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No Other Choice

Einstein is a physicist, unparallel.
His word of physics is not disputable.
With faith in him we take it to be true.
It might be disproved; yet no other choice.

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Mr. Sandman

(Pat Ballard)
Mister Sandman, bring me a dream
Make him the cutest that I've ever seen
Give him two lips like roses and clover
Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over.
Sandman, I'm so alone
Don't have nobody to call my own
Please turn on your magic beam
Mister Sandman, bring me a dream.
Mister Sandman, bring me a dream
Make him the cutest that I've ever seen
Give him the word that I'm not a rover
Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over.
Sandman, I'm so alone
Don't have nobody to call my own
Please turn on your magic beam
Mister Sandman, bring me a dream,
Mister Sandman, bring us a dream
Give him a pair of eyes with a come hither gleam
Give him a lonely heart like Pagliacci
And lots of wavy hair like Liberace.
Mister Sandman, someone to hold
Would be so peachy before we're too old
Sp please turn on your magic beam
Mister Sandman, bring us
Please, please, please
Mister Sandman, bring us a dream...

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To A Friend Who Had A Free Lunch With Me...

it's been long,
actually, i have forgotten, that place where we used to be,

i changed, i have told you i know myself,
i changed, i will not tell you that i have changed,

it will be as bitter as a detachment,
of a clover foot, divided into two pieces,

it will be still soft, but it will be more of slipping white sands
between my fingers,

i do not understand myself, so how can i ever understand you.

you sit on a table fronting me, yet, i do not see you completely
in the same manner, that i put my body here, but my mind is flying

like a kite somewhere, while my fingers pretend that i still have
a grasp about flying strings and wings and thoughts,

it's been long, and i talk to you, but i never mean each word,

actually, i do not like the color of that plate, the way the spoon and
fork are put parallel to each other,

the tea tastes like hell.

i could have told you, the tea really tastes like hell,

i have changed,
now i am dishonest.

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Master Of The Word

He writes with his feelings
Integrity in ever word

His poems make you think
About the why's in this world

As you read each one
You think
Been there done that before

But alas I can not say
Much about the wars

His eyes has seen
So much strife
Something I've yet to learn

I suppose I can say honestly
He's a true master with words

Respectfully I say to thee
Keep up the words you speak

I seam to be learning more
Of the world we paint with pens

With heart felt respect
I say to thee master of the words

His name is Eric Crockell
A true poet of the world

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The Word Hate

'Tis a word that's heavily loaded and not a word to under-rate
And they should not be taken lightly those who do use the word hate
In their reference to others those they do claim to dislike
The word hate is like an adder with head raised ready to strike
Hatred can lead to bodily harm or murder or some other serious crime
And it can lead one to confinement to serve years of prison time
Hatred is a thing that's dangerous it can be taken too far
It can lead to acts of terrorism and lead Nations to war
If somebody say to you I hate you and give you looks that seem severe
That person is a person you may have reason to fear
Hatred it can lead one to a serious crime it can be a dangerous thing
And those who act on their hatred shame on themselves do bring
Yes the word hate is a loaded word for hatred can be taken too far
It can lead to terrorism and to murder and it can lead Nations to war.

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Jesus Will Return To You As The Word Of God

Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thy art still
now and forever, the Holy City of our Lord;
Jesus will return to you as “The Word Of God”.

When in judgement the heavens open behold
a white horse, the one seated upon it called
“Faithful and True”, he judges carries on war

in righteousness. His eyes are a fiery flame,
upon his head are many diadems. He his a name,
a secret name written, unknown to any but himself.

He is arrayed with an outer garment sprinkled
with blood, the name he is called is “The Word Of God”.
The armies of heaven are following him on white horses,

clothed in white, clean, fine linen. Out of his mouth
protrudes a sharp long sword, that he may strike
the nations with this sword! He will shepherd nations

with a rod of iron. He treads too the winepress
of the anger of the wrath of God the Almighty.
Upon his outer garment, even upon his thigh,

He has a name written, “King of kings and Lord of lords”.
Revelation 19: 11- 16.

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I need to say it by word

I need to say it by word
Try to get strength and not run away
From what I’ve decided to do
I need to say it by word
To keep it not only as promise
But to where my feet fill the way

Sometimes I want to hang a little more
Sometimes I want to just turn away
Sometimes I want to forget
Sometimes I want to just escape

But it won’t do any good
And I’m actually not going anywhere, right?
Because now that looks forever
Always leaves you with twinge of regret

So listen carefully and watch me out!

