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"transfigures" poems
Side by side, their faces blurred, The earl and countess lie in stone, Their proper habits vaguely shown As jointed armour, stiffened pleat, And that faint hint of the absurd - The little dogs under their feet. Such plainness of the pre-baroque Hardly involves the eye, until It meets his left-hand gauntlet, still Clasped empty in the other; and One sees, with a sharp tender shock, His hand withdrawn, holding her hand. They would not think to lie so long. Such faithfulness in effigy Was just a detail friends would see: A sculptor's sweet commissioned grace Thrown off in helping to prolong The Latin names around the base. They would no guess how early in Their supine stationary voyage The air would change to soundless damage, Turn the old tenantry away; How soon succeeding eyes begin To look, not read. Rigidly they Persisted, linked, through lengths and breadths Of time. Snow fell, undated. Light Each summer thronged the grass. A bright Litter of birdcalls strewed the same Bone-littered ground. And up the paths The endless altered people came, Washing at their identity. Now, helpless in the hollow of An unarmorial age, a trough Of smoke in slow suspended skeins Above their scrap of history, Only an attitude remains: Time has transfigures them into Untruth. The stone fidelity They hardly meant has come to be Their final blazon, and to prove Our almost-instinct almost true: What will survive of us is love.
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8.8k
An Arundel Tomb
bespeckled, blotched & blokey feminine in aspects only little ****** hair patches two chins, or rather a sloped one the front evenly declining to the middle of the throat a gradual slope from the tip, for juices to run if his manner and situation allowed him to be as casual and sloppy as his laziness chose, torso without form, so there was no curvature on the buttocks or the fly region. a mass a blob of bulges on spindly legs he leans on the wall stubby in hand he balks (he means jovial but unintentionally he vocalises mockery) at the suggestion that the Pies will do better & that Eddie is a clever man due for thanks, who has done his club well (apparently a straight Aussie arrow tried and true!) the man ***** his head back & cackles (the trebly popping bubbles of a gala crackle outwards as the man cackles) & decides his arms need a rest, (a long day of up and down they have had indeed, they deserve respect, or rest (or a benching)) so he places his beer down on a sloped surface, & therefore it slips down…. he sees it plummeting, he stretches toward it's tragic trajectory, …..but he is too slow it smashes on his foot (the shards) the beer bottle it transfigures, and the shards they impart their misery on his toes. The shards they intrude on his relaxed state of wellbeing, they intrude on the security sanctioned within the casual footwear of a man at a barbecue; taking it easy. he swears and hops, reaching in indignation for his bleeding toes he holds the wound cursing; resisting the impulse to begin convulsive throws (an oscar worthy performance from a usually suburbaly urbane individual) the moisture feels degrading (as it would within a man's pants) the pain from the cuts it is worsened by the smirking gazes of others about he hobbles, disregarding his thong in the wreckage of the scene off to retrieve a band aid to mend his ego and his foot simultaneously
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Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 10:18 AM UTC
the barbecue
bespeckled, blotched & blokey feminine in aspects only little ****** hair patches two chins, or rather a sloped one the front evenly declining to the middle of the throat a gradual slope from the tip, for juices to run if his manner and situation allowed him to be as casual and sloppy as his laziness chose, torso without form, so there was no curvature on the buttocks or the fly region. a mass a blob of bulges on spindly legs he leans on the wall stubby in hand he balks (he means jovial but unintentionally he vocalises mockery) at the suggestion that the Pies will do better & that Eddie is a clever man due for thanks, who has done his club well (apparently a straight Aussie arrow tried and true!) the man ***** his head back & cackles (the trebly popping bubbles of a gala crackle outwards as the man cackles) & decides his arms need a rest, (a long day of up and down they have had indeed, they deserve respect, or rest (or a benching)) so he places his beer down on a sloped surface, & therefore it slips down…. he sees it plummeting, he stretches toward it's tragic trajectory, …..but he is too slow it smashes on his foot (the shards) the beer bottle it transfigures, and the shards they impart their misery on his toes. The shards they intrude on his relaxed state of wellbeing, they intrude on the security sanctioned within the casual footwear of a man at a barbecue; taking it easy. he swears and hops, reaching in indignation for his bleeding toes he holds the wound cursing; resisting the impulse to begin convulsive throws (an oscar worthy performance from a usually suburbaly urbane individual) the moisture feels degrading (as it would within a man's pants) the pain from the cuts it is worsened by the smirking gazes of others about he hobbles, disregarding his thong in the wreckage of the scene off to retrieve a band aid to mend his ego and his foot simultaneously
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40
Water to wine and wine to precious blood The Lord transfigures; taken at the flood,     The dregs of outrageous fortune, once imbibed, Will be like compost to a growing bud.   So, drink and happy be, for all is well In Paradise, where living waters swell     The stilly stream by quiet pastures green, And sheep in peace and pleasant weather dwell.
