONCLUDING  PART  TWO OF ENIGMA OF TIME IN VERSE
In this part I have tried to convey what the Ancient Greek Philosophers had felt about Time in a simplified way.
Also some thoughts of Medieval and Early Modern philosophers and what they had to say.
Where Sir Isaac Newton stands like a colossus with his Concept of Time, Laws of Motion, and Gravity.
Not forgetting Henri Bergson, one of my favourite philosopher, of the mid-19th and the mid-20th Century.
All through my narration I had tried to hold the interest of my readers, and also educated myself as a true knowledge seeker.
In my concluding Part Three I will cover few Modern Philosophers along with the relativistic concept of time.
Certainly not forgetting the space-time theory of our famous Albert Einstein!
Thanks for reading patiently, from Raj Nandy of New Delhi.
  *ALL COPY RIGHTS ARE WITH THE AUTHOR ONLY
Em Glass Jun 2013
wine
cheese
beef. good beef.     (i am good, i am good)
things that get better with age.

antique cars
comics
old coins
things that increase in value with time.
rarities

i am rare.
even antique cars
have their duplicates
out there
but i am rare.
(i am the only me.)
i have to tell myself
this list.
there are things that get better
i'm worthless
only to me
only for now

leather gets softer, suppler.
fruit gets juicier, better, with the age of the tree.
a pile of compost, nothing but trash (worthless, worthless)
biodegrades (slowly, slowly)
—soil richer, plants grow stronger.

repeat after me:
*i am rare...
Xander Duncan May 2014
My sassy gay friend
Is not an accessory
When you go rooting through the closet and find him
Lacing straight ties into chains
Do not think that he will complete your outfit
Just because a rainbow holds the hues that you were looking for
Haven’t you seen that bruises also bloom in shades of purple and blue
Fading into green and yellow
With red far too often escaping veins that are supposed to hold it in
Haven’t you seen what marks us
And brings our identity to the surface of our skin
When closet doors are slammed too often against our hands
My sassy gay friend
Is not a decoration
You do not get to wear him at your hip
To flaunt your acceptance
And claim symbiosis
As if he needs you to navigate the streets of heteronormativity
Cutting short his words when communication is the best thing we have
And when speaking fails us we resort to spending an afternoon
Sending smoke signals into the sky
Waiting for security in the focus that it takes just to
Breathe
My sassy gay friend
Is not a collectible
You do not get to gather us up into a complete set
To line us neatly in an array
Of rarities and charities
And alternative identities
Until you feel sufficiently well rounded
In your attempted diversity
My sassy gay friend
Is not an icon
A token character
Or comic relief
My sassy gay friend
Is not meant to be romanticized
Idolized
Or fetishized
He is human
I am human
You are human
And if we see each other as sparkles and rhinestones
We're all going to lose all the value
That can't be found on price tags
The adventurer returned home years later,
Carrying bags of seeds, stones, and rarities.

He found that his house had been painted
Green and white.
He didn't like it.

He found that his son had been born,
And named "Jean-Baptiste."
He didn't like it.

He found that his wife had figured him dead
And remarried.
He didn't like it.

He planted her the seeds,
Built her gardens with the stones,
Gifted her the rarities,
Then smiled and left her to her happiness,
But he didn't like it.
Matalie Niller Sep 2012
Pop it
like a weasel
can it rain in here
it's dark enough
hot enough
energized enough
it could storm
feel it
in the air
like molasses
kissing *****
mine is pretty sweet
thanks for noticing
sorry if you think
I'm a tease
my body and my conscience
want very different things-
which do you think is right?
Oh you don't care
do you
guess it's safer that way
I don't want to care either
I want to never think
just feel
but only if it's good
and only if we never speak again
or else
you must respect the hell out of me
or else
what a hypocrite I'd
am
be.
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned,
Crookèd eclipses ‘gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,
And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature’s truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.
    And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
    Praising thy worth despite his cruel hand.
Samuel Bass May 2013
Driving off onto the 101 rush hour concrete jungle, there are no exits,
only obligations to stay stuck in my mobile cubicle moving at the speed of slow.
Hidden flowers on the hillside bloom away mocking my insanity,
they cheer me on to see beyond these gray prison bevels.
Gray blocks hollow until they're filled with my humanity,
making me take the choices reaped with devils.

