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Questions are the creative acts of intelligence.

quote by Frank Kingdon
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Always Asking Questions

We all want peace we dont want misery
So many of us wont let us be these things
But we only are confused
We feel stronger as we grow older
But still we feel bemused
Always asking questions
Were always asking questions
And the temptation is to just step back
Well we give what we lack
We will always be asking questions
Why rich?
Why poor?
Always asking questions
Were always asking questions
Why this?
Why that?
Were always asking questions
Why this?
Why that?
Always asking
Dont stop asking
Dont stop asking questions
Always asking questions
In answer to this question is just shut up
You dont know
I dont know
Nobody knows
This is an answer to every question
This is a place to begin
Always asking questions
Always asking questions
Why this?
Why that?
Why this?
Why that?
Always asking questions
(why this why that? )
Always asking questions
(why this why that? )
Always asking questions
(why this why that? )
Words: william bryant
Music: howard jones

song performed by Howard Jones
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Transformation Inquisition Saul Into Paul Of Tarsus

What caused miraculous;
transformation inquisition
Saul into Paul of Tarsus?

Saul had previously hated persecuted;
Jews who converted to Christianity
with fanatical deadly holocaust passion?

Infamous Saul of Tarsus;
had one crazed goal
for all followers of Jesus.

To capture then bring to public trial execution;
all Christians he could lay his hands on.
Saul an elite member of the Sanhedrin even

instigated approved ancient equivalent;
of vigilante mob lynchings public stonings.
Saul actively present when first Christian

martyr Stephen was by an angry mob killed;
assumed responsibility of guarding clothes
of all who zealously to death stoned Stephen.

For is it not written?
'At this they covered their ears
and, yelling at the top of their voices,

they all rushed at him, (Stephen)
dragged him out of the city and began
to stone him. Meanwhile, the witnesses

laid their clothes at the feet
of a young man named Saul.
While they were stoning him, Stephen

prayed, 'Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.'
Then he fell on his knees
and cried out, 'Lord, do not hold this sin

against them.' When he had said this,
he fell asleep. (To death Stephen
was by the mob executed.) Acts 7: 57-60.

What did Saul think what then were his actions?
'Saul was there, giving approval to his death' Saul
for his part approved the mob murder of Stephen. Acts 8: 1.

Saul like a ravenous wolf after Stephen was martyred;
went door to door in Jerusalem finding Jews to arrest

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Poet Sajid Khan's Background.

Our Background

We have figured out what is wisdom and how it can be created on a mass scale.

Wisdom is the wealth of intelligence and just like wealth, wisdom is
nothing on its own! Just like wealth has to be in something else like
gold, real estate, stocks, bank balance etc. Again wisdom is like a
house. A house is the sum of its parts. A house is nothing without its
building blocks. Similarly wisdom is nothing without/but its building
blocks. The building block of wisdom is selflessness. By creating
selflessness we create wisdom.

We have quantified the mind and now emotions can be measured. We are
founders of Wisdom Day, Pure Happiness Seminars, 'Who am I' seminars,
'Third Eye' seminars. We have developed the idea of 'WisdomLand',
'Brain Power Clubs', 'Shy Power Club' and The Wisdom Express. We even
have wisdom toys.

The world is at a loss of how to solve the economic mess. We have the
answers. The human self runs on two wheels. One is intelligence and
the other is emotional-intelligence/wisdom. For intelligence we have
hundreds of subjects and for emotional-intelligence/wisdom we have
zero subjects. As a result we educate only half our brains. Naturally
the wheel of emotional intelligence is punctured. And every time we
try to fix this education mess we go back to improving intelligence
education. Leaving emotional intelligence as punctured as ever;
resulting in developing imperfect minds and imperfect brains for over
80% of the population.

Michael Gazzaniga the foremost expert on the brain and mind concludes
in his latest best seller, for a call to arms. “Understanding how to
develop a vocabulary for these layered interactions (between the left
and right brain and between brain and mind) , for me, ” he writes,
“constitutes the scientific problem of the century.” This is exactly
the problem we recognized 40 years ago and we have now solved.

