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Bright Blue Times

Alone in the crowd
Simply taking up space
You would never admit to tears
Till theyre rolling down your face
Chorus:
One day, love, long from now
Maybe youll leave that we
Live in bright blue times
Alone in the dark
Theres a voice in your head
You would never admit your name
Could be someone else instead
Chorus

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Patrick White

I Remember The Bees

I remember the bees
moving like heavy slow notes
among the sunflower microphones
two octaves lower than the fireflies
on late August afternoons
perishing in the light.
And the irrelevant felicity of being me
with nothing to do but time.
Many roads and years away now
and this is another life
another town
and I'm staring out of a window
that's been forgotten by the eyes
that used to look through it
at the bleak winter rain
trying to distinguish the oases
from the mirages
in this glass-blowing desert of pain.
I remember white sweet clover along the dusty roadside
overwhelming the still hot air with its sweetness
and how it grew so high and thick
in the drainage ditches
it folded it wings over the road like a swan.
I remember watching the moon
lower its hook into the lake
hoping to catch something.
And now I'm trying to get it out of my mouth
like a question I can't answer.
I'm envious of the happiness I used to know
as if it had all happened to someone else
I could never be again
because even a river
can't step into itself twice
and the same is true of a bloodstream.
So do we all wash ourselves clean of ourselves in the running.
It's the mind's way of not staining its own clarity.
You don't need to see to shine.
There are quantum events of the mind.
There are insights and thoughts
auroral premonitions
and solar prophecies
that flare like the Medusa's hair on fire.
There are shadows of the unforeseeable
that cast their eclipses and sunspots
like exponentially tiny black holes
that steal the seeing from the light
and make space and time gape at their own measure
in the darkness of the heart of a human.
And in the next era of a moment
terrify them with the wonder of breaking into stars.
And most strange and astonishing of all
elaborated out of a chaos of photons
emerging out of the random
like wind on water
like Penelope weaving and undoing the moon on the lake
membranous worlds in hyperspace
blowing bubbles at each other
as if the light in their eyes
were life itself
shaping the multiverse playfully
into mystic glains swallowed by cosmic serpents
and fireflies caught in the drapes
by the open window
like jewels in the net of Indra,
like primordial atoms going off spontaneously
for the sheer thrill of it.
Mark one world and they're all marked.
And there's no end of the accounting.
That's why the most gracious of numbers is zero
and in any world I find myself possible in
I am the spacious friend of its infinite variety.
Even in Perth on a Sunday
among the flagging ambitions of leafless backyard trees
that have given up
dreaming of the doors and arrows
the coffins and lifeboats
they could have become in the hands of a mastercraftsman
and content themselves by staying out of the way of the powerlines.
Worlds within worlds within worlds being born
under my skin
at the tip of my nose
the end of my fingertips my tongue
pouring from the precipice of my lips
like lemmings and words not afraid to take a chance
the wind might feather their falling.
If compassion is worth the weight
of one single tear
of what life suffers here
then all things must be falling toward paradise.
Even the willows with their yellow-tinged hair trapped in ice.
Even the mailman who was convicted of taking his own advice.
Even the young beauty queen whose mouth overflows with saliva
as she dreams her makeup has turned into a pillow
that's trying to smother her like a serial killer
trying to get her attention on the news.
Do you see?
When you get right down to the point
there is no point.
Ask Heisenberg.
There's only you and I
and what we are
embodied in this memory
is merely the shadow cast
by what we are becoming.
Ask any star.
Keep the light behind you
like a ufo file with a due date.
Make a photonic leap into space.
Jump orbitals.
Release your infinitesimal quantum of energy
into the mind-bending unforeseeable gateless expanses of space
and instead of depending
on the fossils of cyanobacteria in Martian meteors
to improve on being alone
create worlds of your own
where space isn't time flatlining
but a field of imagination
where the absurd lets its muse run free as an enzyme.
Why do you keep coming home empty-handed
like Ponce de Leon searching
for the disabled fountains of youth
when you must know by now
it's the questions that are the watersheds of the truth?
It's the questions that keep you alive and searching.
It's the looking and not knowing
