The stream of time sweeps away errors, and leaves the truth for the inheritance of humanity.
quote by Georg Brandes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Errors
there will be always errors
my errors
not yours, even your errors
shall be mine
for there will always be errors
that is too normal
for our lifetime
too short to be erroneous
but always real
too real to be touched
too exciting
to be always noticed
and too numb to be affected
by their
hypocrisies
you too? oh my, why?
don't you like to be the most normal
bird with only two wings
to fly?
how can you use a third wing?
to see with the third eye
aren't you funny to see
on this third
excess?
come, let us feast on these errors
drink these glasses of errors
be filled and vomit with errors
defecate these errors
and be empty again
after having learned so much
to become the
newest genius in this town
of errors.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Confession of errors is like a broom which sweeps away the dirt and leaves the surface brighter and clearer. I feel stronger for confession.
quote by Mohandas Gandhi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Truth About Lying
A lie and the truth are one in the same, both are necessary allow me to explain.
Some say the truth will set you free, but that “some” is no part of me.
My truth in your eyes is blasphemy, the truth being that I even lie to me.
Mistakes are errors left uncorrected, also known as opportunities neglected.
The truth is always the first expected. A lie is born from the truth rejected.
Truth is a word so infected by the mouths of those who so diligently protect it.
The very people who refuse to accept it.
My truth is mine and it changes all of the time, thus I protect it by lying.
Not to myself but to everyone else and never with any bad intentions
Never out of disparity for attention, only to avoid a preconceived misconception
poem by Tessa Hanson
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Petals
Life is a stream
On which we strew
Petal by petal the flower of our heart;
The end lost in dream,
They float past our view,
We only watch their glad, early start.
Freighted with hope,
Crimsoned with joy,
We scatter the leaves of our opening rose;
Their widening scope,
Their distant employ,
We never shall know. And the stream as it flows
Sweeps them away,
Each one is gone
Ever beyond into infinite ways.
We alone stay
While years hurry on,
The flower fared forth, though its fragrance still stays.
poem by Amy Lowell
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Time and time again,
Time and time again,
Time and time again,
Man and time hast limits,
Limited knowledge on intelligence,
This pattern came back again,
Of my memories and obstacles,
Each man want's to conquer,
Time and time again,
Let's love humanity with truth,
Worship the Lord in spirit and truth,
Truth that I embrace,
Time and time again,
Elevate the words that are truthful to surpass the old.
poem by Maxim Muyu
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Age Old Celebration!
Let it be certain:
these excesses and inequities
the avarice and immorality
perceived atop the surface
none have tarnished a single living soul.
Virtue charity
the unshakeable core of compassion and good will – these
reflections of the soul stand apart from the ills of the age.
I see no woman man or child
in any caste corner ranking or employment
who does not have access to this living fortune.
The wealth of human inheritance is widely
available to all!
Never in any instance is there a single being
ill equipped to recognize truth!
Every last pairing of ears and eyes,
whether deaf or blind,
remains receptive to the Divine Ideal.
And dare I say:
never has there been a more exciting time to live!
Never has the future been so open!
Never have the possibilities of man been so limitless!
Every man his own Authority!
Every woman her own master!
Every child the purveyor of their own dream!
The rights of the people endowed to all corporations!
And to every person the immutable voice,
omnipotent power of God!
For we are not as far gone
as even we ourselves
would like to believe
we've entrenched our sense of self
our joys
our life's worth
our sense of progress
into industry material goods and wealth
Through trial and error we've reached realization!
To learn the errant ways
we ourselves had to become the errors
Yet through it all
the errors have always remained
apart from our true selves.
