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Don Quixote
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Topic: A Poem a Day Posted: 08-Sep-2011 at 23:56 |
Emily Dickinson: My life closed twice before its close; It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me,
So huge, so hopeless to conceive, As these that twice befell. Parting is all we know of heaven, And all we need of hell.
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Don Quixote
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Posted: 09-Sep-2011 at 00:43 |
Dancing With the Moon
I had a dance with the Moon on the clearest night And I took her with me on the paths I used to pass And I told her Dream and Rage, stories withhold And I made her friend of mine, toll her new and old.
Just before the night did end she returned the coin And she told me something that most people do not know - That she is so annoyed that everyone knows Only one of her many faces, on only one they pose
While the real she is hidden there in the dark And that people find forbidding that she is so stark. And the Moon wept on my shoulder like a little girl That to her had been denied the freedom to run. DQ
Edited by Don Quixote - 09-Sep-2011 at 19:23
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Don Quixote
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Posted: 09-Sep-2011 at 00:54 |
Run
I took a Run, the wildest one, the wildest driven Run I took it like I take a Knife, an Oath, or a Gun, I took it like I take a Stand, a Promise, and myself I took it very seriously, like a gift of Elves.
I took a Run, a Run on it, a Run under the Run And I discovered that the Run is also made to drive To drive like Madness, an Instinct, a Spasm or a Pain To drive like from a forgotten tune memories do rain.
I took a Run, I have the Run, I have to run with it. I touch the Run, still on a run like a dynamite stick. I took the Run, the Run is me, the Run is what it is What I will be after it, will be later seen. DQ
Edited by Don Quixote - 09-Sep-2011 at 19:22
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Don Quixote
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Posted: 09-Sep-2011 at 19:30 |
Freedom
Freedom to Be in the Being Freedom to Mean in the Meaning Freedom to Run in the Night Freedom to Fly in the Kite
Freedom to Pass and to Come Freedom to Look at the Sun Freedom to Try and to Meet Freedom to Stay and to Beat
Freedom to Ride and to Row Freedom to Bend and Arrow Freedom to Dive and to Sink Freedom to Dream and to Think
Freedom in Mind, Feet and Hands Freedom of Crises and Pasts Freedom, however it ends Freedom is Priceless Event. DQ
Edited by Don Quixote - 09-Sep-2011 at 19:35
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Don Quixote
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Posted: 10-Sep-2011 at 19:55 |
Sometimes
Sometimes it's worth the effort to let go Sometimes it's easier to let it flow Sometimes with nature - Nature is what Nature is It's worth one's effort to release -
Like fishes in the water and the birds in air Sometimes this is what take to get one there Sometimes it's worth the manners to forgo Sometimes it's easier to let it go
And seems that one one's nature comprehend Then nature takes one to his end Like fishes and water and the birds in air It takes embracing Nature so it takes me there.
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Chookie
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Posted: 13-Sep-2011 at 17:35 |
Listen not
Listen not with your ears Listen from your heart Seeing, use not your eyes, Look from your soul Love not with your heart Love with your soul Touch with yourself Not with your hand Taste with your soul Not with your tongue Believe with your being And love with your all. Chookie
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For money you did what guns could not do.........
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Don Quixote
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Posted: 13-Sep-2011 at 18:52 |
Originally posted by Chookie
Listen not
Listen not with your ears Listen from your heart Seeing, use not your eyes, Look from your soul Love not with your heart Love with your soul Touch with yourself Not with your hand Taste with your soul Not with your tongue Believe with your being And love with your all.
Chookie
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I had said it befpre and I'll say it again - this is a good poem, Chookie, and a very soul-full one.
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Centrix Vigilis
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Posted: 14-Sep-2011 at 10:07 |
Epitaph To a Dog Near this spot
Are deposited the Remains
Of one
Who possessed Beauty
Without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferocity,
And all the Virtues of Man
Without his Vices.
