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Education is the art of making man ethical.

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Sonnet: Whither Art Thou Heading, Man?

With scientific advances, man has gone
Uncivilized, immoral, atheist;
Believing in his own works, blows his horn;
With heart and soul afilled with sinful mist.

Man wants the world today, so free and fair,
Life peaceful, bountiful; future rosy;
The way, he treats his brethren, God can’t bear,
Denying freedom, man remains nosy.

Man knows he can’t withstand Nature’s fury;
Can he then bear God’s anger and His might?
Past history is something man can’t bury,
Nor learns from blunders to do what is right.

Oh, whither art thou heading man, these days?
A single hair is plucked not till God says.

8-25-2002

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Education is the light of child's mind

Education is the light of child's mind
It makes him literate and disciplined,
Without education in life nothing he will find,
He looks newspaper but can't read it,
It is the duty of parents to educate their child,
Othewise he will be an illiterate citizen life long,
This child leads his life in sociaty like a wild,
He dishonours his parents and troubles them,
Education makes a child a good citizen human
A child is the star of the home and Nation,
Illiteracy makes him a bad citizen inhuman,
Every Nation suffers to have illiterate creation,
Educated child will be a patriotic man and woman,
Education leads a child towards the best motivation.

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The Art Of Letting Go

There are times
When love soaks you to the bone
n then those moments leave you wonderin
If youll lose your mind or lose control
Life is nothing without love
Love is nothing if not freedom
They tell me the gates of hell
That you shake n you rattle
Are secretly locked from inside
Chorus:
You hope n pray youll find
The one thing on your mind
Not until you know
The art of letting go
n it may seem to be
Defying gravity
Thats because they know
The art of letting go
You may think
You built a present perfect world
And you may wonder to yourself
Does anyone really know what else could ever matter?
But the man with his hand
On the hammer
Wears a velvet glove
Does the rich man know hes poor?
Does the beggar care for much more than survival?
When you look into the eyes of children laughing
Do you remember who you were?
Or who you are?
Life is nothing without love
Love is nothing if not freedom
They tell me the gates of hell
That you shake n you rattle
Are secretly locked
From inside
Chorus
You hope and pray youll find
A love to last all time
Not until you know
The art of letting go
And it may seem to be
Defying gravity
Thats because they know
The art of letting go
Youre dying to believe
In love eternally
Not until you know
The art of letting go
And it may seem to be
Defying gravity
Thats because we know
The art of letting go
You cant go through it
Without going through it
til it goes through you
til you know the truth

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Oliver Goldsmith

Epilogue to the 'Good Natur'd Man

As puffing quacks some caitiff wretch procure
To swear the pill, or drop, has wrought a cure;
Thus on the stage, our play-wrights still depend
For Epilogues and Prologues on some friend,
Who knows each art of coaxing up the town,
And make full many a bitter pill go down.
Conscious of this, our bard has gone about,
And teas'd each rhyming friend to help him out.
'An Epilogue - things can't go on without it;
It could not fail, would you but set about it.'
'Young man,' cries one - a bard laid up in clover -
'Alas, young man, my writing days are over;
Let boys play tricks, and kick the straw; not I:
Your brother Doctor there, perhaps, may try.'
'What I? dear Sir,' the Doctor interposes
'What plant my thistle, Sir, among his roses!
No, no; I've other contests to maintain;
To-night I head our troops at Warwick Lane:
Go, ask your manager.' 'Who, me? Your pardon;
Those things are not our forte at Covent Garden.'
Our Author's friends, thus plac'd at happy distance,
Give him good words indeed, but no assistance.
As some unhappy wight, at some new play,
At the Pit door stands elbowing a way,
While oft, with many a smile, and many a shrug,
He eyes the centre, where his friends sit snug;
His simp'ring friends, with pleasure in their eyes,
Sink as he sinks, and as he rises rise;
He nods, they nod; he cringes, they grimace;
But not a soul will budge to give him place.
Since then, unhelp'd, our bard must now conform
'To 'bide the pelting of this pitiless storm' -
Blame where you must, be candid where you can;
And be each critic the 'Good Natur'd Man'.

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When is the world shut to man?

When is the world shut to man?
When he fails to have pleasure
In having woman companions.
With it goes the taste of the world.
13.10.2006.

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The art of living

The art of living

To learn what you need, to be humble yet,
To fear what you must, to do that is good
And to accept what you have got from them
Would be the wise ways for a peaceful life.
06.11.2012

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Emily Dickinson

To own the Art within the Soul

855

To own the Art within the Soul
The Soul to entertain
With Silence as a Company
And Festival maintain

Is an unfurnished Circumstance
Possession is to One
As an Estate perpetual
Or a reduceless Mine.

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The education of the young mind

The education of the young mind
Took place
Behind closed doors
Because that mind -
Initially free -
Had to be
Taught
The value of freedom.

The education of the young mind
Took place
In an open space
Because that mind -
Once closed -
Had to be
Set free
To explore itself.

