How is it possible that a being with such sensitive jewels as the eyes, such enchanted musical instruments as the ears, and such fabulous arabesque of nerves as the brain can experience itself anything less than a god.
quote by Alan Watts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
A Mind Rich In Innocence
Truth, The Real God
Not that we have made
Does not want a facade
Of the limited and narrow world that we parade
It asks for a mind rich in Innocence
That doesnt have a scratch of experience
A mind free from time
A mind free from grime
It wants a Being whose heart is Full
Rich, clear which does not get pulled
By jaded and petty eyesight
Just capable of intense feeling in all its might
Be sensitive with your nerves
Your eyes, your body, your voice, your ears
See the beauty of the tree, the smile of the child
The agony of the woman without a meal, the animals in wild
Unless you do, there is no intelligence
It doesnt come with knowledge or experience
Comes with sensitivity and observation
A mind rich in Innocence....
poem by Renu Rakheja
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Jazz is a very democratic musical form. It comes out of a communal experience. We take our respective instruments and collectively create a thing of beauty.
He who feels compelled to consider the consequences of these facts cannot but realize that the specific sensibility of nerves for certain impressions is not enough, since all nerves are sensitive to the same cause but react to the same cause in different ways.
quote by Johannes P. Muller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Joe Fabulous
don't play my music on mtv
play it on the radio
we are the street kings and we don't care
yeah we really don't wanna know
i'm joe fabulous
life is my school
joe fabulous
and we are the merchants of cool
we do our thing
we believe in no sin
we are beyond your control
if you look closely
you'll find that were mostly
machines looking for a soul
im joe fabulous
life is my school
the next joe fabulous
and we are the merchants of cool
we aim to analyze
everything you say and do
so we can sell it back to you
joe fabulous
life is my school
joe fabulous
and we are the merchants of cool
there are no nations
just large corporations
flying the flag of the day
from dawn of creation
to civilisation
please don't take my music away
joe fabulous
life is my school
joe fabulous
play by my rules
joe fabulous
and we are the merchants of cool
thats all
bye bye everybody
bye bye
song performed by by Bad Company
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rise Of The Enchanted
Enchanted words, and enchanted saying, enchanted words that has no meaning. Enchanted words that goes afar, enchanted saying that brings you to the stars. Rise of the enchanting is beautiful as my Lord, for it is as seeing into a woman's eyes, and love at first sight, everything is now on one accord. This is the freedom men as spoken of the freedom to be, enchanted with the mind for all to see. For as others have tried many have surpassed, the diverse mind that comes with many tests. What is the enchantment of which you so humbly speak, for it is freedom, the freedom of the meek. For I am enchanted but holding back I shall, until I show my true feelings for one I can appeal. I am enchanting and I am free, but not free to be, as tough it is my ecstasy, but I have the freedom, because freedom is free, but not enchanted I may not be, for to be free I have to be enchanted, because to be enchanted is to be free. May I be enchanted grant me thee, shall I be enchanted, shall I be free, for this is my rise, this is my plea, this is my enchantment I always wanted to see, the enchantment within me, my rise of enchanting, the enchantment for all to agree, because finally I am free.
poem by Augustus Gatlin
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Music Of Life
Interested in the peace of life?
Your destination is fixed so be appalled.
Musical instruments are in ruins,
Fighting them is a struggle.
What may break will fight and be mighty,
The swords of laughter fence with each other.
They are made of metals, fully metallic
And magical, like their counterparts.
The peace has dissolved when mixed
With the words of music and its instruments.
poem by Naveed Akram
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If Brain controls Body, Think, who created Brain And Controls it!
Gaining control over flesh and nerves,
the spirit that raised us from dust,
Is it not true that the spirit that dance,
this clay toy is moved by the light within!
Closing eyes see with divine eye,
The one who created light, shine,
running through nerves Her will,
motion controlled by currents!
your talent is its talent,
your dance is its dance,
if brain controls flesh,
think, who created and controls brain!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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S.m.m.
Slow moving music.
Sleepy musical mood.
Sweeping manoeuvring minuet.
Soaring melody momentarily.
Sensitive meaningful melodies.
Sound mad maiden.
Soul musical mate.
Soul madly made.
© 2012
poem by Nick Strong
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To be sensitive
As sensitive, I am neither tolerant nor patient.
As sensitive, I am neither neutral nor indifferent.
As sensitive, I am either a rose or a cactus.
Whose fault is it that I am sensitive?