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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Deus Ex Machina
she complains about the storm
last night
for the leaves are making heaps
and this morning
she will be sweeping them
the wind comes and sweeps away
all the leaves towards the pit
awed, she says, because she prays.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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And If An Old Man Dies
AND IF AN OLD MAN DIES
(Yet another reflection on Koheleth)
And if an old man dies
And leaves behind him nothing-
And if an old man dies and leaves behind
Much family and wealth
And friends who remember him-
And if an old man dies
And leaves behind him
A reverenced work
Esteemed through many generations-
And if an old man dies
With a name mankind wishes to take with it to its own grave-
And if an old man dies
And nothing survives of humanity
And all his works and wishes
Bound up with the being of others
Who earthbound will die with the Earth
Or transformed into other kinds of being elsewhere
Lose eventually their essential humanity-
And if an old man dies
As all die
And if we stand forever alone in a universe unknown,
Then what else is there but praying to God
And hoping
That somehow beyond it all in some way we cannot now understand
An old man‘s death will be more or less
Than what we can think or know it to be now-
And if an old man dies,
And somehow never dies
And if God saves us all
And if we are surprised
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Truth Through Repetition
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poem by David Keig
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Winter Rhapsody
Winter has come; and tardily
Now little nipping winds are rife
Where laggard leaves, on many a tree,
Still cling tenaciously to life.
Spent Autumn with a myriad hues
Had laughed at death and mocked the worm.
And now bluff Winter shouts glad news
Of Winter joys, which I refuse,
I simply sit and squirm.
For Winter, too, holds many joys,
Pert flappers, furred to ears and chin,
With painted lips, to lure the boys,
And hose that lets the breezes in
Go laughing by . . . A gladness cleaves
E'en to yon toiler, who with firm,
Swift strokes, sweeps up the fallen leaves
And, working, whistles. . . . No Man grieves
Save I who sit and squirm.
He whistles on in merry mood,
And sweeps, and sweeps along the street.
'How like all futile life,' I brood.
Nought but frustration, death, defeat.
For as he sweeps, poor toiling hack
Sweeps up dead leaf and deadly germ,
Rude winds arise and sweep them back,
And all's to do again! Alack!
I sit, and sneer, and squirm.
I squirm to hear the football fans'
Impassioned cry of 'On the ball!'
Lure of the links, the punter's plans
I squirm, I squirm, and scorn them all,
I squirm while thrushes, fluting free,
Shout triumph over clammy care....
Ah, laggard leaf upon the tree,
Squirm on, and join my thenody;
For Winter's only gift to me
Is woollen underwear.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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(V - 2009) The Truth of the Truth
The Sages and Seers
That be and have been
Cannot have seen
The truth of the Truth!
What they see as Truth
Is Truth merely
It’s not really
The truth of the Truth!
The Ultimate Truth
Cannot be known
We aren’t that grown –
The truth of the Truth!
We’re part of the Truth
We’re trying to see
We’re yet so tiny –
The truth of the Truth!
Though hard and great
The pains we give
We cannot outlive
The truth of the Truth!
What’s Truth to you once
Remains not the same
So changing the game –
The truth of the Truth!
What’s Truth to a man
Is not Truth to all
That’s what we call
The truth of the Truth!
These thoughts as I pen
It’s Truth to me
It’s to me only
The truth of the Truth!
Now is The Winter With Trees Stripped Naked
Now is the winter with trees naked
when there is cold and sifting rain,
stripped bare without leaves
and then you first come past and then to me
like a sun rising over the horizon
with a yellow raincoat, your pants splashed wet, laughing and glad
and your company is full of fun
in bands of gathering fog.
Now is the winter with trees naked
cutting off every ray and light
and I know our time is only borrowed,
like a sun rising over the horizon
but stopping the rays in this winter,
in a cold world without hope or pity,
stripped bare without leaves
where you shake out your hair like a dog does with rain,
whereupon I take the clips from your hair
and I know our time is only borrowed
but your are glorious like a poster
and for long moments time is missing.
Now is the winter with trees naked
with bliss descending between us
and you are only mine, with soft lips and big eyes
whereupon I take the clips from your hair
and I see your beauty
our passion goes to practical reality,
stripped bare without leaves
we shine like the world outside in vulnerability like rainbows,
where passion sweeps us away from uncovering
and you are only mine, with soft lips and big eyes
pretty, pure and untouched
in moments of ecstasy without fatigue.
Now is the winter with trees naked
stripped bare without leaves
and I am totally lost in you.
and then you first come past and then to me,
where passion sweeps us away from uncovering
with a yellow raincoat, your pants splashed wet, laughing and glad.
poem by Gert Strydom
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I Do
do you take all insights as cryptic patches
lawfully wedded to a naked truth
I do
do you take all the pain of things discovered
errors and trial misfortune and a loss
I do
do you take all mirrors those whole and shattered
to reflect on the purpose of your life
I do
do you take all words at all surfaces and depths
to be you guidance and stronghold on the journey of your mind
I do
do you take all colours those spilled
and those still waiting to be spilled
I do
do you take all sounds beating in your heart
to be the living water of your streams
I do
do you take the truth all the truth
and nothing but the truth
I do
and now I pronounce you a human being
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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In his errors a man is true to type. Observe the errors and you will know the man.