I feel like I've lived a day in one hour, it's so early it could be midnight.
Twisting and turning in my brain, the sun suddenly ridicules, feeding me a fresh case of insane.
I'm at a point of sorrow, sorrow of an exceptional quality, Grade A-farm raised, take two tomorrow.
The raven croaked nevermore, Juliet is the sun, dangren-burang1.
We have to go. I'm almost happy here2. Complacency rots insides, then refills with fear.
So - Listen to them - children of the night. What music they make3. Clamoring for sight.
There's no flesh or blood within this cloak to ****. There's only an idea. Ideas are bulletproof4. Filled with truths, synapse salvoes, loves, and drugs. We love what we eat and eat who we are. GERManic germs looking for psychological thrills. You work the guns, I'll rattle the hills.

Smoking cannabis to an over-extent, hope lost, old kung-fu and 80's movies won, I eat smoke for breakfast.
This sun is still mocking me, “Start your day, be productive, make a baby, then expiry.”
Stepping into society, I'm a satanic leaf-tailed gecko wanting freedom, abdicate, and let go your kingdom.
Halfheartedly half washed dishes in my sink; this entropy roller-coaster of highs and lows drives me to drink and think, then drink and smoke, making life one strange syrupy green swirl of mammarys and calamities filled with brevity’s of rarities.

5,000 images, 2 comedies, and a numb right arm later I've turned into dark matter, invisibly pulling all that matters together into a forever stretched infinitely, literally making synergies out of life-energies.
1) Yield to nobody when one is doing what is right. 2) Ender's Game, Ender Wiggin 3) Bram Stoker's Dracula 4) V For Vendetta
Drew Marr Apr 2013
Its 1:30 in the morning.  And I’ve begun to think of the rarities and adversities in life, which shape

us into the hollow ghosts called humanity. Machines that listen, and obey.  Becoming slaves of a

mundane existence as we go about our days.  Wake.  Eat. Sleep.  Repeat.  With the slight possibility

of variation that may never come to fruition.  Why must we consume, but not provide?  We

multiple uncontrollably, take from this earth, yet never seem to substantially give back.  Something

so beautiful and yet so abused.  To give, may be to take away from ourselves.  But is selflessness so

horrible?  To make the life of another better, at the small expense of ourselves should be but a

small price.  Yet the few whom know this and continue to give out of the goodness of their hearts,

are scoffed at  by the selfish majority.  Why must we, the hollow ghosts of humanity, make

decisions for whatever objective we may have, in whatever situation should be presented, and

then complain of the results or the consequences should they not go accordingly?  Rather than

vowing to improve on the matter of contempt?  The decision was made, and cannot be

changed.  Why fret so much, over something that is now unchangeable?  Why not simply decide

within one’s self to, when presented with a choice of a similar nature, make a different

decision?  We, being the hollow ghosts we are, dwell so frequently on the past.  Thinking so hard,

as if to change events of times long behind us.  We think, as if to comprehend our very

nature.  And in the absence of the desired understanding and/or enlightenment, we complain

about our very existence.  As if anything and everything in our daily lives may hold precedence

over the very fact of our existence.  As if to curse our Creator for making us such simple creatures

not able to grasp the complexity or diversity of His design.  Rather than taking existence itself for

face-value, and enjoying the many fruits of this beautiful earth, we **** ourselves with selfishness

and passiveness.  And we, the hollow ghost of humanity, will ultimately be our own miraculous

yet untimely downfall.
Darkness Sep 2014
I am lost,
On a mountain passage
To love

I am dry,
In a yellow desert
Of lover kisses

I am wet,
In a dark steamy town
Ruled by rarities, like you

I am melancholic,
                                In a forest, big - no - immense as              (American
directed by autumn, dominated by orange green trees and leaves

I am rosy,
On a bird flying through
Breast-formed clouds

I am desperate,
in a sea of swimmers
full of hope

love know one thing
though i am
lost dry wet melancholic rosy desperate
my love for you is a big as

mountains)
judy smith Feb 2017
It’s an annual tradition that London Fashion Week opens every February with the newest of the new—the bang-fizz of The Central Saint Martins’s M.A. graduation show. These are the people who are destined to shape the fashion world—not least because they are talents gathered from everywhere. The class of 2017 has students from China, Taiwan, Bulgaria, Slovenia, Gibraltar, and the United States as well as Britain. This is just normal in London, a city that has built its reputation as a creative capital on the strength of talents from all over: all backgrounds, all nationalities. In the face of Brexit, and its possible future curb on immigration, London has its Muslim mayor Sadiq Khan, the city’s elected representative, who stands up for the vitality of diversity and interfaith harmony every day with his social media campaign from City Hall, #Londonisopen. In his words: “We don’t simply tolerate each other’s differences, we celebrate them. Many people from all over the globe live and work here, contributing to every aspect of life in our city.”

