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Nadine Gordimer

Responsibility is what awaits outside the Eden of Creativity.

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Eden bower

It was Lilith the wife of Adam:
(Sing Eden Bower!)
Not a drop of her blood was human,
But she was made like a soft sweet woman.
Lilith stood on the skirts of Eden;
(Alas the hour!)
She was the first that thence was driven;
With her was hell and with Eve was heaven.
In the ear of the Snake said Lilith:—
(Sing Eden Bower!)
“To thee I come when the rest is over;
A snake was I when thou wast my lover.
“I was the fairest snake in Eden:
(Alas the hour!)
By the earth's will, new form and feature
Made me a wife for the earth's new creature.
“Take me thou as I come from Adam:
(Sing Eden Bower!)
Once again shall my love subdue thee;
The past is past and I am come to thee.
“O but Adam was thrall to Lilith!
(Alas the hour!)
All the threads of my hair are golden,
And there in a net his heart was holden.
“O and Lilith was queen of Adam!
(Sing Eden Bower!)
All the day and the night together
My breath could shake his soul like a feather.
What great joys had Adam and Lilith!—
(Alas the hour!)
Sweet close rings of the serpent's twining,
As heart in heart lay sighing and pining.
What bright babes had Lilith and Adam!
(Sing Eden Bower!)
Shapes that coiled in the woods and waters,
Glittering sons and radiant daughters.
“O thou God, the Lord God of Eden!
(Alas the hour!)
Say, was this fair body for no man,
That of Adam's flesh thou mak'st him a woman?
“O thou Snake, the King-snake of Eden!
(Sing Eden Bower!)
God's strong will our necks are under,
But thou and I may cleave it in sunder.
“Help, sweet Snake, sweet lover of Lilith!
(Alas the hour!)
And let God learn how I loved and hated
Man in the image of God created.
“Help me once against Eve and Adam!
(Sing Eden Bower!)

[...] Read more

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Responsibility

Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-eee,
Into my life came responsibility.
Shes got some shakin, kickin, sailin, long blonde hair,
And when I want to get off you know shell take me there.
Im talkin bout ...
Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-eee,
She fill me up with responsibility.
Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-eee,
She fill me up and let me down, cant you see ...
Life is full of re ...
Re-spons-ibil-ity.
Life is full of re ...
Re-spons--responsibility.
Life is full of re ...
Re-re--responsibility.
Life is full of responsibility.
And Im responsible for you and me.
Good lovin messin up my mind,
A chick like this one is so hard to find.
She takes care of everything I need,
And when I want some stuff you know that she takes heed.
Im talkin bout ...
Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-eee,
She fill me up with responsibility -- yeah.
Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-eee,
She fill me up and let me down, cant you see ...
Life is full of re ...
Re-spons-ibil-ity.
Life is full of re ...
Re-spons--responsibility.
Life is full of re ...
Re-re--responsibility.
Life is full of responsibility.
And Im responsible as I can be.
Yeah, responsible, responsible baby.
Yeah, responsible.
Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-eee.
Ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-eee.
Responsible, responsible baby.
Im tryin to be responsible, responsible baby ...
... yeah, ayyyy ... yeah ... ayyyy ...
Every day, baby; yes I am, baby; you know I can, baby.
Life is full of re ...
Re-spons-ibil-ity.
Life is full of re ...
Re-spons--responsibility.
Life is full of re ...
Re-re--responsibility.
Life is full of responsibility.
And Im responsible for you and me.

[...] Read more

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Eden Is Burning

Diane and jack went to the movies
They went to see richard pryor
Screamin on his knees for his lover
How could have I been wrong about you?
How could I have been so wrong about you?
Chorus:
Eden is burning
I can see it from my window
Better take it to the water
Eden is burning
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Eden is burning
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Thinking of havana
Eating cream and bananas
You and me in the sunshine
How could have I been wrong about you?
How could I have been so wrong about you?
Chorus:
Eden is burning
I can see it from my window
Better take it to the water
Eden is burning
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Eden is burning
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
How could have I been wrong about you?
How could I have been so wrong about you?
With love on our side
With love on our side
Heres the masquerade of our living
Well, I hope it makes you feel better
Its for our own protection
I thought we were forever, me and you
But nothins forever, I guess its true
Chorus:
Eden is burning
I can see it from my window
Better take it to the water
Eden is burning
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Eden is burning
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Eden is burning
I can see it from my window
Better take it to the water
Eden is burning
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Eden is burning
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