I need to say it by word
Maybe I need to have a little faith
And some power to move again
I need to say it by word
And it’ll never be only daydream
Because someday it’ll be real

Sometimes I want to rest a little more
Sometimes I want to just hide
Sometimes I want to stay away
Sometimes I want to erase the day

But it won’t do any good
And nothing could worse than that, right?
Because now that looks forever
Always leaves you with humming of desire

So learn to understand and do what you can!

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Blessed By The Word

God blesses men with His Word, when The Living Truth is heard,
The hearts of eager men are spurred, at the reading of His Word.
Throughout His Word there is proof, of the Power of God’s Truth,
Even men who disdain The Truth, have seen His hand of reproof.

The Living Word is sharper than, a two-edged sword dear friend,
It changes the inner heart of men, leading many to a Godly end.
The Word of God can surely win, any heart that’s opposed in sin,
And The Word will change within, as you begin to walk with Him.

Friend no matter how you start, The Lord can change any heart,
Once you let Him in your heart, The Word of God will not depart.
The Word of God my dear friend, unlike the world will never end,
And all of eternity we will spend, with The Living Word my friend.

The Word of God changes your life, as you live for Jesus Christ,
Who gave Himself as a sacrifice, so men could have Eternal Life.
Christ is The Word my friend, although many didn’t comprehend,
When He came to dwell with men, coming down to be our friend.

You this day can have New Life, through The Lord Jesus Christ,
Who with His blood paid the price, as God’s redeeming sacrifice.
God will bless you for Eternity, believe in Christ and you will see,
When in The Word you believe, Eternal Life you will then receive.

(Copyright ©06/2006)

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The f word and me

The other day we discussed reasons
why people use
the magical f word.

a Young woman is of the opinion
that it’s because of a lack of imperfect language,
where a person’s vocabulary
lacks other words to use.

I think that there are many more other reasons
to slip in everywhere
and that vocabulary
has very little
or nothing to do with it.

One thing that can incite it
is exposure,
where people hear it
hundreds of times
every day
like in an army.

Subsequently without intention
it becomes part of your conversation
and your own vocabulary,
without drawing any attention
with yourself.

The word f is a power word
that give colour intensity
to the meanings of other words
and it can underline, emphasize
or lift some out.

You can also use it as a word
that has many meanings
and use it like a good shifting spanner
that shift for meaning values.

This word can also
be almost any word type
that gives bigger power
to other words used with it.

The thing that really matters
what others read
in the meaning of my words
and if I loose integrity by using it.

There are times
my mother wants to catch a fit
when I use the f word
and not from the meaning
of my words,

but from the negative context
that can be drawn with the word
and the easy transfer
of the word on children that hear my dialogue.

[With thanks to Skymaster, whose article inspired this poem.]