Nowhere will that be better demonstrated than in what’s to come in London Fashion Week. In defiance of dark times, its youth and multicultural camaraderie is about to roll out the welcome mat. Expect to see it coming from all directions, in kaleidoscopic variety. On the Central Saint Martins’s runway, there’s Gabriella Sardena’s wildly decorative glam-femme collection to look forward to, for example (she’s the one from Gibraltar). Day one, there’s also the opening of The International Fashion Showcase at Somerset House, where emerging designers from 26 countries, including Ukraine, Russia, Khazakhstan, India, Romania, Czech Republic, Egypt, and Guatemala, will put forward their viewpoints on the theme “Local and Global.”

Stand back for a blast from New York, too. Michael Halpern, one of the latest Central Saint Martins M.A. graduates (class of 2016) will unleash his first multi-sequined disco-fabulous collection in a presentation that is being aided and abetted with volunteer help from Patti Wilson and Sam McKnight, held at a posh venue laid on for free in the heart of St James on Saturday.

Fighting gloom with glitter is a London thing. Ashish Gupta, born in India, longtime London trailblazer for LGBTQ rights, is the king of that. Given last September, when he took his bow in a T-shirt emblazoned IMMIGRANT, admirers will surely be packing his Ashish show to the rafters. These times demand a standing up for pride in identity. Osman Yousefzada, more quietly creative, with his strong art-world following, will be coming out with a statement about his British-Asian roots: “Before, we were rarities, trophies and exotics from distant lands…some of us fleeing famine, war, or persecution,” he writes. “We were thought of as good labourers, businessmen and women—hungry, reliable and eager to succeed…and then some wanted to close the doors. Today, I bring you colour, opulence, texture, tailoring, a modern woman in different hues who isn’t scared to stand out and have fun, and embrace the beauty and difference around her.”

London is open to more newcomers. The Ports 1961 women’s show has relocated here from Milan this season. It’s actually a homecoming of a sort: This collection, placed on a woman-friendly lifestyle-centric wavelength somewhere on the continuum between The Row and Céline, has in fact been designed by the Slovenian-born Natasa Cagalj (also a CSM M.A. alumna) from a studio in London’s Farringdon all along. Two more “returners” to the schedule are Hussein Chalayan and Roland Mouret, long rooted in London since the ’90s, who are repatriating their shows from Paris.

It’s a whole London creative community picture, in fact—one that makes a complete commercial nonsense on every level of the “Little Britain” xenophobia of the send-them-home faction in U.K. politics. Cohesion and creativity, the welcome and support given to the newest, from everywhere—that’s the flag that flies over London Fashion Week. Scotland, Ireland, Greece, Austria, America, Serbia, Canada, Syria, India, Germany, Pakistan, Nigeria, Turkey, Ghana, New Zealand, Portugal—come one, come all, says fashion. There’ll be protest and prettiness, resistance and humor—that’s a given this week. Here’s glitter in your eye!Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
Big Virge Oct 2019
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I'll Give ... FOR FREE ... !!!
  
Unlike Guys ...  
Who ... Like To Advise ...  
  
Girls To Come ...  
For ... "Coc' Filled Nights" ... !!!
  
Just To Get ...
BETWEEN Their Thighs ...  !!!
  
Ladies ...
  
Here's Some ...
More ... " Advice " ...
  
A LOT of Them ...  
OH YES ... Are White ... !!!!!
  
Are You ... " SURPRISED " ... ?!?
  
Come On Now Girls ...  
...... PLEASE .......  
DON'T You ... LIE ... !!!!!!
  
Some of ... YOU ...  
Know of ... These Guys ... !!!
  
Words I Write ...
May Make Some ........................................................... "hide" .....  
  