24.05.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Ballet Of The Fifth Year
Where the sea gulls sleep or indeed where they fly
Is a place of different traffic. Although I
Consider the fishing bay (where I see them dip and curve
And purely glide) a place that weakens the nerve
Of will, and closes my eyes, as they should not be
(They should burn like the street-light all night quietly,
So that whatever is present will be known to me),
Nevertheless the gulls and the imagination
Of where they sleep, which comes to creation
In strict shape and color, from their dallying
Their wings slowly, and suddenly rallying
Over, up, down the arabesque of descent,
Is an old act enacted, my fabulous intent
When I skated, afraid of policemen, five years old,
In the winter sunset, sorrowful and cold,
Hardly attained to thought, but old enough to know
Such grace, so self-contained, was the best escape to know.
poem by Delmore Schwartz
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In our culture we have such respect for musical instruments, they are like part of God.
quote by Ravi Shankar
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Musical Instruments To Produce Love
Cymbal for Zambia
Zambia for Cymbal
Zambia cymbal music
Harps to produce musical sounds
Tambourines to produce musical dances
Dances for Serbia Ladies
Samba shake body make bottom dazzle our eyes for laughter
I did not have shoes, i complained crying profusely until i saw a man without legs, i have legs and i can dance
Love sparkles beauty
Beauty sparkles dance
Dance for all is fun
Cymbal for Zambia
Zambia for cymbal
Zambia cymbal music
Harps to produce musical sounds
Tambourines to produce musical dances, we are dancing
Babies Bobos want to dance, dance away your sorrows until day - break
We are dancing
Musical instruments produce melodious sound for love flow, caresses and kisses
Dance away your sorrows
We are dancing
poem by Olayemi Ayo
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Enforced With A Focus Fixed
Being alone and wishing to be,
With an acknowledgement of it.
I chose to experience removing myself from limits.
And with the doing of this helped me to realize,
I depended on the feeding of my weaknesses.
And when I faced this doing to prove I could do...
With a self examination to improve,
I became enforced with a focus fixed upon it.
I had to divorce from my emotions then too sensitive.
And with a taking I did...
I took the oars to row my floating boat back to shore,
To never again ignore those obstacles.
Being alone and wishing to be,
With an acknowledgement of it.
I chose to experience...
Distance!
And I became enforced with a focus fixed.
Divorced from my emotions then too sensitive,
I became enforced with a focus fixed.
With a focus fixed.
And with a focus fixed...
I divorced from my emotions,
Then too sensitive.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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After I retired and came off the road, I gathered up all my musical instruments and suddenly, I wanted them all to be perfect.
quote by Tom T. Hall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If you develop an ear for sounds that are musical it is like developing an ego. You begin to refuse sounds that are not musical and that way cut yourself off from a good deal of experience.
A mystery
Eyes don’t see.
With them I see.
Ears don’t hear.
With them I hear.
Who is the doer of I?
If it is mind
Where does it stay?
If it stays in brain,
Does it control the brain?
If so, don’t you doze
When you drive or
When you watch night play
Against your will?
Who controls then brain?
It must be something,
Neither corporal nor emotional.
Can it be soul?
Can it be genes?
A mystery unsolved.
24.07.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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You and your Career
Your ears were choosing what to hear,
When mighty jungles claimed noises,
The reason behind the brain and what is clear.
My sight detained me and made me disappear,
Where was I situated, afterwards with afterimages?
Your ears were choosing what to hear.
Your instrument is heavenly in this world and atmosphere,
Like music has spoken and never abuses,
The reason behind the brain and what is clear.
I ride on a faith too majestic and pure to adhere,
Such innocence exhibits the advantages,
Your ears were choosing what to hear,
My mind is passing a test, like drinking beer,
Inner fighting has survived the ambushes,
The reason behind the brain and what is clear.
I can never refuse a man to speak about a career,
The laughing is acted due to this and never ceases,
Your ears were choosing what to hear,
The reason behind the brain and what is clear.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Flute - a triolet
Hollow and holes of bamboo played with air.
Most natural, magical, musical instrument.
Makes melodious the complete atmosphere
Hollow and holes of bamboo played with air.
In hands of Lord Krishna, Hindus wish to be flute.
In tranquillity, ears sense celestial experience.
Hollow and holes of bamboo played with air;
Most natural, magical, musical instrument.
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Internet Poetry
I and the internet
Sensitive nerves
Concentrate in
My fingers
Making sweet sounds
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In the Grave
My boat is a grave,
Seas of blood form in my ghostlike mind,
Forces of deadly power inhabit the spirit of my life
As I crawl inwardly into a stupor of beauty,
As my moving is sitting, and movement is a comedy
Of movement, inside I laugh, never outrageously,
Just my brain is calm,
In proud spirits, offering me chiming of bells
And musical instruments from the minstrels
We use to adore, fading away now,
Just now, just now; when finally
I die.
Like a boat that belongs to the drowning.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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