Related quotes: In every presence there is...

A Benediction Of The Air

In every presence there is absence.

When we're together, the spaces between
Threaten to enclose our bodies
And isolate our spirits.
The mirror reflects what we are not,
And we wonder if our mate
Suspects a fatal misreading
Of our original text,
Not to mention the dreaded subtext.
Reality, we fear, mocks appearance.
Or is trapped in a hall of mirrors
Where infinite regress prevents
A grateful egress. That is,
We can never know the meaning
Of being two-in-one,
Or if we are one-in-two.
What-I-Am is grieved at What-I'm-Not.
What-We-Should-Be is numbed by What-We-Are.

Yes, I'm playing word games
With the idea of marriage,
Musing over how even we can
Secularize Holy wedlock.
Or to figure it another way,
To wonder why two televisions
In the same house seem natural symbols
Of the family in decline.

Yet you are present to me now.
I sense you keenly, at work,
Bending red in face to reach
A last defiant spot of yellow
On those horrific kitchen cabinets.
Your honey hair flecked with paint;
Your large soft hidden breasts
Pushing down against your shirt.
The hemispheres of those buttocks
Curving into uncompromising hips.
To embrace you would be to take hold
Of my life in all its substance.

Without romance, I say that if
I were to deconstruct myself
And fling the pieces at random,
They would compose themselves
Into your shape.
But I guess that is romantic,
The old mystification-
Cramming two bodies
Into a single space.

Amen!

Our separation has taught me
That, dwelling in mind,
The corporeality
Of mates has spiritual mass
Which may be formulated:
Memory times desire over distance
Yields a bodying forth.
Thus I project into the
Deadly space between us
A corposant,Pulsating a language
That will cleave to you
In the coolness of sleep
With insubstantiality
So fierce as to leave its dampness
On the morning sheets,
Or so gentle
As to fan your brow
While you paint the kitchen.
A body like a breath,
Whispering the axiom
By which all religions are blessed:

In every absence there is presence.

Bene
Bene
Benedictus.

Submitted by David Shackelford

poem by John Williams
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Related quotes

The Offer

I want to locate a bit of you, cradle it,
say: this, there is no word for this.

But they will. They who name everything
will define our actions
as we auction our bodies off to sleep.

In our single dram we'd compose
a manifesto on the irregularity of scars.

The very idea demands preparation, as if
choosing a school for an angel.

There are no angles. Just those things
blinking like the teeth of jackals
around the moon's significant tremble.

Isolate the idea of shaking our bodies
under the blank comfort of down and tell
me which way will our knuckles face?

Now shake the idea of our isolated bodies
As the sheets become our Miro.

If you stay, the walls will admit their cracks,
See it forming, already on their lips.

poem by Jeffrey McDaniel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Va Bene, Va Bene Cos

Cosa facciamo stiamo insieme stasera
di non andare via
non inventare adesso un'altra scusa
un'altra, un'altra bugia.
Cosa ne pensi di dimenticare
di lasciarci andare
ma dimmi la verit
forse stasera una sera
che ti sentivi sola
e sei venuta qua.
Non eri tu che dovevi partire
e non tornare pi
non eri tu che in fondo come salire
basta non guardar gi
Va bene, va bene, va bene
bugiarda quando ti conviene
versati pure da bere
sempre l dove sai tu...
Ti sei accorta che facciamo l'amore...s
ti sei accorta s
e non mi dire che non lo volevi
e che non lo sapevi che finiva cos...
Va bene, va bene, va bene
distratta quando ti conviene
diresti anche che mi vuoi bene
anche se non me ne vuoi pi...
Va bene, va bene, va bene, va bene
va bene, va bene, va bene, va bene cos
va bene, va bene, va bene, va bene
va bene anche se non mi vuoi bene
va bene
telefonami.....telefonami!!!!
va bene, va bene, va bene, va bene
va bene, va bene, va bene, va bene cos
va bene cos
va bene, va bene, va bene, va bene
va bene anche se non mi vuoi bene
va bene
telefonami.....telefonami!!!!

song performed by by Vasco Rossi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Va Bene, Va Bene Cosi

song performed by by Vasco Rossi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: Whither Thy Art, Man?

Yes, men and women, paint their eyelashes,
And dye their hair in hues and paint their nails;
And wear head-bands, multi-colored sashes,
And paint the tortoises and shells of snails.

Some paint their bodies fully or one-half;
Some paint their country’s flag over their face;
Some look like leopards, lions, clowns that laugh;
Some tattoo pictures or paint words so base.

Some paint their naked bodies as if dressed
Or apply stickers of men, Gods or beast;
Their art on human skins looks to them best
And dance in ritual for a sumptuous feast.

The art of man has gone so crazy now,
For men paint Dogs, cats, cattle, also cow.

poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Learn Ramdas!