We have figured out the difference between brain and mind. The
education mess is due to the fact man has cutting edge education to
educate the mind and has no idea how to educate the brain. In simple
terms one can say that we keep our homes clean; we keep our cars and
our offices spic and span and when it comes to our own brains and
minds we keep them dirty; full of defective memories/knowledge. We
have developed education for cleaning up the brain.

We have invented this whole new wisdom industry that will generate
wisdom education, creation of text books, with exercises and lessons,
training for teachers and parents, and 'pure happiness' counselors
etc., wisdom coaching for adults, groups and countries, toys that
teach wisdom, wisdom computer games, comic books, children stories,
sitcoms, TV talk shows, movies etc.; and Wisdom Theme Parks, Wisdom

[...] Read more

poem by Sajid Khan
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Feeling Obligated

Someone has to give in and give up,
A dream...
About to be touched.
If a love of another is wanted that much.
Someone has to give in and give up.
Someone has to give in and give up.

Someone has to give in and give up,
A dream...
About to be touched.
If a love of another is wanted that much.
Someone has to give in and give up.
Someone has to give in and give up.

It's hard to love someone,
If that one is creative.

It's hard to leave and separate from...
Someone loved that's very innovative.
Someone loved that is creative,
Someone loved that is creative.

It's hard to love someone,
If that one is creative.

It's hard to leave and separate from...
Someone loved that's very innovative.
Someone loved that is creative,
Someone loved that is creative.

When one wants to be that one and only...
Someone is feeling isolated.
When one wants to be that one and only...
Someone else is feeling obligated.
Someone else is feeling obligated.

It's hard to love someone,
If that one is creative.

It's hard to leave and separate from...
Someone loved that's very innovative.
To leave another feeling obligated.
To leave another feeling obligated.

It's hard to leave and separate from...
Someone loved that's very innovative.
To leave another feeling obligated.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Double Helix Abecedarian - Xylophonic Resonance He Licks Enigmatic

XYLOPHONIC RESONANCE HE LICKS ENIGMATIC
Kindly refer to notes. and see Temptations and Poetic Pizza Extravaganza below :)

Xylophonic Resonance
double helix abecedarian

The first line begins with A and ends with Z
the next line begins with Z and ends with A
The next line begins with B and ends with Y
The next line begins with Y and ends with B
The next line begins with C and ends with X
The next line begins with X and ends with C

A to Z top down A to Z bottom up

All fizzle, finish frazzled, launched with fizZ.
Zero dreams teem when spirit seems at seA
Because most adepts of philosophY
Yearn for zenith seldom dwell on ebB,
Carpe diem value, seeking sea, sun, seX.
Xylem tree of life’s cannibalistiC
Desires corrupt deeds most men seW,
With survival’s urge soon lost indeeD.
Events churn causal patterns, AsimoV
Viewed clearly, took as starship journey cuE
Finding worlds which may appeal to yoU,
Unknown reader from beyond Time’s gulF -
Great divide between those past, those lefT -
Time travellers peruse these lines to sinG
High praise of poets who’ll know no more springS.
Spontaneousl prose poem picks pensive patH
In patter pattern, feet dance to empoweR.
Rhythm harmonious, need no alibI,
Joins sense, style versatile, from mind's H.Q.,
Questions seeks, finds answers. Soujourn’s hadJ
Knowledge acquires to share more than to keeP,
Pipes clear to others drifting through the darK.
Lark sings dawn’s welcome song, and each man’s taO
Opens connections, on life’s sea a-saiL
Ma d, sad, glad, bad, for threescore years and teN
Never certain of his mortal aiM,
Nor sure to gain posthumous fame, acclaiM,
Making ends meet in hope to rise agaiN
On judgement day should trust and faith prevaiL.
Life-spans increase but trite hullabaloO
Prepares too few for winding sheet, corpse starK,

