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+--- Thread: Poetry (/showthread.php?tid=964)
RE: Poetry - Cyan - 01-12-2012
Oh my
Good God
Its Full
Of Ra's
*Hold for applause*
The secret to creation is
The attempt to destroy is.
To forget to ground.
To remember to rise.
Always link it
To the basic.
Chemicals it all
Energy is the answer
*Drops out at this level*
RE: Poetry - norral - 01-14-2012
what are you good at ?
what are u good at ?
well, im good at playing monster.
monster ?
yes u know monster, scary monster ,
with my grand kids.
but that's not a skill
u cant sell that
it was never meant to sell
it was meant to have fun with
again let me ask what are u good at ?
again i would say i'm good at playing scary monster
others who rule this world are good at being monsters
im just good at playing scary monster
but where is the value in that ?
value to who ? to my grand kids they like it
and i like it to
but u cant sell that
it was never intended to sell , it is meant
to be given
i dont understand that
i know
norral
Not Even His Dog - haqiqu - 01-14-2012
NOT EVEN HIS DOG
One night my neighbor decided
it would be better for
the family peace if he slept over
at his mother's place so he got
into his pickup & drove there
Next morning lying on
the front step what could it be
waiting for him to emerge
but his daughter's dog
come all the way from home
Somehow she had not only
worked out where he was
but had also made her way
across town at night just
to wish him a good morning
She had been there before
riding along in the truck
but who knew she was
paying such close attention?
She gave no indication
Dogs don't talk about love
They live it
Dogs always know the time
The time is now
& love is what connects us
~Steve Toth~
RE: Poetry - norral - 01-15-2012
oh so beautiful thank u
RE: Poetry - norral - 01-15-2012
the littlest dick cheney
the littlest dick cheny
was just and inch.3
he'd run around denying
his part in history
9/11 im inccocent
had nothing to to with me
oh littlest dick cheney
lies will never set u free
he'd run around all day
trying not to be scraped off someones shoe
littlest dick cheny i think hes turning blue
dogs and cats would love him
as they chased him down the street
oh littlest dick cheney
they just think that you're a treat
a judgement pronounced by god
upon your evil head
you'll live like this for millions of years
and then you'll wake up dead
oh littlest dick cheny sentenced to a life of fear
maybe now you;ll learn how if felt
when children bombs did hear
your situation was created by yourself
the only one u have to blame is you
oh littlest dick cheney
gods judgements are always true
norral
Psalm 15 - haqiqu - 01-16-2012
Psalms 15
Lord, who can be trusted with power,
and who may act in your place?
Those with a passion for justice,
who speak the truth from their hearts;
who have let go of selfish interests
and grown beyond their own lives;
who see the wretched as their family
and the poor as their flesh and blood.
They alone are impartial
and worthy of the people's trust.
Their compassion lights up the whole earth,
and their kindness endures forever.
(A Book of Psalms, translations by Stephen Mitchell)
RE: Poetry - norral - 01-17-2012
amen amen amen and amen sister
u
The Moment - haqiqu - 01-18-2012
many
's to you brother norral 
*****************************************************
The Moment
The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,
is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can't breathe.
No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.
~ Margaret Atwood ~
(morning in the burned house)
RE: Poetry - norral - 01-20-2012
ha ha so true . we are just stewards for a little while of this life and then it is returned from whence it came ..
thank you
if jesus was one of the super rich
if christ was one of the super rich
what exactly would be his pitch
more money more money more money for me
more money more money is all i see
or would he turn around and give
all of it so others could live
a better life free free from worry and care
and then perhaps he,d even cut his hair
and gift it to a little child
with tender mercy oh so mild
so my question is if christ would do these deeds so kind
why oh why is it so hard to find
a rich man who or woman who wants to share
some one rich who actually cares
about the struggling human race
why i ask is this the case ?
norral
RE: Poetry - Plenum - 01-20-2012
AN ODE TO Ra.
there was once a group
Carla, Don, and Jim.
to the skies they sought
seeking, o, they sought.
their beseeching loud
heard the group of Ra.
speaking word by word,
Carla spoke their words.
this, the Law of One,
yes, all one it is.
we do humbly speak
to you humans there.
do wander no more,
our love/light is bright.
we come in service
we speak true-thfully.
praise the Creator
praise the all bright Light.
we speak as we can
to keep free will free.
we offer to serve
we offer to teach.
together we seek,
the final place, peace.
adonai, my friends
the Harvest is come.
shake hands, very soon
embraced, we shall be.