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If I Understood the Art of Being a Craftsman

I can establish and build upon a mess.
To have some express they rest comfortably.
And if nothing better than a mess has been professed.
But in my heart,
If I understood the art of being a craftsman...
I would not brag about the accumulation I've achieved.
Especially if little of it reflects from a basis of quality.

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The greatest attribute of man

'Might is right'
Is not always right,
Disgracing, Devastating,
And defaming is not a way
To show might.
It is the abuse of might,
True power lies in ignoring
Other's fault,
And providing him with
An oppotunity
To amend.
Forgiveness is the greatest
Attribute
of man,
Restraint in anger
Makes a man great.
Remember it and enjoy the life.

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John Gay

If the Heart of a Man

If the heart of a man is deprest with cares,
The mist is dispell'd when a woman appears;
Like the notes of a fiddle, she sweetly, sweetly
Raises the spirits, and charms our ears.
Roses and lillies her cheeks disclose,
But her ripe lips are more sweet than those.
Press her,
Caress her,
With blisses,
Her kisses
Dissolve us in pleasure, and soft repose

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You Are The Art Of My Life

You are the song I love to sing
The lyrics I owe to hymn
The bass that synchronizes my heart beat
The melody that fills my spirit

You are the poem I create
The rhyme I give in every end
The rhythm that makes a poetry
Just like a riddle so sweet and free

You are the vision I like to paint
The dazzling colors I try to blend
You are the art, no one can replace
The obra maestra that will never fade

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The Image Of A Man's Face

Walking along the bush on the 26th of August 2012,
Then came the dark clouds in the sky!
Oh, what will come up next? ! !
Suddenly, came the rainfall;
Shortly after came the rainbow.
I looked at it and,
It suddenly went down very slowly and it disappeared!
Oh, what will come up next? ! !
Then, i saqw the image of a man's face up high in the sky!
Yes, the white clouds gave me this image;
With a very large ring over his head.

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Much Like the Naturalness of Making Love

How often do I write?

Daily...
Day and night.

Where do I get such an appetite.

It has been with me most of my life.
It is something love,
Much more than a choice...
Between things I 'like'.

It is a craving I can't explain.
Done for so long...
It is something I do that belongs.

Much like the naturalness of making love!
But when I write,
There is a stimulation that remains.
With an excitement...
I can without climax,
Sustain for hours and prolong!

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Early Works - What Is The Depth Of A Man

What is the depth of a man,
what makes him courageous
in front of mortal fears
or walk straight and tall
when his eyes are blinded with tears?

What is the depth of a man
what gives him the spark
deep in his heart
to do good
when only evil surrounds him.

What is the depth of a man
that can’t be conquered
is it the love of a woman
is it loyalty
or is it the belief that each man should be free.
What is the depth of a man?

Date unknown, probably late 1960’s

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The art of surfing

I have not mastered the art
of riding on rolling waves
fifteen feet high,
speeding by like a bird
in the overcast sky,
slicing the roaring thundering rush
of water filled with immense power
piping through swirling churning cavities
on a storm tossed sea
and almost drowned in the trying
with the board passing me
like a piece of driftwood,
with water enveloping me,
knocking the breath of life from me
and I sank like a piece of lead
and was tossed out
like spit on the beach.

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The art of the muse

The art of the muse
~
Full figured and strong
open mind and heart
she is my Mona Lisa
a will to be counted
a voice not afraid to speak
kind and gentle in nature
still not to be crossed
she is beautiful
a captivating soul
her every essence holds
my thoughts follow
she is a work of art
my muse of words
still yet to be written
she is my life, my future
she is woman
beautiful, strong, desirable
she is perfection, passion
she is in a dream
all I could imagine
she is here forever
in my heart

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Live the Art

Infiltrate a dream into your imagination
Watch it fall apart affected by reality
Collect what's left and lock yourself up
'Cause what you've seen is your future, it rots

Sew back the innocence this world has lost
And reinvent the colors that aging has blackened
Due to the sorrow, an elegy is implied
It's beauty is painful, so it's exiled

Suffering blindly, isolated by the sky
Shape the details as they fit you, so you can empathize
Absorb the inspiration into your mind
And dream again, live the art

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The animal soul of man

The animal soul of man
Holy by the blood
The soul that roam outside
Of the body
To be caught up with in dreams
What is wild by the soul?
The animal companion
That roams the wilderness
And the city at night
The sun of the day God
The four corner holding up the sky
O nine levels of hell
O Eighteen Rabbet
Now gone through
The underworld to heaven
Of the ancestors
The blood letting of the genital
The rope of thorns through the tongue
The sun of night journey through hell
Eight Monkeys come into my heart.

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Learning The Art Of Loving

it is a hug that you need
when some parts of you dangle
on your shoulder
like the way your your hair
shouts for help
for fear of falling
and here i am coming
to hug you
this kind of hug that sings
the song of
apple pickers
and

garbage collectors
whose hands
are sworn
to clean the mess
and keep the pieces

to put them all away
and burn them
as often as necessary

i will hug you baby
but only for
a while

i am both
this apple picker somewhere
in the north
and a garbage collector
some place in the south

let us talk about
love some other time
i am still
learning the art of loving

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