A Life That Is Complete
a life
that is complete
I wonder what it is
does it really exist?
how can I ever get it?
a life
that is complete
still
it puzzles me.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Related quotes
Microphone Fiend
Yo, I was a fiend before I became a teen
I melted microphone instead of cones of ice cream
Music orientated so when hip-hop was originated
Fitted like pieces of puzzles, complicated
Shot grabbed the mic and try to say, yes yall!
They tried to take it, and say that Im too small
Cool, cause I dont get upset
I kick a hole in the speaker, pull the plug, then I jet
Back to the lab ...without a mic to grab
So then I add all the rhymes I had
One after the another one, then I make another one
To dis the opposite then ask if the brothers done
I get a craving like I fiend for nicotine
But I dont need a cigarette, know what I mean?
Im raging, ripping up the stage and
Dont it sound amazing cause every rhyme is made and
Thought of, cuz its sort of...an addiction,
Magnatized by the mixing
E-f-f-e-c-t
A smooth operator operating correctly.
An e-f-f-e-c-t
A smooth operator operating correctly.
E-f-f-e-c-t
A smooth operator operating correctly.
An e-f-f-e-c-t
A smooth operator operating correctly.
But back to the problem, I gotta habit,
You cant solve it, you silly rabbit
The prescription is a hypertone thats thorough when
I fiend for a microphone like heroin
Soon as the bass kicks, I need a fix
Gimme a stage and a mic and a mix
And Ill put you in a mood or is it a state of
Unawareness? beware, its the reanamator!
A menace to a microphone, a lethal weapon
An assasinator, if the people aint stepping
You see a part of me that you never seen
When Im fiending for a microphone.
Cause I take it to the maximum, I cant relax see, im
Hype as a hyperchrondriac cause the rap be one
Hell of a antidote, something you cant smoke
More than dope, youre trying to move away but you cant, youre broke
More than cracked up, you should have backed up
For those who act up need to be more than smacked up
E-f-f-e-c-t
A smooth operator operating correctly.
An e-f-f-e-c-t
A smooth operator operating correctly.
An e-f-f-e-c-t
A smooth operator operating correctly.
[...] Read more
song performed by Rage Against The Machine
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Ghost And Me
The ghost and me
The ghost and me.
Are one and the same.
We don't exist.
We are never to be seen.
Everybody has washed their hand clean of...
A mistake that never happen.
A birth that was more like a regurgitation.
I didn't mean to do that.
Oh oh but you did.
The ghost and me
The ghost and me.
Are one and the same.
We don't exist.
We are never to be seen.
Now tell me
How hard is it to forgive
When one denies you everyday..?
Oh just disappear.
I wish you weren't here.
Those are the words I continuously hear.
The ghost and me
The ghost and me.
Are one and the same.
We don't exist.
We are never to be seen.
Voices marching to a beat.
Voices marching to an eventual defeat.
Running through a slaughter house just to fix a broken soul.
An what does it expose?
Is the blood real?
A talentless man with no cloths.
The ghost and me
The ghost and me.
Are one and the same.
We don't exist.
We are never to be seen.
I hate it.
It isn't fair.
But in this world of despair.
Tears will never heal these wounds.
For they're continuously felt each and everyday.
The pain will never go away.
[...] Read more
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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My Whole Life
Oh, hey
Oh, yeah, oh, yeah
To you
Mmm mmm mmm
Oh, yeah, babe
My whole life has changed
Since you came in, I knew back then
You were that special one
Im so in love, so deep in love
You make my love complete
You are so sweet, no one competes
Glad you came into my life
You blind me with your love, with you I have no sight
Girl, you open me, Im wide open
And Im doing things I never do
But I feel so good, I feel so good
Why it takes so long for me finding you
This is my story and Im telling you
Its not fiction, its surely a fact
Without you right here having my back
I really dont know just where Id be at
My whole life has changed (my whole life has changed)
Since you came in, I knew back then (ooh oh)
You were that special one (you were that)
Im so in love, so deep in love
You make my love complete (you make, make my love complete)
You are so sweet (oh, oh), no one competes
Glad you came into my life (ooh)
You blind me with your love, with you I have no sight
I analyzed myself, I was buck wild
Never thought about settling down
But all the time I knew I was ready
But not with all my friends around
But girl, I put you first now (I put you first now)
You made me, helped mould me (helped mould me, baby)
Turned me into a man, Im so responsible
And I owe it all to you
My whole life has changed (my whole life has changed)
Since you came in, I knew back then (oh, oh)
You were that special one (you were that special one)
Im so in love, so deep in love (oh, oh, oh)
You make my love complete (you make my love complete)
You are so sweet, no one competes
Glad you came into my life (so glad you came in)
You blind me with your love (blind me, baby)
With you I have no sight
{god has blessed me} God has blessed me, baby
Girl, he was good to me when he sent you
{Im so happy, baby}
Im so happy, Im so happy, baby, oh, yes, baby
[...] Read more
song performed by Ginuwine
Added by Lucian Velea
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society
Epigraph
Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.