Adonai, my friends.
Adonai.
- -
copyleft, plenum
RE: Poetry - alchemikey - 01-23-2012
"If God knows everything there is to know,
Then I ask: how can God learn or grow?
If you knew all that was and all that will be,
Then how can any decision you make be free?
If you were everything and everything was you,
Then there would be nothing for you to do;
And there we find God, in this very position,
Imprisoned by the power of his own condition,
But there is a way to escape from this net,
All that God would have to do is forget,
Forget what He was and in ignorance find
Choice and free will, from confusion of mind;
And so God created a plane of limitation,
That confusing place we call creation,
A place of ignorance where we're free to choose,
Free to make mistakes and free to lose;
For only a being who knows not what is true
Has the free will to choose what to do;
Through us God can live, think, feel and see,
An experience He knew, but now He can be;
Yet though we've forgotten where we come from,
The closer we get, the happier we become,
With control of awareness you can return,
But you have less choice the more you learn;
Each mortal longs for the infinite's touch,
Yet the infinite longs to know not so much;"
from the book of aquarius
RE: Poetry - Confused - 01-23-2012
Thanks for sharing the poem, alchemikey. Very heartrending and rang so genuinely true. Thank you.
RE: Poetry - norral - 01-24-2012
standing up and speaking out
yeah u know im going to shout
black is black and white is white
wrong is wrong and right is right
aint no mixing one side to the other
those who are evil just aint my brother
im 64 but i still gots the fire
guess what my soul is not for hire
i cant be bought with fools gold
riches are not my earthly goal
justice freedom and truth are what im about
and thats why like i said i am going to shout
norral
Expect Nothing - haqiqu - 01-24-2012
Expect Nothing
Expect nothing. Live frugally
On surprise.
Become a stranger
To need of pity
Or, if compassion be freely
Given out
Take only enough
Stop short of urge to plead
Then purge away the need.
Wish for nothing larger
Than your own small heart
Or greater than a star;
Tame wild disappointment
With caress unmoved and cold
Make of it a parka
For your soul.
Discover the reason why
So tiny a human midget
Exists at all
So scared unwise
But expect nothing. Live frugally
On surprise.
~ Alice Walker ~
(Anything We Love Can Be Saved)
Expect nothing. Live frugally
On surprise.
Become a stranger
To need of pity
Or, if compassion be freely
Given out
Take only enough
Stop short of urge to plead
Then purge away the need.
Wish for nothing larger
Than your own small heart
Or greater than a star;
Tame wild disappointment
With caress unmoved and cold
Make of it a parka
For your soul.
Discover the reason why
So tiny a human midget
Exists at all
So scared unwise
But expect nothing. Live frugally
On surprise.
~ Alice Walker ~
(Anything We Love Can Be Saved)
RE: Poetry - norral - 01-26-2012
when
when will justice ee'r appear
i feel it hovering in the air
the souls of the ancient do cry out
within our hearts there is no doubt
a time for beauty truth and light
for sharing power , abandoning might.