The Price, which would be unmeaning flattery
If inscribed over Human Ashes,
Is but a just tribute to the Memory of
“Boatswain,” a Dog
Who was born at Newfoundland,
May, 1803,
And died in Newstead Abbey,
Nov. 18, 1808.
When some proud son of man returns to earth,
Unknown by glory, but upheld by birth,
The sculptor’s art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And stories urns record that rests below.
When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,
Not what he was, but what he should have been.
But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his master’s own,
Who labors, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonored falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth –
While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power –
Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit!
By nature vile, ennoble but by name,
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.
Ye, who perchance behold this simple urn,
Pass on – it honors none you wish to mourn.
To mark a friend’s remains these stones arise;
I never knew but one – and here he lies.
Lord Byron’s tribute to “Boatswain,” on a monument in the garden of Newstead Abbey.
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"Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence"
S. T. Friedman
Pilger's law: 'If it's been officially denied, then it's probably true'
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Don Quixote
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Posted: 14-Sep-2011 at 18:46 |
Good poem, CV...and there is so much truth to it..as anyone who had/has a dog knows.
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Don Quixote
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Posted: 14-Sep-2011 at 18:53 |
With 80 MHR Down the Road on a Kawasaki Vulcan '96
As I go into a Ride /If Ride is what it ought to be/ My body tense, my sinews stretch With every mile I duly hit
I thrust the Air, cut the Wind My bearings get lost And all I hear is my blood That in my temples throbs,
And diving into the coming air My arms are to receive My thighs are bonded to the saddle As the road down leaps.
And as the Speed is taking on Then I begin to See That not the Ride I'm Riding, but The Ride is Riding me. DQ
Edited by Don Quixote - 14-Sep-2011 at 18:56
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graywolf
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Posted: 15-Sep-2011 at 13:10 |
This is one I wrote a while back. GRANDFATHER'S CHRISTMAS
BY JOE CAMPISI It's Christmas in the 90's and things just aren't the same, I don't hear the laughter of Old Saint Nick........and some won't even call his name.
Jesus and Mary with wise men and all, this year, had to be moved from the lawn at City Hall.
So we talked to the children, the old and the young, as the family gathered......the story begun.
The story of Christ and how baby Jesus was born.....and the good things in life we all adorn.
I knew everything was alright as I held my grandchildren so very tight, they said Merry Christmas Grandpa.....we love you, good night.
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Don Quixote
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Posted: 15-Sep-2011 at 18:14 |
Watching "Hidalgo" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ltn93pE3Qoc&feature=relatedBody on Fire In the hot desert Air Body on Fire The Hottest Heat Baking one's lips one's breathing Slips Body on Fire There is no Water there is no Rain Body on Fire Walking alone till one's brain is Gone Body on Fire Dune after dune, Nature in tune Body on Fire Mile after Mile, no end in sight Body on Fire And one realize so cold and bright- There is no Win. Body on Fire When one's body burns And one's brain combusts Whatever is left in one's depth Goes to the surface - Forgotten words in maternal tongues, Rejected pasts that still buried last, Identities lost at any cost, From one's deepest vaults they come like ghosts - Prayer or curse, Desperate burst, Hunger and thirst. Body on Fire Can never returns where it was The Same. DQ
Edited by Don Quixote - 15-Sep-2011 at 18:24
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Centrix Vigilis
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Posted: 15-Sep-2011 at 20:59 |
"We Just Remember..."1966We just remember facts and actions,
To which our life presented us,
There are, amidst them, and inventions,
That kindly visit us sometimes.
But once we see a day, the April’s,
We hear laughter, catch a sight….
Reminiscences of our senses! –
They’re the inciters of our heart
That force it to palpate for hours,
Or promptly fly up to the skies,
And they’re saved not by thoughts of ours,
But by our hands and lips and eyes.
Konstanin Vanshenkin
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"Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence"
S. T. Friedman
Pilger's law: 'If it's been officially denied, then it's probably true'
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Chookie
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Posted: 16-Sep-2011 at 15:54 |
Druids
Brothers to the Sun Sisters to the Moon Stewards of the lore Guardians of the land
Keepers of the Earth
Chookie
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For money you did what guns could not do.........
