Comrade
We naught six yet never four
compact at times of fall or soar
could penetrate aloft than core
yes! the bond none could bore
To step on fire or over planks
fear; we hath none-as gathered all
To leave the tracks on river banks
on deep waters, through that shoal!
How naught apart the heart and souls.
why back the faded track we go?
Unnoticed naught the far set goals
though aloft, yet live earthy-low
Moments as people dreamed to Luna;
paths were often lead to point.
all sought so much lithe persona;
His, Her prejudice has joint
The sobbing of the sun on parting,
the grinning of the stars at night.
The pain on back of pretty smiling,
was not joker's but Donald's fright.
To unjust sight, sought merely waste
to weary eyes 'twas gold
The chemical bond abides no caste
Afore them, We stand Bold.
The freezing period of Dark eclipse
Bothers not our dwell-
-them, Whose lives were in ellipse,
to ransom them from hell.
His avid tongue to destroy
to delet the barely known existence
His tricky motions on decoy
To burgeon all of our hindrance!
Seldom not, we entice unite
seldom not, the great escapades
naught even destiny could fight
The longing laughter of comrades.
poem by Ellirie Aviles
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Related quotes
Dreams
There is naught in the pathless reach
Of the pale, blue sky above,
There is naught that the stars tell, each to each,
As over the heavens they rove;
That I have not felt, or have not seen
Clad in dull earth or fancy's sheen.
There is naught, in the still, mauve twilight
When the dreams come flitting by,
From lands afar of eternal night,
Or lands of the sunswept sky,
For countless spirits within me dwell
With heaven's efflugence or dark hell.
poem by Joseph Seamon Cotter
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Rememory
Naught ever hath thoughts of these to occur
Whilst in bureau of yours I was brought
to read and spoke of alien core
of script, symbols I merely sought
Know Naught what reason why things were done
with alien core scripts in oratorical
in flow gone with, I, for gears to keep in run
Anoints with adducted piece in musical
More than three yet less than five
enumerate the one as my foe
the other gloomy as in archive
numerical representation's low
still the other who yell in upset
reason by real essence was in point
when written expressionism, none she get
disgrace and regret all was joint
Apologies of no much thoughts implied
this to quench only thirst of mind
yet all thus words came from inside
open's the eye, never'd been blind.
poem by Ellirie Aviles
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Ugly Duckling of QCPU
Ugly, she ain't fit nor fair
Gimpy heart she hath
Lone of her none do care
Yellow asked her wrath
Grudge she kept; not to hurt
Ephemeral was her hold
Mad gone her in midst of blurt
Monster chicks had told.
Amplified her voice had gone
Lucks of her shone in place
Yonder lake swam she, set sun
Not a single peck never daze
Imbricated feathers appeared
Simultaneous alteration abound
Sick those sought naught beauty here
O 'Lin made naught much sound
Pretty allurement was set in no time
Redolent scent filled the place
Exceptional glamor has finally shined
Tintinabulations whilst i gaze.
Totally mesmerized to her juvenility
Our eyes were filled with the beauty
Brood she'd gone long and lame
Epiphany afore hath come in game
Felicity of hers hidden yonder
Aloft the ugliness of human nature
Truth! that is reality's wonder
~~Yes! there is no constant matter.
poem by Ellirie Aviles
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Commence
Empty nuts they must avow
ravening for blood, real crow
real real sharp and sharper claw
caused my bleed, blood to bestow
But the moon never set-up in the sky
by naught bringing me back my wrath
investigating every alibi
and things I acquired and naught
grasping me more with every word
thy hath and throw as sword
soundless I so dumb, Indeed
Wrath still I, Never hath freed
Burgeon run fire within
in no time I'll be sinned
To put off fire, strengthen desire
to end up mine suffering.
poem by Ellirie Aviles
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Twas Called Destiny
Day after day of our depart
Felt like souls were so apart
torn the bleeding of gloomy heart
'twas none false rather an art
Lie mine glimpse of her and thoughts
'twas not blue but evergreen
thus I realize 'twas thy-naught
mine dearest, Dulcinea, Queen
I-naught God to change that part
Our lives' novel yet to start
Sought mine princess, eye's of mine darling
evergreen, yet blood & immortal beating
Mine notorious canvas painted smile
barely truth, yet never a wile
the actress shalt never be the character
The beating's integration'll never dissever
As long as hands weren't held to hands
you'd hear my cry in thine dream lands
My beseech'Hey juliet! wanna be thine romeo! '
Listen close, for 'twas beating like stereo
Blind, I'm stepping my way to thee
Shoe by shoe, to my dream come true
Again if vision meet, 'twas no serendipity
'twasn't just fortunate, it's our destiny.
poem by Ellirie Aviles
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Aught
Azriel of Gerona taught
that if you look beyond the yesh
which is the aught you’ll find the naught,
the spirit that’s behind the flesh,
the truth that lies within the kernel,
hidden from the mortal eyes
of man by ayin that’s eternal,
enveloped by man’s lethal lies,
because Reality must be
eclipsed, however hard it’s sought
by I’s that lie between the Thee
which is the Naught beyond the Aught.
