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The riskiest thing we can do is just maintain the status quo.

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Cleanness

Clannesse who so kyndly cowþe comende
& rekken vp alle þe resounz þat ho by ri3t askez,
Fayre formez my3t he fynde in for[þ]ering his speche
& in þe contrare kark & combraunce huge.
For wonder wroth is þe Wy3þat wro3t alle þinges
Wyth þe freke þat in fylþe fol3es Hym after,
As renkez of relygioun þat reden & syngen
& aprochen to hys presens & prestez arn called;
Thay teen vnto his temmple & temen to hym seluen,
Reken with reuerence þay rychen His auter;
Þay hondel þer his aune body & vsen hit boþe.
If þay in clannes be clos þay cleche gret mede;
Bot if þay conterfete crafte & cortaysye wont,
As be honest vtwyth & inwith alle fylþez,
Þen ar þay synful hemself & sulped altogeder
Boþe God & His gere, & hym to greme cachen.
He is so clene in His courte, þe Kyng þat al weldez,
& honeste in His housholde & hagherlych serued
With angelez enourled in alle þat is clene,
Boþ withine & withouten in wedez ful bry3t;
Nif he nere scoymus & skyg & non scaþe louied,
Hit were a meruayl to much, hit mo3t not falle.
Kryst kydde hit Hymself in a carp onez,
Þeras He heuened a3t happez & hy3t hem her medez.
Me mynez on one amonge oþer, as Maþew recordez,
Þat þus clanness vnclosez a ful cler speche:
Þe haþel clene of his hert hapenez ful fayre,
For he schal loke on oure Lorde with a bone chere';
As so saytz, to þat sy3t seche schal he neuer
Þat any vnclannesse hatz on, auwhere abowte;
For He þat flemus vch fylþe fer fro His hert
May not byde þat burre þat hit His body ne3en.
Forþy hy3not to heuen in haterez totorne,
Ne in þe harlatez hod, & handez vnwaschen.
For what vrþly haþel þat hy3honour haldez
Wolde lyke if a ladde com lyþerly attyred,
When he were sette solempnely in a sete ryche,
Abof dukez on dece, with dayntys serued?
Þen þe harlot with haste helded to þe table,
With rent cokrez at þe kne & his clutte traschez,
& his tabarde totorne, & his totez oute,
Oþer ani on of alle þyse, he schulde be halden vtter,
With mony blame ful bygge, a boffet peraunter,
Hurled to þe halle dore & harde þeroute schowued,
& be forboden þat bor3e to bowe þider neuer,
On payne of enprysonment & puttyng in stokkez;
& þus schal he be schent for his schrowde feble,
Þa3neuer in talle ne in tuch he trespas more.
& if vnwelcum he were to a worþlych prynce,
3et hym is þe hy3e Kyng harder in her euen;

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Robert Burns

Wha Is That At My Bower-Door

'Wha is that at my bower-door?'
'O wha is it but Findlay!'
'Then gae your gate, ye'se nae be here:'
'Indeed maun I,' quo' Findlay;
'What mak' ye, sae like a thief?'
'O come and see,' quo' Findlay;
'Before the morn ye'll work mischief:'
'Indeed will I,' quo' Findlay.

'Gif I rise and let you in'-
'Let me in,' quo' Findlay;
'Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din;'
'Indeed will I,' quo' Findlay;
'In my bower if ye should stay'-
'Let me stay,' quo' Findlay;
'I fear ye'll bide till break o' day;'
'Indeed will I,' quo' Findlay.

'Here this night if ye remain'-
'I'll remain,' quo' Findlay;
'I dread ye'll learn the gate again;'
'Indeed will I,' quo' Findlay.
'What may pass within this bower'-
'Let it pass,' quo' Findlay;
'Ye maun conceal till your last hour:'
'Indeed will I,' quo' Findlay.

