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Hypocrisy is the essence of snobbery, but all snobbery is about the problem of belonging.

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A gracious silhouette on the path of light

A gracious silhouette on the path of light
She was a phantom of delight
when she first gleamed upon my sight
A lovely apparition, upon the earth, sent
to be the world's ornaments
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair
Like the golden dusk her glided hair
But all things else about her said or drawn
are as the joy of emerged from dawn
A dancing spirit, a wanton shape, an image glee and gay
to haunt, to startle and beguile as a piercing ray

copy rights 2010

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The Problem With Soccer (World Cup 2010)

The problem with soccer is there are no time outs.
When my two-year-old pitches a fit,
throwing himself on the ground,
screaming and flailing all around,
He gets a time out.
When he tattles on his sister for doing something He did,
He gets a time out.
When he kicks his sister because: “She kicked me first! ”
and then refuses to shake and make up,
He gets a time out.
When he cheats,
He gets a time out.
When he pouts,
He gets a time out.
When he won’t do his chores because he’s upset,
He gets a time out.
And sometimes, when he’s really bad, he gets spanked;
But getting spanked doesn't always seem to help.
(Ask the French.)

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The Problem

the problem with us is that when we open the computer and begin
to read poetry we cannot stop, we do not know when and where to stop
we get carried away like a paper boat on the river and we do not know
where we shall be taken
and not only that
in some mysterious ways we too assume the hands of the poet his mind
his emotions contaminating us
and we (oh let me just talk about myself)

and i begin to write myself some lines
honestly not knowing where these line come from
and like ants they invade me and begin to eat me like a chunk of chocolate
or a broken biscuit or a grain of rice that they all carry like a good catch

and then i pride myself with the belief that i must still be sweet
as chocolate, crisp and tasty like a biscuit, and white and unblemished
like a grain of rice

not because i am writing poems
but because the ants too, like the river have carried me away

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The Problem With Teeth

The problem with teeth that are false

Is they don't always ride out their course

They shift when you're eating

Or fly loose at a greeting

Some marriages end with divorce!

The problem with teeth that are false

Is that they won't always lie

In a mouth half their size

And can drive a sane man up the wall

The problem with teeth that are false

Is they don't always ride out life's course

In on a hospital stay they get 'put away'

Until you can't find them at all!

And when they do finally arrive

It's on a woman whose barely alive

Though's she's making a terrible din

But when she smiles she possesses your grin

And it's hard to reclaim them

Because she's renamed them

But the teeth that you've got won't fit in! ! .

The problem with teeth that are false

Is that they rarey survive in life's course

So it's better to brush and religiously floss

So you don't have to lose them at all!


yvette smith

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I'm Just So Sorry But No One Cares About You(Revised In Line Form)

No one cares.
I'm just so sorry but no one cares about you.
No reason to get upset.
Do your own thing as you always do.
Let the time fade.
Follow the suns escape.
Take me somewhere, anywhere but here.
Like a ghost I just want to disappear.
It removes all fear.
Preparing for another sacrifice.
Such is life.

No one cares.
I'm just so sorry, but no one cares about you.
Marching to my own rhythm.
Lead or follow.
Where do you go when the heart becomes so hollow?
How do you fill the void?
Are you feeling a little paranoid?
Trust no one.

All because no one cares.
I'm just so sorry, but no cares about you.
All alone,
Naked and full of shame.
Who's really to blame?
Do you admit the fault as your own?
Or do you mention someones name and complain?
Are you insane?
Completely mad.
A mad hatter off his rocker just a little bit.

All because no one cares.
I'm just so sorry but no one cares about you.
Oh about you.
It's always about you.
No such thing as a selfless act.
This is a fact.
Nothing for free.
This is a favor that can be later be redeemed! ! !

All because no one cares,
I'm just so sorry but no one cares about you.

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What's The Problem

Temperatures rise,
With the rolling of eyes...
But,
No nobody seems to want to tell,
What is their problem.

Temperatures rise,
With the rolling of eyes...
But,
No nobody seems to want to tell,
About their problems...
To settle and to solve them.

Rolling eyes and moody pouting,
Giving attitude nonstopping...
With a rising of a heat to pass.
But no one has asked,
What's the problem.

Fussing with a cussing too!
As if this is a way to prove,
Being rude and talking crude..
Will even up a score.
But no one wants to take the time to ask,
What are the problems.
To settle and to solve them.

Solutions to confusion can be reached,
If people solved them.
But no one wants to take the time to tell,
What are their problems...
To settle and to solve them.

Gossip starts to leaking,
With a tit for tat-a seeking.
But nobody stops to reach out just to tell,
About their problems.
To settle and to solve them.