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Prince Of The Punks

A well known groover, rock n roll user,
Wanted to be a star.
But he failed the blues, and hes back to loser,
Playing folk in a country bar.
Reggae music didnt seem to satisfy his needs.
He couldnt handle modern jazz,
cause they play it in difficult keys.
But now hes found a music he can call his own,
Some people call it junk, but he dont care,
Hes found a home.
Hes the prince of the punks and hes finally made it,
Thinks he looks cool but his act is dated.
He acts working class but its all bologna,
Hes really middle class and hes just a phony.
He acts tough but its just a front,
Hes the prince of the punks.
Hes the prince of the punks and hes finally made it,
Thinks he looks cool but his act is dated.
He tried to be gay, but it didnt pay,
So he bought a motorbike instead.
He failed at funk, so he became a punk,
cause he thought hed make a little more bread.
Hes been through all of the changes,
From rock opera to mantovani.
Now he wears a swastika band
And leather boots up past his knees.
Hes much too old for twenty-eight,
But he thinks hes seventeen,
He thinks hes a stud,
But I think he looks more like a queen.
Hes the prince of the punks and hes finally made it,
Thinks he looks cool but his act is dated.
He talks like a cockney but its all bologna,
Hes really middle class and hes just a phony.
He acts tough but its just a front.
Hes the prince of the punks and hes finally made it,
Thinks he looks cool but his act is dated.
He acts working class but its all bologna,
Hes really middle class and hes just a phony.
He acts tough but its just a front,
Hes the prince of the punks and hes finally made it,
Thinks he looks cool but his act is dated.
He acts working class but its all bologna,
Hes really middle class and hes just a phony.
He acts tough but its just a front,
Hes the prince of the punks.

song performed by Kinks
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An act of poetry

Ruin is what we need –
Despair is what we feed
Upon in poetry

A shock resets the nerves –
Helps remould the curves
Of written art

Catharsis helps portray –
Acting out a play
On expurgation

Tears or hidden fears
Release the bottled years
To ink a page:

The pen be our salvation.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010

[...] Read more

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Boatman's Crossing!

The boatman is out, crossing the swollen river,
Dips the bamboo staff, churns the frowning waters,
Calling for strength from the still depths, he moves on,
Like children running behind a cart, waves giggle along.
The river asks no questions.

Dark for lies shrouded in curtains of inky black,
Moon just a strained smile, is seized by the clouds crack,
Lovelorn silver edges aglow, puff in pride on the conquest,
Homesick, signaling to each other, stars join in the jest.
The night asks no questions.

Yet to startle darkness, the weakest hour of morn,
Pushing this log of wood, is yet to be born,
Thick as honey, wind flutters leaves in bouts of rage,
Dripping with the scent of hill balsams and lush foliage.
The wind asks no questions.

Heaving branches of blossoms and figs, offer themselves,
In homage to the river, on either banks banyan trees swagger,
Dipping their flowing roots, like an old woman’s tress,
Bait fish; like one throws pebbles in water seeking answers,
The trees ask no questions.

This, a strange journey he makes in the quiet of the morn,
Questions arise in his head, like on the banks- the wayside corn,
To lull them sings, a wailing tune, like in wilderness richotteing nails,
His mother sang, to stall his questions after
her bed-timetales.
The boatman asks no questions.

As they sail by, birds sent aflutter, snigger, trees jeer,
A startled stork from the far-off horizon hollers-All clear,
Drawn by his song, in his trailing nets fishes ensnare,
Like a maiden in panic, the river hastens, after a night’s dare.
The birds ask no questions.

Dawn breaks its garland of flushing colors galore,
A veiled maiden sits at the boat’s far-end, shadows devour
Head bowed, eyes downcast, break not her silence of the night,
Lest she should dropp off like an unopened bud at first light.

poem by Seema joglekar
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The Ghost - Book IV