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Jock O The Side

Now Liddisdale has ridden a raid,
But I wat they had better staid at hame;
For Mitchell o Winfield he is dead,
And my son Johnie is prisner tane?
With my fa ding diddle, la la dew diddle.

For Mangerton house auld Downie is gane,
Her coats she has kilted up to her knee;
And down the water wi speed she rins,
While tears in spaits fa fast frae her eie.

Then up and bespake the lord Mangerton:
'What news, what news, sister Downie, to me?'
'Bad news, bad news, my lord Mangerton;
Mitchel is killd, and tane they hae my son Johnie.'

'Neer fear, sister Downie,' quo Mangerton;
'I hae yokes of oxen, four-and-twentie,
My barns, my byres, and my faulds, a' weel filld,
And I'll part wi them a' ere Johnie shall die.

'Three men I'll take to set him free,
Weel harnessd a' wi best of steel;
The English rogues may hear, and drie
The weight o their braid swords to feel

'The Laird's Jock ane, the Laird's Wat twa,
O Hobie Noble, thou ane maun be!
Thy coat is blue, thou has been true,
Since England banishd thee, to me.'

Now, Hobie was an English man,
In Bewcastle-dale was bred and born;
But his misdeeds they were sae great,
They banished him neer to return.

Lord Mangerton then orders gave,--
'Your horses the wrang way maun a' be shod;
Like gentlemen ye must not seem,
But look like corn-caugers gawn ae road.

'Your armour gude ye maunna shaw,
Nor ance appear like men o weir;
As country lads be all arrayd,
Wi branks and brecham on ilk mare.'

Sae now a' their horses are shod the wrang way,
And Hobie has mounted his grey sae fine,
Jock his lively bay, Wat's on his white horse behind,
And on they rode for the water o Tyne.

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Kinmont Willie

O have ye na heard o the fause Sakelde?
O have ye na heard o the keen Lord Scroop?
How they hae taen bauld Kinmont Willie,
On Hairibee to hang him up?

Had Willie had but twenty men,
But twenty men as stout as be,
Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont taen
Wi eight score in his companie.

They band his legs beneath the steed,
They tied his hands behind his back;
They guarded him, fivesome on each side,
And they brought him ower the Liddel-rack.

They led him thro the Liddel-rack.
And also thro the Carlisle sands;
They brought him to Carlisle castell.
To be at my Lord Scroope's commands.

'My hands are tied; but my tongue is free,
And whae will dare this deed avow?
Or answer by the border law?
Or answer to the bauld Buccleuch?'

'Now haud thy tongue, thou rank reiver!
There's never a Scot shall set ye free:
Before ye cross my castle-yate,
I trow ye shall take farewell o me.'

'Fear na ye that, my lord,' quo Willie:
'By the faith o my body, Lord Scroope,' he said,
'I never yet lodged in a hostelrie--
But I paid my lawing before I gaed.'

Now word is gane to the bauld Keeper,
In Branksome Ha where that he lay,
That Lord Scroope has taen the Kinmont Willie,
Between the hours of night and day.

He has taen the table wi his hand,
He garrd the red wine spring on hie;
'Now Christ's curse on my head,' he said,
'But avenged of Lord Scroope I'll be!

'O is my basnet a widow's curch?
Or my lance a wand of the willow-tree?
Or my arm a lady's lilye hand,
That an English lord should lightly me?

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Giving Up On Status

Giving up on status felt once automatic.
And representing 'bling' people use to own...
With a flaunting about and publicly shown.

The days,
Of impressing others are over.
And addressing one's needs are now priorities.
As symbols of status have taken backseats.

Those days oppressing now more shoulder.
And the ones on bruised knees,
Have no egos to please.
Feeling as they do about necessities.

The days,
Of impressing others are over.
And addressing one's needs are now priorities.
As symbols of status have taken backseats.

Giving up on status felt once automatic.
And representing 'bling' people use to own...
With a flaunting about and publicly shown.