No nobody seems to want to tell,
About their problems.
No nobody seems to want to tell,
About their problems.
To settle and to solve them.

'Are you kidding?
That's all I hear 'everyday'...
People who've got problems.'

Oh yeah?
But are you listening to them,
With an assistance given...
To help them get solved?

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All These Songs About Rain

Well this town has closed down way too early and theres nothing to do
So Im drivin around in circles and Im thinkin about you
Today I heard you got a new last name
Sure didnt know it was gonna hit me this way
And the radio just keeps on playin all these songs about rain
Now theres all kinds of songs about babies and love that goes right
But for some unknown reason nobody wants to play them tonight
Hey I hope its sunny wherever you are
Thats sure not the picture tonight in my car
And it sure aint easin my pain all these songs
Like rainy night in Georgia
Kentucky rain
Here comes that rainy day feelin again
Blues eyes cryin in the early mornin rain
They go on and on, and theres no two the same
Oh it would be easy to blame all these songs about rain
Well I thought I was over you but I guess maybe Im not
When I let you go looks like lonely was all that I got
Guess Ill never know what could have been
Sure not helping this mood that Im in
And the radio just keeps on playin all these songs about rain
Like rainy night in Georgia
Kentucky rain
Here comes that rainy day feelin again
Blue eyes cryin in the early mornin rain
They go on and on and theres no two the same
Oh how I wish I could blame all these songs about rain
All these songs about rain

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Seeing The Real You At Last

Well, I thought that the rain would cool things down
But it looks like it dont.
Id like to get you to change your mind
But it looks like you wont.
From now on Ill be busy,
Aint goin nowhere fast.
Im just glad its over
And Im seeing the real you at last.
Well, didnt I risk my neck for you,
Didnt I take chances?
Didnt I rise above it all for you,
The most unfortunate circumstances?
Well, I have had some rotten nights,
Didnt think that they would pass.
Im just thankful and grateful
To be seeing the real you at last.
Im hungry and Im irritable
And Im tired of this bag of tricks.
At one time there was nothing wrong with me
That you could not fix.
Well, I sailed through the storm
Strapped to the mast,
But the time has come
And Im seeing the real you at last.
When I met you, baby,
You didnt show no visible scars.
You could ride like annie oakley,
You could shoot like belle starr.
Well, I dont mind a reasonable amount of trouble,
Trouble always comes to pass
But all I care about now
Is that Im seeing the real you at last.
Well, Im gonna quit this baby talk now,
I guess I should have known.
I got troubles, I think maybe you got troubles,
I think maybe wed better leave each other alone.
Whatever you gonna do,
Please do it fast.
Im still trying to get used to
Seeing the real you at last.

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The Problem of the Idea

The Philosopher:

'The Problem of the 21st century
is the problem of the Origins of the Idea.'

The Idea has driven much
of human history-
a major motivator
many taken together are
Articulators;
Ideas compose all Human Dreams.

But ask what is this Idea
and silence ensues;
ask where is it
in the human mind
and we'll get charts of its activity centers
but nothing about what it is
or where it comes from.

The Scientist:

Well, we don't have to know what a thing is
to utilize it.
We can identify behaviors and integrate
them-
harness them to purpose.

Philosopher:

Sure like the Atomic Bomb. It was built because
we could integrate various disciplines
and make things go bang
without thinking of Consequence.
technical Ideas-too have consequences.

Scientist:

So you would hold up all human progress
until the over-arching Idea comes along
before we act?

Philosopher:
Ah, but note that progress that destroys
the planet is not
progress at all
but only a blind mistake;
one I might add,
that did not have
an Idea or Clue
of what lesser ideas about tinkering
could and might signal or include.

So here my point and drift
good ideas are hard to find;
cleaver ideas
like a bomb
are easier to advance.

Cosmologist:

Well here is my notion-
I hesitate to say Idea-
but there is only a little drift
between you and
the neo-Kantians
who claim Plato's Ideation
may have an empirical base.

I know, 'heavens' such an outcome;
but contemplate
Astronomy's 'Inflation Theory'
Cosomology's dark energy and matter
the implication that every electron
is 'aware' of the charge
of it's matching
opposite charge
and 'reacts' to changes
across all our known universe;
and you will have lot of 'I told you so's'
coming from the ancients.

So if human history has been driven
by Grand Ideas political, social, and scientific,
we have a need know then
what is an Idea and where
does it comes from;
and even if a great new idea
does surface
and is entirely new
how is that an entirely new idea
can be understood and acted upon
by others who did not share in its generation?

If only two people in the world can understand an
Idea, what does that mean for History?

