"symposium" poems
Waste Not
Waist Got
What Not
What Knot?
Tough Knot
"Not Happening"
Not Shaping
Lots Shopping
Lots Wasting
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 8:23 PM UTC
*In his breakthrough work of channeled literature, I Am the Word, author and medium Paul Selig recorded an extraordinary program for personal and planetary evolution as humankind awakens to its own divine nature. I Am the Word is an energetic transmission that works directly on its readers to bring them into alignment with the frequency of the Word, which Paul's guides call the energy of "God in Action."
Paul was born in New York City and received his Master's Degree from Yale. He had a spiritual experience in 1987 that left him clairvoyant. As a way to gain a context for what he was beginning to experience, he studied a form of energy healing, working at Marianne Williamson's Manhattan Center for Living and in private practice. In the process, he began to "hear" for his clients, and much of Paul's work now is as a clairaudient, clairvoyant, channel, and empath.
Paul has led channeled energy groups for many years. In 2009 he was invited to channel at the Esalen Institute's Superpowers symposium, where he was filmed for the upcoming documentary film Authors of the Impossible. He is the subject of the feature-length documentary film Paul & the Word which will be released late summer, 2011. His workshops in 2011 include Edgar Cayce's A.R.E. in New York City, the Jungian Center in Vermont and the Esalen Institute in Big Sur, Calfornia. Also a noted playwright and educator, Paul serves on the faculty of NYU and directs the MFA in Creative Writing Program at Goddard College. He lives in New York City, where he maintains a private practice as an intuitive and conducts weekly, channeled energy groups.*
Personal and planetary evolution- Live channeling with Paul Selig
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CAgh2pXDDls&feature;=youtu.be
Waking Universe With Guest Paul Selig
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z7BI0Lgb9Kk&feature;=youtu.be
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 8:19 PM UTC
Such a tedious thing,
I sense our existence appears.
For my chest to breech to the sky,
A tightened blossom of whipping purity.
Then to sink towards such a vicarious engulfment of hell.
With each palpitating symposium,
My lungs waver.
To crust over,
and bless the,
upon gilded guffaws.
Perturbed of my ascension.
Or shall they sink,
Sallow under chagrined blasphemy,
My horridness inked upon
parchment seasoned skin.
Not but,
a child of bitter consideration.
I shall butter myself in ashes,
just to perceive myself a shadow.
For at dusk's beckon,
perturbed; to kiss the constellations.
Blemishes I conjured,
beneath a quavering lip,
a gentle crease of my nose.
I silence their whimpering of wrongdoings,
which I have failed to rupture.
To exhale,
in such a bubbling manner.
It gurgles at my lips.
Dribbles before me,
Whilst the sun blinks back a yawn.
Yet, upon a lunar serenade,
the talons which protrude from my veins,
writhes gruesome.
To my supposed
talents,
I see no anchor.
From them, to what lay before me.
To where I shall drift.
And good sir,
label my simplistic existence,
if you must.
Yet I shall soon die,
and so, you will too.
And by that flicker of seconds,
we should matter no more.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC
Once upon a time -
A young philosopher sat among men
In the shaded olive groves of Athens
Incense to the Muses, wisdom to all
His ideas soared like Athena’s owls
One day a wise ómorfo korítsi
Delighted him with her strong arguments
Delighted him with her dark Hellenic eyes
Delighted him with a dinner invitation
And as they reclined in symposium met
With verse and wine and wisdom in delight
He excused himself to the toualéta
Where on its walls he read in Attic verse:
If you sprinkle
*When you ******
Be a sweetie
Lift the seatie
After that his fellow philosophers
Saw him gently into a nursing home
May 7, 2019
May 7, 2019 at 4:04 PM UTC
i am a wandering comet
a long forgotten star
drifting listlessly through
some eldritch darkness
the stuff that dreams are made of
sustains my formless husk
as i drift and drift and drift and drift
towards that wyrd and faint light
i want you to call my name
i want you to say it!
but...
even if those words did expell
from those lips that i long to kiss
i would not know...