Learn Ramdas,
if one is either lost in the
memories of past which are dead
or
lost in thinking about unborn
future, surely one is absent in the
present!
living in the present,
is presence of mind,
living in the past or future is
absence of mind.... Just like Shakunthala lost in
memories got cursed,
for absence of mind!
Every moment we encounter
with various forces of nature,
we get cursed, for absence of mind,
either by imperfect souls,
or imperfect gods
or demons
those are one with
natural forces! Presence of mind and absence of
mind,
let us know which is more
helpful!

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hidden Wishes

Hidden wishes are not the best ones,
To keep secret.
Not when two are sharing space,
In a relationship as mates.
And seen before sleeping,
With eyes opened wide...
To awaken to bare blemishes,
On a daily naked basis to rub against...
A touching of hips, legs and thighs.
If lies become treasured...
And from one,
Another hides.

When mates that close become distrusting,
Whether or not legal vows had been exchanged.
A presence of love can be said was never there.
Or a devotion known between them shown.
What depth of caring is done if no one is aware.
When two are sharing space,
On a daily basis in a relationship as mates...
Hidden wishes are not the best to keep,
Between two left unconnected.
And separately discreet.
But meeting each other to heat under sheets,
With a keeping of hidden wishes secret.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Her absence too enthuses.

When I shared her presence, I was in exuberance.
When I left her, her absence kept me in excellence,
As I mediated on the essence of her presence,
Experienced in our romance, a rare occurrence.
Her presence and absence are charging me alike.
21.10.2000

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Next Poem

this is the next poem that i am telling you about.
it wants to tell you something, but not in secret really,
i am open, and i like open fields, like open ideas
wanting to embrace and be embraced by the world.

absence too, is open. The open arms wait for the coming
of absence. Absence is a wide space wanting to be filled by
love, and love is elusive, and love is unresponding to the
emergencies we are in.

but let me not talk about it. Let me tell you and take you back
to what i have started. I like the mirror in the living room broken
into a hundred pieces, all in the name of love.

i like to have as many mirrors as i can have. Tiny broken pieces.
I will take one. And all i want in this short life that we have,
the life of a fruitfly inside that experimental cupboard,
or that transparent cellophane, let death come.

i have this piece of broken glass. I want to reflect my light.
Do you like it? I want to reflect the light of God, do you like it?

Take it for what it is. Each piece has a reflective index of its own.
The face value of things. Do you like it?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Sweet Love Is

To meet her and instantly be in her arms.
Holding her kissing her feeling her presence.
Is passionate romantic stuff Hollywood movies sell on.

Within minutes to be stripping naked
while still holding touching kissing
tripping on magic of precious moments;
finally in your lovers arms after five days absence;
is the great joy of a true compassionate love.

The taste of your lovers lips
the feel of her soft skin
the caressing of her soft golden hair;
as you run your fingers softly through;
the embrace of her warm naked body

all contribute to the magic of this
the first magic moments of our meeting
the eager anticipated heat of our greeting;
our souls and our bodies are ever seeking;
the way back to our partners heat and presence.

Oh our sweet our love is.
Oh our sweet our heat is.

poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0164In Mind

It’s only now, only now, that I remember, that I can see,
how you made your presence felt so often;
so long unlooked for, seeing only absence, never believing presence;

for in the subtlety of your wisdom, the wisdom of your subtlety,
you leave reminders of that presence in that secret place
where it’s as safe as childhood happiness
forgotten, then remembered…

for you speak a closer language to a child,
closer than the growing child comes to believe.
When was the first time - now I can remember who you are,
when you first spoke to me?

Wasn’t it that day when I could toddle unsteadily
but with wide open eyes, where the lion’s head
poured water from its mouth into the basin?
and in the paving of the bricks – which anyone could see –
you left me that private, secret message,
knowing that I’d not notice, (so I’d not forget) ,
until one day it swam out of memory?

For this is your so secret, open generosity: you leave every one of us
this secret message: that moment when we knew
that we knew something certain – and yet,
did not know what that something was?

And then, that time after a year or two – a lifetime for a child –
when you announced your presence by your so painful absence,
and I made that solemn decision for a four-year-old,
never to trust a grown-up ever again; not because
of being a helpless child – but because there was that in me
which knew when you were there, and when you weren’t?

Then you left so many messages I did not need to heed
-or so it seemed, because they were so obvious –
and only in your absence was your presence felt:
the day after a gale, the ozone of the beach, the sea
now brown but calming, seaweed salty on the stones;
the field of flowers and dewdrops –the moths in ecstasy;
and in that silent glade of woodland, as if you had made that space
between the trees, to leave a message loud and clear: that
you live in space, so visibly invisible…

then later, on the tennis court, green grass just newly cut,
that exhilarating smell; lime-white lines just newly marked;
and when the ball hit the centre of the racquet, just so,
I missed your message, in the will to win…

And then, grown up: how are we to know – until we know –
your messages left all around, in so many places, all so different?

When, like the unicorn, we know we’ll never see you,
yet know we know that in our minds, you live?

