+1 if you like poetry.

Monday, January 31, 2011

How I am feeling right about now.

[ 9:50] [1-31-11]
i feel as if life, love and the pursuit of happiness are trying to thimblerig me into the rocks like a vulpine succubus feeding off my want for a paphian existence.
word of the day is - 


\ THIM-buhl-rig \  , verb;
To cheat or swindle, as in the traditional shell game known as thimblerig.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

A Dream within a Dream by Edgar Alan Poe

A Dream Within a Dream
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow --
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if Hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand --
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep -- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

by Edgar Allan Poe
Poetry of the day REVIEW:
I think this man realized the self similar nature of reality. Reality is just a dream with in a dream with in a dream, and when you die, you will continue to dream, and continue to exist in this continuous dream.




   JOB-uh-ree  , noun;
The conduct of public or official business for the sake of improper private gain.

Monday, January 24, 2011

The Oak by Alfred Lord Tennyson

The Oak

Live thy Life,

Young and old,
Like yon oak,
Bright in spring,
Living gold;

Then; and then
Gold again.
All his leaves
Fall'n at length,
Look, he stands,
Trunk and bough
Naked strength.

by Alfred Lord Tennyson
The Suppressed Poems of Alfred Lord Tennyson

Poetry of the Day Review:
 simple enough, life compared to the life of an oak tree. i bet its pretty boring to be an oak tree though. :/ unless the tree has a consciousness. and all day we see a tree, on this level of existence, but the to the tree, its god of its own universe, its sitting at a bar somewhere interacting with dream characters.

oh btw word of the day for your comment challenge is......
paphian: of or pertaining to love, esp. illicit physical love.

comment of the day
Suciô Sanchez said...

Oh Paphian Goddess,
Thy honey-tongued whispers
set me straining for the heavens,
Like a blasphemous finger
pointing accusingly at Mount Olympus.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Believe In Yourself And Your Dreams Will Come True by Susan Polis Schutz

Believe In Yourself And Your
Dreams Will Come True

Know what you can and want to do in life.
Set goals for yourself and work hard to achieve them.
Strive to have fun every day.
Use your creativity as a means of expressing your feelings.
Be sensitive in viewing the world.
Develop a sense of confidence.
Be honest with yourself and with others.
Follow your heart and adhere to your own truths.
Know that the more you give the more you will receive.
Believe in yourself and your dreams will come true.

Poetry Review:
and then you too can wipe your tuty fuit with money..  
THOUGHTS BECOME THINGS! This man knows what im talking about, dude looks like he just discovered fried turkey, um just sayin.

oh btw. pic related, its my dream.

More by Susan Polis Schutz 

a challenge appears.
bet you cant use the word of the day in your comment.

the word of the day is.

<b>lollop</b>: to move forward with a bounding or leaping motion.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Beauty sat bathing by a spring by Anthony Munday

Beauty sat bathing by a spring
Where fairest shades did hide her;
The winds blew calm, the birds did sing,
The cool streams ran beside her.
My wanton thoughts entic'd mine eye
To see what was forbidden:
But better memory said, fie!
So vain desire was chidden.
Hey nonny, nonny, |&c.|

Into a slumber then I fell,
When fond imagination
Seemed to see, but could not tell
Her feature or her fashion.
But even as babes in dreams do smile,
And sometime fall a-weeping,
So I awak'd, as wise this while
As when I fell a-sleeping.
Hey nonny, nonny, |&c.|

Anthony Munday 
Anthony Munday and Civic Culture: Theatre, History and Power in Early Modern London 1580-1633

How this work makes me feel:
like taking a nap and going into a lucid dream. and staying there lol.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

16-bit Intel 8088 chip by Charles Bulkowski

16-bit Intel 8088 chip

with an Apple Macintosh
you can't run Radio Shack programs
in its disc drive.
nor can a Commodore 64
drive read a file
you have created on an
IBM Personal Computer.
both Kaypro and Osborne computers use
the CP/M operating system
but can't read each other's
for they format (write
on) discs in different
the Tandy 2000 runs MS-DOS but
can't use most programs produced for
the IBM Personal Computer
unless certain
bits and bytes are
but the wind still blows over
and in the Spring
the turkey buzzard struts and
flounces before his

Charles Bukowski

Ham on Rye: A Novel

Dictionary.coms Word of the Day
[kon-kyoo-pi-suh-buhl, kong-] 
–adjective Archaic .
worthy of being desired.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Love's Blindness by Alfred Austin

