"terence" poems
"Farewell to barn and stack and tree,
Farewell to Severn shore.
Terence, look your last at me,
For I come home no more.
"The sun burns on the half-mown hill,
By now the blood is dried;
And Maurice amongst the hay lies still
And my knife is in his side.
"My mother thinks us long away;
'Tis time the field were mown.
She had two sons at rising day,
To-night she'll be alone.
"And here's a ****** hand to shake,
And oh, man, here's good-bye;
We'll sweat no more on scythe and rake,
My ****** hands and I.
"I wish you strength to bring you pride,
And a love to keep you clean,
And I wish you luck, come Lammastide,
At racing on the green.
"Long for me the rick will wait,
And long will wait the fold,
And long will stand the empty plate,
And dinner will be cold."
3k
I'm seeking to amass a Collection
of the World's spiritual, mythic and philosophical codices.
I want to collect them out of veneration
for those who came before who have tried to illuminate the Paths:
The following is my library of such books of yet.
Entries in bold are my recommendations;
entries italicized are strongly recommended.
-Old Works:
**Egyptian Book of the Dead
Tibetan Book of the Dead
The Bhagavad Gita
Euclid's Elements**
Tao te Ching (I have 3 translations)
I Ching (2 translations and a workbook)
The Qur'an
The Bible
-Newer Works:
Plato and a Platypus walk into a Bar: Philosophy explained through Jokes
*Quadrivium: Number, Geometry, Music, & Cosmology*
The Pulse of Wisdom - College Eastern Philosophy Book
*Food of the Gods by Terence McKenna*
The Elements of Reason - College Logic Book
1001 Perls of Buddhist Wisdom
*Net of Being by Alex Grey*
*Art Psalms by Alex Grey*
**The Portable Nietzsche
*The Red Book of Jung
The Portable Jung***
The Subtle Body - Encyclopedia of chakras, auras and other personal energy systems.
Who are you? - 101 Ways of Seeing Yourself
--
I seek to compile this Collection
not to have a nice looking bookshelf;
nor do I seek to find which one is right.
I seek to learn from each of these
the lessons that are intrinsic in our Lives;
they're all matters of perspectives.
I want to compile the aspects of each philosophy with which I resonate
and integrate them into my own,
forging a dynamic and holistic individual philosophy.
All of these books are Mystical masterpieces.
All of these books provide insights to the nature of our Holy Reality.
All of these books ultimately attempt to express the same ineffability.
All of these books are interpreted then translated and interpreted again.
The way I see it,
I may as well do it for myself; draw my own conclusions:
Think for myself.
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 4:13 AM UTC
he steps forward to bless us with song
benediction’s serenade
binder clips and clothespins weaken wind
as sheet music tries to take flight
with each strum he was fighting it
emoting with sad lips and blue eyebrows
taking deep breaths let out with heavy sighs
but holding steady
singing and crying come from the same place
as he sang the sun sneaked out
shadows surrendered their stronghold
a moment of warmth shown upon our gathering
near the pine tree at our father’s grave
Terence’s ashes to be interred with dad
a musician, an artist, a writer of songs and poems
a technician, an electrician, a wood worker
his many gifts now only spoken of in past tense
a son to two, a brother to eight
an uncle to many
a father to one daughter
his passion relived in his writings and works
his essence reflected in her eyes
Sep 6, 2010
Sep 6, 2010 at 10:59 AM UTC
i saw lil wayne in a dream
he told me i wasn't a human being either
i saw kurt cobain on an acid trip
it really was suicide
i saw terence mckenna when i smoked dmt
he said "nevermind, the self transforming machine elves were never real."
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 3:22 AM UTC
I sang a song at dusking time
Beneath the evening star,
And Terence left his latest rhyme
To answer from afar.
Pierrot laid down his lute to weep,
And sighed, “She sings for me,”
But Colin slept a careless sleep
Beneath an apple tree.
1.6k
Through the act of speaking vividly, we enter into a flirtation with the domain of the imagination.
The ability to associate sounds, or the small mouth noises of language, with meaningful internal images, is a synesthetic activity.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
THIS IS GOING TO BE A WORK COMPOSED BY ALL OF US. POETRY CAN BRING US TOGETHER. Comment the next lyric and I will post it with your name in parentheses.
