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Quotes about ballast, page 2

The Earth

God loafs around heaven,
without a shape
but He would like to smoke His cigar
or bite His fingernails
and so forth.

God owns heaven
but He craves the earth,
the earth with its little sleepy caves,
its bird resting at the kitchen window,
even its murders lined up like broken chairs,
even its writers digging into their souls
with jackhammers,
even its hucksters selling their animals
for gold,
even its babies sniffing for their music,
the farm house, white as a bone,
sitting in the lap of its corn,
even the statue holding up its widowed life,
but most of all He envies the bodies,

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John Donne

Air and Angels

Twice or thrice had I loved thee,
Before I knew thy face or name;
So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame
Angels affect us oft, and worshipp'd be.
Still when, to where thou wert, I came,
Some lovely glorious nothing did I see.
But since my soul, whose child love is,
Takes limbs of flesh, and else could nothing do,
More subtle than the parent is
Love must not be, but take a body too;
And therefore what thou wert, and who,
I bid Love ask, and now
That it assume thy body, I allow,
And fix itself in thy lip, eye, and brow.

Whilst thus to ballast love I thought,
And so more steadily to have gone,
With wares which would sink admiration,
I saw I had love's pinnace overfraught;
Thy every hair for love to work upon

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On An Apple-Ripe September Morning

On an apple-ripe September morning
Through the mist-chill fields I went
With a pitch-fork on my shoulder
Less for use than for devilment.

The threshing mill was set-up, I knew,
In Cassidy's haggard last night,
And we owed them a day at the threshing
Since last year. O it was delight

To be paying bills of laughter
And chaffy gossip in kind
With work thrown in to ballast
The fantasy-soaring mind.

As I crossed the wooden bridge I wondered
As I looked into the drain
If ever a summer morning should find me
Shovelling up eels again.

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You betrayed me....

We were like brothers.....closer than ever......and I always took up for you when you needed me and always took the first punch for you......and now in my darkest hour I need you I called out for you and you just smirked and walked away.....I suffered.....I bled......I fought with you, DEFENDING you never saying 'no' or 'not my problem' Did I? And you just walk away when I needed you most.....you abandoned me.....Your closest friend.....And I thought we were true friends.....I was wrong....I was a Fool to trust you....and now I am nothing more than a shattered soul longing for a purpose....when you betrayed me....it tore me apart...but you don't care...you just watch and smirk at my newly found state of depression.... when you first said hi I thought I could have an actual friend....but now I am back to my misery.... Every night I wake from a nightmare so unbearable That I am gasping for air.....but ballast am forever a prisoner to depression.....with nothing left to live for....and now I look upon the tears of blood that I shed every night to relieve myself...to know I am still breathing....

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To Make A King Of Fools

What had the voiceless night undone
Unto this parcel of weeping land
The tranquil zephyr had mangled unto
The bastion of a fortified heaven
A celestial vanguard of unsinkable quartz
From the chalcedony was exonerated
And the echoes of the shrill symphonic lament
Of its anthems and schmaltz trumpets
That tinkered the peripatetic haunt
Tarries the hollow bliss in the safeguard

Shall I smile unto my reflection
To tourniquet the putrefaction?
What a king of fools ballast
The sterile gilt of crown loose
And rules a mighty kingdom
Of phantoms with faces alike
And in his throne tramples
As he cringed into the death of him:
The curse of the shadows

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Four A.M. Gazing

A tangential full moon was riveted
At the torpor dew of the late dawn
Have you seen how bloated ‘twas?
How ripe still it was at four AM?
No? You didn't even pry,
You have surmised a sunrise.
Well, let me fondle your metal vault,
Macadamized by forking soirées
Clad with a spurious shallow varnish,
The morning moon was ominously peering
Trough the notches of every window
Through the nicks of every undulated sleep
Like an ominous darting eye in torsion
Austerely ashen, sedentary, and pregnant
Just as the reflection of my own petrified orbits
As the crow flies into her grating unwavering stare
I trampled into a staid and hapless meandering
If there's, at least, one restless owl beseeching
And gazing bemused by the argot of the torn horizon
Staring back into the moon, even in a trifle,

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For He Was a Jolly Good Fellow

THEY CHEERED him from the wharf—it was a glorious day:
His hand went to his scarf—his thoughts were far away.
Oh, he was “Jolly Good”, they sang it long and loud—
The money lender stood unknown amongst the crowd.
He’d taken him aside, while trembling fit to fall,
No friendly eye espied the last farewell of all!

He held a peevish kid—another at his knee;
The wife whom he could bid farewell—eternally
Stood nagging at his side in tones that none could hear,
And deared him, tender eyed, when passengers came near
(The cabin waits below the row and children’s squall,
And not a soul to know the bitter farce of all).

Their hearts were good as gold, each pocket spared a “tray”,
They pooled them as of old to drink him on his way.
His pile of luggage rose, as bravely as the best—
He had two suits of clothes, his wife and kids the rest.
He’d “stood ’em up” a sov., for fear of seeming small,
And he was thinking of that worst farewell of all.

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Echoes Of The Silence

The black squirming beads
Confine the groveling quietus
Beneath the strands of my canopy
And it cradles a somnolence
Farce, vis-à-vis the despondence
Of the elusive spangling ivories
Amidst the sound of desolation

I can hear the echoes fringe
The quiescent of a hiatus
Of the shriveling breaths
Of my lost secluded island
Where the sun never mount
Thus, never shrink out
From the dearth of my toppling horizon

Effervescent carols linger and slither
Suffocating the mistral atmosphere
Reckoning the blaring tapestry
Albeit, the frescoes dispensed

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I Hardly Remember

I hardly remember your voice, but the pain of you
floats in some remote current of my blood.
I carry you in my depths, trapped in the sludge
like one of those corpses the sea refuses to give up.

It was a spoiled remnant of the South. A beach
without fishing boats, where the sun was for sale.
A stretch of shore, now a jungle of lights and languages
that grudgingly offered, defeated, its obligation of sand.

The night of that day punished us at its whim.
I held you so close I could barely see you.
Autumn was brandishing guffaws and dancebands
and the sea tore at the pleasure-boats in a frenzy.

Your hand balanced, with its steady heat,
the wavering tepidness of alcohol. The gardens
came at me from far away through your skirt.
My high-tide mark rose to the level of your breasts.

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Meditations Divine and Moral

A ship that bears much sail, and little ballast, is easily
overset; and that man, whose head hath great abilities, and his
heart little or no grace, is in danger of foundering.
The finest bread has the least bran; the purest honey, the
least wax; and the sincerest Christian, the least self-love.
Sweet words are like honey; a little may refresh, but too much
gluts the stomach.
Divers children have their different natures: some are like
flesh which nothing but salt will keep from putrefaction; some
again like tender fruits that are best preserved with sugar. Those
parents are wise that can fit their nurture according to their
nature.
Authority without wisdom is like a heavy axe without an edge,
fitter to bruise than polish.
The reason why Christians are so loath to exchange this world
for a better, is because they have more sense than faith: they see
what they enjoy, they do but hope for that which is to come.
Dim eyes are the concomitants of old age; and short-
sightedness, in those that are the eyes of a Republic, foretells a
declining State.

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