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Blood Of Eden

I caught sight of my reflection
I caught it in the window
I saw the darkness in my heart
I saw the signs of my undoing
They had been there from the start
And the darkness still has work to do
The knotted chords untying
Theyre heated and theyre holy
Oh theyre sitting there on high
So secure with everything theyre buying
{chorus:}
In the blood of eden
Lie the woman and the man
With the man in the woman
And the woman in the man
In the blood of eden
Lie the woman and the man
We wanted the union
Oh the union of the woman
The woman and the man
My grip is surely slipping
I think Ive lost my hold
Yes, I think Ive lost my hold
I cannot get insurance anymore
They dont take credit, only gold
Is that a dagger or a crucifix I see
You hold so tightly in your hand
And all the while the distance grows between you and me
I do not understand
[chorus]
At my request, you take me in
In that tenderness, I am floating away
No certainty, nothing to rely on
Holding still for a moment
What a moment this is
Oh for a moment of forgetting, a moment of bliss
Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
I can hear the distant thunder
Of a million unheard souls
Of a million unheard souls
Watch each one reach for creature comfort
For the filling of their holes
In the blood of eden
Lie the woman and the man
With the man in the woman
And the woman in the man
In the blood of eden
We wanted the union
Of the woman and the man
In the blood of eden

[...] Read more

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Magpie, My Keeper, Is Flying - Upon Freeing the Gift of Creativity Turned Inward

.
for Elaine Bellezza, Beloved Anima-as-Fate


'There is only one real deprivation, I decided this morning, and that is not to be able to give one's gift to those one loves most...The gift turned inward, unable to be given, becomes a heavy burden, even sometimes a kind of poison. It is as though the flow of life were backed up.' - May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude


This afternoon while still somewhat hungover from last night's rich meal and several glasses of strong red wine, I stumbled as one does when hungover, only today without feet but with eyes, upon the above quote by May Sarton. I had awakened this morning with fragments of a dream, repetitive of other dreams the past few months, where I am carrying something precious and just cannot put it down in any old place or upon just any available surface. I cannot put it down until I find the right surface and location.

These dreams are full of torrential flood waters, or backed up, stagnant water, toilets full of filth and pungent bright orange dark urine days old and fermenting. I cannot unhand the burden even though the urge to pee or flee or drive a car away or into flood waters is strong. I must not put down the burden odd as it is; it is my laptop carrying case made of canvas. It is large enough to carry not only my laptop but also many books with which I cannot, will not be parted from as they are the must-have-with-me-always 'bread', my staple and stability in a given to me world out of balance.

I have understood the dreams only a little - something within the psyche is flooding up, over-spilling or has already, has not been adequately canalized, channeled, streamed and guided, shaped and formed. Or flushed. I knew that eventually, as dreams do when one sits consciously, patiently, persistently with them, they would yield their messages to me, and upon revelation these must be obeyed, brought out into the world, Carl Jung having said that one has a moral responsibility to dreams once they are kenned and must be conscientiously acted upon in the outer world. Just dreaming is not enough. Everyone dreams but not very many know to dream them out into the world, to let their messages unfurl, flood and flow to bring forth new consciousness, to reshape old forms no longer adequate to self, place and time into symbol and their sense, usually not literal.

And thus, only just now, upon opening up haphazardly in a book about Dostoevsky and his struggle with addictions which mirror the profound compulsion to create at any cost perhaps beyond one's capacities to renew oneself, I find May Sarton's quote and suddenly the dreams clarify and sharpen into focus; I understand them as the burden of creativity too long turned inward, the burden of writing, the burden of poetry which I have carried heavily for most of my life since middle school when I was 11 or 12 years old when books became my lifeline, my link to existence that I could live on in spite of not wanting to do so. Written words, books, kept me from disappearing though I was and remain a mostly invisible word.

And thus the floods. One cannot ignore them. Alphabets tumble and roil. One dare not ignore them. One must see them without a choice to not see them. In them I am suddenly made visible, bright orange p*ss pots and all. I am both appalled and pleased. My burden is upon my knees.

The backed up water, the urine, is creativity. A somewhat odd symbol of creativity, there is more than enough evidence that urination is symbolic of self expression which is creativity. In ancient Rome the highly valued dirt from the urinals of boys' schools was collected to be used as a cosmetic in order to restore youthful energy and looks. A young boy, or puer in Latin, is an archetypal symbol of ongoing creativity and inspiration, the puer aeternas, the eternal youth, well springs of ongoing creativity still imaged in solid fountains of the world where eternal waters flow from the peni of cherubic youth.

