The Chiral Psyche
The chiral psyche
hovers like
a green, crystal prism
dictating the autosuggested
algorithms of fate.
It is superimposed
over the self,
flecks of satori
spontaneously
misleading me
from the symmetry
that stems deep within
its dialect.
These patterns of creation
come to dissect themselves
by the vectors of compassion
and understanding; limbic
and cortal bifurcations that
seem to separate the mind
from the Mind.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Related quotes
The Interpretation of Nature and
I.
MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything.
II.
Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions.
III.
Human knowledge and human power meet in one; for where the cause is not known the effect cannot be produced. Nature to be commanded must be obeyed; and that which in contemplation is as the cause is in operation as the rule.
IV.
Towards the effecting of works, all that man can do is to put together or put asunder natural bodies. The rest is done by nature working within.
V.
The study of nature with a view to works is engaged in by the mechanic, the mathematician, the physician, the alchemist, and the magician; but by all (as things now are) with slight endeavour and scanty success.
VI.
It would be an unsound fancy and self-contradictory to expect that things which have never yet been done can be done except by means which have never yet been tried.
VII.
The productions of the mind and hand seem very numerous in books and manufactures. But all this variety lies in an exquisite subtlety and derivations from a few things already known; not in the number of axioms.
VIII.
Moreover the works already known are due to chance and experiment rather than to sciences; for the sciences we now possess are merely systems for the nice ordering and setting forth of things already invented; not methods of invention or directions for new works.
IX.
The cause and root of nearly all evils in the sciences is this -- that while we falsely admire and extol the powers of the human mind we neglect to seek for its true helps.
X.
The subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of the senses and understanding; so that all those specious meditations, speculations, and glosses in which men indulge are quite from the purpose, only there is no one by to observe it.
XI.
As the sciences which we now have do not help us in finding out new works, so neither does the logic which we now have help us in finding out new sciences.
XII.
The logic now in use serves rather to fix and give stability to the errors which have their foundation in commonly received notions than to help the search after truth. So it does more harm than good.
XIII.
[...] Read more
poem by Sir Francis Bacon
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Polka Patterns
Everywhere, I see them there
I stop and stare at patterns
I dont care, I must declare
Ive got a flair for patterns
On my hair, the clothes I wear
My savoir faire is patterns
All I see is patterns
The patterns that repeat
Lets go into the bathroom
I know were in a room where you would not expect much math
Usually youre in here for a shower or a bath
But if you gaze upon the floor, and if youre kinda smart
Youll see the repetition is like geometric art
Wow, haha
Look
Everywhere, I see them there
I stop and stare at patterns
I dont care, I must declare
Ive got a flair for patterns
On my hair, the clothes I wear
My savoir faire is patterns
All I see is patterns
The patterns that repeat
Hey!
A polkameister like myself never has to be bored
I just grab my ax and play some patterns on my keyboard
Nows the time for earplugs if you care about your health
So stand back, everybody, Im gonna express myself
Look at this, patterns
Ive got blisters on my fingers
Woo, hey, aw, get down
Yeah, help me, somebody, woo
Still there? okay
Next time you find yourself at an exciting polka party
You can make some patterns with your feet and with your body
If you dont know the steps yet, heres the gang with all the answers
Ladies and gentlemen, introducing, the weird al polka dancers
Here they are
Everywhere, we see them there
We stop and stare at patterns
We dont care, we must declare
Weve got a flair for patterns
On our hair, the clothes we wear
Our savoir faire is patterns
All we see is patterns
The patterns that repeat
Wallpaper, skyscrapers, funny papers, patterns
Evergreens, nouvelle cuisine, human beings, patterns
Garden rakes, wedding cakes, rattlesnakes, patterns
Golden wheat, little feet, my heartbeat
[...] Read more
song performed by Weird Al Yankovic
Added by Lucian Velea
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Satori
Pa-pa pa-pa-pa pa-da
Seeking your own satori
Pa-da pa-pa-pa pa-da
Seeking your own satori
Pa-da pa-pa-pa pa-da
Kissing the sky and heaven above
Seeking your own satori
Wringing the neck of brotherly love
Pa-da pa-pa-pa pa-da
Kissing the sky and heaven above
Seeking your own satori
Wringing the neck of brotherly love
Pa-da pa-pa-pa pa-da
Kissing the sky and heaven above
Seeking your own satori
Wringing the neck of brotherly love
Pa-da pa-pa-pa pa-da
You be the hawk and Ill be the dove
Seeking your own satori
You be the hawk and Ill be the dove
Pa-da pa-pa-pa pa-da
Kissing the sky and heaven above
Seeking your own satori
Wringing the neck of brotherly love
Seeking your own satori, seeking your own satori
All that matters
song performed by Abc
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The Princess (part 2)
At break of day the College Portress came:
She brought us Academic silks, in hue
The lilac, with a silken hood to each,
And zoned with gold; and now when these were on,
And we as rich as moths from dusk cocoons,
She, curtseying her obeisance, let us know
The Princess Ida waited: out we paced,
I first, and following through the porch that sang
All round with laurel, issued in a court
Compact of lucid marbles, bossed with lengths
Of classic frieze, with ample awnings gay
Betwixt the pillars, and with great urns of flowers.