Coxcombs, who vainly make pretence
To something of exalted sense
'Bove other men, and, gravely wise,
Affect those pleasures to despise,
Which, merely to the eye confined,
Bring no improvement to the mind,
Rail at all pomp; they would not go
For millions to a puppet-show,
Nor can forgive the mighty crime
Of countenancing pantomime;
No, not at Covent Garden, where,
Without a head for play or player,
Or, could a head be found most fit,
Without one player to second it,
They must, obeying Folly's call,
Thrive by mere show, or not at all
With these grave fops, who, (bless their brains!)
Most cruel to themselves, take pains
For wretchedness, and would be thought
Much wiser than a wise man ought,
For his own happiness, to be;
Who what they hear, and what they see,
And what they smell, and taste, and feel,
Distrust, till Reason sets her seal,
And, by long trains of consequences
Insured, gives sanction to the senses;
Who would not (Heaven forbid it!) waste
One hour in what the world calls Taste,
Nor fondly deign to laugh or cry,
Unless they know some reason why;
With these grave fops, whose system seems
To give up certainty for dreams,
The eye of man is understood
As for no other purpose good
Than as a door, through which, of course,
Their passage crowding, objects force,
A downright usher, to admit
New-comers to the court of Wit:
(Good Gravity! forbear thy spleen;
When I say Wit, I Wisdom mean)
Where (such the practice of the court,
Which legal precedents support)
Not one idea is allow'd
To pass unquestion'd in the crowd,
But ere it can obtain the grace
Of holding in the brain a place,
Before the chief in congregation
Must stand a strict examination.
Not such as those, who physic twirl,
Full fraught with death, from every curl;

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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Questions Above

Many questions, seventy times seven, may be asked once in Heaven,
Our thoughts about the patriarchs, one or more questions this sparks,
Or maybe questions about this life, just why so much pain and strife?
Or the things we can't comprehend; may prompt questions in the end.

But with a pure mind and heart, many of those questions shall depart,
This when we enter into Eternal Life, now, with the pure mind of Christ,
Former things remembered no more, as we step on that eternal shore,
With an eternal mindset instead, as past is behind with Eternity ahead.

The things we could not comprehend, shall come to light at that bend,
The final turn at the end of our life, as we see the face of Jesus Christ,
With our glorified body and mind, those former things are well behind,
Many questions we may have asked, may be faded things of our past.

Most things from the former time, shall pale in the light of the sublime,
As the Crystal Sea and streets of gold, with our Lord our eyes behold,
Mindful now, of the things to come, as we enter, His Eternal Kingdom,
A Kingdom that shall not pass away, one, where we'll be there to stay,

Many things that we now ponder, may fade away as we get up yonder,
Earthly things will lose their allure, as we begin a new life for evermore,
Many questions now thought of, will likely fade in His presence above,
As Christ answers more than we ask, when we begin, that Eternal Task.

poem by Bob Gotti
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The four Monarchyes, the Assyrian being the first, beginning under Nimrod, 131. Years after the Floo

When time was young, & World in Infancy,
Man did not proudly strive for Soveraignty:
But each one thought his petty Rule was high,
If of his house he held the Monarchy.
This was the golden Age, but after came
The boisterous son of Chus, Grand-Child to Ham,
That mighty Hunter, who in his strong toyles
Both Beasts and Men subjected to his spoyles:
The strong foundation of proud Babel laid,
Erech, Accad, and Culneh also made.
These were his first, all stood in Shinar land,
From thence he went Assyria to command,
And mighty Niniveh, he there begun,
Not finished till he his race had run.
Resen, Caleh, and Rehoboth likewise
By him to Cities eminent did rise.
Of Saturn, he was the Original,
Whom the succeeding times a God did call,
When thus with rule, he had been dignifi'd,
One hundred fourteen years he after dy'd.
Belus.
Great Nimrod dead, Belus the next his Son
Confirms the rule, his Father had begun;
Whose acts and power is not for certainty
Left to the world, by any History.
But yet this blot for ever on him lies,
He taught the people first to Idolize:
Titles Divine he to himself did take,
Alive and dead, a God they did him make.
This is that Bel the Chaldees worshiped,
Whose Priests in Stories oft are mentioned;
This is that Baal to whom the Israelites
So oft profanely offered sacred Rites:
This is Beelzebub God of Ekronites,
Likewise Baalpeor of the Mohabites,
His reign was short, for as I calculate,
At twenty five ended his Regal date.
Ninus.
His Father dead, Ninus begins his reign,
Transfers his seat to the Assyrian plain;
And mighty Nineveh more mighty made,
Whose Foundation was by his Grand-sire laid:
Four hundred forty Furlongs wall'd about,
On which stood fifteen hundred Towers stout.
The walls one hundred sixty foot upright,
So broad three Chariots run abrest there might.
Upon the pleasant banks of Tygris floud
This stately Seat of warlike Ninus stood:
This Ninus for a God his Father canonized,
To whom the sottish people sacrificed.