that keeps the fires of life
moving and growing
one step ahead of their ashs.
It's not the questions.
It's the answers that are killing you.
You might seek like a phoenix
but all your lanterns are ghosts.
Your eyes might be faster than light
but you're still blind if you can't see
that the world is
merely the shadow of an insight
you cast behind you
like the stars
like the candles
like the fireflies in your skull.
And it's good to know them all.
It's good to trace the lifelines
on the palm of your hand
and follow them back to the source of the Nile.
It's good to know the imaginary animals
that talk like your fingers
held up to the lamp
like constellations on a starmap
like zodiacs and arks
like a dog that barks
in the voice of a human.
It's good to see your own face
in the shadowplay
of subatomic particles
and take small intimacies with the profound
as if you'd just opened your eyes
like God's umbrella
in the spirit's lost and found.
It's good to stand in your own light
under the nightskies
and add your lustre to the stars.
It's good to abide in clarity and law.
But enlightenment is a darkness that shines
beyond the reach of your eyes
and just as space is bent
by the mass of Mars
so time is as supple as water and silk
and yesterday
is just as much the future of tomorrow
as the perennial brevity of this moment now
flowing down the lifelines of the mindstream
like a wavelength of night and time
that can't be measured in lightyears.
I reflect on everything I'm missing
and my grief turns to wine,
my tears to honey.
I resonate with the forked harmonies of time
like the tremulous skin of serpentine cosines
it sheds as it moves up my spine
like a waterclock of snakefire
pouring into the watershed of my mind.
And all the threads and rivulets
of my string theory thought
and the membranous theses
that are spun from them
are gathered up
and woven into whole cloth
over the black hole
of an acoustic guitar
the shape of a universe
as if it were a loom of music.
Time is music.
Space is music.
Life is music.
And death isn't where the music stops.
When you listen to it
not just with your ears
but with your eyes your heart your mind your blood your skin.
When you let it come empty-handed
and go empty-handed
without trying to grasp it like a thing
you realize that everything is singing
about what it is to be a human.
And you must be a human to hear it as such
because you can never understand
more than what you are
out to and beyond the youngest stars
that are the oldest of your insights
into the birth of the universe.
Time is music
and neither time nor music
leave anything behind.
Here once
here for good.
Though time has a past and future
a coming and going
a lament and a longing fulfilled
reflected like opposites on the watermirrors of the mind
it's still the same waterbird
cosmic note
first word
from the void in the mouth of now
waking itself up from a dark dream
with the sound of our voices
arriving in joy
and crying with relief when we leave.
I can hear the locust tree in spring
even with snow on the ground
and this hopeless duty
of a bleak window before me
singing in my ear
like the slow whisper,
the murmurous humming
of an intimate voice full of bees.
Time is music.
Life is music.
Death is music.
All the syllables colours notes thoughts feelings images and symbols
all the doubts and half-lives of the certainties
all the ardency of our holiest guesses
and starless inspirations
all the brutal black lightning insights
and firefly epiphanies
that have ever expressed the hearts and minds of humans
all the homeless clarities
and godless vagrancies
of what we're doing in the world
feeling lost in the doorways of our own thresholds
where every step we take is arrival and departure.
They're all the picture-music of us
and we're as indelible
as the moon dropping her petals and feathers
her hooks and thorns
her horns and claws and surgical fangs
like white swans and peonies on the river
like the eyelids of a mask she takes off
a drowned nurse
to remember whose face she's looking at.
And you can't remove a quaver of it.
Not the slightest detail.
Not one black swan.
Not the swerve of a single photon
with an identity crisis
striking the lightning rod of a nerve
that runs it to ground
and roots it in the body
until the mind opens
like the eye of a flower
a New England aster
that can see from the inside out
that life is a phoenix
in the ashs of a blue guitar
with the wingspan
of a locust tree in the spring
and the afterlife of a star.
Light flows through the roots
of my dendritic lifelines
like a zodiac of fireflies
streaming through space
for a place in the sun
and I can remember the bees
before the arising of signs.
I can hear them with my eyes.
I can see them with my tongue.
And I might not know
all the words to the song
or even what the lyrics
are all about
but that's never kept me
from singing my heart out.