Could That Be ...
Because I'm ... RIGHT ... ?!?
  
Words Like THESE ...  
May HURT My Life ... ?!?  
  
Because ... ******* ...
Is Now ...... SO RIFE ...... !!!!!
  
Coc' Deals Make ...
Some Men USE KNIFE ... !!!
  
Come On People ...
Is This ... RIGHT ... ?!?
  
If ... " Your Child " ...
Ends Up ... INSIDE ...
  
... A COFFIN ... !!!

Over ... Debts That RISE ...  
Because ... ******* " ...  
Became ... Their Life ... !!!  
  
That's NO WAY ...  
For Kids To DIE ... !!!!!
  
But Happens Now ...
  
OH YES ... That's Right ... !!!
And Has Gone On ...
BEFORE ... My Time ...  
  
Trust Me Folks ...
That Is .... NO LIE .... !!!!!
  
I Sometimes Recite ...
These Words I Write ...
Because of Things ...

" Within My Sight " ...
  
Things Like THIS ...
I DON'T Dismiss ...  
  
Because ...
Life Is Something ...
  
I Would .... MISS .... !!!!!
  
If It Ended ....
Because of ... " Coc' " ...
  
And That's NO JOKE ... !!!!!
  
So ...  
Hear This ... CLEAR ... !!!
  
I'm NOT A Bloke ...
Who'll ... Hear You Out ...
  
" If You ... Like Coc' "
I believe the relevant quote is,

" It's One HELL of A Drug ! "
Brett W Feb 2015
The lavish red of amaryllis
To the dullness of a full fern
Nature is full of true beauty
Letting others have their turn
The smooth blue of hydrangea
No match for the sweet carnation
Full bloom excites the active mind
Much more that a grand vacation
The daffodil's eye popping structure
Is unlike the chrysanthemum spray
Pointed edges point in new directions
For you to be able to follow every day
The orchid with it's numerous variations
Can not be tamed by the colorful tulip
The stem of the orchid shows a long life
Full of tranquility only at a tequila's sip
Enjoy the beautiful flowers around you
Everyday, you will see something new
You may see rarities seem by just a few
And you'll see something you never knew
I asked 2 people for a word to write about, and I got beautiful from one and flowers from the other. Might as well combine them, right? Sorry for not writing is what seems like an eternity
Brad Lambert Mar 2012
October 12th, 1998: This is not an apology.

♐ ♐ ♐

Most days I feel like I’m underwater. It’s like a dream where I’m never dead, just not living. Because the living cannot feel this dead. I whither away into isolation singing sweet melodies of love and peace and hope and **** and loneliness. Most days I just smile.

I am a fake. I am a liar.

I am an incongruent youth; unable to be constrained by the freedom laces of society. Tie me down and watch me run, trickle, run like an avalanche down the face of conservatism. A cheap hotel ******: musk and sweat and suits and scandals. On-the-course-to AIDS infection loose ends who walks the streets in pristine filth. The incongruent youth, or what we in America call sick **** and shameful liars.

I am confused. Standing here on the edge between glamour and reality I scream into the nothingness, the watery void, a stark reality composed of my dark humor and evanescent solitaire: How can thunder roar so loud? Why am I part of this ambient isolation? How can you do this to me; to us? The beautiful few and we are beautiful, trust me, we are in the clouds searching for each other, beguiling and anonymous as we may be waltzing merrily through nighttime New York parks searching for rarities. For others. For God. And into the emptiness I whisper: Why is this park so big? And the trees so thick?

I am waiting for "someday." But this someday, this could be, this will be, would be, won't be for awhile. And this moment, this here, this now just passed. So let's look ahead and hope it gets better, because our lives are 1942 cattle cars riding away from the nows that just passed. Moments of incongruence on a grand scale. One night stands with our own hands and imaginations. Moments we thought we knew.

I am an inconvenience on the path to wholesale liberties. To children wrapped in barren barcodes that read “no real identity” when the red dash of judgement steamrolls their sides. God forbid the glamour mix with reality. Because when you are a somebody, you can never be a nobody. And nobody wants the incongruent youth to keep thinking. Because to think is to love. And nobody wants us to love.

This is an apology. I am sorry if I’m not what you meant for me to be. Terribly sorry if I love the wrong music or words or styles or *** is all I can think about. Sorry, but I can only love the beautiful few. I can only smile knowing I am a real somebody in all this hate.