humanity turns with longing eyes
ever looking to the skies
for something wonderful to us befall
hear oh hear our longing call
norral
impeccable
oh lord let my life be impeccable
search my heart and reveal to me any secret pride
may i live this life so that i have nothing to hide
may my loyalties be always to the downtrodden and the oppressed
may i always to this world give my very best
heal me and purge me of all guile and deceit
let your spirit be a lamp unto my feet
that a pathway of honour and truth i may walk
in my actions and not just my talk
do u want someone to battle the ancient foe
choose me lord , i am most happy to go
norral
editors note, the name of the second poem is impeccable, not to be confused with unpeckable. unpeckable is when u handle a chicken but u are surrounded by an invisible force field and said chicken is unable to peck u. that, to be clear, is different from being impeccable. just wanted to clarify that
RE: Poetry - norral - 01-28-2012
i love my wifey
i love my wifey
she is my lifey
this girl done put up with me
going on now for 43
and yet and still all i care
is that we still want to share
wifey good, me kinda bad
having wifey make me glad
norral
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BxOjTTlu6Cc&feature=fvst
RE: Poetry - turtledude23 - 01-29-2012
I used to write poems which focused on the negative because I focused on the negative, the following is the first positive poem I've written which I feel proud of. I wrote it last week about a girl I was deeply infatuated with who doesn't seem to feel anywhere near what I felt for her. I thought she was a wanderer too and maybe even, for lack of a better word, "soulmate", though I think a more accurate term would be someone I believe I'd be highly compatible with of whom there probably aren't many on the planet. Unrequited love is tough; here's my poem.
-------
Synergy
Let's discover
One another
And all the the mysteries of life
Let's explore
Beyond the doors
Of perception and Earthly strife
Let's experiment
And not repent
Living without regret
Let's test the limits
Of metaphysics
And do what we'll never forget
Let's do our best
Ignore the rest
And laugh, and learn and grow
Let's both prepare
To become aware
That this is all a show
Let's use our youth
To learn the truth
About where we both came from
Let's find Infinity
Through our affinity
Until our lives are done
Let's discover
One another
And all the the mysteries of life
Let's explore
Beyond the doors
Of perception and Earthly strife
Let's experiment
And not repent
Living without regret
Let's test the limits
Of metaphysics
And do what we'll never forget
Let's do our best
Ignore the rest
And laugh, and learn and grow
Let's both prepare
To become aware
That this is all a show
Let's use our youth
To learn the truth
About where we both came from
Let's find Infinity
Through our affinity
Until our lives are done
RE: Poetry - norral - 01-29-2012
very nice brother. i like the flow. thanks for sharing with us .
norral
RE: Poetry - norral - 01-30-2012
last night
as i went to bed late last night
under sheets so clean and white
i ran into something so big and tall
they called themselves the god of all
there i sat on the ledge
as i peered over the edge
into the pool of eternity
the name of this place is liberty
so i jumped i dove and i took a swim
i drank in the waters deep within
river of life flowing so free
the god of all is u and me
have no doubts was the message i heard
the god of all has said the word
and soon the world will plainly see
we have entered the time of liberty
but but but was in my head
thats counter to all the things i read
but the god of all just laughed and smiled
just be patient for a little while
so i decided to have faith and trust and joy
the god of all will be my boy
i'll listen and trust and wait and see
for soon mankind will be made free
norral
there is no power greater than god. contrary to what msm would have us believe. when we have faith all is possible. that is the message i am getting right now. there is no reason to fear anything or anyone .
RE: Poetry - alchemikey - 01-30-2012
i dance like a fool
for the feeling of renewel
my heart beats fast...my blood does surge
releasing toxins in a sweaty purge
the music moves me to the floor
i spin around and then i spin some more
i listen with my heart as i close my eyes
the language of dance tells no lies
waves of sound ripple through my being
how is it that movement can be so freeing?
my body follows wherever my hands guide
the bass builds up and i'm called to slide
and slide i do synchronized with the beat
flowing from side to side on the sides of my feet
the life force of water is my energizing fuel
i only dance...no battling...no duel
Fresh - haqiqu - 01-30-2012
Fresh
To move
Cleanly.
Needing to be
Nowhere else.
Wanting nothing
From any store.
To lift something
You already had
And set it down in
A new place.
Awakened eye
Seeing freshly.
What does that do to
The old blood moving through
Its channels?