the void pilfers greedily all sound
no matter how powerfull the meaning behind them
there are endless stars and planets
in this symposium of emptiness
one day i will crash somewhere
and, it might not be on your planet...
it might not be where you are
will i live for eternity alone?
searching fervently in vain
through ancient smog and blackest rain
that melts my mortal coil
and tears away at my lungs
until i am truly but a husk
a vestigial being, devoid of light
please...
call for me
i am drifting away
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 8:29 PM UTC
The Torn Cartwheelers
“In the first place, let me treat of the nature of man and what has happened to it; for the original human nature was not like the present, but different. The sexes were not two as they are now, but originally three in number; there was man, woman, and the union of the two, having a name corresponding to this double nature, which had once a real existence, but is now lost. In the second place, the primeval man was round, his back and sides forming a circle; and he had four hands and four feet, one head with two faces, looking opposite ways, set on a round neck and precisely alike; also four ears, two privy members, and the remainder to correspond. Now the sexes were three, and such as I have described them; because the sun, moon, and earth are three;- and the man was originally the child of the sun, the woman of the earth, and the man-woman of the moon, which is made up of sun and earth, and they were all round and moved round and round: like their parents.” -- The symposium, Plato
- Back when we were cart-wheelers;
we rolled in unison with braided spines.
A woven chain of muscular fibre;
our interlaced vertebrae
assembled a duality of one.
- Made of moon, we lived as stars.
Invincible wholes, we felt like Gods
Free-wheeling on our myriad limbs,
tumbling through clutching forests,
Basking in our lack of direction.
- We grew arrogant,
Toes tight in our four shoes.
We hungered for dominion, impregnable,
Never conceived of life apart;
how we might be broken.
So we were reckless; scorned Gods.
Bulging with trepidation, they conspired
to put us in place.
- Ripped down the middle, we bled
until roughly stitched with forlorn seams.
Our unfurled marrow now two in place of one;
Female, male, we were earth-scattered.
- Jumbled and lost, we torn cart-wheelers
Were compelled to walk.
- Inconsolable, we wilted,
Unable to function as halves,
we combed the earth for our whole;
Calling vainly on spindle limbs.
- A handful triumphed and united,
Only to drown in euphoria when
their entwined locked bodies, starved,
Yearning only for fusion.
- Now we are accustomed to solitude;
dissipated stitches left tougher skin.
- Until we meet a silhouette of our half
Imperfect but concurring
our jarring zips catch often;
some irreparably,
But we feel again the semblance of solitude,
Crave to be two halves of the moon.
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 4:43 PM UTC
Every time I have a symposium
Following a banquet
With my muse
I start with three libations
With the best lychee wine I can get
From Mauritius !
The first is to her eyes
The second is to her lips
The third to Venus.
Then I spread the floor smeared with wine
With vanilla perfumes and jasmine flowers
While the moon is playing a tune on her flute of Pan
Then it's time to sing a hymn
And only after all this ceremony and ritual
When the symposiarch says : "drink !"
And the symposiasts start to drink
and be drunk
the symposium is declared open,
Only then,
we can start our tête-à-tête.
Aug 27, 2019
Aug 27, 2019 at 9:02 AM UTC
Heart hope gurgling
From a gagged symposium
Fused by hollow cheese
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 12:57 PM UTC
Sleek dark hair
Highlights of auburn, color of fall
Stern lips
A look of austerity in the dark russet eye
Skin lighter than my own
The smaller wrist
Large eyes
Faint deepening crow's feet
Nursing knowledge
Small, short, slight, petite, and strong
Maternal vanguard
Matriarchal
Beautiful and earthly
Scorpionic elusiveness
Her unused canvas
Frequent Homegoods purchased
Shifts decor in the livingroom like a Feng Shui practitioner
Laughs at the absurdity of modern horror movies
Smells like bath wash and too much perfume
Smells of my childhood
Smells of my innocence
Paperbacks of Hugo and Austen in boxes in the basement
Paperbacks of The Symposium and a biography of Marx in the basement
Secretly likes to cook
Culinary explorer
Gastronomically open
Culinary door opener
Very little circle of friends
Outspoken
Austerity on the small mouth
Austerity in the small mouth
Conviction in her voice
Soft graphite in her voice
Has a lisp sometimes
The slight overbite(?)
