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Recurring Pain

If it wasn't for Adam and Eve,
None of us would suffer...
From cabin fever.

If it wasn't for the birds and bees,
None of us would say...
A thing about that either.

But there are those,
Who think this all is something to change.
As if it can be re-arranged.

And there are those,
Who think that sex is just a game.
To be played always the same.

If it wasn't for Adam and Eve,
None of us would suffer...
From cabin fever.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Recurring Dream

Within myself
There are a million things
Spilling over
Falling out into a silent stream
Feel the warm wind touch me
Hear the waters crashing
See my windows wiping clean
It's my recurring dream
Within myself
A secret world returns
Over and over
Where the white flame of desire burns
Feel the warm wind touch me
Hear the waters crashing
See my windows wiping clean
It's my recurring dream
Within myself
There are a million things
Feel the warm wind touch me
Hear the waters crashing

[...] Read more

song performed by Crowded House
Added by Lucian Velea
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But the development of human society does not go straight forward; and the epic process will therefore be a recurring process, the series a recurring series - though not in exact repetition.

quote by Lascelles Abercrombie
Added by Lucian Velea
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O Me! O Life!

O ME! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless--of cities fill'd with the
foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I,
and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light--of the objects mean--of the
struggle ever renew'd;
Of the poor results of all--of the plodding and sordid crowds I see
around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest--with the rest me
intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring--What good amid these, O me, O
life?

Answer.

That you are here--that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.

poem by Walt Whitman
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The Mystery of Life

The theory of life
Is to be at one
With strife
And remain calm
Calm is where we are at one
With ourselves
When the day is done
We put our strife on shelves
Like books to be read
When we are at one
With ourselves again
Life is performed in
Recurring circles and stages
To be acted out like a play
A mystery drama
We continue to perform
In circles and stages
Life is not a mystery
The mystery is
Why we live in

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poem by Michael Micmac Mccrory
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Death and Life

when we die we would be
shoved out of this body into
another plane, something else
it can be quite frightening
the hands of of nature
that work between the known, unknown
but then so what? we never are our own thing
nature never means us to be in control of ourselves
we are always somebody else's
father, mother, the Divine
in between the known, unknown
belief and make belief we plod on
to put sanity into place,
a recurring drama, a sea of waves
sweeping over us, never waking us up

second version

when we die we would be
shoved out of this body into

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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Adrift

Tis strange, this recurring
bout of melancholy
renders spirit low
malcontent
far from jolly.
Adrift, adrift, upon.... Sargasso Sea.

Tis strange, this monstrous,
recurring, bout signaling,
momentous melancholy.
Renders suppressed spirit,
low; marginalized malcontent.
Far removed from thoughtless,
singular; jubilant jocular jolly.
Adrift adrift upon an ardent sea.

Conditions of time peace of mind
creative mood must be mystic met.
Stilled turbulent thought untuned.

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poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Barn at Willoughby's Farm

I have this recurring nightmare where
I'm wandering round a farm,
It's out in the middle of nowhere, just
A milking shed and a barn,
An ancient tractor sits by the house
But the blinds are pulled and drawn,
And it seems that the farmer left this place
Before Jacinth was born.

But ever I see her stand and wave
As she climbed aboard the bus,
Off for a life of adventure, not
Stuck here, like one of us,
She'd always wanted the country life
Away from the city's swell,
The day that she waved goodbye to us
Was my first real glimpse of hell!

‘Once I've settled, I'll write, ' she said,
‘Or else, there's always the phone;

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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Adrift In Electromagnetic Fog

Tis strange, this recurring
bout of melancholy
renders spirit low
malcontent
far from jolly.
Adrift, adrift, upon.... Sargasso Sea.

Tis strange, this labyrinth monstrous,
recurring, phenomena bout signaling,
momentous wavelength melancholy.

Renders suppressed zoned spirit,
low, marginalized malcontent.
Far removed from thoughtless,

singular, jubilant jocular jolly.
A singularity of glowing erratic time.
Adrift adrift upon an ardent sea.

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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I bet one legend that keeps recurring throughout history, in every culture, is the story of Popeye.

Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Added by Lucian Velea
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