I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.
You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I Want to Exist- Mary's Story
Answer me this;
riddle me that;
enigma-surrounded
I retreat,
to the isolated and the cruel snide
for solace
against you and others
who
think this is a debate,
or argument,
when for me
it is about
whether I exist.
No, gentlemen,
ladies we engage here
not in idle gossip wars
for me this is more serious
and masks,
despite my telling my self
it is less than that,
in fact,
for me
mental survival is at stake here;
all the more so
when I see it is not that way for thee;
it makes me feel smaller still
that you can play with life
indeed, even in this conversation;
as if for you
nothing is a stake;
oblivious to,
that for me,
all is at risk;
the half-healed wound
stabbed again.
There is no quarter here
asked for
or given;
you must die metaphorically
for me
[...] Read more
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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If The Surface For Them Did Not Exist
If the surface didn't exist,
Many wouldn't have a thought to cling to.
Many wouldn't know,
Which gossip heard was true.
If the surface for them did not exist.
If the surface didn't exist,
The many dependent on having lives not their own...
Would be lost without being told what to do.
Many absolutely would not have a clue...
How to find their way around,
Without following in someone's footsteps.
If the surface they sniffed did not exist.
And if the surface for them did not exist...
They would not be able to sit alone,
Doing something completely on their own...
And appreciating life,
With the minding of their own business.
If...
The surface for many did not exist,
It would be taumatic for them to seek a thought process.
Many would not know where or how to begin.
So many are accustomed to living lives that are shallow.
With an ability only to identify with that...
Which is supplied and arrives to them surfacely.
Even a dog sniffing tries to find a place to bury a bone.
And doing that alone.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Ant
A sixty feet long ant
With a hat on its head,
That doesn’t exist, that doesn’t exist.
An ant pulling a cart
Full of penguins and ducks
That doesn’t exist, that doesn’t exist.
An ant speaking French,
Speaking Latin and Javanese,
That doesn’t exist, that doesn’t exist.
Hey! Why not?
poem by Robert Desnos from Storysongs (Chantefables) (1945), translated by Dan Costinaş
Added by Dan Costinaş
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Pray Sincerely
There may exist various types of lamps
They'd have been from different camps.
They may exist made of various materials
They may be made for the Imperials.
They may exist in divergent shapes
In multifarious forms even as of grapes.
They may exist in many hues predominant
Made of disparate colours prominent.
They may contain oils multiform
Each with a varying viscosity norm.
They may hold distinct types of wicks
Each made of diverse sticks and picks.
Though the lamps are amply diversified
In all aspects they are one from inside.
And when all of them are ignited
Lo! They are in the same way lighted!
All have the same light energy of flame
A gas in excited state, the plasma—to name.
All forms of lamps from their foundation
Emit the same brilliant illumination.
There may exist different views of the Divine
And different paths may exist to reach the Divine.
But the mode of approach to attain the goal
Is our sincere effort to pray with heart and soul.
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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Days to Dazzle In Pretensions No Longer Exist
Whatever is given.
And however that is meant.
Why do many get upset,
When they receive exactly...
What to them has been sent!
Days to Dazzle In Pretensions No Longer Exist
Why is it believed,
By some.
What they do that has been done,
Is okay?
And an acceptance of it,
Should be kept that way.
Days to Dazzle In Pretensions No Longer Exist
Too many people are the 'cause'.
And not the solution to prevent.
Or a pause that should be long taken,
With no attention given spent.
Days to Dazzle In Pretensions No Longer Exist
Some have established themselves as 'saints'.
While others full of themselves,
Do not have to eliminate a single thing...
To emanate fumes from them that 'stink'.
And/or past tense from them that 'stank'!
Whatever is the preference.
Days to Dazzle In Pretensions No Longer Exist
With their quick judgements to pass.
Like fresh air blocking gas.
A picture alone,
Paints a thousand words.