[...] Read more

poem by Anne Bradstreet
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The Third Monarchy, being the Grecian, beginning under Alexander the Great in the 112. Olympiad.

Great Alexander was wise Philips son,
He to Amyntas, Kings of Macedon;
The cruel proud Olympias was his Mother,
She to Epirus warlike King was daughter.
This Prince (his father by Pausanias slain)
The twenty first of's age began to reign.
Great were the Gifts of nature which he had,
His education much to those did adde:
By art and nature both he was made fit,
To 'complish that which long before was writ.
The very day of his Nativity
To ground was burnt Dianaes Temple high:
An Omen to their near approaching woe,
Whose glory to the earth this king did throw.
His Rule to Greece he scorn'd should be confin'd,
The Universe scarce bound his proud vast mind.
This is the He-Goat which from Grecia came,
That ran in Choler on the Persian Ram,
That brake his horns, that threw him on the ground
To save him from his might no man was found:
Philip on this great Conquest had an eye,
But death did terminate those thoughts so high.
The Greeks had chose him Captain General,
Which honour to his Son did now befall.
(For as Worlds Monarch now we speak not on,
But as the King of little Macedon)
Restless both day and night his heart then was,
His high resolves which way to bring to pass;
Yet for a while in Greece is forc'd to stay,
Which makes each moment seem more then a day.
Thebes and stiff Athens both 'gainst him rebel,
Their mutinies by valour doth he quell.
This done against both right and natures Laws,
His kinsmen put to death, who gave no cause;
That no rebellion in in his absence be,
Nor making Title unto Sovereignty.
And all whom he suspects or fears will climbe,
Now taste of death least they deserv'd in time,
Nor wonder is t if he in blood begin,
For Cruelty was his parental sin,
Thus eased now of troubles and of fears,
Next spring his course to Asia he steers;
Leavs Sage Antipater, at home to sway,
And through the Hellispont his Ships made way.
Coming to Land, his dart on shore he throws,
Then with alacrity he after goes;
And with a bount'ous heart and courage brave,
His little wealth among his Souldiers gave.
And being ask'd what for himself was left,
Reply'd, enough, sith only hope he kept.

[...] Read more

poem by Anne Bradstreet
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Meaning Embedded In The Bible?

Some Biblical symbolism and prophecy
are easy to interpret some are very deep
in some I am on milk in others I eat meat

Proverbs and Psalms are written
with great love in simple beauty
meaning is usually easy to discern

Gospels of Matthew Mark Luke John
make a reader knowledgeable of Jesus
a miraculous journey discovery to learn

Acts continues Luke's address beginning
with another prologue to excellent Theophilus
statements of fact given full credence among us

eyewitnesses and attendants of the message
delivered to us resolved traced are all things
from start of Christ’s teachings with accuracy

written in logical order is Luke’s Gospel now
an early church testimony continues previous
work in a unity of language style numerous

parallels an emphasis on work of Holy Spirit
the most excellent role of women Christians
even the prophet Joel stressed role of women

“And in the last days, ” God said, “I shall pour
out some of my spirit upon every sort of flesh,
and your sons and daughters will prophecy

and your young men will see visions and your
old men will dream dreams and even upon my
men slaves and upon my women slaves I will

pour out some of my spirit in those days,
and they will prophecy. Acts 2: 17-18.
Luke is an eyewitness participant in events.

Famous 'we passages' events described in first
person narrative reads like Luke’s personal diary
passages indicate Luke was closely associated

with Paul the bulk of Acts deals with evangelizing
efforts of Paul events described end abruptly with
Paul's arrival in Rome his subsequent two-year stay

in about A.D.60! evangelizing is key message
ministry opened gentile inclusion in heavenly

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Vivid Imagination

Vivid imagination should expand
Initiative with intuitions shared
Creating strong momentum unimpaired,
Kicking serf's shackles' strong wrongs most minds b[r]and.
Independent spirit seeks no grand
Embroidered mirage where, when fair truth's bared,
K eystone is found unstable, unprepared,
Valueless, - base built from desert sand,
Integrity, rejecting out of hand
Compromise, incompetence declared,
Kidding not! With facts intact compared,
Intelligence rejects cores coarse, mores bland.
Expediency's unhealthy cup of tea,
Key words are: sound, profound, autonomy!