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Aug 26, 2022
Aug 26, 2022 at 6:15 PM UTC
Rubáiyát
Howe's Final version Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord: He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fatal lightning of his terrible swift sword: His Truth is marching on. I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps; They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps; I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps. His Day is marching on. I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel: 'As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal; Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel, Since God is marching on.' He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment-seat: Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet! Our God is marching on. In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in his ***** that transfigures you and me: As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on. 2. Howe's First Manuscript Version Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord. He is trampling out the wine press, where the grapes of wrath are stored, He hath loosed the fateful lightnings of his terrible swift sword, His truth is marching on. I have seen him in the watchfires of an hundred circling camps They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps, I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps, His day is marching on. I have read a burning Gospel writ in fiery rows of steel, As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal Let the hero born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel, Our God is marching on. He has sounded out the trumpet that shall never call retreat, He has waked the earth's dull sorrow with a high ecstatic beat, Oh! be swift my soul to answer him, be jubilant my feet Our God is marching on. In the whiteness of the lilies he was born across the sea With a glory in his ***** that shines out on you and me, As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, Our God is marching on. He is coming like the glory of the morning on the wave He is wisdom to the mighty, he is sucour to the brave So the world shall be his footstool, and the soul of Time his slave Our God is marching on.
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2.6k
Battle Hymn of the Republic
Howe's Final version Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord: He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fatal lightning of his terrible swift sword: His Truth is marching on. I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps; They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps; I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps. His Day is marching on. I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel: 'As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal; Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel, Since God is marching on.' He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment-seat: Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet! Our God is marching on. In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in his ***** that transfigures you and me: As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on. 2. Howe's First Manuscript Version Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord. He is trampling out the wine press, where the grapes of wrath are stored, He hath loosed the fateful lightnings of his terrible swift sword, His truth is marching on. I have seen him in the watchfires of an hundred circling camps They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps, I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps, His day is marching on. I have read a burning Gospel writ in fiery rows of steel, As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal Let the hero born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel, Our God is marching on. He has sounded out the trumpet that shall never call retreat, He has waked the earth's dull sorrow with a high ecstatic beat, Oh! be swift my soul to answer him, be jubilant my feet Our God is marching on. In the whiteness of the lilies he was born across the sea With a glory in his ***** that shines out on you and me, As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, Our God is marching on. He is coming like the glory of the morning on the wave He is wisdom to the mighty, he is sucour to the brave So the world shall be his footstool, and the soul of Time his slave Our God is marching on.
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46
Cyan has such a brackish mark upon your passive visage- it transfigures boldly, tempestuously any average glance flung facetiously in my direction. Dearest Rogue Element, You invigorate all other salient features. Like the slip of a blunt knife, you surge open your soul, compelling any audacious personality to bleed through the wound of your gaping irises. You betroth yourself to the Fascinating, the Creative, and like the cascade of clearest french horn lamentation- you stir my emotions with a mournful compassionate caress. And that’s the difference. The mellow mahogany of my eyes provides the most loving background for Light to reflect her dancing valiance with reverent adoration. But- your Blue will forever stride as the arrogant foreground. Commanding and eternally vexing, (captivating) me with your gaudy juxtaposition of angry intensity and poignant serenity.