Days to Dazzle In Pretensions No Longer Exist
Whatever is given.
And however that is meant.
Why do many get upset,
When they receive exactly...
What to them has been sent!
As intended upon the return ot it.
Days to Dazzle In Pretensions No Longer Exist
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Evil Created by God?
Challenged with this university question,
One researched Truth's 'whole confession.'
How many, to such a question, might dare say yes;
If God created evil then He is evil, one might guess.
But, then, one student did profoundly asked:
'Tell me professor, does cold exist to last...? '
The professor replied, 'Of course it exists.'
What was this brassy student's logic, or gist?
Amazingly, the bold student retorted, 'That's not true.'
'With laws of physics, cold is the absence of heat (for you) .'
All can succumb to a proven study, as energy will transmit.
Cold does not exist; the word only describes how we feel, to fit.
The calm student continued, 'Sir, does darkness exist? '
The confident professor retorted, 'Of course it does.'
The student replied, 'Again, Sir, that's not right;
Darkness is actually the absence of the Light.'
Newton 's prism is used to break light into colours of aura.
Wavelengths cannot measure an unilluminated area.
The light's ray can break a world of darkness, illuminating it.
Darkness is termed to describe the absence of light, present.
Finally the youth asked, 'Sir, does evil exist? '
A bit unsure the man said, 'Of course (not wanting to resist) .'
At last the youth replied, 'Evil does not exist Sir (neath God's rod) .'
Evil does not exist 'unto itself, ' it is simply the absence of God.'
'God did not create evil, He created beings with free-choice.'
The youth was Albert Einstein; I am 'only relating his voice.'
poem by ArmourQuill Hunter
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Literature and Quantum Physics
Mind spoke:
I have been the Driver of all history
for animal and man,
I've fueled Progress,
built cities,
discovered science
literature, poetry
all of this due to me:
Mind.
Imagination Spoke:
You Mind
are not of consequence
without me
Imagination.
Whatever spark might have
fired your brain
came from my fashioning
events in you Mind
to creativity,
to art
for you are merely physical seat
the vehicle,
But I Imagination
am the driver.
Body Spoke:
The two of you have no independent existence,
no living space
without me Body.
I am that temple
which houses you.
I am the physical portal
which interacts with the
world.
Whatever you can see or think Mind
or you Imagination, can imagine
is filtered thorough me Body
and flesh though I am
few doubt my ultimate power.
For surely as you both have your place
but both of you are mental most
and cannot walk or run,
[...] Read more
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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My World Your World
Why should I love someone who's horrible to me?
Why should I love someone who will never love me?
Why should I care about someone I can't count on?
Why should I love when I can hate?
If I hate you will you survive?
If I hate you will I die?
If I hate you I hope you crumble
If I hate you I hope you cry
If you hate me why do I care?
Why should I care?
If love didn't exist what would happen?
If love didn't exist would we talk?
If love didn't exist I would have no troubles
If love was made up you'd b alone
If love was made up you would crumble
In my world you love me
In my world I'm happy
In my world I can count on you
In my world I can love
In my world everyone cares
In my world your in my league
In my world I'm good-looking
In my world no one hurts me
In my world no one harms me
In my world bullies don't exist
In my world everything is perfect
In my world everything is picturesque
In my world dreams come true
In my world dreams exist
in your world what happens?
Am I loved in there?
Am I happy in there?
Do I even exist in there?
Do you kill in there?
Do you rule over everyone in there?
Do people smile?
Do people cry?
Do people die?
What happens?
poem by Mathew Stewart
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You exist now only in my heart
You exist now only in my heart...
You exist now only in my heart,
An ode to my internal defeat
A fading memory from an eternal realm,
A time gone by and incomplete.
You exist now only in my heart,
A message which truly proclaims
Your very essence and nature changed,
speaking softly your innumerable true names.
You exist now only in my heart,
As the wind carries my thoughts of you
Toward the angels standing in the clouds,
Innocently fairing me to bid you adieu.
You exist now only in my heart,
In the nature of who you've been,
But now, you are more than I'll ever know,
as I walk along this grassy knoll, ever so green.
You exist now only in my heart...
poem by Chad Fisher
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XI. Guido
You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Life means more
Life means imagination; the ability to perceive and
dream beyond the absolutely extraordinary,
Life means observation; the magical prowess to imbibe
the maximum out of the stupendously magnificent
surroundings,
Life means seduction; the uncanny desire of being
tantalized every second to the most unprecedented
limits,
Life means devotion; the immortal virtue of being
obsessed with the entity you uninhibitedly cherish and
love,
Life means fascination; the incessant entrenchment
perpetuated by all the mesmerizing beauty wandering on
this planet,
Life means God; Life means perennially unending; Life
means more….
