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I am not very introspective.

quote by Pierre Salinger
Added by Lucian Velea
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Am I 'That'?

Am I 'that'?
That which has expressed my purpose?
Flaunted and yet,
Kept introspective.
Although touching with a respectfulness,
Impressing with an aggressiveness.
That is brought to birth,
Without pretensions to suspect.
For mindsets to collect and digest!
Am I 'that'?

That which has expressed my purpose?
Flaunted and yet,
Kept introspective.

But,
Exposed to those who choose to inspect.
From a diversed and eclectic selection.
To enjoy just a nibble...
Or disregard an effort released at my best!
I can not make every taste,
Unforgettable!
That I have yet to try!
Should I continue to let you decide,
I 'am' that!
Am I?

For you to say an arrival has been made?
Am I 'That'?
I've just begun another batch,
If you wish more!
I can not expect all my flavors to be savored.
Some are whipped to be delicious.
While a few may sit.
To do nothing with until I give them the attention,
They wish to get.
Perhaps they become the ones,
To attract when I'm done.
For you to say an arrival has been made?

Am I 'That'?
I can start another batch,
If you wish more!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Usually, when I do a soundtrack, the music from the movie doesn't have anything to do with me personally. It's music to enhance to the film. My own stuff is more introspective and about what's on going in my head.

quote by Stanley Clarke
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Hopelessly Human

It's a strange aberration, this brainstorm of youth
Though it's lost in translation from fancy to truth
It's hopelessly human, both inside and out
A joyous occasion, there's no reason to doubt
It's easy somehow, what once was elusive
Is calling me now
I am waiting, I am patiently
Doing nothing, in a reverie
Climbing higher, seeing everything
Interacting, slowly spiralling
I am giving, while I'm watching the
Life I'm living, precious energy
Escalating, what was once just a game,
It's never the same, no one's to blame
It's a strange situation, there's no cause for alarm
All these hot licks and rhetoric, surely do you no harm
They're hopelessly human, both inside and out
A joyous occasion, there's no reason to doubt
When each word is read, would you know the difference
If nothing was said?
All is rythm, all is unity
I am laughing, as it's meant to be
Just amusing, I am using the
Word was given, making harmony
Moving slowly, dancing aimlessly
Endless circle, turning fearlessly
Resurrected, falling down again
Introspective, I'm just stating my view
Now you can choose, what do you feel,
Is it for real this time?
Your request matches 1 albums and 9 songs

song performed by Kansas
Added by Lucian Velea
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D.w. Washburn

Lead vocal: micky dolenz
Produced by: the monkees
D.w. washburn, i heard a sweet voice say.
D.w. washburn, this is your lucky day.
A hot bowl of soup is waitin'.
A hot bowl of soup and a shave.
D.w. washburn, we picked you to say.
Can't you hear the bugle call? can't you hear the bells?
Even you can be reborn, you naughty
If you don't get out of that gutter,
Before the next big rain.
D.w. wahsburn, you're gonna wash right down the drain.
Up, up, come on get up off your street.
If you can only make it from your hands to your knees,
I know you can make it to your feet. wooah!
D.w. washburn, i said to myself.
D.w. washburn, why don't you go save sombody else?
Well, i got no job to go to.
I don't work and i don't get paid.
I got a bottle of wine, i'm feelin' fine.
And i believe i got it made.
I'd like to thank all you good people
For comin' to my aid.
But i'm d.w. washburn.
I do believe i got it made.
I do believe i got it made, don't need nobody.
I do believe i got it made, i do believe i got it made.
Or...
Dw washburn i heard a sweet voice say
Dw washburn this is your lucky day
A hot bowl of soup is waitin'
A hot bowl of soup and a shave...
Dw washburn...we picked you to save (the whole thing is about the
Salvation army finding some soul that they think needs saving....and the guy
Is perfectly content as he is)
Can't you hear the flugle horn?
Can't you hear the band? (also could be bells...certainly fits the music
Here...but the band would refer to the sal army)
Even you can be reborn
You naughty n'er - do-well (an archaic term for a slacker)
Get up, get outta that gutter
Before the next big rain.
Dw washburn...you're gonna wash right down the drain.
Up, up...c'mon get up (my kid's favorite part of the song)
Get up off your street (has been written as "seat" in other places, but
Micky is clearly saying "street" ...which works in context.)
If you can only make it from your hands to your knees,
I know you can make it to your feet..whooo
Dw washburn i said to myself (character is going introspective here)
Dw washburn why don't you go save somebody else? (i.e. we picked you to