I have struggled my entire life with a strong urge to create, to write, to express in words that creative daemon within which torments no matter the completion of a poem or essay, a lecture, a psalm. And now my dreams have had me consciously, urgently seeking a place to put the burden down, to perhaps come to it anew. I imagine that landing the burden means bringing it down to earth, manifesting creativity all the more by bringing my efforts to others for the strongest part of the compulsive urge in my creativity has been to contribute one good thing, one good poem or piece of writing which in some way might further the culture even if only by a flea's leg length.

The dreams urge me to let the urine flow, to let the flood waters indeed flood over, to be less self conscious of what I write and say but to have at it all and to say my say. And to let whatever waves there are crest and break upon ever receptive banks and shores whose duty it is to allow what may come from motion without complaint, the more compliant toward as yet to be fully formed purposes as yet to be scored.

Synchronistically, a few days ago I listened to a lecture by poet Allen Ginsberg about Walt Whitman and his imitators, those who were goodly influenced by his effulgent, self indulgent style, his garrulous poems which presumed to express the very expansiveness of the North American continent over-flooded by a plague of itinerant, persistent poachers and prophets from Europe to Eastern disembarkation and then inland and Westward, compelled to overtake land and native peoples in their possessed, pushed wake. Ginsberg imagined himself to be a timely extension of this unruly school, as savage as the projected upon land and justly-resistant, resident humanity stretched beyond known bounds and sounds. Blood drowned and pounded the god-hounded land even now is flooded by unleashed mighty rivers seeking, if rivers seek at all, to undo and renew in horse shoe and other shapes the crimes of consciousness compelled to overtake while leaving it up to human souls to repent and repair, to prepare for more powerful insurgencies of land and Self ever seeking new and nower expressions of dirt and deity. There's enough history beneath layers to support the scarp and scrape of momentary yet monumental motions finally given mouths to utter what lies both beneath and within the heaping huzzahs of here here here full and deep. As in my dream, it is hard to steer in such surpassing tides and currents. Still, I am searching for holy campground that I may lay my burden down.

I have no wish to imitate Whitman nor Ginsberg - though both are easily imitated since they did so themselves, an occupational hazard for writers - but only to be obedient to the daemon, that urgent, emergent, creative force within. It rushes within and against me. No matter whether derived of the grandiose American continent and the even more grandiose sky or not, I have all too successfully braced against it in fear of failure, reprisal or, worse, complete indifference from others. My dreams now urge floods and resultant coagulations, they bring creative splurges to ground from hand to the hard world. And Nature, too, is indifferent but begs none the less and all the more to be given utterance and response.

Respondeo ergo sum. I respond, therefore I am. I respond, therefore the other, earth, all her ants, is as long as there are eyes, ears, and scanning minds to acknowledge and touch, wrestle, caress, shape - some in scansions - outer from inner, inner from outer, landscapes to be all too quickly discarded in time for what is sung just ahead. And seen. Or hoped, all praise to telescopes. We would be they, so addicted to horizons, to bring them close.

Something there is needs completion via coagulation, forming, shaping, and sharing with whomever may be open to clods delivered. If not, rivers will, as they will without reason, continue to overrun their banks and insist upon covering designated previous cultivations. Let then excess of creativity have its say, play out, and leave the critical post-considerations to others. I will surely sit and ponder spent what spills forth, to shape, to edit, to discard. And watch my little yard sink beneath needed and needy floods.

I will have done with deprivation and bring myself, what I have shaped and misshapen, to the world. These things, this burden, have I most loved and felt responsible for, have born the shame of. I have fought and have failed utterly again and again though my attempts have been, and still are, sincere though not blameless. Fear has been my encampment, a longing beneath knowing feet in secret cellars just beyond reach of contracted hands forever spelling hunger. I know open bastion doors and windows to now fling beyond embankments what has been wrung out of my floes and woes though hands wither from too much turning against and inward. What a relief to burst beyond boundaries too long successfully restraining.