The Muses and the Graces, grouped in threes,
Enringed a billowing fountain in the midst;
And here and there on lattice edges lay
Or book or lute; but hastily we past,
And up a flight of stairs into the hall.
There at a board by tome and paper sat,
With two tame leopards couched beside her throne,
All beauty compassed in a female form,
The Princess; liker to the inhabitant
Of some clear planet close upon the Sun,
Than our man's earth; such eyes were in her head,
And so much grace and power, breathing down
From over her arched brows, with every turn
Lived through her to the tips of her long hands,
And to her feet. She rose her height, and said:
'We give you welcome: not without redound
Of use and glory to yourselves ye come,
The first-fruits of the stranger: aftertime,
And that full voice which circles round the grave,
Will rank you nobly, mingled up with me.
What! are the ladies of your land so tall?'
'We of the court' said Cyril. 'From the court'
She answered, 'then ye know the Prince?' and he:
'The climax of his age! as though there were
One rose in all the world, your Highness that,
He worships your ideal:' she replied:
'We scarcely thought in our own hall to hear
This barren verbiage, current among men,
Light coin, the tinsel clink of compliment.
Your flight from out your bookless wilds would seem
As arguing love of knowledge and of power;
Your language proves you still the child. Indeed,
We dream not of him: when we set our hand
To this great work, we purposed with ourself
Never to wed. You likewise will do well,
Ladies, in entering here, to cast and fling
[...] Read more
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Love & Compassion
I used to think love was a dying art
Compassion couldnt live within a crowded heart
I saw my freedom in a poor mans eyes
Hope like a light, will to survive
A sense of dignity to hold up high
These are the simple things
That keep us all alive
And though the rich buy power for a time
One thing that money cant buy
Chorus
Love and compassion
(only) love and compassion
Give it to you
Give it to me
Love and compassion
(only) love and compassion
Thats what it takes
(give love...youre gonna feel love...
Ooo... feel love... youre gonna give love)
One night when I was feelin all alone
I saw a shadow walking in the danger zone
I knew that I would have to make a choice
Hunger in my heart, hunger in my spirit
We wont be free until we equalize
The price of power to the price of every life
And though I know its gonna take some time
Someday were all gonna find
Love and compassion
(onlv) love and compassion
Give it to you
Give it to me
Love and compassion
(only) love and compassion
Thats what it takes to relate
Love and compassion
(only) love and compassion
Give it to you
Give it to me
(oniy) love und compassion
Thats what it takes
(give love... ooo feel love... youre gonna
Feel love... if you give love)
Love und compassion
Love und compassion
Love und compassion
Love und compassion
Love und compassion
(only) love und compassion
Give it to you
Give it to me
[...] Read more
song performed by Hall & Oates
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Four Seasons : Summer
From brightening fields of ether fair disclosed,
Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes,
In pride of youth, and felt through Nature's depth:
He comes attended by the sultry Hours,
And ever fanning breezes, on his way;
While, from his ardent look, the turning Spring
Averts her blushful face; and earth, and skies,
All-smiling, to his hot dominion leaves.