[...] Read more

song performed by Monkees
Added by Lucian Velea
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Neuron Flood

heads like hurricanes navigate through neuron rains hearts like summer storms to our embraces we are born we are the innocent holy ghosts in every wish we are the guilt within a wish fulfilled tonight we found our fall in neuron floods with cardiac arresting acts we camouflage hands like autumn breeze purest hands hold empathy eyes like winter calm a quiet introspective dawn

song performed by Quitter
Added by Lucian Velea
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But generally speaking, I tend to be quiet and introspective.

quote by Rowan Atkinson
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Clergyman’s First Tale: Love is Fellow-service

A youth and maid upon a summer night
Upon the lawn, while yet the skies were light,
Edmund and Emma, let their names be these,
Among the shrubs within the circling trees,
Joined in a game with boys and girls at play:
For games perhaps too old a little they;
In April she her eighteenth year begun,
And twenty he, and near to twenty-one.
A game it was of running and of noise;
He as a boy, with other girls and boys
(Her sisters and her brothers), took the fun;
And when her turn, she marked not, came to run,
‘Emma,’ he called, then knew that he was wrong,
Knew that her name to him did not belong.
Her look and manner proved his feeling true,
A child no more, her womanhood she knew;
Half was the colour mounted on her face,
Her tardy movement had an adult grace.
Vexed with himself, and shamed, he felt the more
A kind of joy he ne’er had felt before.
Something there was that from this date began;
’Twas beautiful with her to be a man.

Two years elapsed, and he who went and came,
Changing in much, in this appeared the same;
The feeling, if it did not greatly grow,
Endured and was not wholly hid below.
He now, o’ertasked at school, a serious boy,
A sort of after-boyhood to enjoy
Appeared in vigour and in spirit high
And manly grown, but kept the boy’s soft eye:
And full of blood, and strong and lithe of limb,
To him ’twas pleasure now to ride, to swim;
The peaks, the glens, the torrents tempted him.
Restless he seemed, long distances would walk,
And lively was, and vehement in talk.
A wandering life his life had lately been,
Books he had read, the world had little seen.
One former frailty haunted him, a touch
Of something introspective overmuch.
With all his eager motions still there went
A self-correcting and ascetic bent,
That from the obvious good still led astray,
And set him travelling on the longest way;
Seen in these scattered notes their date that claim
When first his feeling conscious sought a name.
‘Beside the wishing gate which so they name,
’Mid northern hills to me this fancy came,
A wish I formed, my wish I thus expressed:
Would I could wish my wishes all to rest,

[...] Read more

poem by Arthur Hugh Clough from Mari Magno or Tales on Board
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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To exercise at or near capacity is the best way I know of reaching a true introspective state. If you do it right, it can open all kinds of inner doors.

quote by Al Oerter
Added by Lucian Velea
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I'm an introspective person. I'm not an extrovert.

quote by John Thaw
Added by Lucian Velea
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I just turned 30 so I got really introspective as you do, questioning my life. And when I stopped and sort of looked back at the past decade, I realized I had done more work than I thought I had done.

quote by Sheryl Lee
Added by Lucian Velea
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As long as any adult thinks that he, like the parents and teachers of old, can become introspective, invoking his own youth to understand the youth before him, he is lost.

quote by Margaret Mead
Added by Lucian Velea
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Through travel I first became aware of the outside world; it was through travel that I found my own introspective way into becoming a part of it.

quote by Eudora Welty
Added by Lucian Velea
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They lyrical content has grown more introspective and less abstract. I don't know if that's good or bad... Sometimes it feels a little raw to be putting so much of myself out there.

quote by Mark Edwards
Added by Lucian Velea
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In my circle of friends, I've always been loud and funny and talkative. But as soon as I step out of that circle, I get very quiet and introspective. I don't want the spotlight on me.

quote by Rosie Perez
Added by Lucian Velea
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Pure Admiration

I never get tired of admiring you,
Your body your beauty is to good to be true.
I love your sweet smelling fragrance,
It is like you never left because your smell still lingers.
I LOVE YOU is an understatement.
I get fedup of saying it do not get me wrong my words are real,
But it undermines hw i truly feel.
I love you with every beat in my heart,
Time would not tear us apart.
It makes us stronger,
Better prepared for now and thereafter.