I recently wrote a poem about much too too solid bastions of self, of forceful puer energy ramming through and over and into long buried storms and petrified forms, of passion mangling the delusion of 'norms' ignoring too sensitive alarms. Given May Sarton's May revelation this morning I now understand that the poem is about more than eros, it is about that powerful creative/destructive force, the daemon/tyro that ever urges outward intent on making and staking Self in new land and at least one aging man wrenched and rendered from dried and calcified encrustations. I am, to borrow from the insistent dream image, beginning to leak. And to break open.


Archeology - What The Stele Says 'Upon Taking A Much Younger Lover'


That this old ground yields to plow stuns.
What begins to be, earth swell, breaks
root-room open to blood means.

Old skeins tear upon what is new terrain,
hunger worn, long appended. There is
no blame for pain is the blessing.

All hurt now stings twilight quaked into being.
Your breath falls upon me now, taut, sinew,
bruising hand, purple inside flares warrior nerves

[...] Read more

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Gates Of Eden

Of war and peace the truth just twists
Its curfew gull just glides
Upon four-legged forest clouds
The cowboy angel rides
With his candle lit into the sun
Though its glow is waxed in black
All except when neath the trees of eden
The lamppost stands with folded arms
Its iron claws attached
To curbs neath holes where babies wail
Though it shadows metal badge
All and all can only fall
With a crashing but meaningless blow
No sound ever comes from the gates of eden
The savage soldier sticks his head in sand
And then complains
Unto the shoeless hunter whos gone deaf
But still remains
Upon the beach where hound dogs bay
At ships with tattooed sails
Heading for the gates of eden
With a time-rusted compass blade
Aladdin and his lamp
Sits with utopian hermit monks
Side saddle on the golden calf
And on their promises of paradise
You will not hear a laugh
All except inside the gates of eden
Relationships of ownership
They whisper in the wings
To those condemned to act accordingly
And wait for succeeding kings
And I try to harmonize with songs
The lonesome sparrow sings
There are no kings inside the gates of eden
The motorcycle black madonna
Two-wheeled gypsy queen
And her silver-studded phantom cause
The gray flannel dwarf to scream
As he weeps to wicked birds of prey
Who pick up on his bread crumb sins
And there are no sins inside the gates of eden
The kingdoms of experience
In the precious wind they rot
While paupers change possessions
Each one wishing for what the other has got
And the princess and the prince
Discuss whats real and what is not
It doesnt matter inside the gates of eden
The foreign sun, it squints upon

[...] Read more

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John Milton

Paradise Lost: Book 04

O, for that warning voice, which he, who saw
The Apocalypse, heard cry in Heaven aloud,
Then when the Dragon, put to second rout,
Came furious down to be revenged on men,
Woe to the inhabitants on earth! that now,
While time was, our first parents had been warned
The coming of their secret foe, and 'scaped,
Haply so 'scaped his mortal snare: For now
Satan, now first inflamed with rage, came down,
The tempter ere the accuser of mankind,
To wreak on innocent frail Man his loss
Of that first battle, and his flight to Hell:
Yet, not rejoicing in his speed, though bold
Far off and fearless, nor with cause to boast,
Begins his dire attempt; which nigh the birth
Now rolling boils in his tumultuous breast,
And like a devilish engine back recoils
Upon himself; horrour and doubt distract
His troubled thoughts, and from the bottom stir
The Hell within him; for within him Hell
He brings, and round about him, nor from Hell
One step, no more than from himself, can fly
By change of place: Now conscience wakes despair,
That slumbered; wakes the bitter memory
Of what he was, what is, and what must be
Worse; of worse deeds worse sufferings must ensue.
Sometimes towards Eden, which now in his view
Lay pleasant, his grieved look he fixes sad;
Sometimes towards Heaven, and the full-blazing sun,
Which now sat high in his meridian tower:
Then, much revolving, thus in sighs began.
O thou, that, with surpassing glory crowned,
Lookest from thy sole dominion like the God
Of this new world; at whose sight all the stars
Hide their diminished heads; to thee I call,
But with no friendly voice, and add thy name,
Of Sun! to tell thee how I hate thy beams,
That bring to my remembrance from what state
I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere;
Till pride and worse ambition threw me down
Warring in Heaven against Heaven's matchless King:
Ah, wherefore! he deserved no such return
From me, whom he created what I was
In that bright eminence, and with his good
Upbraided none; nor was his service hard.
What could be less than to afford him praise,
The easiest recompence, and pay him thanks,
How due! yet all his good proved ill in me,
And wrought but malice; lifted up so high
I sdeined subjection, and thought one step higher

[...] Read more

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The Loves of the Angels

'Twas when the world was in its prime,
When the fresh stars had just begun
Their race of glory and young Time
Told his first birth-days by the sun;
When in the light of Nature's dawn
Rejoicing, men and angels met
On the high hill and sunny lawn,-
Ere sorrow came or Sin had drawn
'Twixt man and heaven her curtain yet!
When earth lay nearer to the skies
Than in these days of crime and woe,
And mortals saw without surprise
In the mid-air angelic eyes
Gazing upon this world below.