Those days oppressing now more shoulder.
And addressing one's needs are now priorities.
As symbols of status have taken backseats.
And the ones on bruised knees,
Have no egos to please.
Feeling as they do about necessities.

The days,
Of impressing others are over.
Felt once automatic.
But backs are turned away,
On status as a habit.

The days,
Of impressing others are over.
Felt once automatic.
But backs are turned away,
On status as a habit.

The days,
Of impressing others are over.
Felt once automatic.
But backs are turned away,
On status as a habit.

Nobody has to have it.
That status as a habit.

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Cursum Perficio

Cursum perficio
Cursum perficio
Cursum perficio
Cursum perficio
Cursum perficio
Verbum sapienti (eo plus cupiunt)
Verbum sapienti
Quo plus habent} eo plus cupiunt
Verbum sapienti
Quo plus habent} eo plus cupiunt
Post nubila, phoebus
Post nubila, phoebus
Post nubila, phoebus
Quo plus habent, eo plus cupiunt
Quo plus habent, eo plus cupiunt
Quo plus habent, eo plus cupiunt
Post nubila, phoebus
Post nubila, phoebus
Post nubila, phoebus
Post nubila, phoebus
Post nubila, phoebus
Post nubila, phoebus
Iternum
Iternum
Iternum

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Patience

Pacience is a poynt, þa33e,
& quo for þro may no3t þole, þe þikker he sufferes.
&Thorn;en is better to abyde þe bur vmbestoundes
&Thorn;en ay þrow forth my þro, þa33e masse,
How Mathew melede þat his Mayster His meyny con teche.
A3t happes He hem hy3t & vcheon a mede,
Sunderlupes, for hit dissert, vpon a ser wyse:
Thay arn happen þat han in hert pouerte,
For hores is þe heuen-ryche to holde for euer;
&Thorn;ay ar happen also þat haunte mekenesse,
For þay schal welde þis worlde & alle her wylle haue;
Thay ar happen also þat for her harme wepes,
For þay schal comfort encroche in kythes ful mony;
&Thorn;ay ar happen also þat hungeres after ry3t,
For þay schal frely be refete ful of alle gode;
Thay ar happen also þat han in hert rauþe,
For mercy in alle maneres her mede schal worþe;
&Thorn;ay ar happen also þat arn of hert clene,
For þay her Sauyour in sete schal se with her y3en;
Thay ar happen also þat halden her pese,
For þay þe gracious Godes sunes schal godly be called;
&Thorn;ay ar happen also þat con her hert stere,
For hores is þe heuen-ryche, as I er sayde.
These arn þe happes alle a3t þat vus bihy3t weren,
If we þyse ladyes wolde lof in lyknyng of þewes:
Dame Pouert, Dame Pitee, Dame Penaunce þe þrydde,
Dame Mekenesse, Dame Mercy, & miry Clannesse,
& þenne Dame Pes, & Pacyence put in þerafter.
He were happen þat hade one; alle were þe better.
Bot [s]yn I am put to a poynt þat pouerte hatte,
I schal me poruay pacyence & play me with boþe,
For in þe tyxte þere þyse two arn in teme layde,
Hit arn fettled in on forme, þe forme & þe laste,
& by quest of her quoyntyse enquylen on mede.
& als, in myn vpynyoun, hit arn of on kynde:
For þeras pouert hir proferes ho nyl be put vtter,
Bot lenge wheresoeuer hir lyst, lyke oþer greme;
& þereas pouert enpresses, þa33tloker hit lyke & her lotes prayse,
&Thorn;enne wyþer wyth & be wroth & þe wers haue.
3if me be dy3t a destyne due to haue,
What dowes me þe dedayn, oþer dispit make?
Oþer 3if my lege lorde lyst on lyue me to bidde
Oþer to ryde oþer to renne to Rome in his ernde,
What grayþed me þe grychchyng bot grame more seche?
Much 3if he me ne made, maugref my chekes,
& þenne þrat moste I þole & vnþonk to mede,
&Thorn;e had bowed to his bode bongre my hyure.
Did not Jonas in Jude suche jape sumwhyle?
To sette hym to sewrte, vnsounde he hym feches.
Wyl 3e tary a lyttel tyne & tent me a whyle,