Veracity and clarity combine
Intensely in a mind which hopes for scope,
Creative recognition not soft soap.
Knowledge wide inside retains design
Innate to contemplate true meanings, line
Existence with the will to grow, not mope,
Keeping ideals intact to underline
Vision deep, whose inner light should shine
Incandescent as the heliotrope.
Charming seems surface smile, yet one must cope,
Keel even though some seek to undermine
Innate principles reject weep whine,
Expect top quality not slippery slope,
Karmic energy to intertwine.

Enchanted by an understanding clear,
Awaiting an osmosis warm whose heart
Should share implicitly, ne'er need to start
To challenge for the sake of challenge here.
Creative thinking helps the mind appear
Open free from artificial art,
Arrogance and intolerance which chart
Shipwreck sure, lure siren insincere.
Touched by heart, tomorrow's travels steer,
Gaining trust, towards berth port where part
And whole are one, soul won with Cupid's dart,
Life, laughter, linked as frontiers disappear.
Energy creative shuns despair,
Choice, voice, combined, find mind binds joys hors pair.

Voice for choice in this decisive year
Important is as effervescent mind
Calls for conditions which can leave behind
Kennelled spirits, steer solutions clear,
Interactive, shared. Ambitions dear

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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A Prayer in Spring

the universe
flows through the man
a minscule of
all creations
a volcano
seethes beneath
a calm demeanor
the krakatoa
that never announced
its blast
lava and all
the anger
that seethes, it burns
through the man
the tempest
the wind, the thunder,
the lightning
that sweeps through the land
the dowager throws her tantrums
a whole army of men beheaded
the river cruises through stone
a thousand years
to run through a dream
the central intelligence's dream
the man's patience
to fashion a way to the other world, universe
the men a miniscule of creation
in the sky, in the sea,
in the smallest gene, cell
you find the working
of the man
the pervasive intelligence
manifests in the miniscule
of creation; men
the lord wants interaction
the world to communicate
cell with cell, oxygen with hydrogen
sperm with ovum
the central intelligence
accumulates in the man
ensures the propagation
of a wondrous world
of interaction, growth
men, the miniscule of
the pervasive intelligence
go east, go west,
go north, go south
you turn back to the man
for answer to world's intelligence

[...] Read more

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Months Of 9/11 Intelligence Warnings Ignored?

Oil Date Summer 2001
Pakistani ISI Chief General Ahmad orders an aide
to wire transfer $100,000 to al-Qaeda FBI suspect
suicide hijackings 9/11 lead terrorist Mohammed
Atta but this transfer was later in India disclosed
then confirmed by the FBI General Ahmad resigned....

Oil Date August 11 or 12,2001 (Vreeland Spills The Beans)
Delmart 'Mike' Vreeland US Navy Lt. O-3 jailed in
Toronto on U.S. fraud charges claims to be an officer
in U.S. Naval intelligence ONI suddenly writes details
of the pending WTC attacks and seals them in an
envelope which he gives to Canadian authorities...

mystery man Vreeland locked up securely in a Canadian
jail since December 6,2000 verbally fails to warn jailers
Vreeland's letter specifically listed high profile targets
including The White House, The World Trade Center,
The Pentagon, The Sears Towers, Royal Bank in Toronto...

and Canadian parliament building in Ottawa but this
chilling sentence followed the target list 'Let one happen.
Stop the rest! ! ! ' the envelope was opened September 14th?

Oil Date August 2001 (FBI Uncovers Hijacking Plot)
FBI arrests Islamic militant linked to bin Laden in Boston
'French intelligence sources confirm that the man is a key
member of bin Laden's network and the FBI learns that he
has been taking flying lessons' the man has in possession
technical information on Boeing aircraft and flight manuals...

Oil Date August 2001 (CIA Receives Hijack Warnings)
Russian intelligence notifies the CIA 25 terrorist pilots
were specifically training for suicide missions reported
in Russian press news stories translated by a retired CIA
officer who forwards this data to the FTW the Russian
President Vladimir Putin orders Russian intelligence to...

warn 'in the strongest possible terms' the government
of the US of imminent attacks on airports government
buildings MS-NBC interview with Putin September 15th?