So Idea Generation and Transmission are therefore
of one cloth and shall we say comprehendable
only by Cosmology's 'Inflation'?

Muse:

Well, if all Ideas generate in the mind
and assuming mind has a physical base
in generating mental things,
the assumption, too, must be that
the electrons of the mind are, too,
'popping in and out of the universe
in that same mind
as all Quantum things.

So are we here
dealing with the ' Mind As Portal'
between multi-existences
and Ideas are merely transmission
artifacts of that activity?

'Humm, said the Scientist
how would you study that?

Muse:
We are all becoming Poets are we not?
Poets of the Electron Dream.

Poet:

All knowledge comes from dreaming
and math, this is Einstein
but how are dreams possible
is yet
to be answered.

Yet we do dream
and we need to also ask
what is the archeology of the dream?

'The Muse said
And too,
'who is doing the Dreaming? '

Kant smiles.


So, what is the dictionary definition of 'Idea'?


i⋅ de⋅ a
    /aɪ ˈ diə , aɪ ˈ diə / Show Spelled Pronunciation [ahy-dee-uh, ahy-deeuh] Show IPA
–noun
1. any conception existing in the mind as a result of mental understanding, awareness, or activity.
2. a thought, conception, or notion: That is an excellent idea.
3. an impression: He gave me a general idea of how he plans to run the department.
4. an opinion, view, or belief: His ideas on raising children are certainly strange.
5. a plan of action; an intention: the idea of becoming an engineer.
6. a groundless supposition; fantasy.
7. Philosophy.
a. a concept developed by the mind.
b. a conception of what is desirable or ought to be; ideal.
c. (initial capital letter) Platonism. Also called form. an archetype or pattern of which the individual objects in any natural class are imperfect copies and from which they derive their being.
d. Kantianism. idea of pure reason.
8. Music. a theme, phrase, or figure.
9. Obsolete.
a. a likeness.
b. a mental image.
Origin:
1400–50; < LL < Gk idéā form, pattern, equiv. to ide- (s. of ideîn to see) + -ā fem. n. ending; r. late ME idee < MF < LL, as above; akin to wit 1

Related forms:
i⋅ de⋅ a⋅ less, adjective

Synonyms:
1,2. Idea, thought, conception, notion refer to a product of mental activity. Idea, although it may refer to thoughts of any degree of seriousness or triviality, is commonly used for mental concepts considered more important or elaborate: We pondered the idea of the fourth dimension. The idea of his arrival frightened me. Thought, which reflects its primary emphasis on the mental process, may denote any concept except the more weighty and elaborate ones: I welcomed his thoughts on the subject. A thought came to him. Conception suggests a thought that seems complete, individual, recent, or somewhat intricate: The architect's conception delighted them. Notion suggests a fleeting, vague, or imperfect thought: a bare notion of how to proceed.4. sentiment, judgment.
Dictionary.com Unabridged
Based on the Random House Dictionary, © Random House, Inc.2009.
Cite This Source
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Link To idea

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For me, already being part of a single parent household and knowing it was just me and my mom, you'd would wake up times and hope that the next day you'd be able to be alongside your mother because she was out trying to make sure that I was taken care of. But all I cared about was her being home.

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Winding All My Life About Thee

Winding all my life about thee,
Let me lay my lips on thine;
What is all the world without thee,
Mine --oh mine!

Let me press my heart out on thee,
Grape of life's most fiery vine,
Spilling sacramental on thee
Love's red wine.


Let thy strong eyes yearning o'er me
Draw me with their force divine;
All my soul has gone before me
Clasping thine.

Irresistibly I follow,
As whenever we may run
Runs our shadow, as the swallow
Seeks the sun.

Yea, I tremble, swoon, surrender
All my spirit to thy sway,
As a star is drowned in splendour
Of the day.

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The Problem With The Wind

the problem with the wind
is its senselessness
it comes it goes and it seems
it does not even know where it is going
you think it feels you
it doesn't
it simply moves around and
comes back around like an accidental whirlpool
it is numb it does not even know
what a rock and a cloud means
the earthworms fear it
the birds too
whose wings it breaks without even feeling sorry
for the caused calamity
the problem with the wind is that it is like silence
not because it woos it and carries it away sometimes
but because it is cold
so cold that it numbs and shatters
what was once whole and heartfelt.

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All These Poems About Poems

All these poems about poems
Where do they lead?

The world is so rich in so many other things
Write poems about them.

At twilight I look out
At strangers walking
To do their errands of preparation
for Sukkot.

A poem should have some Beauty in it
And not just be an effort at recording observations-

The scarlet bright flowers rage at me from the distance
I cannot translate their Beauty to words -

There is so much I have seen
And so much I will never write –
And so many Poems beyond my Imagination.