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Orlando Furioso Canto 20

ARGUMENT
Guido and his from that foul haunt retire,
While all Astolpho chases with his horn,
Who to all quarters of the town sets fire,
Then roving singly round the world is borne.
Marphisa, for Gabrina's cause, in ire
Puts upon young Zerbino scathe and scorn,
And makes him guardian of Gabrina fell,
From whom he first learns news of Isabel.

I
Great fears the women of antiquity
In arms and hallowed arts as well have done,
And of their worthy works the memory
And lustre through this ample world has shone.
Praised is Camilla, with Harpalice,
For the fair course which they in battle run.
Corinna and Sappho, famous for their lore,
Shine two illustrious light, to set no more.

II
Women have reached the pinnacle of glory,
In every art by them professed, well seen;
And whosoever turns the leaf of story,
Finds record of them, neither dim nor mean.
The evil influence will be transitory,
If long deprived of such the world had been;
And envious men, and those that never knew
Their worth, have haply hid their honours due.

III
To me it plainly seems, in this our age
Of women such is the celebrity,
That it may furnish matter to the page,
Whence this dispersed to future years shall be;
And you, ye evil tongues which foully rage,
Be tied to your eternal infamy,
And women's praises so resplendent show,
They shall, by much, Marphisa's worth outgo.

IV
To her returning yet again; the dame
To him who showed to her such courteous lore,
Refused not to disclose her martial name,
Since he agreed to tell the style be bore.
She quickly satisfied the warrior's claim;
To learn his title she desired so sore.
'I am Marphisa,' the virago cried:
All else was known, as bruited far and wide.

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Jamie Telfer

It fell about the Martinmas tyde,
When our Border steeds get corn and hay
The captain of Bewcastle hath bound him to ryde,
And he's ower to Tividale to drive a prey.

The first ae guide that they met wi',
It was high up Hardhaughswire;
The second guide that we met wi',
It was laigh down in Borthwick water.

'What tidings, what tidings, my trusty guide?'
'Nae tidings, nae tidings, I hae to thee;
But, gin ye'll gae to the fair Dodhead,
Mony a cow's cauf I'll let thee see.'

And whan they cam to the fair Dodhead,
Right hastily they clam the peel;
They loosed the kye out, ane and a',
And ranshackled the house right weel.

Now Jamie Telfer's heart was sair,
The tear aye rowing in his e'e;
He pled wi' the captain to hae his gear,
Or else revenged he wad be.

The captain turned him round and leugh;
Said--'Man, there's naething in thy house,
But ae auld sword without a sheath,
That hardly now wad fell a mouse!'

The sun was na up, but the moon was down,
It was the gryming o' a new fa'n snaw,
Jamie Telfer has run three myles a-foot,
Between the Dodhead and the Stobs's Ha'

And whan he cam to the fair tower yate,
He shouted loud, and cried weel hie,
Till out bespak auld Gibby Elliot--
'Wha's this that brings the fraye to me?'

'It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead,
And a harried man I think I be!
There's naething left at the fair Dodhead,
But a waefu' wife and bairnies three.

'Gae seek your succour at Branksome Ha'.
For succour ye'se get nane frae me!
Gae seek your succour where ye paid black-mail,
For, man! ye ne'er paid money to me.'