~ Naomi Shihab Nye ~
(You & Yours)
RE: Poetry - norral - 02-01-2012
the edges
groping around at the edges
feeling it, like blind men
we all try to describe this elephant
and how it affects us.
peace says one
joy say another
hope ;
compassion perhaps
what is it we are talking about
union of course
the realization that we are all family
that intimacy, lack of judgement , acceptance of
our foibles and idiosyncrosies
without even thinking about it
family we are
children from a far off star
scattered here a long time ago
now oh now is the time to know
all are one its plain to see
when i love u
i am really loving me
so close your eyes
take a deep breath
of ourselves we give the very very best
soon oh soon our hearts will see
a world of love and unity
norral
Straight Talk From Fox - haqiqu - 02-02-2012
Straight Talk From Fox
Listen says fox it is music to run
over the hills to lick
dew from the leaves to nose along
the edges of the ponds to smell the fat
ducks in their bright feathers but
far out, safe in their rafts of
sleep. It is like
music to visit the orchard, to find
the vole sucking the sweet of the apple, or the
rabbit with his fast-beating heart. Death itself
is a music. Nobody has ever come close to
writing it down, awake or in a dream. It cannot
be told. It is flesh and bones
changing shape and with good cause, mercy
is a little child beside such an invention. It is
music to wander the black back roads
outside of town no one awake or wondering
if anything miraculous is ever going to
happen, totally dumb to the fact of every
moment's miracle. Don't think I haven't
peeked into windows. I see you in all your seasons
making love, arguing, talking about God
as if he were an idea instead of the grass,
instead of the stars, the rabbit caught
in one good teeth-whacking hit and brought
home to the den. What I am, and I know it, is
responsible, joyful, thankful. I would not
give my life for a thousand of yours.
~ Mary Oliver ~
(Red Bird)
Listen says fox it is music to run
over the hills to lick
dew from the leaves to nose along
the edges of the ponds to smell the fat
ducks in their bright feathers but
far out, safe in their rafts of
sleep. It is like
music to visit the orchard, to find
the vole sucking the sweet of the apple, or the
rabbit with his fast-beating heart. Death itself
is a music. Nobody has ever come close to
writing it down, awake or in a dream. It cannot
be told. It is flesh and bones
changing shape and with good cause, mercy
is a little child beside such an invention. It is
music to wander the black back roads
outside of town no one awake or wondering
if anything miraculous is ever going to
happen, totally dumb to the fact of every
moment's miracle. Don't think I haven't
peeked into windows. I see you in all your seasons
making love, arguing, talking about God
as if he were an idea instead of the grass,
instead of the stars, the rabbit caught
in one good teeth-whacking hit and brought
home to the den. What I am, and I know it, is
responsible, joyful, thankful. I would not
give my life for a thousand of yours.
~ Mary Oliver ~
(Red Bird)
RE: Poetry - abstrktion - 02-03-2012
This isn't "poetry," but it's of a literary genre...I wrote it for friends at Christmastime...a little parable. I have my own "meaning"--but I think it could have different meanings to different people and I'd love to hear any that you'd be willing to share.
The Parable of the Growers
Once upon a time in a land very close to where we all live, two growers tended their orchards. Both men worked hard and cared greatly for the trees under their care.
One day, the Lord of the Valley returned from a far land and brought with him gifts for all of his people. To the growers, he gave two trees unlike anything they had ever seen.
"Take each of you one tree. Nurture it and care for it and it will bring forth fruit more sweet and filling than any fruit you have ever tasted."
"How will we know when the fruit is ripe?" asked the first grower.
"We do not know the color of this foreign fruit nor its softness when fully ripe," added the second grower.
"When you place your hand under the fruit and it drops of its own accord, it is ripe." replied the Lord of the Valley.
Both growers hurried home to plant their trees. And the trees both began to grow, nurtured and loved by the conscientious growers.
And the good growers cared for their trees, marveling at the mystery and majesty of Nature, watching in wonder as both trees stretched forth their limbs, uncurled their leaves, and finally blossomed.