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Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 4:11 AM UTC
The Bluest Eyed Glance
Peace draws itself out...leaving an informed emptiness in its wake. As light leaves room for everything... what is let be, comes to itself. Peaces draws itself out...leaving an informed emptiness in its wake-- a flowering beyond namesake. As anything can be renamed, any shape altered...light...in peace, transfigures. Dormancy's wayshowing can not be filled with anything but itself...peace beyond body and mind.
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Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
Flowering Beyond Namesake
*We walk through a garden in the evening sun. We joke, we laugh, our thoughts are one As we find a spot near a softwood tree With bright flowers, cool shadows, alone, you and me. We sit, we recline, your hand in mine Your head on my shoulder, a feeling sublime. We talk for a while and then we play, We tease and touch in our special way. The day surrenders to twilight then night, The cool blue moon is now our delight. This timeless wonder in a lovers’ sky Compels our gaze to each other’s eyes. Its magic transfigures your eyes into pools Mysterious, haunting, inviting and cool While mine are ablaze with passion’s fire. We are trapped! Moon’s magic is now our desire. Your hair glistens in this lovers’ light. What was sunset gold in my earlier sight Is a silver-sphered halo, angelic and bright. A dark silhouette with comforting arms I embrace you and kiss you and drink-in your charms. Lips that smiled laughed and called Are ambrosia, THE NECTAR, the gods are awed! Kissing, tenderly, we kindle love’s fire, A gentle caress heats our desire. In our close embrace, the promise of day We’ll fulfill this night in love’s ancient way. Our kisses become longer and heaped with passion! To hell with reason! To hell with ration! We heed love’s call, love sets us free And we unite...in splendour! To love’s ultimate degree We blush, we smile, we sigh so deep, We sing...love’s soft song as its joy we reap. We rapturously explore with all we possess To assure each other that all is expressed. Our souls are in ecstasy! So deep, so endearing Our kisses; so sweet, so pure our singing. We whisper our name to each other’s ear Softly, earnestly, so our hearts may hear. At last, love’s longing is finally relieved, At last, love’s dream is blissfully achieved. We’ve paid the supreme compliment for our caring With an act of love...the most intimate sharing.*
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Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
Soft Song
*We walk through a garden in the evening sun. We joke, we laugh, our thoughts are one As we find a spot near a softwood tree With bright flowers, cool shadows, alone, you and me. We sit, we recline, your hand in mine Your head on my shoulder, a feeling sublime. We talk for a while and then we play, We tease and touch in our special way. The day surrenders to twilight then night, The cool blue moon is now our delight. This timeless wonder in a lovers’ sky Compels our gaze to each other’s eyes. Its magic transfigures your eyes into pools Mysterious, haunting, inviting and cool While mine are ablaze with passion’s fire. We are trapped! Moon’s magic is now our desire. Your hair glistens in this lovers’ light. What was sunset gold in my earlier sight Is a silver-sphered halo, angelic and bright. A dark silhouette with comforting arms I embrace you and kiss you and drink-in your charms. Lips that smiled laughed and called Are ambrosia, THE NECTAR, the gods are awed! Kissing, tenderly, we kindle love’s fire, A gentle caress heats our desire. In our close embrace, the promise of day We’ll fulfill this night in love’s ancient way. Our kisses become longer and heaped with passion! To hell with reason! To hell with ration! We heed love’s call, love sets us free And we unite...in splendour! To love’s ultimate degree We blush, we smile, we sigh so deep, We sing...love’s soft song as its joy we reap. We rapturously explore with all we possess To assure each other that all is expressed. Our souls are in ecstasy! So deep, so endearing Our kisses; so sweet, so pure our singing. We whisper our name to each other’s ear Softly, earnestly, so our hearts may hear. At last, love’s longing is finally relieved, At last, love’s dream is blissfully achieved. We’ve paid the supreme compliment for our caring With an act of love...the most intimate sharing.*
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43
You fall from your body to eternity, Not to death but in my eyes, Your name becomes untouchable, Falling through a prism of mirrors, Each one my memory of you, The eternal moment is a scattered fable As I divide you into words, Kiss me at the solstice, The season bring about separation, Alter and knife, The tremor of the moon on your ******* Solar lovers in a cosmic body, We make two syllables out of love, We paint the sky unfolding the horizon, Transfigures of body and time The dream realised in another dream, I fall into you You fall into me, We meet where the earth and sky kiss....