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In The Moonlight

In the moonlight
you saw how she
would look down
the corridor of years

waking in the middle
of the night calling
your name because
you had left the bed

to go for a pee or a
glass of milk to drink.
The moonlight would
not be the same moonlight

then and probably you
thought you wouldn’t be
there anyway someone
else would occupy the bed

where you ought to have
lain and made love and
hugged close and kissed.
Some things never happen.

Sometimes they’re almost
There within reach but missed.

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Each Poet Is A Solitary Voice Sounding His Own Alone Through The Universe

EACH POET IS A SOLITARY VOICE SOUNDING HIS ALONE THROUGH THE UNIVERSE

Each poet is a solitary voice sounding his own alone through the universe
Each one writes what only he or she can
No one is the other and all for anyone else
We come into the world alone
And we die alone
And we are poets – alone

Yet what we dream alone
Is nonetheless what no alone can ever give
A kind of love and recognition
An affirmation of who we are
A blessedness
That may once have been had in our mother's love
But which in our long slow years
Can never fully come again.

I loved a woman once
And she seemed to love me
I knew then
There is Eternity.

Now in my old age
I also need love
A poet is alone
And only G-d above.

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Writings On The Wall

The writings on the wall brother
Your life is in your hands
Its up to you to see the writings on the wall.
It looks you in the eye mister
Its time we stand up tall
Go see and understand the writings on the wall.
Strange we hold on to things that have no grace
Or power
While death holds on to us much more with every
Passing hour
And all the time you thought it would last
Your life, your friends would always be
til theyre drunk away or shot away or die away
From you.
Theres nothing that you need sister
The lord is in you all
Life is designed to see the writings on the wall.
The musics in the air mothers
You may have heard it call
To you that you may see the writings on the wall.
Be careful going home sister
Be watchful down that road
Youve got a lot of love sister
More to grow.
The writings on the wall brothers
Your life is in your hands
Its up to you to see the writings on the wall
I hope that you may see the writings on the wall.

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All Alone In The Big City

All alone in the big city and your money running low
And you've got no one to turn to and there's no one that you know
And no bank or institution who would chance you with small loan
And you feeling fairly homesick and you miles away from home.

All alone in the big city and not one chance of a job
And there's no one you can turn to for to borrow a few bob
It's a scary sort of feeling have you ever lived this way
And have you ever knelt in desperation and for help to god did pray? .

All alone in the big city and you way down in your luck
And nobody want to know you and you feeling fairly stuck
And you start to feel suicidal seem for you the best way out
And you yearning for the good days when you lived from 'hand
to mouth'.

All alone in the big city and your feet blistered and sore
And you've walked more miles on this day than you've ever walked before
And you've got no bed to sleep on and your roof the open sky
Doesn't it seem understandable then that you might wish to die

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Genocides: The Eyes On The Sky And The Feet Anchored By Love

Despite
The fear
You want to be funny
And a friendly lovely
Creature
And you throw off your fear
Behind as you are trying
To be that creature
Funny creature
You started to see fear as a funny word
In a funny phrase
In a funny talk
In a funny language
As happy and young as
The English language now.

Love affair
Off the fear
Off the air
With and without your ear
fear,
fair,
Fares
'Le Fer',
Le feu, et
'l'enfer'-Hell-

Des Bizoues ziw Like Zooo
ou ou! Oh! OH OH! AN In On www
www www

You did all
You did your best
Without fear

You are busted!
Despite taking off the fear from your ear

And now the fear
Takes off you and over you
And does not leave in you
Any flares
Any fairness, and
Any trace of the original fear.

You are created your own genocide
You are the first one to fall.
And it does not matter for you
If someone else is falling with you too.
That it is the fun of it! .

Still,
You think
That something is not right
As you want it to be
After your heart
Stop
Beating
At the speed
Of light.