Hence, let me haste into the mid-wood shade,
Where scarce a sunbeam wanders through the gloom;
And on the dark-green grass, beside the brink
Of haunted stream, that by the roots of oak
Rolls o'er the rocky channel, lie at large,
And sing the glories of the circling year.
Come, Inspiration! from thy hermit-seat,
By mortal seldom found: may Fancy dare,
From thy fix'd serious eye, and raptured glance
Shot on surrounding Heaven, to steal one look
Creative of the Poet, every power
Exalting to an ecstasy of soul.
And thou, my youthful Muse's early friend,
In whom the human graces all unite:
Pure light of mind, and tenderness of heart;
Genius, and wisdom; the gay social sense,
By decency chastised; goodness and wit,
In seldom-meeting harmony combined;
Unblemish'd honour, and an active zeal
For Britain's glory, liberty, and Man:
O Dodington! attend my rural song,
Stoop to my theme, inspirit every line,
And teach me to deserve thy just applause.
With what an awful world-revolving power
Were first the unwieldy planets launch'd along
The illimitable void! thus to remain,
Amid the flux of many thousand years,
That oft has swept the toiling race of men,
And all their labour'd monuments away,
Firm, unremitting, matchless, in their course;
To the kind-temper'd change of night and day,
And of the seasons ever stealing round,
Minutely faithful: such the All-perfect hand!
That poised, impels, and rules the steady whole.
When now no more the alternate Twins are fired,
And Cancer reddens with the solar blaze,
Short is the doubtful empire of the night;
And soon, observant of approaching day,
The meek'd-eyed Morn appears, mother of dews,
At first faint-gleaming in the dappled east:
Till far o'er ether spreads the widening glow;
And, from before the lustre of her face,
[...] Read more
poem by James Thomson
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Canto the Fourth
I.
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand:
I saw from out the wave her structures rise
As from the stroke of the enchanter’s wand:
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying glory smiles
O’er the far times when many a subject land
Looked to the wingèd Lion’s marble piles,
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles!
II.
She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean,
Rising with her tiara of proud towers
At airy distance, with majestic motion,
A ruler of the waters and their powers:
And such she was; her daughters had their dowers
From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East
Poured in her lap all gems in sparkling showers.
In purple was she robed, and of her feast
Monarchs partook, and deemed their dignity increased.
III.
In Venice, Tasso’s echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,
And music meets not always now the ear:
Those days are gone - but beauty still is here.
States fall, arts fade - but Nature doth not die,
Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear,
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy!
IV.
But unto us she hath a spell beyond
Her name in story, and her long array
Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond
Above the dogeless city’s vanished sway;
Ours is a trophy which will not decay
With the Rialto; Shylock and the Moor,
And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn away -
The keystones of the arch! though all were o’er,
For us repeopled were the solitary shore.
V.
[...] Read more
poem by Byron from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1818)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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How on earth? ? ?
My money could separate her from you-make her legally mine; but how on earth could I extricate your infinite reflections from the whites of her eyes; which were the sole sublimation of her otherwise impoverished life?
My money could separate her from you-make her legally mine; but how on earth could I erase your infinite fronds of desire from her sensuous lips; which were the sole reason behind her every uninhibited smile?
My money could separate her from you- make her legally mine; but how on earth could I remove your infinite whispers of adventure from her intricate ears; which were the sole ounces of enlightenment in her otherwise hackneyed way?
My money could separate her from you- make her legally mine; but how on earth could I evaporate your infinite praises from her mellifluous voice; which were the sole pillars of strength in her otherwise devastated existence?
My money could separate her from you- make her legally mine; but how on earth could I abolish your infinite fantasies from her astoundingly evolving brain; which were the sole panacea of her otherwise slowly diminishing life?
My money could separate her from you- make her legally mine; but how on earth could I scrap your infinite infernos of yearning from her amiably resonating spine; which were the sole sensitivities in her otherwise robotically mundane existence?
My money could separate her from you-make her legally mine; but how on earth could I annihilate your infinite impressions of destiny from the insides of her blissfully tinkling palms; which were the sole glimmer of hope in the fabric of her otherwise inexplicably withering life?