Knowing I am a fake. I am a liar.

I am a human being. Hardly. I’m nothing but an incongruent youth.
Rajas Nagpurkar Jan 2017
Gazing through the looking glass, and attempting to reminisce, he lets go, relieves, and perceives.Colossi of raindrops subtly fall through sky’s shadows , violently battling the grey in great amounts, failing to come anywhere near the threshold of one’s most sensitive ear. Nature’s children appear to tremble as dark forebodings of a dreary future pervade the air. The danger and annoyances of such rarities is always given priority and significance. He misunderstands it; he believes in its false infinity.

Unable to stabilize, unable to achieve a desired normality. From every pitter, he regrets; from every patter he forgets. Forcefully drudging through the thick swamp of his mind, struggling to understand what and why, diminishing his hopes of any change, any desire. Suddenly, several elements collide against his one-way mirror in his cell and revitalize his consciousness. Looking through the droplet, his face pressed against, his mentality momentarily produces quick successions of thoughts and random impulses of recovering memory.  

Every snowflake understands its place as sui generis; every raindrop understands its place as trite. The beauty of a snowflake with death, the dullness of rain with life. It’s uniformity and strict nature are necessary to sustain life, but somehow it places a bittersweet piece of an unusual feeling inside him. Its unexplainable transparency, disguising itself as invisible, but not untouchable, stimulates a sense of deep nostalgic hopelessness within him. As he discovers the profound pulchritude, and simultaneous incomprehensibility, of the paradoxical elements of natural and artificial state cooperating to achieve more of the same, he realizes more in this moment. The monotonous, repetitive beat of rain seems to harmonize in an odd manner with some contrasting presence.

A new rhythm to this sound, a new color to this sight. A particular emotion of gradually diminishing despair comes about as he observes little rain boots composing a sort of  rhythmic song with the catchy beat of the rain’s clashing, the continuous flow of the tree’s trembling, the back-up percussion of the thunder’s loud suddenness, the sight of lightning's exciting flash, and the cheerful singing from their voices.Upon this feat, he accepts the shadow’s tears; no longer must he endure the pain of the past’s ******* of the future, now he begins to savor the varied colors of newfound harmony.
Melissa Jimenez Dec 2012
Strange are the days when I don't run
strange are the days when I don't smile
strange are the days without sun

rare are the days without water
rare are the days without laughter
rare are the days without prayer

uncommon are the days which are quiet
uncommon are the days without music
uncommon are the days without stories

the feelings missed
hormones not released
leading to a chemical imbalance

the rarities of life sometimes good
yet other times leaving a void

Days are given
days are numbered
each filled with its own misery and splendor
Kayla Ann Jul 2014
Dazzle me with rarities
Lull me with enchanted song
Dreams like trance
Aware and overcome
Dances rhythmic
Soul at ease
Daring to traipse on the edge

Mystic one
Where are you taking me
W a i s t i n g  a w a y in a world of
Hellions bent on the worldly
Extortion of the Beautiful
Rarities, Bewitching their realities and leaving
Exposed Bones and Broken Hearts on a
Dim evening, on the corner of a sidewalk.
Insubstantial, empty Words cause
Discord in Souls whose
Temperament is pure and Kind just to be
Hit in the face by Cruel Monsters.
Earnest faces of
Young Children were once
Glowing and Knowing no pain besides scrapes and papercuts,
Only to be s h a t t e r e d by this Unholy Desolation.
I wrote this less than a week ago. Inspired by a myriad of people and things.
Kody dibble Apr 2015
Gifts of isle,
Odd rarities, a clasp of corners,
Frugity,
Trapezoid,
Fluidly,
Agrown,
As a teething,
Jewel or treasure,
Soulfully bound,


Chase lights like oceans,
Ever against
The fascinating cylinder

Ready or not,
Here it is again,

Pictures of families,
Roses and daisys
Wi : Su
PJ Poesy May 2016
Sapphire eyes descending my torso
Have I a head, or is there just more so?
That you require upon evaluation
Leading me on orbiting space station
Had no idea, this alien encounter of ours
One of affection; should have brought flowers
Am I your mate-ling, here for devours?