Here I sit in this bitter cold(L.K.)
whispering sweet nothings to the moon, for the night will cease into existence and dawn shall be upon us soon. (aesha nisar)
Enwrought with silver light and dark cloths of night(Abhay Chopra)
There she plays in a twisted mind
bombarded with such torturous remarks, and a dark witty retort
don't fall victim to the spoon
once again observe the phoenix taking flight (L.K.)
Here I sit in the bitter cold,
Watching the sunshine fold,
Down beyond the horizon,
Along with it's shimmering gold(Arlen)
were I wept no one knows
Beautiful sunset pink, and yellow
even in the bitter cold
light shines in the darkest soul (L.K.)
for this is the place to be? I'm told
Shall I add a line, should I be so bold?
Or just sit here alone in the bitter cold(Terence James Potter)
alone in the bitter cold (L.K.)
There she plays in a twisted mind(L.K.)
whispering sweet nothings to the moon, for the night will cease into(aesha nisar)
broken womb destined to the tomb
Enwrought with silver light and dark cloths of night(Abhay Chopra)
As the paint peels off the moss ridden eaves
Watching The violent clouds sailing by(Nirali Shah)
just like the passing of the autumn leaves
moving your puppet strings, so sly(L.K.)
I'm not sure what to fill so I'll sit by this window sill(Chimera)
looking at the ****** of crows, and their fresh ****
sitting here solemn, and every so very still
do what thou wilt, let that be your will(L.K)
And the daylight still creeps coldly across the floor(Evelyn Ash)
wretched images of decaying bodies there like zombies
laying on cold steal floors, what is human anymore
even in the wretchedness I will endure (L.K.)
writing words on someone's soul(Cristina)
The one who stole mine, I've been told(Michael Wysocki)
I put my own name in parentheses(Joshua Amos Graff / J.M.G.)
so no one truly knows me(L.K.)
dysfunctional pull grasping the life out of me(patty m)
as I am chocking, hoping I begin to breath(L.K.)
with coffee stained teeth chattering and frosted skin vibrating( J.M.G)
I can't understand what you prophets are saying(L.K.)
Remembering the past of a life untold(Brandon K Stephenson)
Watching darkness as it takes a hold(L.K.)
This darkness has got a hold of me(Jaishree Kumar)
Remember that life will set you free(L.K.)
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 6:59 AM UTC
‘TERENCE, this is stupid stuff:
You eat your victuals fast enough;
There can’t be much amiss, ’tis clear,
To see the rate you drink your beer.
But oh, good Lord, the verse you make,
It gives a chap the belly-ache.
The cow, the old cow, she is dead;
It sleeps well, the horned head:
We poor lads, ’tis our turn now
To hear such tunes as killed the cow.
Pretty friendship ’tis to rhyme
Your friends to death before their time
Moping melancholy mad:
Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad.’
Why, if ’tis dancing you would be,
There’s brisker pipes than poetry.
Say, for what were hop-yards meant,
Or why was Burton built on Trent?
Oh many a peer of England brews
Livelier liquor than the Muse,
And malt does more than Milton can
To justify God’s ways to man.
Ale, man, ale’s the stuff to drink
For fellows whom it hurts to think:
Look into the pewter ***
To see the world as the world’s not.
And faith, ’tis pleasant till ’tis past:
The mischief is that ’twill not last.
Oh I have been to Ludlow fair
And left my necktie God knows where,
And carried half way home, or near,
Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:
Then the world seemed none so bad,
And I myself a sterling lad;
And down in lovely muck I’ve lain,
Happy till I woke again.
Then I saw the morning sky:
Heigho, the tale was all a lie;
The world, it was the old world yet,
I was I, my things were wet,
And nothing now remained to do
But begin the game anew.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 5:30 PM UTC
been feelin' lousy lately
lethargic
lacking in energy and appetite
nauseated
something is wrong
it is a virus?
or a backlash from all that's been going on?