At length, the trees began to bear. And each morning, the growers would place their hands under the fruit to see if it was ripe.
And each morning, the first grower would shrug when the fruit didn’t fall and then go about tending the other trees.
And each morning the second grower would become more worried. He began to spend more and more of his time caring for the one special tree, fretting that he had left something undone. So he gave it more water—or less water—or trimmed its branches—or stabilized the branches with poles--or added fertilizer—or withheld fertilizer.
Many days passed.
The orchard of the first grower came ready to harvest. He invited the people of the valley to come and savor the first fruits of the season. But the fruit of the special tree was not yet ripe. And so he waited.
The orchard of the second grower was also ready to harvest, but it was not as it had been. He had devoted so much of himself to the special tree that the others had been neglected and were unable to give as much fruit as they had in the past. This made him even more anxious about the special tree.
“When do you think the fruit will be ripe?” the second grower asked the first grower one morning.
“I cannot tell,” said the first grower.
“Do you think the Lord of the Valley tricked us? The season has passed and the fruit is not yet ripe,” the second grower stated.
“I cannot know the timing of the tree nor the intentions of the Lord of the Valley,” replied the first grower, “but I have faith in both.”
The second grower muttered under his breath and stalked away. That night he slept on a mat under his special tree.
“I have let my other trees dwindle and given everything to you,” he accused the tree.
“I had little harvest because I counted on you, believed in you, and cared for you above all other things,” he accused the tree.
The tree did not reply, but a keen observer would have seen it lean towards him in sympathy and love.
The grower tried to sleep, but sleep did not come.
He placed his hand under the fruit, but the fruit did not fall.
He cursed the day that the Lord of the Valley had given him the tree and vowed he would never again try to make the fruit fall.
But the next morning, he went again to the tree. He placed his hand under the fruit. It did not drop.
“Enough!” he cried, seizing a piece of the fruit and tearing it from the tree.
He looked at it for a moment, surprised that he now held it in his hand. Then he brought it to his mouth and attempted to take a bite.
The fruit was hard and unyielding and bitter. He threw it on the ground and spit the fruit out of his mouth.
“You are a bad tree with sour fruit! I should never have spent such care and devotion on you! You are unworthy of my attention!”
He went to get his ax.
Within a quarter hour, he had destroyed the tree and hacked it to pieces. Just then, the first grower came out to check his tree.
“What have you done?” the first grower exclaimed in horror.
“It was a bad tree with sour fruit. We have labored in vain.” the second grower snarled and stalked off.
Many more days passed.
The first grower continued to check his tree each day.
And the second grower came out to watch him check his tree each day.
And then it happened. The fruit dropped into the first grower’s hand. He tasted it. And truly it was the sweetest, most filling fruit he had ever tasted. The first grower wanted to share his joy with the second grower.
He called to him, “You must come and taste this.”
The second grower hesitated, but at last couldn’t resist. He went to the tree. The fruit dropped in his hand. He put it to his mouth. It was as the first grower had said.
“You are fortunate,” he said with some bitterness, “the Lord of the Valley gave you the good tree.”
Just then the Lord of the Valley came up behind the two men. “The two trees were grafted from the same parent tree. There was no difference between them. Both would have borne fruit of great worth, had both been allowed the time to grow and ripen in their own time.”
The second grower looked to the patch of earth where his tree had once stood. He lowered his head, "I could not wait, and now all is lost."
The first grower came over and put an arm around his shoulder. “Nothing is lost forever,” he said.
“You only say that because your tree is full and ready to harvest.”
“No,” said the Lord of the Valley, “he says it because it is true. Look.”
The two growers looked where the Lord of the Valley pointed.
A small green shoot was already pushing its way up from the spot where the second grower’s tree had been.
And Time passed and at length the tree grew from shoot, to sapling, to mature tree. And the second grower watched over it carefully and with great affection while tending the rest of his orchard. For having lost it once, he cherished it all the more.
And as he watched, the tree brought forth buds, and the buds turned to blossoms, and the blossoms opened wide and grew into soft, white, round fruit.