Crystalline follicles free flowing hair
You meet me in spacesuit whilst I am bare
This really be not most fair advantage
Your briefings seemingly micromanage
Intergalactic trans-species inseminations
Are forbidden by Rules of Constellular Nations
Yet admitting magnet-ting emitting vibrations

Super charged particles pucker your orifice
It is enticing this boudoir you have by Uranus
The décor is all slippery, wet and inviting
I must admit to you, it all very ionic exciting
Are we to agree to be astral *** players?
When shall I see what lie beneath foiled layers?
Drop your robes please, I am with no nay-sayers

I travel alone, as Lone Space Ranger
This proposition to me I find intrigued danger
A plus and a minus electric storm lingers
Exceedingly long seem your definitive fingers
Polarities, rarities amongst planetoid creatures
Though I’m quite digging your extended features
I’m glad we’re alone to be each others teachers
Life's a Beach Jun 2013
Flashes of light,
rushes of sound,
through the stream of life, bounds
the rarities.
Breaking forth for
air
with lack of care
for my sanity,
for, although
it may seem vanity for
me to present an unbroken seal,
to hide what others
would say is real.
I so wish to stay secure
to ensure
I do not yield to the
lure of
madness.

It is with sadness that I
admit the futility
of this stupidity of
a wish.
How much more can I persist?
experimentation with an alternative structure
z Oct 2012
Wasn’t it last night that we finally found out,
How our idiosyncrasies couldn’t ever agree?
And that we couldn’t make sense to the world and to ours.
Too bad, I thought great things start out this way.
And that rarities are often misunderstood, cascaded geniuses.
At some point we just have to take the kaleidoscope off our eyes,
And let reality dominate our field of vision.
The truth is…
The fire has died.
We’re looking into each other’s eyes, taking sensible steps back trying to say these silent goodbyes.
And all along we thought the universe conspired,
We thought the time was right.
Now we couldn’t even think straight enough,
To decipher what we could and could not mend.
What is plausible to pursue, and to leave behind?
We’re both crooked in this limbo.
Still…
Our hands hold on tight,
And remember to recite this passage:
“Till death do us part.”
Desiree Jul 2018
Flowing footsteps from skytrain to street
Trying to stay calm, but I'm so excited to meet
You, here, under the changing glow
Of signs, of places, hoping we slow our
Pace and enter. But we are in search
Of another establishment, on the whim
Of a word, a nudge in the right direction.
The winds blow us into the red glow
Of ambiance, of elegance, the right selection
Portobello perfection, Mezcal gin,
Beautiful soul sitting close with a grin,
We can't help but laugh "this is how you win!"

Foggy to recall the way that we went
Home on the bus, or the money we spent.
None of that matters much when you are lost
In the depth of another being, intriguing
To find kin where you are not used to seeing them.
Laughing up the stairs in the corridor,
Knowing in this moment, this is your life,
It is beautiful, you are not needing more.
Both of us feeling this as we reach the door,
"Welcome to Buzzer 2" let's see what's in store.

Waking up cuddling, always a delight.
So much accomplished already, but you might
Have to run out quickly and buy some beans
For the bullet coffee that will be our means
Of mobilization, into the street,
Rubber soles on our feet, ready to meet
The pavement outside which will guide
Our path from delicious morning smoothie
Over bridges, through the downtown core,
Both realizing we would make a great movie
If film could ever capture the way that we soar.

Hats tilted slightly sideways, we even get work done.
Painting quickly so we may continue our run,
Over the Granville bridge, lilac in the air.
And there is no hiding the way that you stare
At my ***, and the mountains, a beauty so fair.

Rangoli's is next, fine dining, the best chai!
Decadently treated to Portobello twice.
Sweaty in our running gear, we are here
Trying to avoid timestamped bills and clock chimes
But you give me your best guess, lately spot on!
I glance at the sun to figure how much day is gone.
Even though there are so many moments left
To unravel, I embody the feelings - being
Ever present to crystallize the memory of our travels.

We turn towards the sinking sun, and I run
My fingers through windblown lion-locks.
Basking in the energy we emanate, we stun
Onlookers with our badassery and good looks.

Granville island is next on the docket
Searching for elusive sumac, in the spice shop
It is tucked away on a shelf, among rarities.
You light up at the till, and guarantee
The next place we head to is going to be
The crown of the afternoon - The Distillery

In shorts and tanks we stroll in with class,
Walk up to the bar and order a glass
Of the finest and most signature gin,
But just a taste, not enough to make the head spin.
A nectar so pure, so incredibly smooth
We continue our stroll, we continue to lose
Sight of places you were expected to be,
Apparently easy to do when you hang out with me.