Life means grandiloquent; the royally majestic sights
embedded on the trajectory of this boundless planet,
Life means benevolent; the philanthropic element to
help all those fellow compatriots in inexplicable
misery and tumultuous pain,
Life means turbulent; the vivacious swirl of rampant
thoughts and emotions; that engulf one's countenance
by storm,
Life means fragrant; the profusely redolent aroma;
which emanated from the voluptuous conglomerate of
lotus in the pond,
Life means prudent; the incomprehensible ability of
the human brain to act the most sagaciously in every
situation,
Life means God; Life means perennially unending; Life
means more….
Life means unfathomable; the paradise existing beyond
unprecedented corridors of perception,
[...] Read more
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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The Scripture of the Golden Eternity
1
Did I create that sky? Yes, for, if it was anything other than a conception in my mind I wouldnt have said 'Sky'-That is why I am the golden eternity. There are not two of us here, reader and writer, but one, one golden eternity, One-Which-It-Is, That-Which- Everything-Is.
2
The awakened Buddha to show the way, the chosen Messiah to die in the degradation of sentience, is the golden eternity. One that is what is, the golden eternity, or, God, or, Tathagata-the name. The Named One. The human God. Sentient Godhood. Animate Divine. The Deified One. The Verified One. The Free One. The Liberator. The Still One. The settled One. The Established One. Golden Eternity. All is Well. The Empty One. The Ready One. The Quitter. The Sitter. The Justified One. The Happy One.
3
That sky, if it was anything other than an illusion of my mortal mind I wouldnt have said 'that sky.' Thus I made that sky, I am the golden eternity. I am Mortal Golden Eternity.
4
I was awakened to show the way, chosen to die in the degradation of life, because I am Mortal Golden Eternity.
5
I am the golden eternity in mortal animate form.
6
Strictly speaking, there is no me, because all is emptiness. I am empty, I am non-existent. All is bliss.
7
This truth law has no more reality than the world.
8
You are the golden eternity because there is no me and no you, only one golden eternity.
9
The Realizer. Entertain no imaginations whatever, for the thing is a no-thing. Knowing this then is Human Godhood.
10
This world is the movie of what everything is, it is one movie, made of the same stuff throughout, belonging to nobody, which is what everything is.
11
If we were not all the golden eternity we wouldnt be here. Because we are here we cant help being pure. To tell man to be pure on account of the punishing angel that punishes the bad and the rewarding angel that rewards the good would be like telling the water 'Be Wet'-Never the less, all things depend on supreme reality, which is already established as the record of Karma earned-fate.
12
God is not outside us but is just us, the living and the dead, the never-lived and never-died. That we should learn it only now, is supreme reality, it was written a long time ago in the archives of universal mind, it is already done, there's no more to do.
13
This is the knowledge that sees the golden eternity in all things, which is us, you, me, and which is no longer us, you, me.
14
What name shall we give it which hath no name, the common eternal matter of the mind? If we were to call it essence, some might think it meant perfume, or gold, or honey. It is not even mind. It is not even discussible, groupable into words; it is not even endless, in fact it is not even mysterious or inscrutably inexplicable; it is what is; it is that; it is this. We could easily call the golden eternity 'This.' But 'what's in a name?' asked Shakespeare. The golden eternity by another name would be as sweet. A Tathagata, a God, a Buddha by another name, an Allah, a Sri Krishna, a Coyote, a Brahma, a Mazda, a Messiah, an Amida, an Aremedeia, a Maitreya, a Palalakonuh, 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 would be as sweet. The golden eternity is X, the golden eternity is A, the golden eternity is /\, the golden eternity is O, the golden eternity is [ ], the golden eternity is t-h-e-g-o-l-d-e-n-e-t-e-r- n-i-t-y. In the beginning was the word; before the beginning, in the beginningless infinite neverendingness, was the essence. Both the word 'god' and the essence of the word, are emptiness. The form of emptiness which is emptiness having taken the form of form, is what you see and hear and feel right now, and what you taste and smell and think as you read this. Wait awhile, close your eyes, let your breathing stop three seconds or so, listen to the inside silence in the womb of the world, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, re-recognize the bliss you forgot, the emptiness and essence and ecstasy of ever having been and ever to be the golden eternity. This is the lesson you forgot.