the interment was hard
my oldest brother presided
he's a former priest
my youngest brother sang and played guitar
he almost didn't make it through
but as he sang
the sun broke through the overcast
they put his ashes in a small white sarcophagus
afterwards, mom wanted to bid her farewell
by resting her hand on the "coffin"
my oldest brother led her there
they seemed to linger so I joined them
with one arm around mom
and one hand on the coffin
it had been a full month since he died
I thought I was all cried out
afterwards, we had a backyard potluck at my sister's
just family
four generations in attendance
and two gracious cousins
we were quite a crowd
it was good talking with my nieces and nephew
they're growing up
I don't see them nearly enough
like when they were kids
now there's only the future
yesterday was my birthday
at my age I used to dread it
and try to ignore it
but my younger brother's death fomented an urgency
to live and enjoy life
so happy birthday to me
at times he was my best friend and my worst enemy
my partner in night time bike riding
my parent's squealing pig prince
that got away with everything
good bye Terence
for the good times and bad times
I thank you
Sep 3, 2010
Sep 3, 2010 at 11:22 AM UTC
awoke from a dream last Wednesday
strangely refreshing and uplifting
resounding in music
the notes still reverberating on my heartstrings
it was the first dream of my brother
since his passing
it may be my first dream of him ever
he was laying in bed
contemplating his demise
don’t know if he was speaking before or after the fact
guess it really doesn’t matter
with one simple sentence
and just a hint of anger
“Life is stupid”, he said.
implying remorse and resentment
for still having so much to do
I backed away to give him his privacy
as I readied myself for work
he got up out of bed and found me
happy and smiling, a sparkle in his eyes and teeth
corroborated his contentment
he was walking around the house playing his guitar
it was acoustic and unplugged
but the sound was electric
he was playing a Mexican folksong
his ex-wife appeared, singing the refrain:
“Ay, ay, ay, ay, canta y no llores
por qué cantando se alegran
Cielito Lindo, los corazones” 1
his song struck a chord whose message was immediate:
“sing and don’t cry
for singing gladdens the heart”
his daughter’s seventeenth birthday is today
with a party this weekend
timing is often coincidental
but it seems to me
this message was for her
and everyone at the gathering
for those who would listen
Terence would tell us:
“Life is stupid...so sing and don’t cry”
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 10:46 AM UTC
Toute personne qui me connaît sait une chose: je coeur tout britannique.Ainsi.une campagne magnifique mariage anglais de drop-dead à la Maison Boconnoc Et Estate?Fait pour moi .Surtout un aussi beau que ce jour élégant .avec ses fleurs colorées .tenue élégante ( bonjour superbe robe Jenny Packham ) et la galerie à couper le souffle des images capturées par Sarah Falugo .Voir tous ici .\u003cp\u003eColorsSeasonsSummerSettingsGardenHistoric HomeStylesCasual Elegance
De Sarah Falugo .Boconnoc Maison et Immobilier est un lieu de mariage robe ceremonie fille typiquement anglais .La maison remonte à l'an 1250 et les motifs .complète avec parc aux cerfs et sa propre église est un joyau caché dans la campagne des Cornouailles .Emma et Terence étaient
http://www.modedomicile.com/robe-demoiselle-dhonneur-c-60
mariés à l'église sur le terrain et ensuite sur le site avec vos amis et votre famille à avoir une partie de jardin et gifler repas dans la hauteur de l'été anglais .
Emma portait une robe élégante de mariage Jenny Packham .Les décorations étaient un mélange de bouteilles en verre de couleur et de belles roses anglaises .
Photographie : Sarah Falugo | Robe de mariée : Jenny Packham | Lieu: Boconnoc maison et le domaineSarah Falugo robes demoiselles d honneur photographie est un membre robe ceremonie fille de notre Little Black Book .Découvrez comment les membres sont choisis en visitant notre page de FAQ .Sarah Falugo Photographie voir le
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 9:59 PM UTC
I was a star in the sky
I became a gleam in my father’s eye
I was born out from my mother’s womb
And came into a world filled with doom
Maybe I won’t see my name in a VHS soon
I won’t ever meet Terence Malick
But I know I’ll die like Jack Kerouac
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 4:55 AM UTC
My friend Terrence
was a little happy sole,
he didn't need a kennel,
nor a house or a hole.
His home was a shell
that he carried on his back,
so that all he had to do
was drop down on the track.
Then he'd pull his head inside,
followed by his legs and feet
and he’d look inside the fridge
for something tasty to eat.
If it started raining
or got too chilly cold,
his friends would run for shelter
beneath trees or in their holes.
But not our little friend,
because he'd climb inside his shell
and have a cup of tea
until the sun chased off the chill.
Wherever he did travel,
he would walk so nice and slow,
well there's no need to rush,
you might trip or stub your toe!