My money could separate her from you- make her legally mine; but how on earth could I behead your infinite compassionate pecks from her unabashed ardent cheeks; which were her sole sensations to forever triumph; in the otherwise fading horizons of her existence?
My money could separate her from you- make her legally mine; but how on earth could I massacre your infinite epitomes of artistry from her wondrously wandering fingers; which were the sole insinuations of companionship in her otherwise obfuscated life?
My money could separate her from you- make her legally mine; but how on earth could I trounce your infinite shades of humanity from her insuperably celestial blood; which were the sole lanterns of friendship in her otherwise miserably betrayed existence?
My money could separate her from you- make her legally mine; but how on earth could I assassinate your infinite pillars of tenacity from her altruistically affable bones; which were the sole Sun of fearlessness in her otherwise despicably slavering life?
My money could separate her from you- make her legally mine; but how on earth could I vanquish your infinite spell-binding imageries from her innocuously pristine mind; which were the sole spots of untamed brilliance in her otherwise penuriously incarcerated existence?
My money could separate her from you- make her legally mine; but how on earth could I pulverize your infinite recesses of warmth from her voluptuous bosom; which were the sole flames of friendship in her otherwise treacherously obsolete life?
My money could separate her from you- make her legally mine; but how on earth could I lynch your infinite fragrances of optimism from her impregnably fiery nostrils; which were the sole heavens of victory in her otherwise subserviently defeated existence?
My money could separate her from you- make her legally mine; but how on earth could I extradite your infinite images of truth from her undaunted conscience; which were the sole harbingers of eternal bliss in her otherwise deliriously distorted life?
My money could separate her from you- make her legally mine; but how on earth could I exonerate your infinite impressions of solidarity from her impeccably unbridled soul; which were the sole skies of ultimate freedom in her otherwise gruesomely penalizing existence?
My money could separate her from you-make her legally mine; but how on earth could I slaughter your infinite droplets of healing moisture from her stupendously magnetic eyelashes; which were the sole mists of unexpected miracles in her otherwise deplorably traumatized life?
My money could separate her from you-make her legally mine; but how on earth could I eliminate your infinite ecstatically ever-pervading shadows from her passionate breath; which were the sole rainbows of untainted exhilaration in her otherwise disdainfully slithering existence?
And my money could separate her from you-make her legally mine; but how on earth could I terminate your infinite beats of immortal love from her thunderously throbbing heart; which were the sole rays of contentment in her otherwise fatally premature and truncated life…
©®copyright by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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[9] O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
[LOVE POEMS]
POET: MAHENDRA BHATNAGAR
POEMS
1 Passion And Compassion / 1
2 Affection
3 Willing To Live
4 Passion And Compassion / 2
5 Boon
6 Remembrance
7 Pretext
8 To A Distant Person
9 Perception
10 Conclusion
10 You (1)
11 Symbol
12 You (2)
13 In Vain
14 One Night
15 Suddenly
16 Meeting
17 Touch
18 Face To Face
19 Co-Traveller
20 Once And Once only
21 Touchstone
22 In Chorus
23 Good Omens
24 Even Then
25 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (1)
26 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (2)
27 Life Aspirant
28 To The Condemned Woman
29 A Submission
30 At Midday
31 I Accept
32 Who Are You?
33 Solicitation
34 Accept Me
35 Again After Ages …
36 Day-Dreaming
37 Who Are You?
38 You Embellished In Song
[...] Read more
poem by Mahendra Bhatnagar
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Crystal Ball
Expert lover, my baby
U ever had a crystal ball?
Expert lover, my baby
U ever had a crystal ball?
Ooh, expert lover, my baby
Ever had a crystal ball?
Expert lover, my baby
U ever had a crystal ball?
As bombs explode around us and hate advances on the right
The only thing that matters, baby, is the love that we make 2night
As little babies in make-up terrorize the western world
The only thing that matters, baby, is love between a boy and girl
Oh, expert lover, my baby
U ever had a crystal ball?
Undercover, no maybe
All 4 fun and fun 4 all
I cant remember my babys voice cuz she aint talkin no more
Only the sound of love and prayer echo from the yellow floor,
Yellow floor
Huh, shes sayin c dear jesus, save us from temptation
Dear jesus, save us from hell
Save us from the madness that threatens us all
Can u hear us? its hard 2 tell
In your name we pray
Expert lover, my baby
Ever had a crystal ball?