15
The lesson was taught long ago in the other world systems that have naturally changed into the empty and awake, and are here now smiling in our smile and scowling in our scowl. It is only like the golden eternity pretending to be smiling and scowling to itself; like a ripple on the smooth ocean of knowing. The fate of humanity is to vanish into the golden eternity, return pouring into its hands which are not hands. The navel shall receive, invert, and take back what'd issued forth; the ring of flesh shall close; the personalities of long dead heroes are blank dirt.
16
The point is we're waiting, not how comfortable we are while waiting. Paleolithic man waited by caves for the realization of why he was there, and hunted; modern men wait in beautified homes and try to forget death and birth. We're waiting for the realization that this is the golden eternity.
17
It came on time.
[...] Read more
poem by Jack Kerouac
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You Can't Make What Doesn't Work
You can't make what doesn't work,
For me exist.
If it is clear to me,
My life's just fine without it.
I want to say that,
You can't make what doesn't work...
For me exist.
When my happiness,
Doesn't depend on it.
I have my own beliefs,
That satisifies my every need.
The memories that I keep,
Reminds me how I stood...
Up on my own two feet.
No you can't make what doesn't work,
For me exist.
If with a faith I took risks,
And decided that my own life I would live.
I have my own beliefs,
That satisifies my every need.
The memories that I keep,
Reminds me how I got to stand up..
On my own two feet.
Oh...
You can't make what doesn't work,
For me exist.
If it is clear to me,
My life's just fine without it.
So, if it doesn't work for you,
Why do you wish to prove...
What it is that I do,
Is a waste of effort.
So, if it doesn't work for you,
Why do you wish to prove...
What it is that I do,
Is to me a disservice.
You can't make what doesn't work,
For me exist.
If it is clear to me,
My life's just fine without it.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Coming Home
Five minutes here, and they must steal two more!
shameful! Here have I been five mortal years
and not seen home nor one dear kindred face,
and these abominable slugs, this guard,
this driver, porters--what are they about?--
keep us here motionless, two minutes, three.--
Aha! at last!
Good! We shall check our minutes;
we're flying after them, like a mad wind
chasing the leaves it has tossed on in front.
Oh glorious wild speed, what giants' play!
and there are men who tell us poetry
is dead where railways come! Maybe 'tis true,
I'm a bad judge, I've had scant reading time
and little will to read ...... and certainly
I've not found railways in what verse I know:
but there's a whizz and whirr as trains go by,
a bullet-like indomitable rush
and then all's done, which makes me often think
one of those men who found out poetry,
and had to write the things just that they saw,
would have made some of their fine crashing lines
that stir one like the marches one knows best,
and the enemy knows best, with trains in them
as easily as chariots.
Anyhow
I've poetry and music too to-day
in the very clatter: it goes "Home, home, home."
And they'll think that sharp shriek a kinder sound
than sweetest singing, when it presently
pierces the quiet of the night and sends
its eager shrillness on for miles before
to say I'm no time distant. I can see
my mother's soft pink cheeks (like roses, pale
after a June week's blooming,) flush and wan,
and her lip quiver; I can see the girls,
restless between the hall door and the clock,
hear it and hush and lean expectant heads
to catch the rattle of the coming train;
my father, sitting pshawing by the fire
at all the fuss and waiting, half start up,
dropping his Times, forgetful just so long
that he is not impatient like the rest,
the tender foolish women, and, alert
to hide how he was tempted to fuss too,
reseat himself intent on politics;
and Hugh--I think Hugh must be there with them,
[...] Read more
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
Added by Poetry Lover
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Under normal conditions the research scientist is not an innovator but a solver of puzzles, and the puzzles upon which he concentrates are just those which he believes can be both stated and solved within the existing scientific tradition.
quote by Thomas Kuhn
Added by Lucian Velea
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Jack-ass
I've been drifting along with the same stale shoes
Loose ends tying the noose in the back of my mind
If you thought that you were making your way
To where the puzzles and pagans lay
I'll put it together: it's a strange invitation
When I wake up someone will sweep up my lazy bones
And we will rise in the cool of the evening
I remember the way that she smiled
When the gravity shackles were wild
And something is vacant when I think it's all beginning
I been drifting along with the same stale shoes
Loose ends tying the noose in the back of my mind
If you thought that you were making your way
To where the puzzles and pagans lay
I'll put it together: it's a strange invitation
song performed by Beck from Odelay
Added by Lucian Velea
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