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Patrick White

Every Word Turns Away

Every word turns away
shame-faced and a liar
when you try to say things so true
they could only be contaminated
by a mouth.
And the tree in your voice
may be its own guitar
and every flower of your breath
be rooted in stars like the wind,
and you can spend a whole lifetime
trying to say everything
as if words could exact living destinies
from the names on the scrolls of the dead
to save everyone, to save
everything that exists
from nothing,
but when you're done,
when the tree falls silent
and the bird has flown away,
everything, just as it is,
will still be left unsaid
and just as there is no likeness for the living
there will be no likeness for the dead.
It is the unsayability of the mystic theme
that runs through us like a road through a dream
or the poem in our bloodstream
that is the cosmological constant
that keeps on expressing us
like waves of its own water
though we go looking for ourselves
like empty cups
to fill the topics of our names
forgetting like the moon
that water is its own chalice.
Why kneel by the water like the moon
to drink from your own face
as if it tasted any different downstream
than it did when you were a cloud
high on the mountain
when you can taste
the facelessness of the sea in everything
if you drink deep enough?
And there are eyes full of wine
waiting to get drunk on you
that haven't bloomed yet
and wells that your tears
are still falling through
like plumb-bobs and pennies
that haven't reached bottom yet,
and deaths that are antiquely your own
you must rise from
like the hosts of the morning glory
to show the gaping bells of your irrefutable ghosts
it can be done.
Words have bad memories.
Words are troubled sleep and nightmares.
Words are dead trees in a winter swamp
that couldn't wake a mosquito up.
Words are the ring of the gold on the counter top
that tells you it isn't true.
Words are a snakepit of spray bombs
that go off like terrorists
on any average day
in the market-heart of the silence.
Words are wanted posters
nailing their own likenesses
to the crucifix of a telephone pole
to divert their detection like water
from the tines
and witching wands of the lightning
that seeks them out like humans alone in the open.
And if you try to say the unsayable
by smearing the view
with a new holy book
what have you said
that isn't just more graffiti
scratched on a face reserved for God,
or the vast scream of the dawn
just before you wake up from the dream
to discover you're gone?
Words are the negative space
we use to delineate
the shapes of ourselves
when we talk ourselves
like water into fish,
like infinite, open-mouthed skies
that have winged their way into words
like autumn rain in the hearts of the waterbirds
that leave no trace behind.
Words are blind. And eyeless.
Words are boulders
in the throat of the impasse
when the mountain tries to speak
of things that last,
or mud in the stream of the valley
when it lowers its gaze like a poem
to whisper of things that pass.
Words turn the spell
on the sorcerer
and dangle him
like a participial puppet
from the strings
of his own grammar,
his own magic,
like stars in farcical cocoons
on the trophy-lines of his webs.
Why rummage through
the wardrobe of a wave
for something to cover your nakedness
when every time you go swimming
you can wear the sea?
Take a page out of the book of the stars
and keep words behind you
like seagulls in the wake of your shining
so by the time anyone can see you
that's not who you are.
Words are living creatures,
words are all eyes and ears
as vivid and vital as yours
looking out from under the autumn leaves
like a flower pressed into a book
that gives it no meaning
that it didn't have in the fields.
Ignorance doesn't eclipse the light
and enlightenment doesn't illuminate.
You may talk forever around it
but what's the meaning of fire
or sit by the mindstream all night
making constellations of the fireflies
that come together like words
and there may be no separation
between the water
and the reflections of the stars
that ride it like long-legged spiders,
or between you and the earth,
not so much difference
as a razorblade of stargrass,
but what's the meaning of water,
what's the meaning of the earth under your feet,
what's the meaning of that blade of chlorophyll?
Words speak for themselves,
not anything else.
Words are living voices
not harps in the throats of the dead.
A word is not a thought,
not an emotion,
not a stand-in for reality
not the verbal version
of the stem cells on your tongue,
or the eloquent fragrance of a brain
recruiting bees to chafe their pollen into honey.
You can spend a whole lifetime saying
and still not know what a word is,
a whole lifetime feeling
and not know what emotion is,
a whole lifetime thinking
and not know what a thought is.
Beyond appearances
that are not wholly
at the discretion of the depths,
nothing is the likeness of anything else
in the unity of their uniqueness,
the oneness of their oneness,
the mystic specificity
of many rivers
unspooling the mountain
to weave this infinite sea of awareness
into the myriad forms and tongues and waves of us
who take on minds and hang
like empty cups and water droplets
as if we were mere slips of the tongue
on the leaves of the morning glory,
from our own hooked fingers,
the black crescents of the lunar triggers
that play Russian roulette with our heads,
and the dreams that fit us like skin
and the lean watercolours of our sweat
on form-fitted sheets
when our separation troubles us
like waves trying to say the unsayable sea
to islands that already flow
like clear diamonds
that have mastered the yoga of tears.
Everything's like that
when things turn from solid to real.
Even these words.
Even in the fireflies
no one ever sees
deep in the well of the word,
even in the human heart,
the star, the rock, the tree,
in the smallest eye of water
that ever looked upon a summer sky,
the unsayable sea
of the whole of this multiverse
that sheds worlds like cool petals
from the sea mouths of the mind,
the life of everything
effortlessly exists
to explore its own weather
like water, to hold
its own life like a jewel
up to the light
and see everyone crowned
in a palace of water
whenever you say your name
to the stars
just to let them know
that you were here once
as if you meant it.

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Andre Gide

""Therefore"" is a word the poet must not know.

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There would be no ill word if it were not ill taken.

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The written word can be erased - not so with the spoken word.

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e.e. cummings

Knowledge is a polite word for dead but not buried imagination.

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I do not like this word bomb. It is not a bomb it is a device which is exploding.

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I do not like this word "bomb." It is not a bomb. It is a device that is exploding.

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Georg Christoph Lichtenberg

Affectation is a very good word when someone does not wish to confess to what he would none the less like to believe of himself.

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Richard Brautigan

Japan Minus Frogs

For Guy de la Valdène

Looking casually
through my English–Japanese dictionary
I can't find the word frog.
It's not there.
Does that mean that Japan has no frogs?

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The Light From The Shutters....

do not say a word
write it.

do not disturb the silence
of the corridors

when light comes in trickles
from the shutters of your window

stand still.

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The Southern slave would obey God in respect to marriage, and also to the reading and studying of His word. But this, as we have seen, is forbidden him.

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Remember that the word of God is not sent to particular persons, as if by name; and do not think you have no part in it, because you are not named there.

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