Undercover, no maybe
All 4 fun, fun 4 all
As soldiers draw swords of sorrow
My baby draws pictures of sex (yes, she does)
All over the walls in graphic detail - sex!
Everybody say it now
Expert lover, huh, my baby
Ever had a crystal ball?
Under undercover, ha, no maybe
All 4 fun and fun 4 all
Rip it, ouch! uh
Expert lover, my baby
Ever had a crystal ball?
Uh, expert lover, my baby (my baby)
Ever had a crystal ball?
Crystal ball
Expert
My baby, my baby, my baby, my baby
Kiss me, lick me, trick me, whoa!
Oh yeah, yeah
Come on, come on, come on, wont u come on?
Expert lover, huh, my baby
Have u ever had a crystal ball?
Dont u wanna?
[...] Read more
song performed by Prince
Added by Lucian Velea
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Pharsalia - Book V: The Oracle. The Mutiny. The Storm
Thus had the smiles of Fortune and her frowns
Brought either chief to Macedonian shores
Still equal to his foe. From cooler skies
Sank Atlas' daughters down, and Haemus' slopes
Were white with winter, and the day drew nigh
Devoted to the god who leads the months,
And marking with new names the book of Rome,
When came the Fathers from their distant posts
By both the Consuls to Epirus called
Ere yet the year was dead: a foreign land
Obscure received the magistrates of Rome,
And heard their high debate. No warlike camp
This; for the Consul's and the Praetor's axe
Proclaimed the Senate-house; and Magnus sat
One among many, and the state was all.
When all were silent, from his lofty seat
Thus Lentulus began, while stern and sad
The Fathers listened: 'If your hearts still beat
With Latian blood, and if within your breasts
Still lives your fathers' vigour, look not now
On this strange land that holds us, nor enquire
Your distance from the captured city: yours
This proud assembly, yours the high command
In all that comes. Be this your first decree,
Whose truth all peoples and all kings confess;
Be this the Senate. Let the frozen wain
Demand your presence, or the torrid zone
Wherein the day and night with equal tread
For ever march; still follows in your steps
The central power of Imperial Rome.
When flamed the Capitol with fires of Gaul
When Veii held Camillus, there with him
Was Rome, nor ever though it changed its clime
Your order lost its rights. In Caesar's hands
Are sorrowing houses and deserted homes,
Laws silent for a space, and forums closed
In public fast. His Senate-house beholds
Those Fathers only whom from Rome it drove,
While Rome was full. Of that high order all
Not here, are exiles. Ignorant of war,
Its crimes and bloodshed, through long years of peace,
Ye fled its outburst: now in session all
Are here assembled. See ye how the gods
Weigh down Italia's loss by all the world
Thrown in the other scale? Illyria's wave
Rolls deep upon our foes: in Libyan wastes
Is fallen their Curio, the weightier part
Of Caesar's senate! Lift your standards, then,
Spur on your fates and prove your hopes to heaven.
[...] Read more
poem by Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
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Patterns
Patterns all around you
Patterns everywhere
Patterns of behavior
Sometimes seem unfair
Can you recognize the patterns that you find?
Patterns unfamiliar
Patterns lead you through (to)
Patterns of discovery
Tracing out the clues
Can you recognize the patterns that you find?
Stuck in your mind
In this land where stability is hard to find
You can rearrange the patterns so unkind
Dont bother asking why a pattern never cries
Old patterns never die they just go on and on
Patterns multiplying
Re-direct our view
Endless variations
Make it all seem new
song performed by Devo
Added by Lucian Velea
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Guess the Title - Patter down Pat
..........................PATTERNS
....... ................which.......stitch
....... .........PATTERNS....PATTERNS
............ ...fit....................................into
...........PATTERNS....................PATTE RNS
.........knit......................... .........................onto
....PATTERNS ..........................................PATTERN S
enrich.................................. ...................................which
. ...PATTERNS...................................... ....PATTERNS
.........knit................ ..................................onto
... ........PATTERNS....................PATTERNS
...............fit............................ ........into
................PATTERNS....P ATTERNS
.......................which...... .stitch
..........................PATTERNS
10 August 1995
robi03_0762_robi03_0000 QXX_MXX
[C] Jonathan Robin written
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Artists
How gracefully, O man, with thy palm-bough,
Upon the waning century standest thou,
In proud and noble manhood's prime,
With unlocked senses, with a spirit freed,
Of firmness mild,--though silent, rich in deed,
The ripest son of Time,
Through meekness great, through precepts strong,
Through treasures rich, that time had long
Hid in thy bosom, and through reason free,--
Master of Nature, who thy fetters loves,
And who thy strength in thousand conflicts proves,
And from the desert soared in pride with thee!