Crossing under the bridge, sunset rays shine
Through the city canopy, it is nearly time
For the moon to transition us into the night,
But I pull you aside for a moment, while its still light
And kiss you with passion, with fever, with might.
That gin in the afternoon has increased our delight.

And it's not over yet, we play for a while.
Horsing around at the bus stop, we smile
And pose on the blue wall, gangster-style.
Moments in snapshots, spirit of the child
Creating our reality, embracing our WILD.
Alan S Bailey Apr 2017
On the other side of the lakes edge
You might say it must be right
That when I throw a rock in the water,
The ripples touch the other side.

With light transparent patterns,
A spider weaves webs like silk,
Every strings placement matters
No matter a leaf or branches tilt.
So if you feel your being watched,
Ever think it might be so?
The spiral made from leaf to leaf
Catches rarities that come and go.

Just as I was thinking this,
I felt I was being watched,
As though someplace in my midst
The sound of footsteps stopped.
Searching for a picture of you as in vain,
I thought I heard you start to laugh,
Saw your raven hair so I flipped through again,
One thing I know is that we're never going back...
Nicole Wheat Apr 2013
There is this place
that dwells inside the center
of a sphere:
it sells wolves, confined to
threads and linens
captured, but free;
it contains rarities and b-sides,
full of dreams
and their captives.
It is Indigenous and
full of folk tales
from old times
to be deciphered and listened to
by those who have, all this time,
been searching for themselves.
Rachael May 2014
the most underestimated beings,
free-spirited and worthy as we are,
are endlessly tied down under blanketed layers of assumed incompetence.
those feeble-minded people weighing us down with judgment
neglect to realize that our colorful souls are filled and growing
with rarities and strengths weaved into our fragile skins.
as you knew me or as you’ll know me,
I am not a victim to naivety but rather a subdued creature who chooses wisely
her battles and who she deems worthy enough to waste or spend time, breath, and energy on.
just because I bruise easily does not make me weak.
if you asked me about my vulnerabilities,
I’d display them side by side, neatly on a shelf for you and all to see.
strength is having nothing to hide from yourself or the world;
strength is acceptance and an open mind.
I know my soft spots radiate from within me
and my scars create the beautiful flaws that coat my rare skin.
I’m tired of circling around the same dead ends,
and getting lost in tiny cul-de-sacs of fear of commitment, underestimation, and lust.
I am not a catch, you can’t hold me down.
let me go or ******* fight for me.
I am worth so much more than what wandering eyes degrade me to and how carelessly immature boys handle my crystal heart.
I am not held down by any entity or force besides my own and whatever else I choose to absorb.
I am endlessly free and growing.
I am vivid watercolors and a force as radiant and moving and the moon.
do not shroud my essence or shadow my path.
either let me go or run undeniably by my side.
I am dusting off your marks and the past which has held me down and back,
and I am sprinting in the opposite direction
down a road without an end in sight.
David Betten Nov 2016
TLACAELEL
            My lord, your wives entreat you to carouse,
            And tend a show of juggling acrobats.

MOTECUHZOMA
            When work is done. Recall those sorcerers.               Exit Servant.
            Till concrete facts come in, abstractions must suffice.

                                        Enter a Servant.

SERVANT
            Your majesty, a humble fisherman
            Brings news pertaining to these prodigies.

MOTECUHZOMA
            Admit him. [Exit Servant.] Lord, when peons paint my way!

                      Enter the Fisherman and Servant. He trails his hand            
                  on the ground toward him, and kisses his ***** fingertips.


FISHERMAN
            O master, ruler, lord, great gentleman,
            If witless lips which kiss the unswept earth
            Be fit to thus accost an emperor,
            Regard me, if it please your majesty.

TLACAELEL
            Speak, boy. Sublime Motecuhzoma hears.

FISHERMAN
            I come from Hellwood, at your southern shores,
            Where this week past, upon a beetling bluff,
            I glimpsed a buoyant, surging reef of hills
            With twining towers carousing on the waves,
            That seemed a transport for intruding rarities:
            A fear which whisperings in the wind confirmed.