In Sacred Attunement: A Jewish Theology (Chicago: University of Chicago Press,2008) , Michael Fishbane writes about Azriel of Gerona (36–7) :
R. Azriel pondered the mystery and depth of infinite Being, and even tried to imagine the very borderline between the knowable realm of Absolute Reality and all that might be humanly conceived or known by human minds. In his discourse he calls the first realm Naught (or ayin) , because it is wholly beyond thought and thus virtually Nothing; and the second he deems Aught (or yesh) , because it is the realm where knowable (or discernable) reality becomes and is. But the point of transition is truly neither the one nor the other, but both: it is neither wholly naught, insofar as there is a gathering towards existence (where things are nameable and determinate) , nor is it wholly aught, since this domain is still characterized by the naught (where no thing is named or differentiated.) At this borderline we have something else. What we have is an imaginable sense of aught grounded in naught; that is, a sense that the all-unfolding reality and being of existence, whose source is God, is ultimately effaced in the depths of God’s Godhood. And though we may not follow R. Azriel in his particular mystical ontology of divine emanations, we may nevertheless strain to understand his teaching as a great truth of theology––still pertinent for our lives. For what he conveys through this meditation is that whatever may be humanly sayable about God and existence is ultimately grounded in and a manifestation of the Naught. To bring our minds towards this realization is the tsk of theology. This holds as much for our common view of everyday reality, where the Aught rightly prevails and predominates, as for our sense of God, where the Naught is the ultimate reality wherein all mindfulness is eclipsed.
10/24/08
poem by Gershon Hepner
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All For Naught, I Do Not Believe
Naught did I possess any seer, for my abject fear,
Naught are there any here-to see, as I tear!
My best friend has been corrupted,
My entire life, completely, tragically interrupted!
For what reason might be this the case?
Pain has been caused, ne'er to be erased
Drunketh was I, from the cup of my life-
Joined at my festival, by the one who was to be my Wife!
Severed from my family, as though something wrong, I had done!
Falsity was causal to this pain, known to all, but for the one!
Wheresoever she may wander, back to reason,
So too may she allow for the changing of her pain's season!
All for naught, I do not believe-part of His plan-
Each day which passes, I grow more, to understand!
Maurice Harris,23 December 2007
poem by Maurice Harris
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In the Edge
Enthusiasm to...resurrected he
Devious who? thy Commiserated me?
Grated naught fear nor shame nor my hate
Engulfed by grudge, I thus hibernate
To rouse from mine sleep
On mine state; petrified deep
Ain't I incapable to fight
Hathn't hath a peck of human fright
Yet fear; mine wrath shall be anew
and Yes! to fear of mine unending competition
Towards mine label they merely be'stew
I pledge no pardon nor contrast negotiation
Aloft the scripts non-alien to me
Within the index of figurative experience
Notorious toward thoughts of thee
My thoughts not half you knew in accordance
PAGE of life; Waited I for abound
2 people sought things variedly beyond en masse'
6 Hidden things I find-I found
1 disabling reason; Their Avarice bludgeoned fast.
...
Helios' fighting an uphill battle'.
Astonishing, gloomy voice may fade
Light or Shadows, one shall dazzle
O Stars aren't born they're made.
.
poem by Ellirie Aviles
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Love Is...
Love is the abiding heart, willing to wait forever
For the time when it may be together
With its counterpoint in that of another;
Love is a bond that neither time nor
Distance may cause to alter,
Nor manner of travail, cause to falter.
Love is a patience, derived through faith and hope;
Love is the hidden strength, which allows you to cope
With all that life may choose to render;
Love is a warm embrace, reassuring and tender;
Love is courage, in the face of immense fear;
Love is pure beauty, sans compeer.
Love teaches, learns, builds, and shares;
Love is singular-yet when true, binds perfect pairs;
Love is selfless, humble, and ceaseless-
It is omniscient, omnipresent, and ubiquitous;
Love self-perpetuates-it begets more of the same;
Love is the imagined fire that you may never tame;
Love is the commanding General in my positivity's army-
This benevolent brigade ensures naught may harm me;
Love empowers, enables, and inspires-
It creates, betters, dotes, and admires;
Love fashions reality, from the scape of dreams-
Love is all you ever need, or so it seems.