When you open you mouth,
More than words come out.
You have a scholastic vision,
And to me there is no comparison.
So splendiferous......
Just one of your many features illustrating your difference.
You are more than original,
With no hint of fabrication.
I always say I love you for you,
And up to this day I still do.
I just wanted to tell you what I see,
Not just your good looks but your introspective and amazing personality.
It is late yes look at the time,
Just felt like telling you whats on my mind.
Better late than ever,
Love you always forever and ever.

poem by Anita Khelawan
Added by Poetry Lover
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Senlin: His Dark Origins

1

Senlin sits before us, and we see him.
He smokes his pipe before us, and we hear him.
Is he small, with reddish hair,
Does he light his pipe with meditative stare,
And a pointed flame reflected in both eyes?
Is he sad and happy and foolish and wise?
Did no one see him enter the doors of the city,
Looking above him at the roofs and trees and skies?
'I stepped from a cloud', he says, 'as evening fell;
I walked on the sound of a bell;
I ran with winged heels along a gust;
Or is it true that I laughed and sprang from dust? . . .
Has no one, in a great autumnal forest,
When the wind bares the trees,
Heard the sad horn of Senlin slowly blown?
Has no one, on a mountain in the spring,
Heard Senlin sing?
Perhaps I came alone on a snow-white horse,--
Riding alone from the deep-starred night.
Perhaps I came on a ship whose sails were music,--
Sailing from moon or sun on a river of light.'

He lights his pipe with a pointed flame.
'Yet, there were many autumns before I came,
And many springs. And more will come, long after
There is no horn for me, or song, or laughter.

The city dissolves about us, and its walls
Become an ancient forest. There is no sound
Except where an old twig tires and falls;
Or a lizard among the dead leaves crawls;
Or a flutter is heard in darkness along the ground.

Has Senlin become a forest? Do we walk in Senlin?
Is Senlin the wood we walk in, --ourselves,--the world?
Senlin! we cry . . . Senlin! again . . . No answer,
Only soft broken echoes backward whirled . . .

Yet we would say: this is no wood at all,
But a small white room with a lamp upon the wall;
And Senlin, before us, pale, with reddish hair,
Lights his pipe with a meditative stare.

2

Senlin, walking beside us, swings his arms
And turns his head to look at walls and trees.
The wind comes whistling from shrill stars of winter,

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The Charnel Rose: A Symphony

She rose in moonlight, and stood, confronting sea,
With her bare arms uplifted,
And lifted her voice in the silence foolishly:
And her face was small, and her voice was small.
'O moon!' she cried, 'I think how you must tire
Forever circling earth, so silently;
Earth, who is dark and makes you no reply.'
She only heard the little waves rush and fall;
And saw the moon go quietly down the sky.

Like a white figurehead in the seafaring wind,
She stood in the moonlight,
And heard her voice cry, ghostly and thinned,
Over the seethe of foam,
Saying, 'O numberless waters, I think it strange
How you can always shadow her face, and change
And yet never weary of her, having no ease.'
But the sea said nothing, no word at all:
Unquietly, as in sleep, she saw it rise and fall;
And the moon spread a net of silver over the foam.

She lifted her hands and let them fall again,
Impatient of the silence. And in despair,
Hopeless of final answer against her pain,
She said, to the stealthy air,
'O air, far traveller, who from the stars are blown,
Float pollen of suns, you are an unseen sea
Lifting and bearing the words, eternally.
O air, do you not weary of your task?'
- She stood in the silence, frightened and alone,
And heard her syllables ask and ask.

And then, as she walked in the moonlight, so alone,
Lost and small in a soulless sea,
Hearing no voice make answer to her own,
From that infinity, -
Suddenly she was aware of a low whisper,
A dreadful heartless sound; and she stood still, -
There in the beach grass, on a sandy hill, -
And heard the stars, making a ghostly whisper;
And the soulless whisper of sun and moon and tree;
And the sea, rising and falling with a blind moan.

And as she faded into the night,
A glimmer of white,
With her arms uplifted and her face bowed down;
Sinking, again, into the sleep of sands,
The sea-sands white and brown;
Or among the sea-grass rustling as one more blade,
Pushing before her face her cinquefoil hands;

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Spiders

Is the spider a monster in miniature?
His web is a cruel stair, to be sure,
Designed artfully, cunningly placed,
A delicate trap, carefully spun
To bind the fly (innocent or unaware)
In a net as strong as a chain or a gun.