All these poems about my failing at poetry
And about translating the Beauty of the world to words-

This is a poem I not know how to properly finish.

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The problem's in the knowin

I just might have a big problem
in doin’ what’s exactly right
Even tho’ I pretty much try
with all of my doggone might

Seem’s as if It’s in the knowin’
That I lack some social graces
And my embarrassment keeps ashowin’ up
Like spinach stuck in your braces

Hell, I’m not a bad guy
I won’t tell you that you’re fat
That you’re so far over the hill
That you’ll never make it back

I might slip up
and tell a friend
Then he might tell
someone too
Then sure enough …
some of your bimbo friends
would repeat what I said about you

So I’mma thinking’ that…
Doin’ what’s right’s
not the problem
The problem is knowin’
what’s right to do

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The Problem

The Problem

The name of the bow is life, but its work is death.
The Fragments

How in Heraclitus
ideas of things, quality, and event
coalesce—sun/warmth/dawn—
the perceiver/perceived, too,
not yet parsed, not yet,
and then the great Forgetting,
breath and breather, love and beloved,
world and God-in-the-world.
But then it comes upon us: that brightness,
that bright tension in animals, for instance,
that focus, that compass
of the mammalian mind finding
its own true North,
saintly in its dark-eyed,
arrow-eared devotion.
A kind of calling, a via negativa,
a surrender, still and silent, to the heart’s desire.
So in the cathedral of the world
we hold communion,
the bread of language
placed delicately upon our tongues
as we breathe the bitter air,
drinking the wine of reason
and pressing to our breasts the old dream of Being.

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The Problem (Revised)

New situations offer opportunity to change our
minds, undo previous choices - some decisions
are cast in steel altered only by brainwashing
to undo the etchings pictured in mind

We are slaves of a system we were born into -
formed of a world when small; unless we see
where indoctrination and propaganda begin
as opposed to underlying, inherent truth

We must accept it as part of a localised system,
a few objective truths such as life, instinct and
relationships, the rest comprising principles
and ideals, invisible rules guiding

Our human steps, evolving from a physical
universe which truly supports us - our only
enemy is human thoughts and theories, the
amazing discovery - all problems lead back

To communication! So let's study hermeneutics
and interpretation to refine language based on
divergent cultural ideas, realising everything is
man-made - especially our gods

And that, of course, is the problem

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The Problem With Lust Sometimes

the problem with lust sometimes
is structural

there is this rod looking for an
orifice
an orifice wanting to be filled
with sweet hardness
and stiff lengths
its depth utters a name
a longing


everything fits and
so happiness radiates to each nerve

there are other 'incoherences'
and lapses of the world of creation
on the verge of
insatiation

orifice to orifice and the rod
striking another rod in loneliness
bells and bells
no one penetrates and no one is penetrated
like plate upon plate
of pillar side by side with another pillar

each looks somewhere else
anticipating much
doing a lot of sensing out where is that and
where is this

there is nothing but a tree of loneliness
on a desert landscape
accented by a skull of the wolf

without leaves and rotten roots
trying to reach for the moon

the dead moon, the scorching sun
the useless days
the dragging hours of the bloodied gladiator
the amazon hanging dead
on the tree
at the tip of her braided hair

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She Was a Phantom of Delight

She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely Apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;
A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.

I saw her upon a nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty;
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A Creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A Being breathing thoughtful breath,
A Traveler between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
To warm, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright,
With something of angelic light.

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Perfect Woman

SHE was a phantom of delight
When first she gleam'd upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful dawn;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

I saw her upon nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty;
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveller between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect Woman, nobly plann'd,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of angelic light.

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Where The Problem Is

There use to be a time,
When people passed off anything...
And found it acceptable.

Today those same people,
Who found anything and everything done acceptable...
Are seeking explanations amongst themselves,
As to why those they have selected to represent them...
Seem less qualified to audition for characters portrayed,
In any nursery rhymes they have ever told to their children.

And...
The ones who are trying to snap them 'into' reality,
Can not say it loud enough...
That everything that has been sweetened to eat,
And given to them to nourish...
Has had damaging effects,
On the maintaining of their mental health.

Yet...
STILL they wish to keep the same story lines told,
But they wish to have the ones telling those nursery rhymes...
To depict the exact images in their minds,
That have never existed.
Although they seek 'anyone' besides those who are truthful,
To deliver the goods.
With a comfort for them that is understood.

There use to be a time,
When people passed off anything...
And found it acceptable.
But these times lived can no longer depend on myths.
People are challenged to be real with themselves.
And that's where the problem is.

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