There is naught that may be placed above-
'The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.'*
Without love, you may do naught-
With love, you have all that for which you sought!
* Galatians 5: 6
-Maurice Harris,18 March 2011
poem by Maurice Harris
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Nothing
Pain
All consuming
Like a fire
I can't breathe
There's nothing left
What have you done?
My hands are shaking
I can't sit still
My mind is racing
My heart is breaking
Strangled gasps
Heart races
It's all a blur
Where am I?
What happened?
Who are you?
You stole my breath
My mind
My heart
My body
Are you a thief?
Are you a liar?
Who is it that can do something so small,
Yet so large
That I have nothing left
Only pain
Only rage
Only hurt
Only tears
Only blood
Only fears
Only death
Have you stolen everything?
Or is my life still left?
I hear naught
I see naught
I feel naught
I smell naught
I taste naught
Am I nothing?
Are you nothing?
There's nothing left
I sense nothing
I know nothing
This must mean I am nothing
It must mean you are nothing
Am I nobody?
Like a myth
Like a legend
Like a story
Does this make everything I've said
And done
And felt
Unreal
Like a dream
Or a story
Or a thought
So it never happened?
You didn't make me love you?
You didn't hurt me?
You didn't make me cry?
Make me bleed?
Make me suffer?
You didn't leave me there
On the street
On a sidewalk
So I could bleed out?
You didn't hold a knife?
You didn't violate me?
You didn't kill me?
You didn't walk away?
You didn't lie?
I didn't exist meaning
You didn't exist so
You must not have
Meaning
I am not dead because
I just never existed
And you are not alive
Because you never existed
We are just nothing
poem by Gwenevere Cornwell
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Heed Not!
Heed not the cock-sure tourist,
Seeing with English eyes;
Stroked at the banquet table
Still, with the old stock lies—
Pet of a social circle,
Guest in a garden fair—
Free of the first-class carriage—
He learns no Australia there.
Heed not the Southern humbugs
By the first saloons who come—
From his work in the wide, hot scrub-lands
The Australian goes not home.
Give them the toadies’ knighthood,
Fit for the souls they’ve got;
Fear not to shame Australia
For Australia knows them not.
Heed not the Sydney ‘dailies,’
Naught for the land they do;
Heed not the Melbourne street crowd,
For they know no more than you!
Pent in the coastal cities,
Still on the old-world track—
They know naught of Australia,
Of the heart of the great Out-Back.
But wait for the voice that gathers
Strength by the western creeks!
Heed ye the Out-Back shearers—
List when the Great Bush speaks!
Heed ye the black-sheep, working
His own salvation free—
And Oh! heed ye the sons of the exiles
When they speak of the things to be!
poem by Henry Lawson
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Thy death seek not
a bottom haunt
each thing sought
brought to naught
seeker's side blind
by mill stone ground
closed eye human kind
eye sages frozen
ginz mindel ris virm
bliss minder kiss hymn
the comfort of a lore
sad sagacious harle-kin mime
sorrow closing the door
the thruth no longer there
the moment it's been grabbed
the grasp no longer dared
heart broken been stabbed
a bottom haunt
each thing sought
brought to naught
thy death seek not
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Love Sonnet 33 Another Bud Opens To Our Delight
Another bud opens to our delight,
Claiming radiance for many yards around,
But might somewhere petals wilt out of sight,
Into oblivion, where lost dreams are bound;
Prudence suppresses laughter, though in vain,
As bliss overflows and becomes unwise,
For then somewhere, someone cries in the rain,
Not known, except through swells around the eyes,
For joy and pain cancel each other out,
As though existence that to naught would fade,
Or smiles for tears past, or what came about,
Or parting, for the nearness that love has made;
…….The rhythm of life and death, night and day,
…….Would bring you near, once you are far a
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
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The Legend Of A Pass Christian
A Live-oak grows by the shallow sea.
Rest under its boughs, I pray,
And hear of the pirate—bold was he—
And the lady he stole away.
He was a black-browed buccaneer,
And she like a snow-drop white.
From a scuttled ship he bore her clear
As it sunk in the haggard night.
And with bell and book he wedded her.
And shaped her to his will.
Yet though her body could not stir
Her soul escaped him still.
Though we be wed and vows be said,
Though beaten sore I be,
I'm naught of thine, thou'rt naught of mine,
God loose these bonds from me!
On through long days and nights of woe
The black ship held its way.
It faced the iceberg topped with snow,
It scoured the tropic bay.
Through nights and days of wrath and dread
The ship sped darkly on.
Behind it like a trail of red
Its path glared to the sun.