Immigrant parent
Unnaturalized citizen
Reminds me of fall
Reminds me of everything
Reminds me of very little at once
Life-teacher, one of many
Protective
Over-protective
Pushy
The way her hand moves on her tablet
The way her voice sounded during a lecture when I was a child
The way she used to hug
Closet full of shoes and clothes she rummages through when she's going out
Meticulous cleaner
The way her voice sounded when she tried to make sense of me
The way her voice sounds
...
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 5:23 AM UTC
Arise! Arise you hopeful young tadpoles.
Come forth ye mighty messengers of joy.
To arms my children... To Arms!
This be no game. Don't let it fool you..
Can't you see our trickster ? I know I can.
He's always smiling, eagerly baring his teeth,
flashing them for our prying, unsavoring eyes.
And we, we my friends, are staring dully onward
Blind to his sarcasm, blinded by our own vision.
Oh you young hopefuls.
Why do you trouble us with such ancient questions ?
Why are you not of the learned ?
All you were destined to do was shine and light up the night's sky..
Like earthly Orion's celestial belt.
Why must you burrow now ?
Arise you tender hatch-lings... break your eggs.
Can't you see how fragile your shell shields actually are ?
I know I can.
To arms my children! join me in oblivion.
The fray is but a ruse.
Fear is a coward's excuse.
Be swift of hand and light of heart.
Your minds are but sandboxes.
Were they not once empty ?
Before mighty Morphius visited our backyards;
they were all empty, barren and oh so hopeful.
Oh you mighty brother of Delight... It was your cruelty that dragged her down.
Down into delirium.
where she now giggles, cries, screams and gasps in symposium.
you broke her, although she may have been broken earlier.
Arise you miserable tadpoles. The land is warm and welcoming.
Its soil, sands and snow all ache for your budding legs.
Say No to vegetative awareness.
Say No to boredom's persistence.
Come forth you mighty messengers of joy.
Slip on your armor, this is going to be a rough ride.
Our home awaits.
And now allow me to light your bottoms on fire.
And launch you into space.
I won't stand for no crier.
And when you face your brothers; those ugly friars.
Those frogs.
These acclaimed humans, your so called kin and countrymen;
Do not hide your hatred; bury not your malice, but your sympathy.
So when you see their beady empty eyes and power hungry lashes and whip like tongues;
don't fret and don't seek to befriend them.
For their sweat is poison and they reek of cyanide.
Don't seek safety by joining them.
Arise my children and step into my light.
The cakes are all warm and today's sun is still bright.
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 3:51 AM UTC
I'm caught in the meandering confines of the webs that hold all my words
like the tortures. that sinew creates
like the voices that spiders death makes
like a discrete collected. symposium in the Greek corridor
beyond everything. these thoughts. are a zoo of confines
every species is a destruction
we all slowly **** the once perfect thought of ourselves
because every single time we listen to another's thoughts
we give up our own ectoplasm
we make a country of ghost
a set. defined layer, film of loss
then
we try and share it.
on top of that
on top of decadence
on top of world skyscrapers that create new heights, new shoulders of the sky that our humanist shall strive towards
i just want my ghost to mean something
i want my light to overshade the shadow
i want there to be a supernova in my eyes
i want for you to take that power. make a reactor.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC
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Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 12:55 AM UTC
Composium ode to ye
Symposium of conformity
Stand up on thee podium for said
colloquium.
Oh please give me some *****
Or petroleum, maybe plutonium?
Nov 23, 2020
Nov 23, 2020 at 11:03 PM UTC
Stencil-streamed mud-clipped boots,
Eiffel tower disguise,
Brilliantly wrapped in a corona,
Of sadness and delight
Un-burdened I dance,
Stinging silently across,
Aqua colors,
Symposium of disaster they call,
Whom life?