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Worthy Of

Yeah, Yeah, Yeah
Ohhh, Yeah, Yeah
Girl I find you so amazing
With everyday I learn more about you
The way you work day out and day in
And still find time for us too, yeah
I love the fact that youre there for me when I feel down
No matter what Im going through
Lately Ive been questioning myself
Am I good enough for you?
[CHORUS:]
Am I worthy of?
Am I man enough?
Am I strong enough?
To maintain this love
Youve got me questioning (yeah)
Got me wondering (yeah, yeah)
Could I be that man?
That can keep you happy
I know that therell be times when Ill be miles away
And youll be all alone
I constantly fight my insecurities
When I cant reach you by phone
And, oh, Lord knows that Im only human
So please forgive me if I ask so many silly questions
I know that you truly love me but
Fear has me second-guessing
Am I worthy of?
Am I man enough?
Am I strong enough?
To maintain this love
Youve got me questioning
Got me wondering
Could I be that man?
That can keep you happy
Girl excuse my ways (excuse my ways)
Im not trying to push your love away (your love away)
Its just that sometimes my imagination gets the best of me, yeah
I still love you baby everyday, yeah yeah
Am I worthy of?
Am I man enough?
Am I strong enough?
To maintain this love (to maintain this love)
Youve got me questioning
Got me wondering (you got me thinking about myself)
Could I be that man (am I good enough for you)
That can keep you happy (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
Am I worthy of?
Am I man enough?
Am I strong enough? (strong enough, yeah)

[...] Read more

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The Vicar Of Bray

In good King Charles's golden days,
When loyalty no harm meant;
A furious High-Church man I was,
And so I gain'd preferment.
Unto my flock I daily preach'd,
Kings are by God appointed,
And damn'd are those who dare resist,
Or touch the Lord's anointed.
And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my dying day, sir,
That whatsoever king shall reign,
I will be Vicar of Bray, sir!

When Royal James possess'd the crown,
And popery grew in fashion;
The penal law I houted down,
And read the declaration:
The Church of Rome, I found would fit,
Full well my constitution,
And I had been a Jesuit,
But for the Revolution.
And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my dying day, sir,
That whatsoer king shall reign,
I will be Vicar of Bray, sir!

When William our deliverer came,
To heal the nation's grievance,
I turned the cat in pan again,
And swore to him allegiance:
Old principles I did revoke,
Set conscience at a distance,
Passive obedience is a joke,
A jest is non-resistance.
And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my dying day, sir,
That whatsoer king shall reign,
I will be Vicar of Bray, sir!

When glorious Anne became our queen
The Church of England's glory,
Another face of things was seen,
And I became a Tory:
Occasional conformists base,
I damn'd, and moderation,
And thought the Church in danger was,
From such prevarication.
And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my dying day, sir,
That whatsoer king shall reign,

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Many Seek Status

To acknowledge that I 'am'
Who I 'am' and in the 'now'
Of my life!
Is for me a major achievement.
And one I live excuse free.
One based upon truth and honesty!

Many seek status.
Like an apparatus to mask.
Perhaps with hopes,
An acceptance is passed.
Or something that is approved...
As a test or a task.

If a status is proclaimed,
With wishes to keep one connected.
The time will not be long...
Until someone comes along,
To define that status wrong!

And pursued at the expense,
On one's identity...
That is compensated usually,
To eventually dispense.

To acknowledge that I 'am'
Who I 'am' and in the 'now'
Of my life!
Is for me a major achievement.
And one I live excuse free.
With a peace of mind,
I am glad to find...
Based upon truth and honesty!

And anyone who does not see it that way...
It is okay.
I am not going to debate it!

I am not in the pursuit of status!
To attract materialistic dreams.
With shine, sheen or gleam.

As a first time passenger on my journey...
I seek only God to please.
With deeds.
And a gratefulness to do so.

Many seek status!
And perhaps,
For them...

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Bureaucracy defends the status quo long past the time when the quo has lost its status.

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Ever Ready to Protect You

I will deliver you from the hands of the wicked my love,
And i will redeem you from the hands of the terrible!
Because my heart yearns for you always,
So keep in touch and let me know your status-quo! !