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The Real Poetry Always Waits to Be Written

The real poetry always waits to be written-
While we are laboring inside
Someone else somewhere else
With a voice unlike any other heard before
Is writing it in a true way.

And all our dedication
And all our diligence
Years and years of effort
Mean only that we are not
That new voice someone else is.

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Alone In The Dark

Alone in a dark room
sitting in a chair
confronting life
is it worth the pain
the strain on the brain
pressure all around
perfect, not so perfect
where did I go wrong
no openings, no closing
all alone in the chair
a gun near by
why the pain, why the shame
different i am, different I'll be
why you do care, why you do not treat fare.
the end would be best
why be with the rest
when all alone in the dark

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The Lady Lost And To Be Found

He once said,
'Sell your tears somewhere else
And tell your tales to someone else
The pain is interwoven though'.

He further said,
'The flood of your sobs and the sweat of your sighs
Can never reach the feet of men on this mount of rock
The debts are still unpaid though'.

Let us hope,
'A glimmer of hope hovers over the lady lost,
May be, there will descend one day
A world of equations somehow'.

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Poem about Poetry - As the poems go

as the poems go into the hundreds
i realise there are gems of various grades
strewn everywhere
if only i have the time to gather them all
and string them into a necklace for the goddess of poetry
they will i think sparkle round her neck
the rest - gems with less lustre
like sweat will soon dry
to refresh me to have another go
scouring the various compartments of
my mind for gems of the best categories
and perhaps one day finds one
from a distant planet
that would shock the world

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If You Must Limp Alone Across the Finish Line

If you must limp alone across the finish line,
Do it and be proud.
You have no challengers to win this race.
Goals you've chosen,
No one can deface or cheapen.
Or replace your dreams with their wishes.

You have already won your prize.
By keeping your eyes focused.
And remaining unvictimzed by fear.
You were able to fight it off.
And it did not cost you a thing!
But initiative.

You are to be congratulated.
What you desire,
Is so close.
So near.
So very clear.
Just choose to see it!

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Walking Down Your Street

Oooh, oh Ive had sleepless nights
Toss and turn, wake up burning
For what you inspire
So Im gonna walk right down your street
With a love that I cant hide
Ive got one thing on my mind, yeah
Ill even sacrifice my pride
cause I want you...
Oooh, oh how I wish you would be mine
My pulse is weak, Im blushing brighter
Than a valentine
cause Ive been walking down your street
With a love that I cant hide
Ive got one thing on my mind, yeah
Ill even sacrifice my pride
cause I cant stop
The way I feel
So I keep walking on
cause I want you...
Walking down your street...

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Imagine Being Completely Alone In The Universe

IMAGINE BEING COMPLETELY ALONE IN THE UNIVERSE

Imagine being completely alone in the Universe
Would you want to live?

No one to speak with
No one to play with
No one to show off for or to
No one to see oneself through the eyes of
No one to love or be loved by
No one to care for or be kind to
No one to be helped by when one is sick
No one to share the beauty of nature with
No one to cry with
No one to laugh with
No one to love or be loved by

Imagine being completely alone in the universe
And understand
What Hell it would be
And what Madness it would be
And how one would probably want not to be at all

Now think of God-

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Love Comes From The Other Side

When things get bad at home, you dont feel like being alone,
And you find yourself inclined to look around.
For the feelings we once shared are just no longer there,
And love comes from the other side of town.
(chorus)
Where love means just an hour with your stand in,
And not an empty house where love just has been.
Since everything weve built with love was not on solid ground,
Now love comes from the other side of town.
The life Im livin now just dont seem right somehow,
But its the best way to get by that Ive found.
Theres no love left at home, were both just hangin on,
And love comes from the other side of town.
(chorus)
Love comes from the other side of town.