You speak of as if it was betrothed to you alone,
Or some ghast faint reflection
Someday the purpose of creation,
will creatively in-twine, over
and over again
Dis-purse, dis-purse,
like cool mists of glee,
showers of gladness,
inside droplets of peace
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 12:59 PM UTC
You well know
You left once before
Returning with a
Tapping knock
Upon heart's door
Plaintively pleading
Can I enter once more
To press into your soul
Promising a true
Forevermore
Of only us as one
And none other
A one to forever remember
One of the blissful sublime
Not a love to wither and die
Shunning wise counsel
Reluctantly I granted
An entry through
Love's window to my soul
Yet all again a lie
In my agony of sorrow
Of a love lost forever
Having found my Athena
I sip deeply from my glass
Nepenthe warm and sweet
From behind heart's door
Whilst barely breathing
Teeth clenching
Rage seething
Quietly whispering
Nevermore, Nevermore
© 2017 Jim Davis
Could not resist a steal from Poe! For anyone concerned, this comes from an old personal thing.
From Wikipedia on Edgar Allen Poe's poem, "The Raven":
... "Christopher F. S. Maligec suggests the poem is a type of elegiacparaclausithyron, an ancient Greek and Roman poetic form consisting of the lament of an excluded, locked-out lover at the sealed door of his beloved.[14]"
Paraclausithyron (Ancient Greek: παρακλαυσίθυρον) is a motif in Greekand especially Augustan love elegy, as well as in troubadour poetry.
The details of the Greek etymology are uncertain, but it is generally accepted to mean "lament beside a door", from παρακλαίω, "lament beside", and θύρα, "door".[1] A paraklausithyron typically places a lover outside his mistress's door, desiring entry. In Greek poetry, the situation is connected to the komos, the revels of young people outdoors following intoxication at a symposium. Callimachus uses the situation to reflect on self-control, passion, and free will when the obstacle of the door is removed.[2]
From greekgodsandgoddesses website
Athena
* Athena was the Goddess of War, the female counterpart of ARES.
* She was the daughter of Zeus; no mother bore her. She sprang from Zeus’s head, full-grown and clothed in armor.
.......
* In later poetry, Athena embodied wisdom and rational thought.
From Dictionary website
Nepenthe
* a drug or drink, or the plant yielding it, mentioned by ancient writers as having the power to bring forgetfulness of sorrow or trouble.
* anything inducing a pleasurable sensation of forgetfulness, esp. of sorrow or trouble.
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 10:30 AM UTC
According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with 4 arms, 4 legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves. And when one of them meets the other half, the actual half of himself, whether he be a lover of youth or a lover of another sort, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy and one will not be out of the other's sight, as I may say, even for a moment...
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 11:11 PM UTC
I am cold, and you
you are a blanket
refusing me the warmth
of your insides
I am lonely, and you
you are an invitation
to moments shared
but you won't bid me come
I am happy, and you
You are the sun, hidden behind clouds
that hold their vow of sadness
laughing, once their promise is kept
You are the stars, and I
I am the darkness surrounding you
But you would rather not shine
Than show me your light
|You are|everything, and |me|
I am |nothing| without you
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
is it true
what i see in you
you make me feel alive
tonight
your like a pool
and i just want to dive into your water
the more i see the less i want
you to be with me
cause when im by your side
its hard to hide
the way i feel inside
so just go away
today
and don't forget your luggage
its neatly packed in my heart
your eyes
your smile
the way you talk
but we could
go to the park and talk
we've got a lot of issues to discuss
the way i feel for you
what you might feel for me
how this could affect
the people that we see
solo di que si
Oct 29, 2010
Oct 29, 2010 at 8:02 AM UTC
The Chinese wall
Stained with teacup & wandering
Chatter and white texture
Of table and screen in eye flashing
A personal ideal
You and your entitled insomnia
Making blonde dogs hurt for a summer
Or a saxophone
Me and my twelve hour staircase speech
Aiding a circus
Or a bleeding taxicab
Way of thinking about a moon
Full of dental light
It doesn't need to be a dreadful
Sadness alone on this street
I can be a child too
The symposium of fastened
Yellow sounds
Being sent by radio tower to
The head of a gated individual who hasn't sung something fresh in far too long
& quite frankly
The ones who wear ***** dresses have had enough!