TLACAELEL
            **, **, **!
            Was this the Spirit speaking, or the spirits?
            Some extra mushrooms in your salad, sir?

FISHERMAN
            Discard me if I lie! Hail, lords! All hail!

TLACAELEL
            All hail and sleet and snow, and all things cold.
            And chill reception from this wintry prince,
            For I suspect you seek remuneration.
From my play in verse, thefloralwar.com
Arielle Mar 2018
Wipe this hatred from my lip
Like the blood that burns our eyes.
Lick the essence of my change
For it is the only way into my
Love.

The air we covet is not
Good for us. We must cleanse it
Or it will deteriorate our cage
Of protection of which we depend
Upon.

Only we can see our future
For everyday we create a new one.
It is only us that knows our next,
The next that has yet come, my
Love.

To be ashamed of our yet is to be
Ashamed of what could be.
You must discover your heart,
The heart that forgets how evil it
Is.

For I have not found love, nor
Has it found me. We are both
Lost rarities in this precious world
Who may stay hidden as long as
Eternity.
Chloe Elizabeth Sep 2014
Sometimes, you're going to blame yourself. You're going to get angry at yourself and upset at "what you have done" because it's "your fault." People go after things that they want, often overlooking what they need, leaving them set up for a failure that they will take the blame for when it is no one's fault. It's okay do go after the one you love because you want them. Life is too short to walk away from rarities. But, when you're sitting on your bed and they're gone because the feelings you felt before simply vanished, it's okay. Don't hate yourself for something that you can't control. Cry because it hurts and cry because you have every right to be upset, but remember that people who love each other are not always meant to be together and again, it's okay. They will live and you will live and everyone will love again because I do not believe in a person's soul mate. I believe that every person can fall in love with countless amounts of different people and there is a lot of beauty in that; in the amount of love we are capable of storing and at times, losing, but still having enough left over to love someone else just the same, if not more.

By Chloe Elizabeth
Just what I was thinking about at 9:40 p.m after a conversation I had with my best friend last night
Madison Nov 2017
We think shooting stars are beautiful, delicate rarities flying down from an infinite abyss just to cross a meaningless sky with no real end

But no

They are fallen angels, to powerful to listen to any of gods word and to full of hatred to retrieve their broken halo from their fellow brothers and sisters

We are taught from a young age stars are full of life and energetic, especially shooting ones but we are never taught that they are the epitome rebelliousness and destruction and will live to see our world self destruct and collapse in on itself and form a desolating black hole, destined to **** every piece of hope up for itself
jissel Feb 2019
There are things one can let others know by saying them, others things need to be shown by specific actions. At times actions show more than what one can ever be declared, vise versa. But do things naturally fall into two categories? No, and of course there is a piece in between where they cross between and is that a good thing? Again, there is no way for one to answer the question without lacking in the circumstances. And the conditions are where it reveals how little I know about everything. I'm finding out about the anything and everything to help this, this abstract blur that I keep searching for. If there are gaps, we always choose to build a bridge where there might not be intended to be one. Don't jump to conclusions. Don't run so blindly to things that devise anyone. Stop and think. Think about the simplest of happenings and think about the rarities. What are the odds then? 4.543 billion years. 7.53 billion people. Seven continents and an incredible number of casualties. Still, here it is — what a time to be alive. No one is given a choice but what's there to it? There are countless things I've left boiling in me, and an even more significant amount that I've left unsaid. But the saccharine feeling of merely being surrounded by knowing people like this exist is incomparable. I like being while another person I care about is also being. It makes me feel less like such a human being and more of an extraordinary thing. If you jump, please do so knowing wherever you may land could potentially lead. remember that when you jump, it may lead to severe states, or to places and feelings you'll enjoy forever. "All we wanna know is where the stars came from But do we ever stop—ever stop to watch them shine? Or are we staring with—staring with ungrateful eyes?"
Leila The Kiwi Mar 2021
What say you, traveler?
You come baring
Gold and jewels
Hoping to lure me in
With their luxury

What say you, traveler?
I'd prefer your thoughts and emotions
That are buried out of fear
May I see those rarities?

What say you, traveler?
You keep those
Behind lock and key

I say to you, traveler
That's quite a tragedy.

l.v.s
Sleepless poetry

— The End —