Oil Date August/September 2001
Dow Jones Industrial Average drops nearly 900
points in three weeks prior to 9/11 attack
meaning a major stock market crash is imminent?

Oil Date September 3-10,2001 (US Imminent Attack)
'a caller to a Cayman Islands radio talk show gave several
warnings of an imminent attack on the U.S. by bin Laden

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Fourth Book

THEY met still sooner. 'Twas a year from thence
When Lucy Gresham, the sick semptress girl,
Who sewed by Marian's chair so still and quick,
And leant her head upon the back to cough
More freely when, the mistress turning round,
The others took occasion to laugh out,–
Gave up a last. Among the workers, spoke
A bold girl with black eyebrows and red lips,–
'You know the news? Who's dying, do you think?
Our Lucy Gresham. I expected it
As little as Nell Hart's wedding. Blush not, Nell,
Thy curls be red enough without thy cheeks;
And, some day, there'll be found a man to dote
On red curls.–Lucy Gresham swooned last night,
Dropped sudden in the street while going home;
And now the baker says, who took her up
And laid her by her grandmother in bed,
He'll give her a week to die in. Pass the silk.
Let's hope he gave her a loaf too, within reach,
For otherwise they'll starve before they die,
That funny pair of bedfellows! Miss Bell,
I'll thank you for the scissors. The old crone
Is paralytic–that's the reason why
Our Lucy's thread went faster than her breath,
Which went too quick, we all know. Marian Erle!
Why, Marian Erle, you're not the fool to cry?
Your tears spoil Lady Waldemar's new dress,
You piece of pity!'
Marian rose up straight,
And, breaking through the talk and through the work,
Went outward, in the face of their surprise,
To Lucy's home, to nurse her back to life
Or down to death. She knew by such an act,
All place and grace were forfeit in the house,
Whose mistress would supply the missing hand
With necessary, not inhuman haste,
And take no blame. But pity, too, had dues:
She could not leave a solitary soul
To founder in the dark, while she sate still
And lavished stitches on a lady's hem
As if no other work were paramount.
'Why, God,' thought Marian, 'has a missing hand
This moment; Lucy wants a drink, perhaps.
Let others miss me! never miss me, God!'

So Marian sat by Lucy's bed, content
With duty, and was strong, for recompense,
To hold the lamp of human love arm-high
To catch the death-strained eyes and comfort them,
Until the angels, on the luminous side

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Double Helix Abecedarian - 1859 - Xylophonic Resonance

All fizzle, finish frazzled, launched with fizZ.
Zero dreams teem when spirit seems at seA
Because most adepts of philosophY
Yearn for zenith seldom dwell on ebB,
Carpe diem value, seeking sea, sun, seX.
Xylem tree of life's cannibalistiC
Desires corrupt deeds most men seW,
With survival's urge soon lost indeeD.
Events churn causal patterns, AsimoV
Viewed clearly, took as starship journey cuE
Finding worlds which may appeal to yoU,
Unknown reader from beyond Time's gulF -
Great divide between those past, those lefT -
Time travellers peruse these lines to sinG
High praise of poets who'll know no more springS.
Spontaneousl prose poem picks pensive patH
In patter pattern, feet dance to empoweR.
Rhythm harmonious, need no alibI,
Joins sense, style versatile, from mind's H.Q.,
Questions seeks, finds answers. Soujourn's hadJ
Knowledge acquires to share more than to keeP,
Pipes clear to others drifting through the darK.
Lark sings dawn's welcome song, and each man's taO
Opens connections, on life's sea a-saiL
Ma d, sad, glad, bad, for threescore years and teN
Never certain of his mortal aiM,
Nor sure to gain posthumous fame, acclaiM,
Making ends meet in hope to rise agaiN
On judgement day should trust and faith prevaiL.
Life-spans increase but trite hullabaloO
Prepares too few for winding sheet, corpse starK,
Kings, Presidents and crowd condemned to sleeP,
Quest over, in no Shah Jehan's fair TaJ,
Judge! Wonders of the world in tome or FAQ
Remain till flood or earthquake SvengalI
Identitydestroys when come their houR.
Stands Rhodes' Colossus stony eyed and higH?
Hanging Gardens, Babylon's green GrasS?
Thus earth all swallows, as the changes rinG
Glut or famine, leaves the rich berefT,
Upsets regimes, and redefines itselF.
Fresh or stale, hale, halt, Huns, Goths, AinU,
Vandals, Franks, forgotten, vain their strifE, -
Eternity mocks Boris KasparoV
When chess game lasts millenia whose speeD
Defies time travel's role-reversal floW.
Xanthic parchments, works iconographiC
Crumble! What Tyrannosaurus reX
Yet rules blue planet? Will ant, spider weB,
Be as extinct as world wide web one daY?