Alas! that Passion should profane
Even then the morning of the earth!
That, sadder still, the fatal stain
Should fall on hearts of heavenly birth-
And that from Woman's love should fall
So dark a stain, most sad of all!

One evening, in that primal hour,
On a hill's side where hung the ray
Of sunset brightening rill and bower,
Three noble youths conversing lay;
And, as they lookt from time to time
To the far sky where Daylight furled
His radiant wing, their brows sublime
Bespoke them of that distant world-
Spirits who once in brotherhood
Of faith and bliss near ALLA stood,
And o'er whose cheeks full oft had blown
The wind that breathes from ALLA'S throne,
Creatures of light such as still play,
Like motes in sunshine, round the Lord,
And thro' their infinite array
Transmit each moment, night and day,
The echo of His luminous word!

Of Heaven they spoke and, still more oft,
Of the bright eyes that charmed them thence;
Till yielding gradual to the soft
And balmy evening's influence-
The silent breathing of the flowers-
The melting light that beamed above,
As on their first, fond, erring hours,-
Each told the story of his love,
The history of that hour unblest,
When like a bird from its high nest

[...] Read more

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Garden of Choice

Two in the Garden of Eden
who had everything to lose
the bounty of all creation
save one fruit forbidden to choose
Their fates, and our fate as well,
were resting in their own hand
in what splendor would we dwell
had they honored that sole command

Two in the Garden of Eden
each charged with that sacred choice
Either one could have chosen
to disregard the serpent's voice
Yet one, then the other, failed
abdicating Eden for one bite
their naked wickedness unveiled
lost forever Garden's delight

Two in the Garden of Eden
did they think but once or twice
before initiating rejection
of God's bounty beyond price
Two in the Garden of Eden
which one should bear the blame
for being the greater heathen
which one would we dare name

Two in the Garden of Eden
but either one of the two
might have differently chosen
passing blessings as their due
Two of us in that Garden
with same choice to make today
would we not likewise give in
as well throwing all away

Though we do not live in Eden
we inherited much the remain
Do we cherish our earthly garden
or pollute every inch of terrain
We too may opt for an Eden
in our hands we hold Earth's fate
Will we empower serpents again
or tend our garden before too late?

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To Eden's Weeping

Eden! Eden! Why do you weep?
O Eden! You have lost your sheep.
Do not grieve,
you must now believe,
soon your exile will end.
O Eden! You I'll always defend.
Deign not Eden's glory, and with Eden do not contend.
O Eden! You I'll always defend.

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Gates Of Eden

Guy Allison, Keith Knudsen
EarthWalk Music (ASCAP) / K-KUAD Music (ASCAP)
We've been together for a long, long while
We've seen some bad and better days.
But heart and soul are meant for all time
These are the keys we can't replace.
Let's go back to Eden,
Don't make the garden wait.
At the gates of Eden,
This golden key is all it takes.
Simple things are better said in simple ways,
I'm a simple man in love with you.
These are the gates of Eden,
Take my hand we'll walk on through.
Let's go back to Eden,
Don't make the garden wait.
At the gates of Eden,
This golden key is all it takes.
Remember we're the ones who make.
You and me
This golden key that's what it takes.
There's only one.
Let's go back to Eden,
Don't make the garden wait.
At the gates of Eden,
This golden key is all it takes.
Guest Artists:
George Hawkins, Jr. - Bass
Chris Thompson - Background Vocals

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Snake And Two People

There is a snake with the evil
In the garden of eden
There is a tree with the apple
And the apple was eaten
Now the trouble has started
In the garden of eden
But there is only two people
And its evil believing
Where did adam go ?
And how was eve to know ?
This is how it all started
In the garden of eden
Now what does it matter,
That the apple was eaten ?
What does it matter,
That the people were leaving ?
Let me tell you the truth now
About the trouble and (? )
(? )
(? ) deceiving
Where did adam go ?
And how was eve to know ?
This is how it all started
In the garden of eden
Wheres that snake ?
(repeat)
I fell down on my knees
And I searched through the trees
Oh, I need some assistance
Can you hear from that distance
So I set up my (? )
Can I dance with your daughter ?
He said: (? ) you want, son, but I dont think you (? ) her
Where did adam go ?
And how was eve to know ?
This is how it all started
In the garden of eden
Where did adam go ?
And how was eve to know ?
There is a snake with the evil
In the garden of eden
Where did adam go ?
And how was eve to know ?
This is how it all started
In the garden of eden