And fiercer rose the skipper's pride,
And black his anger grew,
That he who man and God defied
One soul could not subdue.
Ah, many a pain and many a stain
We women bear for men;
Yet blest is she whose soul is free
Even in the dragon’s den.
And when he knew nor time nor fate
Could bring him his desire,
He held dark converse with his hate
To find a vengeance dire.
And many an oath to hell he cast
While, in the devil's name,
He bound his lady to the mast
And set the ship aflame.
Long hast thou hated me, he cried,
Now laugh aloud in glee!
Though thou shouldst call me o'er the tide,
I come not back to thee.
The sea is deep, and I shall sleep
Softly beneath the wave.
Faith, thou canst kill; now do thy will,
And bless me with a grave.
Swiftly the royal sun dropped down
Deep in his purple bed.
And swiftly, at the skipper's frown,
His oarsmen shoreward sped.
The sudden night fell soft and dark
On lonely sea and shore
Before back at the fated bark
Its captain gazed once more.
I know not if the thing he hailed
From hell or heaven came—
A livid ship that sailless sailed,
Lit up by song and flame.
Far out to sea I flee, I flee—
Oh, heaven is far away!
My days are done under the sun—
Why must I longer stay!
Row fast; row fast; yet shall he hear
Naught but that wailing now.
Yet shall he see, through nights of fear,
That figure at the prow.
Long years, under this live-oak tree,
Naught else he saw and heard.
At last once more he put to sea,
By a strange passion stirred.
The loud storm roared and flashed that night
And never night nor day
Saw the old pirate's shallop white
Drift back across the bay.
Now we, who wait one night a year
Under these branches long,
May see a flaming ship, and hear
The echo of a song.
poem by Harriet Monroe
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In this world of change naught which comes stays and naught which goes is lost.
quote by Madame Swetchine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Gift Of Faith (Happy 3rd Birthday Gabriella)
Today all may celebrate your birth,
Alas, a gift, I am not able to proffer;
Yet, a gift, He hath given-I must coffer
My love for thee, mask must I, my mirth!
I may not share words of praise with thee,
Nor may I dote upon thee, in thine presence;
I long to again share my days with thee,
Celebrating, with the world, in thine pleasance!
Nary doth a moment fleet, whence thought
Does not gather upon thee, nor shall, e'er;
Naught shall suffice to remove the pallor,
The heartache, that day thence, brought!
Sikerly, this too shall pass and be supplanted
By consort again with thee, when this is granted!
I ponder with wonderment, that day, still to be,
Where I may not have to carry this heart, forlorn-
The wonder I have had since you were born;
The wonder now, and the wonder I am still to see!
I brim with pride, though you are not near to me;
With constancy you are with me, this shan't ever
Be not the same-a bond that even time can't sever-
No matter of space, you shall always be most dear to me!
There is no recompense for what hath been taken,
No means by which to stop, nor turn back time;
Naught shall ever requite loss of moments, sublime,
Nor restore, anew, confidence severely shaken!
Sikerly, this too shall pass and be valued and varied-
Through the strength gained, by the burden I have carried!
Maurice Harris,1 February 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
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Date of Solitude
The cold breeze and the things inside
like an avalanche, a running water
Lightning fast! Engulfing you whole
consuming all your hopes and confidence
Freezing my pen
burning my thoughts
deleting my existence
making me ghost
Not a single word
Could I offer thee
my foes burnt
naught friend's fidelity?
Alone should I fight this battle
Alone shalt I live?
Alone! left breathless
with your unconquerable interests
Not I could change an eye
Not I could steal the chill
Though I could fill a missing part
and I could cause depart
Not I could seal a tongue
Not I could close your lips
yet I could sing the song you sung
and act like frog the leaps
none you sought like me yonder
not a single glimpse or bother
roll your eyes and be flattered
thought you really really mattered.: P
poem by Ellirie Aviles
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No louder than the snoring tigers lolling tongue!
O’ my sleeping; weeping, thoughts.
Were like army blankets, you and I
observing; naught but sunbeams...
Naught...
But the lintel iron moonbeams,
under—which no one listens.
Nor speaks—but gibberish
No one sleeps, no one, dreams.
But even so’ it’s a sentry’s landscape
that’s foolhardy bold as any heaven
that’s nonsensical, as any song,
Sung in rhyme—one learns to love.
(That’s as still, as any silence
Hammering... in the darkened thereafter.)
“My own horrors anthem shot shall roar an alarm”...
No louder than the snoring tigers lolling tongue!
poem by Mark Heathcote
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At the close of the day when the hamlet is still, and mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, when naught but the torrent is heard on the hill, and naught but the nightingale's song in the grove.
quote by James Beattie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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