God is a remedy,
God is a remedy,
God is a remedy,
He will save Humanity,
Beauty is not in Money,
He will reveal the Essence of Truth,
The Spirit of Truth in Christ,
My story that will percolate,
God is a remedy,
He surely will heal the World,
God is a Remedy,
Prophecy is all real,
God is a Master than anything,
God is a remedy,
This is the Essence,
That God is real,
God is real to save the Burden,
Work hard Humanity to wash the filth,
This is not Religion,
This is life,
I love the Truth that ca n make the Prophets Purity.
poem by Maxpoet Beauty
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To Correct An Error
an error is an error
and errors exist for the main reason that
they are meant to be corrected
it takes the eyes of the loving person
to correct the errors
of his beloved
gently and
carefully away from the mob
and the crowd that love
the mockery
of errors corrected in the middle
of the public halls
inside a closed door
i hold your hand
caress your face
and your hair
and kiss you and then tell you
you taste like a rotten apple.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In the Rushing Wind
The wind hath whirled the leaves from off the tree.
The leaves were yellow, they had lived their time,
And lie a golden heap or fly away,
As if the butterflies had left their wings
Behind, when love's short summertime had gone,
And killed them. Lightly doth the leaves' great shower
Whirl on and skim the ground, where ancient leaves
Lie rotten, trampled on, so featureless,
That you can hardly tell what formed that mould,
That never-ending burial-place of leaves.
And then the wind will shake and bend the tree,
And twist its branches off, burst it asunder,
Uproot the giant and bring low his head,
Upheave the granite block round which the roots
Had taken hold for countless centuries.
On goes the wind! The corn is green and soft--
Earth's wavy fur. It does but ripple lightly
In childish laughter at the harmless fun
That was a death-blow. But the sea awakes
And frowns and foams and rises into anger
So wild with wrath, and yet so powerless,
As if a thousand chains had chained it down,
To howl, to suffer, to rebel against
The heartless merriment of stronger powers.
On goes the wind, to shake the rock, to blow
Into a flame, the wild incendiary,
And never doth he look behind, to see,
To feel, to understand the horror he
Hath worked. The breath--the robe of Destiny--
Sweeps on, sweeps past, and never lists that hell
And heaven have awaked, in shrieking anguish,
But blows the clouds away, laughs at the sun,
And falls into unconscious, dreamless sleep.
poem by Carmen Sylva
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Darwin himself, in his day, was unable to fight free of the theoretical errors of which he was guilty. It was the classics of Marxism that revealed those errors and pointed them out.
quote by Trofim Lysenko
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Wreath To The Fish
Who is this fish, still wearing its wealth,
flat on my drainboard, dead asleep,
its suit of mail proof only against the stream?
What is it to live in a stream,
to dwell forever in a tunnel of cold,
never to leave your shining birthsuit,
never to spend your inheritance of thin coins?
And who is the stream, who lolls all day
in an unmade bed, living on nothing but weather,
singing, a little mad in the head,
opening her apron to shells, carcasses, crabs,
eyeglasses, the lines of fisherman begging for
news from the interior-oh, who are these lines
that link a big sky to a small stream
that go down for great things:
the cold muscle of the trout,
the shinning scrawl of the eel in a difficult passage,
hooked-but who is this hook, this cunning
and faithful fanatic who will not let go
but holds the false bait and the true worm alike
and tears the fish, yet gives it up to the basket
in which it will ride to the kitchen
of someone important, perhaps the Pope
who rejoices that his cook has found such a fish
and blesses it and eats it and rises, saying,
"Children, what is it to live in the stream,
day after day, and come at last to the table,
transfigured with spices and herbs,
a little martyr, a little miracle;
children, children, who is this fish?"
poem by Nancy Willard
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Our time runs on like a stream; first fall the leaves and then the tree.