“And all the good things
come to those that wait”,
or so his mother told him
as he headed through the gate.
“If you’re rushing all the time
and your feet don’t want to stop
then you’ll end up getting dizzy
like a whizzing spinning top”.
His mother, how she loved him
and he loved her lots, right back
with her funny little sayings
she would help him stay on track.
So there my tale has ended,
for all you girls and boys,
and now you've met my little friend,
Terence the Tortoise.
*
Written by Darren Scanlon, 25th February 2014.
Revised, 30th August 2015.
Artwork by Angie Caira.
© 2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 10:10 PM UTC
You weren't the poetic one, but I just read Kaddish
and thought of you;
of 1998 beach photo, Sussex somewhere - as I
remember you, perhaps a bit younger;
of sweet peroxide blonde, hiding brunette. I was
naive to the dye 'til I saw 'the Hepburn shot' - that 1950
something print, you in Rembrandt light,
or the black beehive wig in family portrait—
1970ish— dicky bows and cocktail dresses - Dad, aged
seven, in a shirt and trousers;
of youthful snapshots: Portobello Beach, Edinburgh
(4), with parents in Kent (8), your gang of girls some snowy
place (14), painting the house with Raymond in Croydon (20);
of latter digital images, 2012, more gaunt and wrinkled,
but ever-beautiful - seemingly ageless, as you wished;
of care and trust and overdone vegetables, thin gravy,
brussel sprout production lines - beautiful, mundane memories
at Cowfold breakfast bar or Langley Green kitchen tops;
of seaside trips to Shoreham, Portsmouth, Brighton, dogs
homes and holding my hand past the loud ones;
of picking roses from the garden for 'perfume' - sticky
hands, wet floors and beautiful smells;
of early morning rude awakenings, met only with cheer
and offers of tea and toast - I still have your butter tray
(hospitable even in death);
of my brother's wedding, taking time to jive and seem
alive whilst everyone else was dying inside, despite the fact
that it was you, and you only, who should care the most (and
thus, if you didn't, why should we have);
and of that very temperament, infamous tempers never
shown—at least to us—just pure, kind acceptance and
forgiveness.
You weren't the poetic one.
You were; the ninth child of a ****** and his wife
the girl with the Scottish accent
the wife of an engineer from Mitcham
the mother of three, the loser of one
the stern face of discipline
the BT telephone operator, the masseuse
the grandmother of three boys
the ageless face of beauty
the one I remember best
You told me you couldn't recall your siblings' names -
I've looked into it. Ada, Jack, Edie, Emmie, Mabel, Joyce,
Raymond, Terence.
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 11:19 AM UTC
I've listened to many Mckenna lectures but in this one he is at his most thoughtful
http://youtu.be/_NclGeWlkrY
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 2:28 AM UTC
Black
1. James Brown
2. Michael Jackson
3. Terence Treat Darby
4. Sammy Davis Jr.
5. Prince
white
1. Donald O'Connor
2. Danny Kaye
3. Frank Sinatra
4. Don Rickles
5. Jonathan Winters
let's do the females
black
1. Ella Fitzgerald
2. Carmen McCrae
3. Brandy
4. Rihanna
5. Beyonc'e
white
1. Cher
2. Judy Garland
3. Sally Field
4. Lana Turner
5. Arlene Dahl
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 11:33 AM UTC
MUUUUst write
because the moment has letters that I can turn into delight
I have 18 tabs open right now
But sometimes I want to get out and take 18 tabs
then say Hi to Terence Mckenna
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 1:13 AM UTC
Terence McKenna claimed
both psychedelics and travels
to be very affective and similiar
tools that help expand the mind.
Connecting these claims
with the observations of Aldous Huxley,
who proposed the mind and the
physical Earth(terrains, continents, landscapes)
to be conjoined with a shockingly strong bond
We can see Terence's idea
making Huxley's words fuller, more clear,
and more credible.
You can see, one's mind is in a great part shaped by
his everyday environment & actions. Repetitions lead
to the creation of bonds. Revisiting these paths
without a doubt creates a map of some kind.
Nov 2, 2019
Nov 2, 2019 at 8:48 AM UTC
The talk of staging funerals
lingers in the cafe,
lost dreams spoke of Terence Stamp
How they loved his singing voice
filed away in Cathy go home.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 7:54 AM UTC