Enough of totalitarianism
And the debate of a sidewalk under fire
&prayer;
the seat of a desolate minstrel
Who can believe in your
Fantastical idols??
Not the airport who's burning fur hat
Lifts a feather to the
Palace of night
And ..... Now
We expect burdened coronations
Or the theater to put on
A clatter of
Simplicity
I have no wide stepping
The alarm has rung for the strange ostrich
One may attempt to love absolutely
Renouncement finds pleasure in
Renouncing itself
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 2:29 AM UTC
Suggestively selecting songs serenading sweet-sixteeners.
Saying soft somethings.
Supporting satanic systems.
Sweeping sonnets.
Slang symphonies.
Symposium suspended.
Goodnight.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 4:05 AM UTC
don’t be jealous (for a poet, for all poets)
~with gratitude, this one for Verlie Burroughs, verily, whosoever she may be~
the poem titles arrive in banana bunches,
grape clusters asking to be mouthed, tasted,
break their skin, juices dribbling on taste buds,
sometimes the title + poem fully formed,
arrive on the same plane, that’s a first class
ticket to a poetry symposium somewhere near
the se(a)e.
like a fresh pack of cellophane encased cigarettes,
poems just begging ‘smoke me, **** me, broke me yoke,
the one that enchains, my soul-me,”
the nurse
pronounces a new born weighing 7lbs., 6 ounces,
pouncing, bouncing; first cries a-writing, the title
in the fluid, on the floor, don’t slip, the heavy poundage
and the body a first poem, a flighty aerie of a few ounces
that floats groundward like flavored colored leaves
in the fall, a bird’s feathers summer molting, swapping
old notions for new poem~potions, tips and sips of
Whitman, after Billy. Collins, **** the spillage and...
don’t be jealous, it’s a curse, when they silent labor
breach birth, even pre-named, falling from brain to
mouth, mouth to fingertips, Ipad to ethernet cable,
through brick walls they fly,
cause you can’t hold them and,
type them down fast enough...
Jul 4, 2020
Jul 4, 2020 at 2:02 PM UTC
Puff and Pomp of Circumstance
I maestrate my digits unseen
As an old lady hums loudly off-tune
begging to see their face
I tap my fingers to the drum
Watching myself walk the stage
Knowing I will receive no applause
How many people will watch--
Scoff as I go the distance
A piece of paper with a shiny crest,
Firewood, tinder, disinterest
A hilarious dream,
The biggest lie ever sold
But I still walk and talk and sit as I'm told
No great symposium,
No perfect forum
As every time I went to speak
I was silenced,
Pleaded to keep clean
The great farewell
dictation of objectivity
Of dis-indoctrination
I wanted to scream
No ma'am you are mistaken
The quaking words you claim are making
A better world, a better place?
Setting the stage for the end of day
And a rambunctious after-party
Full of mean mead and black wine
******* in the grass of the divine
"Let us remember..."
That they have never been
"...In the holy presence of God"
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 10:55 PM UTC
Nothing similar here,
Nothing of value,
Like lost wind, graciously devouring us all,
I've seen thousands watch,
Place-time make-shaft growths,
Truth is we are all in it,
Like small drops of billowing souls,
SIMPLE:
Put the basket,
Over there,
near the drawer,
Where the penny men scream
And the daffodils cry,
Heaven's mercy proclaims,
That Love has a name,
FOUND:
She's near the ocean border,
Like cream she copes with all her cares,
First come, first serve,
Frivolous desires,
A certain dangling view,
Is following the nighttime glee,
Shadows of breaking yellow closed knit families,
Seething brightly forevermore
CONFIRM:
I know now,
Better days,
Of future events,
Follow close now,
The dragon is dead in sorrow,
The mask is broken,
The Maker of all things,
Both vast and venial,
Is truthfully today's greatest,
Merging of idea and life,
In one symposium of design and desire
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 5:57 PM UTC