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Rationalism
- Gifts
Amy
Be not these gifts for a reason?
Or be it a small glint of what the mystic or genius may have seen (Doors of
Perception - Huxley)
To torture me, constant reminder, humbling me that i will never reach that level
of virtuosity
I think therefore i am
Youth in the west is like a halo
Giving instant audience
Like beauty
Idealist Piscean
Or perhaps
And infact
The levels of virtuosity are not quite so high
As Mozart
In comparison, to those of my era
I am upon a high
Fly
like An Eagle
Tiernan O'Rourke
Silent you stand,
surveying the land.
It wasn't exactly how you had it planned.
But there's a light in your eyes,
you're born for the skies,
and suddenly you're lord of all the land.
So fly,fly like an eagle,
over the earth and over the skies
and cry, cry if it feels good,
once in a while you're allowed to be free
There's a circling wind
o the gifts that it brings
it's more than you could ever have dreamed
And the smoke from the fire,
fulfills your desire
a heavenly choir of angels starts to sing
So fly, fly like an eagle
over the earth and over the sky
and cry, cry if it feels good
once in a while you're allowed to be free
Glo
I
wretch at the thoughts of this evening's mindless self indulgence
I am torn between the hapless sap and the romantic image, neither of which are
really applicable to me
I am merely myself.
Selina
Face
One
remains awake, with her heart in her hand
Body screaming to touch a one who can melt it
her eastern subconscious screams "this only brings pain!"
She sighs "bit I just cannot help it"
Overcoming all romance, living in light...an enlightened mind or a body at
night....
Selina
Face
I'm
a big dreamer do you know the way
I look today is made from a trowel and spade
used to put on the masquerade, jade
I am jaded, I need to be translated
I'm emotionally CONSTIPATED! HA HA!
I am a nervous girl
And I'm angry
I'm bored bored bored
About
time I scored
And all that I endure I am sure will help me to die.
Selina
Face
Red
face
needs empty space
to talk to her friends
Red face
gender bender from outer space
keep hush around the beautiful girl
So you won't blush
go smoke outside,
but all the smokers are ugly so it's ok.
Selina
Face
And
I weep for her because she is me a drunken suicidal visionary
Wishing she could rely on Jesus and Mary
Dreaming of revolution
Against mind pollution
Violent solution
And I weep for her because she is me
Surfing the edge of insanity
Living proof
Of the cancerous youth
Bored, head fucked and scarred from abuse.
no money
but it's sunny
So we can sleep outside.
Freedom
Is The Wind
Bob
Shea
Don't
weep for me I need no pity,
all I need is the wind in the city
To carry my
spirit to where the fields are pretty
To carry my spirit to where the fields are
pretty.
For wild seeds don't grow in the white man's world
And the children
don't know what it means to live without vice sin and the white man's gin
What
it means to walk with your head held high
What it means to live what it means to
die.
When Your Eyes Talk
by Jessica Jones
People say the eyes are the windows to a man’s
soul.
I beg to differ
I think they are the windows to a man’s heart.
Like pools of bright blue
I want to dive in
So I can experience for myself
Your thoughts and feelings
Eyes do more than just view one’s surroundings
They tell stories.
Sometimes the tales are of mourning for a friend
Or happiness because there is one to love
With each blink something ignites a spark
The spark that makes me scream within myself
Show me you love me by the look in your eyes
I look into your eyes and they talk
Not with words but with understanding
Just the way you look at me says it all,
Baby I love you, Baby I need you
When your eyes talk
NEW DAY - SONG LYRICS
Woke
up this morning to see the sun, See the day when it all begun
I
climbed to the top of an ancient hill, everything is quiet perfectly still
I
take light to take away to spread around this beautiful day
I'm
waiting for the sun to shine, I'm waiting for the sun to shine
It
is a black and white day in the valley below, waiting for the day that no one
knows
Until
the first rays of the sun appear to wipe away all of these fears darkness is
gone and is crystal clear
There
is hope now the sun is here
I'm
waiting for the sun to shine
I'm
waiting for the sun to shine
It
is a new day
It
is a new day
Something
wonderful
Something
wonderful is about to happen......
Written
by
Roy Watson
SHADES
OF GREY - SONG LYRICS
My
true colors they are changing
to
a darker shade of grey
Whilst
the windows of my soul
are
slowly shutting for the night
And
where do I go when I am dreaming?
who
will catch me when I fall?
a
thousand pieces
a
thousand pieces
floating
down all shades of grey....
But
I don't want to change a thing
Does
nothing ever stay the same?
All
changing all changing all changing
But
your true colours they're always true
Shining
bright all over you
fly
away from me fly away from me
I
try and catch you if you fall
A
thousand pieces
a
thousand pieces
floating
down violet, red, blue, purple, green...
But
you don't want to change a thing
Does
nothing ever stay the same?
All
changing all changing all changing
Sent
in by -- Guess who?
A
poem on marriage by Khalil
Gibran
You
were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You
shall be together when white wings of death scatter your days.