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Snake & Two People

There is a snake with the evil
In the garden of eden
There is a tree with the apple
And the apple was eaten
Now the trouble has started
In the garden of eden
But there is only two people
And its evil believing
Where did adam go ?
And how was eve to know ?
This is how it all started
In the garden of eden
Now what does it matter,
That the apple was eaten ?
What does it matter,
That the people were leaving ?
Let me tell you the truth now
About the trouble and (? )
(? )
(? ) deceiving
Where did adam go ?
And how was eve to know ?
This is how it all started
In the garden of eden
Wheres that snake ?
(repeat)
I fell down on my knees
And I searched through the trees
Oh, I need some assistance
Can you hear from that distance
So I set up my (? )
Can I dance with your daughter ?
He said: (? ) you want, son, but I dont think you (? ) her
Where did adam go ?
And how was eve to know ?
This is how it all started
In the garden of eden
Where did adam go ?
And how was eve to know ?
There is a snake with the evil
In the garden of eden
Where did adam go ?
And how was eve to know ?
This is how it all started
In the garden of eden

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John Milton

Paradise Lost: Book X

Thus they in lowliest plight repentant stood
Praying, for from the Mercie-seat above
Prevenient Grace descending had remov'd
The stonie from thir hearts, and made new flesh
Regenerat grow instead, that sighs now breath'd
Unutterable, which the Spirit of prayer
Inspir'd, and wing'd for Heav'n with speedier flight
Then loudest Oratorie: yet thir port
Not of mean suiters, nor important less
Seem'd thir Petition, then when th' ancient Pair
In Fables old, less ancient yet then these,
Deucalion and chaste Pyrrha to restore
The Race of Mankind drownd, before the Shrine
Of Themis stood devout. To Heav'n thir prayers
Flew up, nor missed the way, by envious windes
Blow'n vagabond or frustrate: in they passd
Dimentionless through Heav'nly dores; then clad
With incense, where the Golden Altar fum'd,
By thir great Intercessor, came in sight
Before the Fathers Throne: Them the glad Son
Presenting, thus to intercede began.
See Father, what first fruits on Earth are sprung
From thy implanted Grace in Man, these Sighs
And Prayers, which in this Golden Censer, mixt
With Incense, I thy Priest before thee bring,
Fruits of more pleasing savour from thy seed
Sow'n with contrition in his heart, then those
Which his own hand manuring all the Trees
Of Paradise could have produc't, ere fall'n
From innocence. Now therefore bend thine eare
To supplication, heare his sighs though mute;
Unskilful with what words to pray, let mee
Interpret for him, mee his Advocate
And propitiation, all his works on mee
Good or not good ingraft, my Merit those
Shall perfet, and for these my Death shall pay.
Accept me, and in mee from these receave
The smell of peace toward Mankinde, let him live
Before thee reconcil'd, at least his days
Numberd, though sad, till Death, his doom (which I
To mitigate thus plead, not to reverse)
To better life shall yeeld him, where with mee
All my redeemd may dwell in joy and bliss,
Made one with me as I with thee am one.
To whom the Father, without Cloud, serene.
All thy request for Man, accepted Son,
Obtain, all thy request was my Decree:
But longer in that Paradise to dwell,
The Law I gave to Nature him forbids:
Those pure immortal Elements that know

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Charles Baudelaire

Moesta et Errabunda (Grieving and Wandering)

Dis-moi ton coeur parfois s'envole-t-il, Agathe,
Loin du noir océan de l'immonde cité
Vers un autre océan où la splendeur éclate,
Bleu, clair, profond, ainsi que la virginité?
Dis-moi, ton coeur parfois s'envole-t-il, Agathe?

La mer la vaste mer, console nos labeurs!
Quel démon a doté la mer, rauque chanteuse
Qu'accompagne l'immense orgue des vents grondeurs,
De cette fonction sublime de berceuse?
La mer, la vaste mer, console nos labeurs!

