Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476991" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Trying To Shine To Blind The Voodoo Dolls</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476991" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Trying to shine to blind the voodoo dolls <br>sticking sharp pins of insight dipped in stinging nettles <br>into my eyes like burning thorns that won't wash out<br>even when the blue rose of the sky<br>puts her face in her hands and cries her heart out.<br>Made my Icarian ascent to the sun <br>like a kamikaze pilot in reverse trying to be positive <br>about the self-destructive aspirations <br>under my thawing wings, now <br>I'm trying to keep my balance on my spinal cord <br>stretched like a highwire suspension bridge<br>across an abyss that keeps expanding my insignificance <br>as I juggle planets with my feet I keep dropping <br>like my head in a guillotine made for mercy.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476991" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I want to say this is the dung-heap, this is the dogshit, <br>these are the maggots that thrive in the corruption of it<br>like toxicara worms that get in your eyes <br>and under your fingernails, and burrow <br>like small black holes through your heart <br>and let all the light out of your life like a slow leak <br>somewhere in the pipeline of the universe<br>that's fracking me inflammably like a watershed <br>and I'm trying so hard to snow all over it <br>with the highest ideals of understanding and compassion, <br>every mystically specific flake sidereally designed<br>to ameliorate the repulsive and obscene<br>by cloaking it in white like an albino hypocrite. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476991" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">For light years I used to believe if you <br>threw flower seeds in it, you could work it <br>like starmud blooded by a battlefield of torn corpses <br>into a bumper crop of zinnias and sublimely poignant stargrass. <br>Marvellous transformations of an outhouse <br>into the lunar beauty of the nocturnal Taj Mahal<br>making the black mirror, like the lost sheep, more beautiful<br>in a universe where love and light and life so often seem <br>mere mutations of the darkness.<br> <br>Didn't really want to make an ideology of a wild guess, <br>that would only add to the mess of cultish concepts, <br>and not really born to sow stardust <br>into the ploughed wound of a worm, <br>nevertheless, I drew a gold sword <br>out of a philosopher's stone <br>and plunged it through the base metal of my heart<br>to suffer all those little deaths in life <br>and those liberating space twisting <br>indelible excruciations of cosmic transformation <br>that wrought this discipline of disobedience <br>I practise like an art into the absurd freedom <br>of the crazy wisdom that's needed to make <br>a start somewhere, somehow, however small <br>by adding my crystal skull to the shining <br>like the sacred syllable of a dropp of water <br>off the tongue of a silver leaf in the moonlight<br>that listens to it fall like a cross<br>between a good word and a tear on deaf ears below.<br> <br>So I throw flower seeds on it in passing, the way <br>I throw all my loose change into a guitar case<br>trying to sing for a living against the impossible odds <br>of a dungheap laid like the corrupt cornerstone of things, <br>the ship of state expurgating in public like a sick whale <br>spinning the Parisian potential for the screening myths <br>of expensive, narcotic fragrances of rot on the Perfume Trail.<br>Say it isn't so, Joe, but there you go, it is. <br>The terrorist oilwells are planting i.e.d.s <br>of inflammable water in the faucets of everyone's kitchen, <br>so we can all burn to death <br>drowning in our showers in the morning <br>trying to chill things out <br>with corporate hellfire and brimstone <br>and legions of demon lawyers that give lying a bad name.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476991" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Been trying not to get so down I get <br>knocked off my axis like Neptune <br>ducking down below the celestial equator<br>and be dragged down into my own depths <br>by the snapping turtle of the world <br>that's founded upon it like a totem on a gantry. <br>Barring the occasional eclipse to keep <br>the calendars tuned to the prophecies of doom <br>ranged against the small beginnings of the new moon <br>that might squeak through the third eye of the needle <br>just like mammals did at the end of the late Triassic<br>as the insignificant consequence of a cosmic event<br>that upgraded scales to feathers and fur to skin<br>as wolves turned into whales. Creative destruction <br>evident in extinction and evolution the same.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476991" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I try to keep my spirits up like a lead kite <br>by approaching it all as if it were <br>delightfully and horrifically absurd spontaneously <br>but an unmeaningly free and creative medium nevertheless, <br>and even if it isn't etc., the most intriguing of delusions <br>it's taken me light years to adapt to<br>without sitting in perpetual judgement <br>on the immensity of the darkness<br>that intensifies the nebularity of my enlightenment <br>with starclusters of insights that flower <br>like a mirage of fireworks in my dazzled mind.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476991" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Even if it's no more than a flash of light out of the void <br>richocheting off the facet of a grain of sand, <br>or a firefly trying to stand up to the lightning, <br>or slim volume of igneous poems <br>wedged like a matchbook between tomes <br>like anthers of fire with phosphorus pollen <br>that will spread like wildflowers when it finally blooms<br>like foxfire in the ashes of an old growth forest. <br>Even to stand like a lighthouse on the moon, <br>having lost its sense of purpose, and yet, <br>still keep the fire in the tower burning as if <br>there might be a storm the way things change<br>and there could be a shipwreck, some nights <br>are so strange they're like waves or cats <br>that leave things like dead moles and snakes<br>on the threshold of the far shore of your door out of here, <br>I've tried to keep on shining like a candle <br>trying to stay awake at a black starless mass<br>trying to make things dark enough to make an appearance, <br>and even when I haven't managed it, <br>and all my shepherd moons are scattered like black sheep <br>by the snarling wolf of my mystically liberating nature, <br>suddenly showing up like the skull and crossbones <br>among the angel fleets grazing on the waves, <br>I've elevated waterlilies of constellations <br>that sat below the salt in the lowest place of all<br>to the zenith of my dreams like starmaps in transit<br>I've kept alight in a nightwatchman's eyes for years<br>as he makes the rounds of the zodiac <br>like a candle still burning in the lanterns of his tears.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Patrick+White">Patrick White</a></strong></div>