Flushed with the glow of victory,
Never forget to prize the hand
That found the weeping orphan child
Deserted on life's barren strand,
And left a prey to hazard wild,--
That, ere thy spirit-honor saw the day,
Thy youthful heart watched over silently,
And from thy tender bosom turned away
Each thought that might have stained its purity;
That kind one ne'er forget who, as in sport,
Thy youth to noble aspirations trained,
And who to thee in easy riddles taught
The secret how each virtue might be gained;
Who, to receive him back more perfect still,
E'en into strangers' arms her favorite gave--
Oh, may'st thou never with degenerate will,
Humble thyself to be her abject slave!
In industry, the bee the palm may bear;
In skill, the worm a lesson may impart;
With spirits blest thy knowledge thou dost share,
But thou, O man, alone hast art!
Only through beauty's morning gate
Didst thou the land of knowledge find.
To merit a more glorious fate,
In graces trains itself the mind.
What thrilled thee through with trembling blessed,
When erst the Muses swept the chord,
That power created in thy breast,
Which to the mighty spirit soared.
When first was seen by doting reason's ken,
When many a thousand years had passed away,
A symbol of the fair and great e'en then,
Before the childlike mind uncovered lay.
Its blessed form bade us honor virtue's cause,--
The honest sense 'gainst vice put forth its powers,
[...] Read more
poem by Friedrich Schiller
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The Plea Of The Midsummer Fairies
I
'Twas in that mellow season of the year
When the hot sun singes the yellow leaves
Till they be gold,—and with a broader sphere
The Moon looks down on Ceres and her sheaves;
When more abundantly the spider weaves,
And the cold wind breathes from a chillier clime;—
That forth I fared, on one of those still eves,
Touch'd with the dewy sadness of the time,
To think how the bright months had spent their prime,
II
So that, wherever I address'd my way,
I seem'd to track the melancholy feet
Of him that is the Father of Decay,
And spoils at once the sour weed and the sweet;—
Wherefore regretfully I made retreat
To some unwasted regions of my brain,
Charm'd with the light of summer and the heat,
And bade that bounteous season bloom again,
And sprout fresh flowers in mine own domain.
III
It was a shady and sequester'd scene,
Like those famed gardens of Boccaccio,
Planted with his own laurels evergreen,
And roses that for endless summer blow;
And there were fountain springs to overflow
Their marble basins,—and cool green arcades
Of tall o'erarching sycamores, to throw
Athwart the dappled path their dancing shades,—
With timid coneys cropping the green blades.
IV
And there were crystal pools, peopled with fish,
Argent and gold; and some of Tyrian skin,
Some crimson-barr'd;—and ever at a wish
They rose obsequious till the wave grew thin
As glass upon their backs, and then dived in,
Quenching their ardent scales in watery gloom;
Whilst others with fresh hues row'd forth to win
My changeable regard,—for so we doom
Things born of thought to vanish or to bloom.
[...] Read more
poem by Thomas Hood
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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto IV.
I.
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand:
I saw from out the wave her structures rise
As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand:
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying Glory smiles
O'er the far times, when many a subject land
Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles,
Where Venice sate in state, thron'd on her hundred isles!
II.
She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean,
Rising with her tiara of proud towers
At airy distance, with majestic motion,
A ruler of the waters and their powers:
And such she was; her daughters had their dowers
From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East
Pour'd in her lap all gems in sparkling showers.
In purple was she rob'd, and of her feast
Monarchs partook, and deem'd their dignity increas'd.