Love's Blindness by Alfred Austin
Now do I know that Love is blind, for I
Can see no beauty on this beauteous earth,
No life, no light, no hopefulness, no mirth,
Pleasure nor purpose, when thou art not nigh.
Thy absence exiles sunshine from the sky,
Seres Spring's maturity, checks Summer's birth,
Leaves linnet's pipe as sad as plover's cry,
And makes me in abundance find but dearth.
But when thy feet flutter the dark, and thou
With orient eyes dawnest on my distress,
Suddenly sings a bird on every bough,
The heavens expand, the earth grows less and less,
The ground is buoyant as the ether now,
And all looks lovely in thy loveliness.

My Understanding of this poem and love:
 Love is like a bright city light, a light with its own gravity, love is like a star that is borderline black hole, and you're standing at the event horizon doing everything thing in your power to felicitate a gentle slip. A gentle glide into that infinite yet finite existence. Then you are broken down into the most simplistic form of yourself, energy.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

On the Beach at Night Alone by Walt Whitman

by: Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
      N the beach at night alone,
      As the old mother sways her to and fro singing her husky song,
      As I watch the bright stars shining, I think a thought of the clef of the universes and of the future.
      A vast similitude interlocks all,
      All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons, planets,
      All distances of place however wide,
      All distances of time, all inanimate forms,
      All souls, all living bodies though they be ever so different, or in different worlds,
      All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes, the fishes, the brutes,
      All nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages,
      All identities that have existed or may exist on this globe, or any globe,
      All lives and deaths, all of the past, present, future,
      This vast similitude spans them, and always has spann'd,
      And shall forever span them and compactly hold and enclose them.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

The Night is Darkening Around Me by Emily Bronte

The Night is Darkening Around Me by Emily Bronte
The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow ;
But a tyrant spell has bound me,
And I cannot, cannot go.

The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow ;
The storm is fast descending,
And yet I cannot go.

Clouds beyond clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below ;
But nothing drear can move me :
I will not, cannot go.

Saturday, January 8, 2011

Fame by Sri Chinmoy

I do not want happiness, name and fame.
If I want them, I can get them.
What is most difficult to get is
      Your Compassion.
And for that I am crying, I am
      shedding bitter tears.
I am not getting Your Compassion.
The world is smiling and laughing at me.
But I wish only to be enamoured of
       Your victory.

Shame, shame!
My heart still craves for fame.
What do I need it for
As long as I am chosen
By God Himself
To participate eternally
In His cosmic Game?

Just for a little transient fame
He tortured his silver purity-breath
And destroyed his golden humility-life


My fame is not lasting.  
Even the experience of fame
Is not lasting.
But the Compassion
Of my Beloved Supreme
In and through my fame
Is everlasting.


My Lord Supreme,  
Do spare me from name and fame.
My heart consciously, soulfully
And devotedly
Longs to play only with You
In Your Cosmic Game.

Power, name and fame  
Together march.
Destination: nowhere.
Love, oneness and fulness
Together fly.
Destination: Heaven's smile-blossoms.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

America by Walt Whitman


by Walt Whitman

Centre of equal daughters, equal sons, 
All, all alike endear'd, grown, ungrown, young or old, 
Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich, 
Perennial with the Earth, with Freedom, Law and Love, 
A grand, sane, towering, seated Mother, 
Chair'd in the adamant of Time.

My Take on this: I personally think this poem is a load of wishful thinking, especially during those days, he didnt even live during a time where all men and women were equal, only words on some Hemp paper that was really just a play on words to begin with. Land of the FREE, nah, Land of the FREE MASON. Hell over half Whitmans life, SLAVES were still around, women had no rights. So IDK i just think there is more to this then those few words

Sunday, January 2, 2011

The Old Year by John Clare

The Old Year

The Old Year’s gone away
To nothingness and night:
We cannot find him all the day
Nor hear him in the night:
He left no footstep, mark or place
In either shade or sun:
The last year he’d a neighbour’s face,
In this he’s known as none.
All nothing everywhere:
Mists we on mornings see
Have more substance when they’re here
And more of form than he.
He was a friend by every fire,
In every cot and hall -
A guest to every heart’s desire,
And now he’s nought at all.

Old papers thrown away,
Old garments cast aside,
The talk of yesterday,
All things identified;
But times once torn away
No voices can recall:
The eve of New Year’s Day
Left the Old Year lost to all.

John Clare (1793-1864)