Emporte-moi wagon! enlève-moi, frégate!
Loin! loin! ici la boue est faite de nos pleurs!
— Est-il vrai que parfois le triste coeur d'Agathe
Dise: Loin des remords, des crimes, des douleurs,
Emporte-moi, wagon, enlève-moi, frégate?

Comme vous êtes loin, paradis parfumé,
Où sous un clair azur tout n'est qu'amour et joie,
Où tout ce que l'on aime est digne d'être aimé,
Où dans la volupté pure le coeur se noie!
Comme vous êtes loin, paradis parfumé!

Mais le vert paradis des amours enfantines,
Les courses, les chansons, les baisers, les bouquets,
Les violons vibrant derrière les collines,
Avec les brocs de vin, le soir, dans les bosquets,
— Mais le vert paradis des amours enfantines,

L'innocent paradis, plein de plaisirs furtifs,
Est-il déjà plus loin que l'Inde et que la Chine?
Peut-on le rappeler avec des cris plaintifs,
Et l'animer encor d'une voix argentine,
L'innocent paradis plein de plaisirs furtifs?

Grieving and Wandering

Tell me, does your heart sometimes fly away, Agatha,
Far from the black ocean of the filthy city,
Toward another ocean where splendor glitters,
Blue, clear, profound, as is virginity?
Tell me, does your heart sometimes fly away, Agatha?

The sea, the boundless sea, consoles us for our toil!
What demon endowed the sea, that raucous singer,
Whose accompanist is the roaring wind,
With the sublime function of cradle-rocker?
The sea, the boundless sea, consoles us for our toil!

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Yesterday, To-day, and For Ever: Book IV. - The Creation of Angels and of Men

O tears, ye rivulets that flow profuse
Forth from the fountains of perennial love,
Love, sympathy, and sorrow, those pure springs
Welling in secret up from lower depths
Than couch beneath the everlasting hills:
Ye showers that from the cloud of mercy fall
In drops of tender grief, - you I invoke,
For in your gentleness there lies a spell
Mightier than arms or bolted chains of iron.
When floating by the reedy banks of Nile
A babe of more than human beauty wept,
Were not the innocent dews upon its cheeks
A link in God's great counsels? Who knows not
The loves of David and young Jonathan,
When in unwitting rivalry of hearts
The son of Jesse won a nobler wreath
Than garlands pluck'd in war and dipp'd in blood?
And haply she, who wash'd her Saviour's feet
With the soft silent rain of penitence,
And wiped them with her tangled tresses, gave
A costlier sacrifice than Solomon,
What time he slew myriads of sheep and kine,
And pour'd upon the brazen altar forth
Rivers of fragrant oil. In Peter's woe,
Bitterly weeping in the darken'd street,
Love veils his fall. The traitor shed no tear.
But Magdalene's gushing grief is fresh
In memory of us all, as when it drench'd
The cold stone of the sepulchre. Paul wept,
And by the droppings of his heart subdued
Strong men by all his massive arguments
Unvanquish'd. And the loved Evangelist
Wept, though in heaven, that none in heaven were found
Worthy to loose the Apocalyptic seals.
No holy tear is lost. None idly sinks
As water in the barren sand: for God,
Let David witness, puts his children's tears
Into His cruse and writes them in His book; -
David, that sweetest lyrist, not the less
Sweet that his plaintive pleading tones ofttimes
Are tremulous with grief. For he and all
God's nightingales have ever learn'd to sing,
Pressing their bosom on some secret thorn.
In the world's morning it was thus: and, since
The evening shadows fell athwart mankind,
Thus hath it always been. Blind and bereft,
The minstrel of an Eden lost explored
Things all invisible to mortal eyes.
And he, who touch'd with a true poet's hand
The harp of prophecy, himself had learn'd

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Truman Teaches Romney Where The Buck Stops

On the desk of President Truman did sit a sign
famous defining standard of the man throughout
the land of the great United States of America!

Truman sitting at his desk in his White House
office had responsibility sign 'The Buck Stops Here'
because in Truman's administration the president

took responsibility for the welfare of all Americans!
No poker player hustler could be elected president
swindle 47% of the American people and say it is not

his responsibility as president to care for all citizens!
Mitt Romney passed the buck declaring all voters
who would not vote for him were not his responsibility...

in his vision for a Romney rummy federal government!
President Truman had a motto even for Monday morning
because as star quarterback for a nation when a decision

is up before you then by you the decision has to be made!
President Truman defined what 'The Buck Stops Here'
means in January 1953 in his farewell address to his then

responsibility the American people asserting specifically
'The President-whoever he is-has to decide. He can't
pass the buck to anybody. No one else can do the deciding

for him. That's his job.' Responsibility for all Americans!