And after he had harvested all of his other trees, he came before the special tree. “I once tried to force my will upon you. I once tore you down and broke up your lovely limbs. I have no right to your fruit, but I will ask anyway and hope you can forgive me.”
He did not know it, but the tree had never been angry; it had only sorrowed that it had been unable to give the second grower what he had so desired. It attempted to lean out a branch to the grower, who thought the branch had just been moved by the wind.
The second grower stretched forth his hand. The fruit dropped.
He looked at it for a moment, marveling in its beauty and perfection. Tears welled up in his eyes. He partook of the fruit, and truly, it was the most sweet and filling of all things he had ever tasted.
And quite suddenly the Lord of the Valley was there next to him. The second grower looked at him with gratitude and greater understanding, “It is as you had said.”
The Lord of the Valley smiled, and there was Light in his eyes, “Sometimes that which doesn’t seem to have value or goodness is only unripe, and, if given time, will grow into something more beautiful and perfect than what was initially desired.”
“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven… [God] hath made every thing beautiful in his time” (Ecclesiastes 3:1, 11).
"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of which is not seen...By faith Enoch was translated that he should not see death; and was not found, because God had translated him" (Hebrews 11:1, 5).
RE: Poetry - norral - 02-03-2012
thats wonderful writing. u had me going there i didnt know how it was going to end. thanks for sharing
norral
RE: Poetry - haqiqu - 02-03-2012
a wonderful parable, abstrktion. patience is a virtue, but hard to practice. thanks for a lovely story.
I belive in all - haqiqu - 02-06-2012
I believe in all
I believe in all that has never yet been spoken.
I want to free what waits within me
so that what no one has dared to wish for
may for once spring clear
without my contriving.
If this is arrogant, God, forgive me,
but this is what I need to say.
May what I do flow from me like a river,
no forcing and no holding back,
the way it is with children.
Then in these swelling and ebbing currents,
these deepening tides moving out, returning,
I will sing to you as no one ever has,
streaming through widening channels
into the open sea.
~ Rainer Maria Rilke ~
RE: I belive in all - Plenum - 02-06-2012
(02-06-2012, 11:09 PM)haqiqu Wrote: ~ Rainer Maria Rilke ~
even better in the original German if you can find a parallel translation.
RE: I belive in all - haqiqu - 02-06-2012
(02-06-2012, 11:13 PM)plenum Wrote:(02-06-2012, 11:09 PM)haqiqu Wrote: ~ Rainer Maria Rilke ~
even better in the original German if you can find a parallel translation.
i'm sure it is, but i can't read (or write or speak) German. Rilke is a favorite of mine, next to Rumi. his poetry is spare and very illuminating.
Picnic, LIghtning - haqiqu - 02-07-2012
Picnic, Lightning
It is possible to be struck by a
meteor or a single-engine plane while
reading in a chair at home. Pedestrians
are flattened by safes falling from
rooftops mostly within the panels of
the comics, but still, we know it is
possible, as well as the flash of
summer lightning, the thermos toppling
over, spilling out on the grass.
And we know the message can be
delivered from within. The heart, no
valentine, decides to quit after
lunch, the power shut off like a
switch, or a tiny dark ship is
unmoored into the flow of the body's
rivers, the brain a monastery,
defenseless on the shore. This is
what I think about when I shovel
compost into a wheelbarrow, and when
I fill the long flower boxes, then
press into rows the limp roots of red
impatiens -- the instant hand of Death
always ready to burst forth from the
sleeve of his voluminous cloak. Then
the soil is full of marvels, bits of
leaf like flakes off a fresco,
red-brown pine needles, a beetle quick
to burrow back under the loam. Then
the wheelbarrow is a wilder blue, the
clouds a brighter white, and all I
hear is the rasp of the steel edge
against a round stone, the small
plants singing with lifted faces, and
the click of the sundial as one hour
sweeps into the next.
~ Billy Collins ~
(Picnic, Lightning)