This is like the joy of the mind,
And like the joy of your muse in the land of beautiful flowers;
Because i am ever ready to protect you my love,
So keep in touch and let me know your status-quo.

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The status quo

The wise despise the fools
And the fools ignore the wise.
Both like the status quo
For different reasons.
Man is after woman
And woman is slippery.
Both like the status quo
For different motives
09.08.2010

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Jefferson Aero Plane

If it hurts,
Kiss it better
You wear skirts,
I write nice letters
Never said nothing with flowers
Though we always talked for hours
And it seems to get much colder
When you cry on your own shoulder
And we know the show
Must go on
Guess I know
I guess Ill throw on
Some jefferson airplane
Im trapped and I am enclosed
But I wont complain
Ill open all the windows
Jefferson airplane
Im trapped and I am enclosed
But I wont complain
Ill open all the windows
Cause when its colder
I feel much better
When I cry on my own shoulder
Ill just throw on a sweater and go
And Ill go to undergo a change of heart, a change of clothes
And when Im home, I think Ill go eat cereal and stare out the window
Ill make the calls
You cover your ears
Niagra falls
Still flows on new years
I will save
Your plunging neck-line
Kiss your face
You try to deck mine
If I behave its going to cost him
Stop the rave in downtown boston
And we know the show
Must go on
Guess I know
I guess Ill throw on
Some jefferson airplane
Im trapped and I am enclosed
But I wont complain
Ill open all the windows
Jefferson airplane
Im trapped and I am enclosed
But I wont complain
Ill open all the windows
Cause when its colder
I feel much better

[...] Read more

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From Epidermal Taxidermy to Internal Epiphany

FROM EPIDERMAL TAXIDERMY TO INTERNAL EPIPHANY


Portrait of fair mind is neither, nor!
neither mastered nor in pieces shred,
displayed to touring tourists - Turrell's bore -
whose dreams no themes of genius hint ahead.
Could paint drip down to mop pain's vail of tears,
unveiling pooled oasis to exchange,
past wraith, fresh faith to grace remaining years,
then fears would fade before excitement strange.
From monochrome to rainbow glow display
we are such stuff as dreams are made of” shows,
no lifeless stuffing, feathers drooping, fray;
vitality surpasses surface glows
to put to shame greyed taxidermist’s skills
forever fixed in time: true talent spills.

True talent overflows as curiousity
channels potential, recent acquisitions,
to harness latent energy, to free
flame burning to encounter twin shared visions.
Gold courage holds no secrets for fair muse
whose darker shades may by Miss, understood,
misunderstandings sweep away to choose
hues better read, refusing mirage wood.
If one would ink fresh portrait of fair mind
contact’s impact could do it justice true,
where words match deeds indeed, feed surge behind
layered lines to tempt that talent through.
No taxidermist’s trophy, prized possession,
pro-active win/win casts out sin, transgression.

Shared view should sunshine through tune-blended flow
to filter out, to mend, doubt’s daunting pain,
suspend in amber all imbroglio
freeing focus, tender trust sustain.
Bottled up desire too well preserves
formaldehyde-postponed screw-cap allure,
throttles interaction, tires, reserves
soul’s parking place, secure in sinecure.
Restraints life paints can’t canvas open urge,
anticipate emotions strong, long stored
in hibernation waiting to emerge,
eager for adventures unexplored.
Suspended animation soul-song cheats
with taxidermist version of heart’s beats.

Could luck alight tonight and somehow show
new way to leech frustration numbing brain,

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Reluctant

RELUCTANT


Much need to feed, reluctant to be fed,
A paradox where intellect detracts.
Unlocking former fears dulls doubt’s attacks,
Desire draws trumps, lumps crumple, heart instead
Exposes double bind behind mind led
Combatting déjà vu's stark whites and blacks.
One wonders why self-confidence she lacks
Regarding sensuality two thread -
Rough past perhaps cost counted, mirage bled.
Idyll awaits as life's flow interacts
Exchanging sentiments, repairing cracks,
Response, reactions spurned, tunes heart to head.
As nurture helps true sentiments take root,
Seed sown may blossom, fair boughs bear full fruit.