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Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 9:31 AM UTC
I Will Meet You Where Sky and Earth Join
My imagination is the all-encompassing ***** Composed of touchable red curves, she speaks in dark, melted tones that drip & cool to harden at their destination. She’s the sort of insatiable pursuit most boys are taught to desire. She’s the well-spoken lady most gentlemen deserve. She transfigures into the most verboten temptations & acts as the pair of arms that will suddenly slam you up against a wall. She eases into you with her starved gaze & examines your every possible inch. She leaves you with nothing to hide. Scrupulous? Undeniably so. She touches whatever she wishes with gloveless fingertips & ***** your mouth dry of all bitter objection. She leaves you speechless-- but smiling. My imagination? She is a bombshell, & I think I like her better than me.
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Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 6:02 PM UTC
imagine she
Opportunities begin to unfold, Clear vast spaces await to be filled. Today I’d pledge to leave some uncertainties behind. Today our story transfigures into an open-ended chapter.
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Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
Open-ended
I want you to close your eyes Visualize Hand over breast Until your palm thumps What you feel transfigures the physical What we have transcends the sultry soma Or random tactile sensation I want you to close your eyes Listen to my ripe breath Inhale my low voice It is like a hymn It is true because while it whisks Through your ear It blossoms in your heart Let it reverberate through those midnight gardens You deny yourself among the slobbering masses Groping you like raw meat Pounding, slicing and packaging you Like clumsy butchers You are not a bleeding slab to me Though I cherish that animal Which temporarily houses your light It is that radiance which warms my loveless bones Which illuminates my dreamless skull Distance only magnifies our effulgence We are insects below it, scrambling Let us immolate together beneath its searing heat Until the facades of flesh melt And we are left as **** as shadows Aching for an unremitting bliss
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Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 11:12 PM UTC
Phone ***
SILENCE (Bijoylakshmi Das) Silence is the Best Silence is sublime Silence is Vast; Silence is all-transcending - Beyond mortal acts. It too is profound, Makes us spell-bound, Even though unexpressed Reveals the Supreme Blessed! It is the One unique existence In its inane solitude - Sends message of greater depth, From Soul even when Being is asleep Beyond Space and Time, Cause and Effect ; Wins the heart of Godhead In her sweet soft golden glance! ! Silence is the celestial bridge Joins the amazing heights To Earth's forsaken soil, And her attempted flights, To reach the Unknown height Of the underlying Godhead. All vain desires and toil of the Brown Meet Decadence - Along with Ego's sky-touching crown Man's arrogance and ambitions And his derision of self-asserted pride, To make Nature serve to his indomitable will, And insatiable greed! It never succeeds! Inner silence is lost As it served as the Golden Bridge To meet the Supreme Will! Which in each moment sees, Our every act even if we hide; His eternal Gaze - Writes on Silence's page. We humans create chaos - Everywhere around us To devastate the inner harmony. Blind and deaf to mankind! We have lost silence of our inmost mind!!! Silence communicates the best, Transfigures the language of the Lord, In Nature's heiroglyphics And Her innumerable ways. Like when Dawn descends upon Earth Heralding the joyful birth - Of a vernal Creation Awaiting to meet Humanity in the higher illumination! The Soul's awakening - Where only Silence reigns. Dialect fails, Speech loses semblance Silence deciphers Creation:s unending rhyme. Repeats in ceaseless Harmony! We are born in Silence, And to that Sole-existent Silence - All have to go By our Ego's transcendence! Life's journey brief, Ends in silence deep. In Silence we must live, And to it we must give - Our listening ears in Knowledge's Revelatory ascent! We must make our life the greatest success - In Supreme's Blissful Art! (Bijoylakshmi Das, Anand Utsav Ashram, Haridwar. 31.05.2019)
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Jan 2, 2020
Jan 2, 2020 at 2:35 AM UTC
SILENCE