III.
In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,
And music meets not always now the ear:
Those days are gone -- but Beauty still is here.
States fall, arts fade -- but Nature doth not die,
Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear,
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy!
IV.
But unto us she hath a spell beyond
Her name in story, and her long array
Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond
Above the dogeless city's vanish'd sway;
Ours is a trophy which will not decay
With the Rialto; Shylock and the Moor,
And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn away --
The keystones of the arch! though all were o'er,
For us repeopl'd were the solitary shore.
V.
The beings of the mind are not of clay;
Essentially immortal, they create
And multiply in us a brighter ray
And more belov'd existence: that which Fate
Prohibits to dull life, in this our state
[...] Read more
Deep
blank stare
disrepair
there's a big black hole gonna eat me up someday
(but) someday
fades away
like a memory - or a place that you'd rather be
some place
lost in space
an itch in my head that's telling me somewhere
somewhere
out there anywhere I don't care get me out of here
if I could feel
all the pins and the pricks
if you were real
I could take what's apart and put it all back together now
this will come true
help me get through
into you
deep deep deep deep deep deep deep deep
all I can do
driving me through
into you
deep deep deep deep deep deep deep deep
one track
got you on your back
your skin speaks up but you lips couldn't say it
right now I know somehow
we could take the chance and we could make it make it
right here make it all disappear
everything that we've been missing missing
you make me feel
like there's a part of me
that I want to get back again
make this come true
help me get through
into you
deep deep deep deep deep deep deep deep
all I can do
pushing it through
into you
deep deep deep deep deep deep deep deep
all I can do
driving on through
into you
deep deep deep deep deep deep deep deep
you're slipping through
I'm coming, too
into you
deep deep deep deep deep deep deep deep
we could become
[...] Read more
song performed by Nine Inch Nails
Added by Lucian Velea
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The House Of Dust: Complete
I.
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.
And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.
'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.
We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.
Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.
Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.
II.
[...] Read more
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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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
[...] Read more
poem by Edward Henry Bickersteth
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Inside My Head
This song will discuss four main parts of the brain, the cerebrum, the
cerebellum, the limbic system and the brain stem and one individual's use or
misuse of these parts.
Verse 1:
Inside my head, or inside my brain,
is that part of me which keeps me sane,
which helps me discern between right and wrong,
and other things I'm gonna talk about in this song,
It's time for the people to know, so now I tell 'em,
what goes in my cerebrum and my cerebellum,
the though process that helps me get dressed,
get up and go to school, sit down and take a test,
it helps me determine if a girl is fine,
and the steps necessary to make her mine,
it tells me if something is cold or hot,
and I don't mess it up with crack, coke, or pot,
it helps my hearing, taste, touch and sight,
and smell so that I can tell that everything's alright,
it tells me when to get up and when to go to bed,
this is some of what goes on inside my head,
inside my head, I wonder what might happen,
if the day came and I stopped rappin',
would I still have friends or be all alone,
do they like me for me or for the microphone,
and also, when I go on a date,
to a fancy resteraunt, a hundred dollars a plate,
and people stare, is it because they recognize me,
or are they knee-jerk reacting to what they see,
I'm sorry, let me make it somewhat clear,
do they look with joy or do they look with fear,
do they think 'oh wow, Young MC is near',
or do they think, 'yo, get that nigga out of here',
I don't know, it's an unfortuante case,
that I can't read your mind when I see your face,
but on the other hand, you can't read mine,
so I guess that the status quo's just fine,
for instance, say I'm in a tall building,
looking out the window, what if I illed and,
jumped out, would it really matter to some,
and if they had my funeral, just who would come,
would they cry for me after I was gone,
well don't worry, that's not how I'm gonna move on,
cause I wanna go to heaven after I am dead,
but this is what I goes on inside my head
Chours 2: (spoken)
the cerebrum is the part of the brain which is responsible for thinking,
reasoning, problem solving, and initiating resposes to external stimuli. It
is comprised of four lobes: the frontal, which is concerned with speach and
voluntary muscle activity, the partietal, which is concerned with the
interpetation of sensory stimuli, the temporal, which is concerned with
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song performed by Young MC
Added by Lucian Velea
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