Aye,
you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But
let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And
let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love
one another but make not a bond of love:
Let
it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill
each other's cup but drink not from one cup.
Give
one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing
and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even
as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give
your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.
For
only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And
stand together, yet not too near together:
For
the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And
the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.
Twisted Body
Soft
the touch of delicate hand for it's object of
Soft
the touch of delicate hand for it's object of
Washing Rice
My mother is washing rice in late morning
A gentle wind ruffles the shade of the palms
The yellow rice glistens in rippled water
The ripe grains and the unripe look the same
They are both the color of silk, the same color
But why does she keep washing, washing so long?
How many unripe grains drift away from you,
Mother?
How many ripe grains stay with you and talk?
When I go out tomorrow, full of life,
Will my lesson be your hand, washing rice?
Lam Thi
My Da
I'll Start You with an Image
Alison Stone
One wet elm leaf,
Two smashed cars, a bony dog
On a Mexican street.
Breathe into these things.
Take the sounds of laughter, gunshots, waves.
Take that awful thing your father said,
Take the nuclear reactor one town down.
Take the owner of a diner
And make his phone ring.
Make a man with rumpled hair
Sneak from a cheap motel.
Let luck fall where you choose.
Now take a woman with some cells
In her lung growing too fast.
Meet your own death staring from her eyes.
What do you feel right now in your body?
That is your first line.
I want you to write this poem.
I want you to write the true poem, the poem of what
you see
And settle for and touch,
Not the easy one describing what you think you are.
Take the world as it is.
Take out all the flimsy words
Like peace and truth.
Replace them with moss, potatoes, hair.
Drive the inside and the outside toward each other
Until language and desire meet head-on.
What is the lesson of the elm leaf?
Does someone kick or feed the dog?
Bucked
Balanced for that instant
in midair, I watched
his rump, in white slow-motion
rise ? heart-cleft, perfect ?
to deliver the awesome blow.
How beautiful the muscles
of the world in their uses!
Great limbs of trees, waves
scaling seawalls, the moon's
dreadful flex on everything,
heart valves and minute
vessels, the spiralled cues
for weakness that I pass on
to my children: of which
might one ask to be spared?
Linda McCarriston
Human
Geography
Look at my continent containing
arms, legs, and an unmeasured torso,
my feet are small, my hands tiny,
my eyes deep, my breasts pretty good,
I have a lake under my forehead
which at times spills over through the sockets
where it bathes the pupils of my eyes,
when crying gets into my legs
and my volcanoes quake in dance.
In the north I'm bordered by doubt
in the east by the other
in the west an Open Heart
and Castilian soil in the south.
Inside my continent there is content,
the united states of my body,
the state of pain at night,
the state of laughter in the soul---
state of the spinster all day long.
At noon I have earthquakes
if the wind of a letter doesn't reach me;
fire is furious and wipes out
the wheat harvest of my chest.
The forest of my poorly combed hair
stiffens when a river of blood
runs through the continent;
and not having sinned it pardons me.
The sea around me changes;
it's called Great Sea or Sea of People;
at times it shakes my sides,
at times it hugs me gently;
it depends on breezes or weather,
on heaven and cyclones maybe;
the fact is I'm an island
known to submerge or merge
in the waters of the human ocean
vulgarly known as the mob.
I've finished my lesson in geography.
Look at my contained continent.
Gloria Fuertes (submitted by Clive
Burrows)
Let's
Not Waste Time
If the sea is infinite and has nets,
if its music comes from the wave,
if the dawn is red and the sunset green,
if the forest is lust and the moon a caress,
if the rose opens and perfumes the house,
if the girl laughs and perfumes life,
if love comes and kisses me and leaves me trembling,
What does it matter,
while in my neighborhood there's a table without legs,
a child with no shoes or a bookkeeper coughing,
a banquet of potato peels,
a concert of dogs,
an opera of scabs. . .
We need to become worried enough to cure the seeds,
bandage the hearts and write the poem
that will infect everyone.
And create the sentence which will embrace the whole world,
poets must smash swords,
must invent more colors and write Paternosters.
Letting laughter stay in the mouths of the tunnel,
not tell what's intimate, but sing in a choir,
not sing to the moon, not sing to the bride,
not write poems with ten-line stanzas, not fabricate sonnets,
Because we know how, we must yell at the mighty,
shout what I'm saying, that there are enough who live
howling under tin roofs with only what they have on their backs,
and mothers who don't comb their children's hair every day,
and fathers who wake up early and don't go to the theatre.
To clothe the humble placing our poems on their shoulders,
it's right to sing to the one who has no song and help him.
To kill usurers and with a rare patience convince them without disgust,
To thresh in the fields, go down into a mine,
to be a diver for a week, visiting nursing homes,
jails, ruins, play with tiny children,
dance in the leprosaria.
Poets, let's not waste time, let's work,
because very little blood is reaching the heart.
Gloria Fuertes (submitted by Clive Burrows)
Marvelous
sounds
Unique
in it's own way
Sounds
of joy
Interference
flown away
Carefully
directed
MUSIC!
By
Bianca (Daughter)
Bartira