SILENCE (Bijoylakshmi Das) Silence is the Best Silence is sublime Silence is Vast; Silence is all-transcending - Beyond mortal acts. It too is profound, Makes us spell-bound, Even though unexpressed Reveals the Supreme Blessed! It is the One unique existence In its inane solitude - Sends message of greater depth, From Soul even when Being is asleep Beyond Space and Time, Cause and Effect ; Wins the heart of Godhead In her sweet soft golden glance! ! Silence is the celestial bridge Joins the amazing heights To Earth's forsaken soil, And her attempted flights, To reach the Unknown height Of the underlying Godhead. All vain desires and toil of the Brown Meet Decadence - Along with Ego's sky-touching crown Man's arrogance and ambitions And his derision of self-asserted pride, To make Nature serve to his indomitable will, And insatiable greed! It never succeeds! Inner silence is lost As it served as the Golden Bridge To meet the Supreme Will! Which in each moment sees, Our every act even if we hide; His eternal Gaze - Writes on Silence's page. We humans create chaos - Everywhere around us To devastate the inner harmony. Blind and deaf to mankind! We have lost silence of our inmost mind!!! Silence communicates the best, Transfigures the language of the Lord, In Nature's heiroglyphics And Her innumerable ways. Like when Dawn descends upon Earth Heralding the joyful birth - Of a vernal Creation Awaiting to meet Humanity in the higher illumination! The Soul's awakening - Where only Silence reigns. Dialect fails, Speech loses semblance Silence deciphers Creation:s unending rhyme. Repeats in ceaseless Harmony! We are born in Silence, And to that Sole-existent Silence - All have to go By our Ego's transcendence! Life's journey brief, Ends in silence deep. In Silence we must live, And to it we must give - Our listening ears in Knowledge's Revelatory ascent! We must make our life the greatest success - In Supreme's Blissful Art! (Bijoylakshmi Das, Anand Utsav Ashram, Haridwar. 31.05.2019)
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73
If you evade me, I will not enlighten you. If you are oblivious of me, I will not make obvious myself, If you don't love me, I will not seek love from you, I you don't like me to pursue you, I will not pursue you, I will do whatever you intend, Lest my resistance will hurt you, If it distresses you,then it will distress me, I impersonate your volition, and I am your mother, As an air and space I include you, As a water you quench by including me, As a land,I am your body, If you cry,I cry... If you are in distress,so will I be, If you are blissful,so will I be, and where by your intentions my existence around you emanates, And I am always with you not as a thought nor physical presence, but as an air,as a land,as a water,as a fire and as a space.... Always in contact because you are a product of my 5 elements, And I have a memory,the memories are your intentions, Every element that exists in and out, transfigures with your volition, So,if your intentions are pure,pristine, Then you shall master my five elements, If you seek me,then I will reveal myself.... Your seeking has to be super-intense that you could be receptive to the truth, When I reveal myself,you will dissolve in me, Into the eternal maternal muse.... Where bliss never cease to exist.... And then there are no intentions but unruffled reverberations..... Seek me unto "that which is not"
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Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
The user manual of the life:
Birds flying in the sky, transfigured from the nests they lie. A flower blushing nature's hues transfigured from it's seedy shoes. On the cusp of being caught cells transfigure into thought. Laughter breaks monotony' s pause, transfigured from a joyous cause. Dawn's soft welcome morning light, transfigures the mystery of night. Days from hours disappear as time transfigures into years. Mercy sent from God above is grace transfigured from His love.
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Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 1:43 PM UTC
Transfiguration
they read between the lines, but they'll never understand what goes on beneath the ink. they won't see how every word i write somehow transfigures itself into the letters of your name. it reminds me of how you used your lips to trace the pattern of your initials on my skin and how you were always so afraid of letting go of the past. they'll overthink this as if it's a metaphor for something of a deeper meaning, but i've never truly understood it myself. i'm still trying to comprehend why you left without any warning or why you threw me away as swiftly as you picked me up, but i'm beginning to think there is no underlying message.
