Not so sure about wise, seem to get dafter as i get older:o
Printable View
good luck merrylegs
with new retail employment
at Up and Running :D
Hallo poetry peeps, heres another pile of twaddle
Snowflake
A self coloured sky
six billion unrepeatable patterns
slumping through, along
six billion imagined paths
cascade at the rate of clotted ash
One rests in my palm its
fractal edges losing form
receding now to a globular core
no two lives are the same
your poems have a real gentleness and sophistication Neil I am really enjoying them so please post more...think this might be another one for the wall...i love the last line, you are so right! and if people would only remember that point I think there would be a lot more tolerance and understanding in the world as well as appreciation of the beauty of our uniqueness as individuals ( a bit like each snowflake!)....i thought it was all very symbolic....magnificent!
Head still aching with the pace of January
Inspiration in a far off land
I enjoy the fruits of fell poets labour
With a glass of wine in hand!
Bottom ups!
Agree. And possibly one of the best poems/lyrics regarding Television was penned/song by the Disposable Heros of Hiphoprisy
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sgOWTM5R2DA
THE moon shines in my body, but my blind eyes cannot see it:
The moon is within me, and so is the sun.
The unstruck drum of Eternity is sounded within me; but my deaf ears cannot hear it.
So long as man clamours for the I and the Mine, his works are as naught:
When all love of the I and the Mine is dead, then the work of the Lord is done.
For work has no other aim than the getting of knowledge:
When that comes, then work is put away.
The flower blooms for the fruit: when the fruit comes, the flower withers.
The musk is in the deer, but it seeks it not within itself: it wanders in quest of grass.
Kabir
That's definately not twaddle Neil; I like your images. Fractal edges made it for me.
http://amath.colorado.edu/outreach/d...l/fractal2.gif
I have in my possession
The largest packet of cheese and onion crisps
Exquisite in their
C
H
E
E
S
I
N
E
S
S,
crunch after salty crunch!
Aye....bit of lazy poetry for yer .....:D
Let go,
of that which you think holds,
but really
CON
S
T
R
A
I
N
S
jump in
and fall
and see what happens,
you might surprise yourself.
Harry....deadline for article? does that mean we might not get in next issue?....:eek:
I got my first Pablo book today, so I'm enjoying reading that tonight.
Anniversary Waltz on line entry now a go go......
http://www.anniversarywaltz.co.uk/?page_id=129
Hooray!
An unusual one from a thread favourite.
A Dog Has Died
My dog has died.
I buried him in the garden
next to a rusted old machine.
Some day I'll join him right there,
but now he's gone with his shaggy coat,
his bad manners and his cold nose,
and I, the materialist, who never believed
in any promised heaven in the sky
for any human being,
I believe in a heaven I'll never enter.
Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom
where my dog waits for my arrival
waving his fan-like tail in friendship.
Ai, I'll not speak of sadness here on earth,
of having lost a companion
who was never servile.
His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine
withholding its authority,
was the friendship of a star, aloof,
with no more intimacy than was called for,
with no exaggerations:
he never climbed all over my clothes
filling me full of his hair or his mange,
he never rubbed up against my knee
like other dogs obsessed with sex.
No, my dog used to gaze at me,
paying me the attention I need,
the attention required
to make a vain person like me understand
that, being a dog, he was wasting time,
but, with those eyes so much purer than mine,
he'd keep on gazing at me
with a look that reserved for me alone
all his sweet and shaggy life,
always near me, never troubling me,
and asking nothing.
Ai, how many times have I envied his tail
as we walked together on the shores of the sea
in the lonely winter of Isla Negra
where the wintering birds filled the sky
and my hairy dog was jumping about
full of the voltage of the sea's movement:
my wandering dog, sniffing away
with his golden tail held high,
face to face with the ocean's spray.
Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.
There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,
and we don't now and never did lie to each other.
So now he's gone and I buried him,
and that's all there is to it.
Pablo Neruda