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Nick1986
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Posted: 18-Sep-2011 at 19:05 |
Three rings for elven-kings under the sky
Seven for the dwarf-lords in their halls of stone
Nine for mortal men doomed to die
One for the dark lord on his dark throne
In the land of Mordor where the shadows lie
One ring to rule them all
One ring to find them
One ring to bring them all
And in the darkness bind them
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Me Grimlock not nice Dino! Me bash brains!
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Don Quixote
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Posted: 19-Sep-2011 at 19:06 |
Words
The words are symbols, sound, letters And so much more than names - The have the meaning and the feeling Of the things they carry -
The Word for Sun is light-projecting When I say it so The word for Heat feels so burning When rolling down my throat,
The word for Turn is sharply turning In my mouth tightly wrapped, The Word for Pain withers me As I try to stop it.
As the words go on and do What their magic carries I beware say you Name That in my depth is Buried
Lest it stop my heart in a mid-beat And all my air gulps Lest I can't lift up myself Under it's load of love. DQ
Edited by Don Quixote - 19-Sep-2011 at 19:07
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Don Quixote
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Posted: 20-Sep-2011 at 13:12 |
Hands
Blood like rubies grace my hands In a thousands rings Startled I removed the skin To reveal within -
Mutely gaze upon upon my hands Full with dead birds - Thousands of beaten dreams - Corpses with no reverse
Scream with gaping, with cut throats In grotesque remark Their glassy eyes still open Frozen, opaque, stark...
What a strength in human hands To carry such a load Day after day, mile after mile Heavy down the Road. DQ
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Nick1986
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Posted: 20-Sep-2011 at 19:02 |
Some beautiful poems there Don. Did you write them?
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Me Grimlock not nice Dino! Me bash brains!
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Don Quixote
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Posted: 20-Sep-2011 at 19:18 |
Originally posted by Nick1986
Some beautiful poems there Don. Did you write them? |
Those that are signed DQ, yes. Thank you, Nick and Dragon! It's nice to have feedback.
Edited by Don Quixote - 20-Sep-2011 at 19:21
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Chookie
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Posted: 21-Sep-2011 at 17:49 |
Abdul the Bulbul Emir (Percy French)
The sons of the Prophet were hardy and bold And quite
unaccustom'd to fear. But the bravest of all, at least so I am
told— Was Abdul the Bulbul Amir.
If you wanted a man to encourage the van Or to harass the foe
from the rear Or to storm a redoubt, you had but to shout For
Abdul the Bulbul Amir.
There were heroes in plenty, good men known to fame In the army
then led by the Czar. But none of more fame than a man by the
name Of Ivan Petrovski Skivar.
He could imitate Irving, tell fortunes with cards He could play
on the Spanish guitar In fact quite the cream of the Muscovite
team Was Ivan Petrovski Skivar.
One day this bold Russian had shouldered his gun, And with his
most cynical sneer, Was looking for fun when he happened to
run Upon Abdul the Bulbul Amir.
"Young man," said Bul Bul,"is existence so
dull That you're anxious to end your career? For, infidel, know
you have trod on the toe Of Abdul the Bulbul Amir.
"So take your last look upon sunshine and brook. Send your
regrets to the Czar. By which I imply you are going to die Mr.
Ivan Petrovski Skavar."
Then the brave Mameluke drew his trusty skibouk. Crying,
"Allah, il Allah! Allah!" And on slaughter intent, he
ferociously went For Ivan Petrovski Skavar.
On a stone by the banks where the Danube doth roll, Inscribed
in characters clear, Is "Stranger, remember to pray for the
soul Of Abdul the Bulbul Amir."
A Muscovite maiden her sad vigil keeps In her home by the cold
Northern Star And the name that she murmurs in vain as she
weeps, Is Ivan Petrovski Skavar.
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For money you did what guns could not do.........
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