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Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC
overanalyzed poet
CHRISTMAS TODAY Christmas comes gently to our mountain town,      As softly drifting snow draws a glimmering veil Across our forests, slopes and valleys. Festive lights of blue, green, gold and purple     Cast a magic spell on our streets and promenades Where neighbors bustle about in search     Of the perfect toy or sweater   For a friend or cherished aunt or cousin. The sound of bells cuts the December chill     Rung by a volunteer Santa at his kettle Or pealing from a steeple across the valley. Christmas is here and the time is nigh     To celebrate the advent of a sacred child With joyous songs of hope and gratitude. MEMORIES Let us journey back to a time when we      Curled up in the safety of our parents’ arms. We remember The aromas of holiday meals that filled our homes      With the promise of the grand feast soon to come. We remember Aunts and uncles poured into sofas and armchairs      Recounting slightly embellished tales of family lore While we children dashed about the yard      Heaving snow bombs and building the grandest snowman ever. We remember it all - The sounds, the scents and faces of our kin      That taught us how to love and be loved - For after all, memories are the sacred shrines      Of our origins, our present and our future lives. MOVING INTO THE LIGHT Christmas illuminates our souls and transfigures us.      Lost hopes are re-found and promises renewed. A better world seems once again within our grasp    As we bathe in the glow of fresh new possibilities. This is a golden healing time when     Disagreements are ushered off our stages And supplanted by beacons of filial gratitude. In that hallowed night of silence,      God whispered his plan for us And we listen in wonder as we treasure      That miraculous night we call Christmas. Robert Charles Howard - 2022
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Nov 19, 2022
Nov 19, 2022 at 3:09 AM UTC
Holiday Triptych
CHRISTMAS TODAY Christmas comes gently to our mountain town,      As softly drifting snow draws a glimmering veil Across our forests, slopes and valleys. Festive lights of blue, green, gold and purple     Cast a magic spell on our streets and promenades Where neighbors bustle about in search     Of the perfect toy or sweater   For a friend or cherished aunt or cousin. The sound of bells cuts the December chill     Rung by a volunteer Santa at his kettle Or pealing from a steeple across the valley. Christmas is here and the time is nigh     To celebrate the advent of a sacred child With joyous songs of hope and gratitude. MEMORIES Let us journey back to a time when we      Curled up in the safety of our parents’ arms. We remember The aromas of holiday meals that filled our homes      With the promise of the grand feast soon to come. We remember Aunts and uncles poured into sofas and armchairs      Recounting slightly embellished tales of family lore While we children dashed about the yard      Heaving snow bombs and building the grandest snowman ever. We remember it all - The sounds, the scents and faces of our kin      That taught us how to love and be loved - For after all, memories are the sacred shrines      Of our origins, our present and our future lives. MOVING INTO THE LIGHT Christmas illuminates our souls and transfigures us.      Lost hopes are re-found and promises renewed. A better world seems once again within our grasp    As we bathe in the glow of fresh new possibilities. This is a golden healing time when     Disagreements are ushered off our stages And supplanted by beacons of filial gratitude. In that hallowed night of silence,      God whispered his plan for us And we listen in wonder as we treasure      That miraculous night we call Christmas. Robert Charles Howard - 2022
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44
She is not gone. You have not lost her. She is transformed into shine and glow and into star stuff. You are part of her in some way that glistens in the Universe. Death is only a segment of the cycle of which you are the best part. Her laugh rings around you. Her love transfigures you. Listen. The tinkling of star songs is for you. The sparkle in your eye is her. Be aware that death is a tap over your shoulder, a smile in your mind. You have touched a miracle of which you are a player. There is no way into tomorrow. Today is the way to love her forever. Today is always. Caroline Shank
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Dec 14, 2019
Dec 14, 2019 at 11:19 AM UTC
Miracles
Wrap me up in your hair strands Gaze that lift me (Sink me) Drowned in your arms Salty waters Scarce pearls A glimpse of your body Singing notes in the deep Your voice Suicide A drowned Dead by desire Your arms Shaping my ascension A soul blended In the moon reflex A lost shell of flesh Temptation Aesthetic melancholy Observing you from afar Maze of desperation Slave of a deep desire Taken and brought By waves and winds By echoes that transfigures Into hollowness The hope to delight myself With your sing at the hillside Wasted life Filled by your absence The moon smiles to me And luck laughs with you Sat by an ocean Of flesh shells
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Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 1:15 AM UTC
Écailles de Lune
My graces are not fulfilled when you are trying your best to assume that I am not confident, or smart and capable. I am not sure if I need to label myself to be any of those characteristics but I know that I have pure faith. It is undeniable that the world is not only senseless in the best of ways but that I am senseless in the oddest ways How I want to be a guru in tidying. I can't tidy yet. My room is done but fails the standards and hopes I have for it. Much like a child, who fails the standards and hopes parents had for her. Many times I hope only to speak the truth and not in earnest. I hope to speak the truth in truth. Present tense. Future tense is my enemy because the future never happens. She only disappears once within reach to turn into the horrible truth that is present day. She only then transfigures herself into disappointment when she has passed to become Past. My former best friend called me a downer. I am, until today, a downer to those who I thought were my friends. I guess the standards and hopes were not met for my friends to be sponges of my anger. I am not done. My anger, palpable. To those who don't know me, I seem quiet and nervous and sometimes laughing on the inside. Hopefully people notice. Presently I aim to live outwardly and without gentility. Rough and troubled was my youth. Mud and tumble is/was my trademark. I want that from now on. To live in authenticity and without any restraints. A bull in the field. Explosive.