Mediocrity can’t be her cup of tea.
Alert intelligence seems well aware
Urge to expand won't simply stop and stare,
Doubts must flout through shared transparency
Exploring wave lengths to which few can key.
Control, when role-reversed helps heart prepare
Open options, sloughs defensive layer,
Refutes old walls, heeds shackled spirit’s plea.
Renascent quest for self-acceptancy
Inhibitions shed is inner prayer -
Emancipation, self-fulfilling dare -
Requires heart’s hopes stir mind’s integrity
Affording comfort outside status quo,
So happiness may shared emotions know.

21 July 2004 revised 15 October 2008
robi03_1044_robi03_0000 ASX_MXX
for previous version see below


Reluctant


Need to feed, reluctant to be fed,
Is paradox where intellect attracts.
Comb[in]ing 'cause/effect' for hidden tracks
Opens patterns which help thInk ahead.
Leaving double bind behind, mind's led

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An Exchange Of Values Have Come To Upset

Obtaining gold and diamonds,
Is still prioritized...
In those minds that can not accept,
An exchange of values have come to upset...
The status quo with depth and purpose.

Just to have 'things' to present an image,
Seems to be on the wane for those drained...
And doing the best they can,
To recover from the quick presence of reality.
Many had never met reality so personalized before.
And the experience has been breathtaking.

Even though...
Obtaining gold and diamonds,
Is still prioritized...
In those minds that can not accept,
An exchange of values have come to upset...
The status quo with depth and purpose,
There still remain those...
Clinging onto their delusions,
Since this is the only reality they know!

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John Dryden

The Hind And The Panther, A Poem In Three Parts : Part II.

“Dame,” said the Panther, “times are mended well,
Since late among the Philistines you fell.
The toils were pitched, a spacious tract of ground
With expert huntsmen was encompassed round;
The inclosure narrowed; the sagacious power
Of hounds and death drew nearer every hour.
'Tis true, the younger lion 'scaped the snare,
But all your priestly calves lay struggling there,
As sacrifices on their altars laid;
While you, their careful mother, wisely fled,
Not trusting destiny to save your head.
For, whate'er promises you have applied
To your unfailing Church, the surer side
Is four fair legs in danger to provide;
And whate'er tales of Peter's chair you tell,
Yet, saving reverence of the miracle,
The better luck was yours to 'scape so well.”
“As I remember,” said the sober Hind,
“Those toils were for your own dear self designed,
As well as me; and with the selfsame throw,
To catch the quarry and the vermin too,—
Forgive the slanderous tongues that called you so.
Howe'er you take it now, the common cry
Then ran you down for your rank loyalty.
Besides, in Popery they thought you nurst,
As evil tongues will ever speak the worst,
Because some forms, and ceremonies some
You kept, and stood in the main question dumb.
Dumb you were born indeed; but, thinking long,
The test, it seems, at last has loosed your tongue:
And to explain what your forefathers meant,
By real presence in the sacrament,
After long fencing pushed against a wall,
Your salvo comes, that he's not there at all:
There changed your faith, and what may change may fall.
Who can believe what varies every day,
Nor ever was, nor will be at a stay?”
“Tortures may force the tongue untruths to tell,
And I ne'er owned myself infallible,”
Replied the Panther: “grant such presence were,
Yet in your sense I never owned it there.
A real virtue we by faith receive,
And that we in the sacrament believe.”
“Then,” said the Hind, “as you the matter state,
Not only Jesuits can equivocate;
For real, as you now the word expound,
From solid substance dwindles to a sound.
Methinks, an Æsop's fable you repeat;
You know who took the shadow for the meat:
Your Church's substance thus you change at will,

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