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The Razors Edge

(razors edge)
(razors)
Theres fighting on the left
And marching on the right
Dont look up in the sky
Youre gonna die of fright
Here comes the razors edge
Youre living on the edge
Dont know wrong from right
Theyre breathing down your neck
Youre running out of lives
And here comes the razors edge
Here comes the razors edge
The razors edge
Razors edge, to raise the dead
Razors edge, to cut to shreds
To raise the dead
Here comes the razors edge
Here comes the razors edge
Well here it comes to cut to shreds
The razors edge
The razors edge [its the razors edge]
Gotta razors edge [well, the razors edge]
Youll be cut to shreds [that youll be cut to shreds]
By the razors edge [gotta razors edge]
Gotta razors edge [by the razors edge]

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Alone In The Heat

The insult to sober conviction
unsettles the saints.
Give me your hand,
to solve this problem.
An abstract idea joins
the postures of different conflicts,
the worship of crumpled illusions.
After great sufferings
only proverbs give a soothing effect.

Images blur, misspent energy
distorts the palisade of love.
Perhaps history repeats itself.
Moon cries at midnight
looking beneath the soft clouds,
to follow eternity.
Past & present are losers.
The trustworthy future
does not hold any promise.

Again questioning brings
the numbness on surface.
The agony of realization,
moves away from just mistakes.
It is hard to smash
the strong beliefs.
A self-denial brings
the death of truth.
I am alone in the heat
of an argument, pathless, rising, sinking.

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Alone in the dark

I am alone in the dark thinking about you and me,
We started as friends,
Now we are lovers,
I feel like disappearing in the dark,
I feel your pain,
I waited for you to return to me,
I wanted to tell you how I feel about you,
You mean the world to me,
You mean everything to me,
Losing you is like losing me,
Just listen,
Listen to me,
Listen to what I have to say,
I don't want to fall apart,
I am losing my mind over you,
You are the only one for me,
I am head over heels for you,
I tried to be your everything,
Alone in the dark thinking about what I did to push you away,
What went wrong,
How to fix our relationship,
How to make it better than what it was,
Your my king and I am your queen,
I am alone in the dark just thinking about you and I.

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The Lonely

The lonely live in silent moonlight
Waiting for dreams with open hearts
Soft words ripple the serene water
The sky is dark, the universe silent

A winter leaf falls to the ground
Alone in the cold wind
Through the wilderness I hear your cry
I wish I could come to your longing heart

I too am searching for the golden kingdom
Through the curtain a light shines faint
We are together in soul and spirit
Children of a dream, waiting, watching

The morning will come soon, sleep my dear
We hope we are in someone else's dream
Hearts are deep wells and fill with sorrow
Today isn't tomorrow, the lonely think it is

Love is so close it is far away
One soul to another soul, see the door way
You are far away, yet I know your soul
We are together, we both are seekers of love

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Love Comes From The Other Side Of Town

(Fred J. Freiling)
When things get bad at home, you don't feel like being alone,
And you find yourself inclined to look around.
For the feelings we once shared are just no longer there,
And love comes from the other side of town.
Where love means just an hour with your stand in,
And not an empty house where love just has been.
Since everything we've built with love was not on solid ground,
Now love comes from the other side of town.
The life I'm livin' now just don't seem right somehow,
But it's the best way to get by that I've found.
There's no love left at home, we're both just hangin' on,
And love comes from the other side of town.
Where love means just an hour with your stand in,
And not an empty house where love just has been.
Since everything we've built with love was not on solid ground,
Now love comes from the other side of town.
Love comes from the other side of town

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By The 'Old You' The New You Knew

There is no special wand
To hand out and wave...
To dissolve obstacles
Blocking your way.
You may not like it...
But the path you're strolling on
Is the path 'you' pave...
Constantly raving about what's being done!
How much of it did you do?
How much was labor?
How much of it fun?

Or is that just as much of a mystery,
As your interests in your neighbors' business?
Leaving yours mismanaged as you manage theirs!

I wouldn't rely on anyone,
To help you figure 'you' out!
And that's not going to happen...
Not as long as you are spending time
Trying to trace your place,
In someone else's footsteps!
Better than they've done themselves.

Do something different!
Run away from yourself.
Forget being followed!
Allow yourself to discover new surroundings!
Don't look back...
Fast is this magic track that attracts!
You'll catch up in time.

And by then...
You might find your mind has broaden!
Enough not to wait to be pursued...
By the 'old you' the new you knew!

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