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Last Instructions to a Painter

After two sittings, now our Lady State
To end her picture does the third time wait.
But ere thou fall'st to work, first, Painter, see
If't ben't too slight grown or too hard for thee.
Canst thou paint without colors? Then 'tis right:
For so we too without a fleet can fight.
Or canst thou daub a signpost, and that ill?
'Twill suit our great debauch and little skill.
Or hast thou marked how antic masters limn
The aly-roof with snuff of candle dim,
Sketching in shady smoke prodigious tools?
'Twill serve this race of drunkards, pimps and fools.
But if to match our crimes thy skill presumes,
As th' Indians, draw our luxury in plumes.
Or if to score out our compendious fame,
With Hooke, then, through the microscope take aim,
Where, like the new Comptroller, all men laugh
To see a tall louse brandish the white staff.
Else shalt thou oft thy guiltless pencil curse,
Stamp on thy palette, not perhaps the worse.
The painter so, long having vexed his cloth--
Of his hound's mouth to feign the raging froth--
His desperate pencil at the work did dart:
His anger reached that rage which passed his art;
Chance finished that which art could but begin,
And he sat smiling how his dog did grin.
So mayst thou pérfect by a lucky blow
What all thy softest touches cannot do.

Paint then St Albans full of soup and gold,
The new court's pattern, stallion of the old.
Him neither wit nor courage did exalt,
But Fortune chose him for her pleasure salt.
Paint him with drayman's shoulders, butcher's mien,
Membered like mules, with elephantine chine.
Well he the title of St Albans bore,
For Bacon never studied nature more.
But age, allayed now that youthful heat,
Fits him in France to play at cards and treat.
Draw no commission lest the court should lie,
That, disavowing treaty, asks supply.
He needs no seal but to St James's lease,
Whose breeches wear the instrument of peace;
Who, if the French dispute his power, from thence
Can straight produce them a plenipotence..
Nor fears he the Most Christian should trepan
Two saints at once, St Germain, St Alban,
But thought the Golden Age was now restored,
When men and women took each other's word.

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poem by Andrew Marvell
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My Secret Place

My secret place down by the Tay River.
I deer-bed down among the autumn grasses
and last of the New England asters
half-lotus in cowboy boots
with a clear view of the stars
dancing on the water.
The waterlilies have perished.
Jupiter.
And the moon at last crescent.
No one knows I'm here but me.
I've never come here with another.
A place where I talk to the universe alone
as if it existed
more personally
than the mere immensity
of a cosmic intelligence
super-saturating time and space.
Belief's a bad habit of mine
and sometimes I want to be deceived
into believing someone's listening
even when I know they aren't
and that the worst always happens for the best
even though I know it doesn't.
The sky's a windowpane I can fly through
without breaking my neck on delusions
and the moon feels like
a cool poultice on a hot wound.
I watch a spider repair its dreamcatcher
and say good luck.
And the stars don't really give a damn
how they shine deep in my dark inner spaces.
Everything is so perfectly entranced with being itself
I wonder what it is about a human
that has to take time out like me
to reconsider what I'm doing here
wandering around on the earth
without any certain purpose
other than the ones I make up like poems
to spin bedtime stories out of my nightmares.
A birch leans out over the water
like a woman washing her hair in the river
and I sense there's an inevitability about a tree
that isn't like me.
I can't find a fixed reality
to be in harmony with.
I have no doubt the rocks along the shore
are getting it right
but with me consciousness is a light
that contradicts its own clarity
the moment it reveals itself.

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poem by Patrick White
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