There are far more spiders than the man in the street
supposes
And the philosopher-king imagines, let alone knows!
There are six hundred kinds of spiders and each one
Differs in kind and in unkindness.
In variety of behavior spiders are unrivalled:
The fat garden spider sits motionless, amidst or at the heart
Of the orb of its web: other kinds run,
Scuttling across the floor, falling into bathtubs,
Trapped in the path of its own wrath, by overconfidence
drowned and undone.

Other kinds - more and more kinds under the stars and
the sun -
Are carnivores: all are relentless, ruthless
Enemies of insects. Their methods of getting food
Are unconventional, numerous, various and sometimes
hilarious:
Some spiders spin webs as beautiful
As Japanese drawings, intricate as clocks, strong as rocks:
Others construct traps which consist only
Of two sticky and tricky threads. Yet this ambush is enough
To bind and chain a crawling ant for long
enough:
The famished spider feels the vibration
Which transforms patience into sensation and satiation.
The handsome wolf spider moves suddenly freely and relies
Upon lightning suddenness, stealth and surprise,
Possessing accurate eyes, pouncing upon his victim with the
speed of surmise.

Courtship is dangerous: there are just as many elaborate
and endless techniques and varieties
As characterize the wooing of more analytic, more
introspective beings: Sometimes the male
Arrives with the gift of a freshly caught fly.
Sometimes he ties down the female, when she is frail,
With deft strokes and quick maneuvres and threads of silk:
But courtship and wooing, whatever their form, are
informed
By extreme caution, prudence, and calculation,
For the female spider, lazier and fiercer than the male
suitor,

[...] Read more

poem by Delmore Schwartz
Added by Poetry Lover
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France--December 1870

I

We look for her that sunlike stood
Upon the forehead of our day,
An orb of nations, radiating food
For body and for mind alway.
Where is the Shape of glad array;
The nervous hands, the front of steel,
The clarion tongue? Where is the bold proud face?
We see a vacant place;
We hear an iron heel.

II

O she that made the brave appeal
For manhood when our time was dark,
And from our fetters drove the spark
Which was as lightning to reveal
New seasons, with the swifter play
Of pulses, and benigner day;
She that divinely shook the dead
From living man; that stretched ahead
Her resolute forefinger straight,
And marched toward the gloomy gate
Of earth's Untried, gave note, and in
The good name of Humanity
Called forth the daring vision! she,
She likewise half corrupt of sin,
Angel and Wanton! can it be?
Her star has foundered in eclipse,
The shriek of madness on her lips;
Shreds of her, and no more, we see.
There is horrible convulsion, smothered din,
As of one that in a grave-cloth struggles to be free.

III

Look not for spreading boughs
On the riven forest tree.
Look down where deep in blood and mire
Black thunder plants his feet and ploughs
The soil for ruin: that is France:
Still thrilling like a lyre,
Amazed to shivering discord from a fall
Sudden as that the lurid hosts recall
Who met in heaven the irreparable mischance.
O that is France!
The brilliant eyes to kindle bliss,
The shrewd quick lips to laugh and kiss,
Breasts that a sighing world inspire,

[...] Read more

poem by George Meredith
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Bell's Palsy I Penned stroke on stroke penned - Optimistic In...Sight

Bell's Palsy I

December turns November's page.
Assumptions artificial,
priorities age must regauge
of ease so superficial
the tenets, try to disengage
from palsy interstitial,
periphery extend sans rage
ineptly hit-and-missile.
Paralysis as passing stage
perceived though prejudicial
as challenge met we trust will wage
war on clock lock official,
ensuring both for sot and sage
return to strength initial...

II

Bell’s Palsy II – Number Seven Optic Nerve

Number seven optic nerve, now numb,
taken for granted, normally ignored,
leaves facial features slanted. Voice, not dumb,
answers questions with weak monochord.
Flesh elastic flaccid has become,
control relinquished, hanging on a word.
Vision peripheral blurred. Though rule of thumb
Provides for time-line, faculties restored,
Frustration, hope, play hide-and-seek, mind glum,
stares awry at some lop-sided smile. Record
of former glory plays back yet stays mum.
May this as an example serve, health granted
For future learning curve can’t be transplanted.

3 December 2007 revised 8 August 2008

Bell's Palsy III - Recounting Countdown

Recounting Countdown

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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