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A City of Thieves

Within a city of thieves
There lies a treasure unknown.
Upon an autumnal breeze
The birds of prey have flown.
Upon the bridge across the river
Lay a man buck toothed – insane
Upon the bridge across the river
Lay a girl of mirrored shame.

Both conceal a secret
To both the secret is concealed
All that lay between them
A pale shade of realities veil.
Our vagabond is weary
He seeks room within the inn
He’s begging for a saviour
He’s begging for some skins.

To chase the rainbow dragon
It’s all he’s ever known
Within his heart the future shines
As he sits upon his throne.
Majestic in his manner
He is the Emperor it seems
Yet his rule is his kingdoms hammer
And it hath shattered fragile dreams.

The Empress sat beside him
Laughs at the folly of fools
She awaits the kiss of morning
To send the children out to school.
Versed in Homeric hymn they sing
Bringing love of the muse upon the wing
Ringing bells as Le Fey ride on in
Procession with the Queen of Twilight Realms.

All is lost within their hearts
Though inherent gold is clear to see
Blessed are the memories of
Those that made us free.
Those who died for love of family
Those who died for love of friends
Those who died without a memory
Those who died without an end.


Each thief reminds the other
Of his love for kindred blood,
Each loves and hates his brother,
Each knows that he could

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The Golden Age

Long ere the Muse the strenuous chords had swept,
And the first lay as yet in silence slept,
A Time there was which since has stirred the lyre
To notes of wail and accents warm with fire;
Moved the soft Mantuan to his silvery strain,
And him who sobbed in pentametric pain;
To which the World, waxed desolate and old,
Fondly reverts, and calls the Age of Gold.

Then, without toil, by vale and mountain side,
Men found their few and simple wants supplied;
Plenty, like dew, dropped subtle from the air,
And Earth's fair gifts rose prodigal as prayer.
Love, with no charms except its own to lure,
Was swiftly answered by a love as pure.
No need for wealth; each glittering fruit and flower,
Each star, each streamlet, made the maiden's dower.
Far in the future lurked maternal throes,
And children blossomed painless as the rose.
No harrowing question `why,' no torturing `how,'
Bent the lithe frame or knit the youthful brow.
The growing mind had naught to seek or shun;
Like the plump fig it ripened in the sun.
From dawn to dark Man's life was steeped in joy,
And the gray sire was happy as the boy.
Nature with Man yet waged no troublous strife,
And Death was almost easier than Life.
Safe on its native mountains throve the oak,
Nor ever groaned 'neath greed's relentless stroke.
No fear of loss, no restlessness for more,
Drove the poor mariner from shore to shore.
No distant mines, by penury divined,
Made him the sport of fickle wave or wind.
Rich for secure, he checked each wish to roam,
And hugged the safe felicity of home.

Those days are long gone by; but who shall say
Why, like a dream, passed Saturn's Reign away?
Over its rise, its ruin, hangs a veil,
And naught remains except a Golden Tale.
Whether 'twas sin or hazard that dissolved
That happy scheme by kindly Gods evolved;
Whether Man fell by lucklessness or pride,-
Let jarring sects, and not the Muse, decide.
But when that cruel Fiat smote the earth,
Primeval Joy was poisoned at its birth.
In sorrow stole the infant from the womb,
The agëd crept in sorrow to the tomb.
The ground, so bounteous once, refused to bear
More than was wrung by sower, seed, and share.

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Looking For Eden

As I drove down the road to look for eden
Saw two young girls but left them standing there.
They were too late to get home on the underground
And probably too drunk, too drunk to care.
Can anyone tell me the way to eden?
Ill ask them there, have they a job for me.
Im not a fussy man, I can weed and hoe.
Ill be her adam, she can be my eve.
And where on earth are all those songs of eden.
The fairy tales, the shepherds and wise men.
Just one old dosser lurching down oxford street
To spend his christmas lying in the rain.
Dont anybody know the way to eden.
Im tired of living my life in free-fall.
They say its somewhere out on the edge of town.
Perhaps it isnt really there at all.
Looking for eden.

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