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Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 8:28 PM UTC
A bull in the field.
All that I see in your eyes are a reflection of mine As we walk spiraling paths down and upwards in time Worlds of words slip in between the lines Old and new journeys continue and begin to unwind Cracks and crevices offer silver linings The absence of light transfigures into shining To breathe life into a dream entails subtle alchemy Exhale that which lies with you and inhale all that is me
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May 23, 2022
May 23, 2022 at 7:20 PM UTC
Crystal Vision
Quand tu touches ma tige Tu ne la touches pas seulement À proprement parler : Tu l'aiguises, tu l'affûtes, tu la redessines Tu adoucis les angles et les courbures Tu la fais flèche de cathédrale Juste en la frôlant de tes ailes de fée. Quand tu touches ma tige Je ne savoure pas seulement À proprement parler Je frémis, je frétille, je pétille de tous mes rhizomes Je sors de mes entrailles telles des queues de comète De petits couinements infinis d'années-lumière Adulterines et incestueuses Tu m'effleures, tu m'effeuilles J'enfle, j'enfle, je gonfle Je vogue entre les galaxies et les îles Et toi pendant que tu m'electrises De tous tes cils De toutes tes tentacules Pendant que tu me transfigures Tu me cajoles sans hâte en geignant. Et dans chaque gémissement Je crois entendre en playback "Have you ever been to Electric Ladyland"
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Nov 27, 2019
Nov 27, 2019 at 4:13 AM UTC
Quand tu touches ma tige
I find you in the deepest recesses of my heart, I look for you in every visage, I trace you in every path I trudge on, The drudgery piles on but the search goes on. The morning breeze is reminiscent of you, Your thoughts wake me up in the somniferous air of two, Every moment I breathe you, Every second I envisage you. In every prayer I chant you, Every figure transfigures into you, I look for you everywhere, And I will look for you forever
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Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 7:27 AM UTC
Untitled
Blooming explosions of petal on green Twirling upward to the sky Creating color on the scene and then withering inward to die. after birth drips dew on the grass as the moon spins in her cycle Telling the moment its passed No struggle in her being, as there is no rival. Drying of wet as the sun blows its rays Evaporation transfigures molecular collections Its continued for many days this innovation of God's erections.
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Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 3:19 AM UTC
Libido
An idea forms;       We become the stillness in motion, Between seeing and making,      Contemplation or action, The words cause us to act.       We dare give eyes to the idea, And pen to paper becomes      A resurrection of presences, Poetry,       Like life writing itself, A day becomes dateless,      Life lights up these words, We walk the path of inspiration,      Truth lived and suffered ,           Shared rage            Shared passion,               Shared abyss,                  Shared love..... In the end of the verse The poet transfigures Inspiration into incarnations, Given as a sacrifice of self: All that remains are the ghosts, We are siblings in the void.
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May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 1:37 PM UTC
At The Moment Of Inspiration A Poet Leaves A Sacrifice