That single horn upon its clear-eyed brow,
that dips in recognition of innocence,
how could we miss your message, so gently elegant,
one-pointed image of yourself, in mind?

poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ch 02 The Morals Of Dervishes Story 04

A thief paid a visit to the house of a pious man but, although he sought a great deal, found nothing and was much grieved. The pious man, who knew this, threw the blanket upon which he had been sleeping into the way of the thief that he might not go away disappointed.

I heard that men of the way of God
Have not distressed the hearts of enemies.
How canst thou attain that dignity
Who quarrelest and wagest war against friends?

The friendship of pure men, whether in thy presence or absence, is not such as Will find fault behind thy back and is ready to die for thee before thy face.

In thy presence gentle like a lamb,
In thy absence like a man-devouring wolf.

Who brings the faults of another to thee and enumerates them Will undoubtedly carry thy faults to others.

poem by Sa di
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Grateful When You're Dead / Jerry Was There

I'm painting, I paint a picture in your mind
If you're driving roads to suicide, I know you can sympathise
If your love is a cheatin' and if you're blinded by the pain
Your honeymoon in summer is a picnic in the rain...
You'll be grateful when you're dead
Grateful when you're dead
Ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ba
I'm shaking, I shake the spear before your eyes
Well if you know your history, you will read between the lines
If you're waiting for a vision, to illuminate your mind
To leave this world of misery, oh eave it all behind...
You'll be grateful when you're dead
Grateful when you're dead
Ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ba
Jerry was there,
Jerry was there (many times!)
Oh I'm telling you man, Jerry was there
You could feel his presence everywhere
Oh I'm telling you man, Jerry was there
You could feel his presence everywhere
"I seen him man - looked me right in the face

song performed by by Kula Shaker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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O My Pa-pa

Our fathers have formed a poetry workshop.
They sit in a circle of disappointment over our fastballs
and wives. We thought they didn't read our stuff,
whole anthologies of poems that begin, My father never,
or those that end, and he was silent as a carp,
or those with middles which, if you think
of the right side as a sketch, look like a paunch
of beer and worry, but secretly, with flashlights
in the woods, they've read every word and noticed
that our nine happy poems have balloons and sex
and giraffes inside, but not one dad waving hello
from the top of a hill at dusk. Theirs
is the revenge school of poetry, with titles like
'My Yellow Sheet Lad' and 'Given Your Mother's Taste
for Vodka, I'm Pretty Sure You're Not Mine.'
They're not trying to make the poems better
so much as sharper or louder, more like a fishhook
or electrocution, as a group
they overcome their individual senilities,
their complete distaste for language, how cloying
it is, how like tears it can be, and remember
every mention of their long hours at the office
or how tired they were when they came home,
when they were dragged through the door
by their shadows. I don't know why it's so hard
to write a simple and kind poem to my father, who worked,
not like a dog, dogs sleep most of the day in a ball
of wanting to chase something, but like a man, a man
with seven kids and a house to feed, whose absence
was his presence, his present, the Cheerios,
the PF Flyers, who taught me things about trees,
that they're the most intricate version of standing up,
who built a grandfather clock with me so I would know
that time is a constructed thing, a passing, ticking fancy.
A bomb. A bomb that'll go off soon for him, for me,
and I notice in our fathers' poems a reciprocal dwelling
on absence, that they wonder why we disappeared
as soon as we got our licenses, why we wanted
the rocket cars, as if running away from them
to kiss girls who looked like mirrors of our mothers
wasn't fast enough, and it turns out they did
start to say something, to form the words hey
or stay, but we'd turned into a door full of sun,
into the burning leave, and were gone
before it came to them that it was all right
to shout, that they should have knocked us down
with a hand on our shoulders, that they too are mystified
by the distance men need in their love.

poem by Bob Hicok
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Paint The World

It's like a chain reaction
Misunderstanding every word
It's like a train to nowhere
And everyone gets hurt
And maybe if I paint the world.. black
And maybe if I paint the world.. white
Cause you don't seem to see it quite like I do
And we don't seem to see it eye to eye
We never go the distance
We just [..] in the dirt
And I could say I'm sorry
But I want you to say it first
And maybe if I paint the world.. black
And maybe if I paint the world.. white
Cause you don't seem to see it quite like I do
And we don't seem to see it eye to eye
This is so stupid
This is all so lame
This is so stupid
Playing these games
Everything is unfocused
Everything is stained
This is so stupid
Playing these games
Well I could learn to fake it
And you could learn to bruise
And maybe we can make it
But then it's easier to lose
And maybe if I paint the world.. black
And maybe if I paint the world.. white
Cause you don't seem to see it quite like I do
And we don't seem to see it eye to eye
This is so stupid
This is all so lame
This is so stupid
Playing these games
Everything is unfocused
Everything's in pain
This is so stupid
Maybe if I paint the world.. black
And maybe if I paint the world.. white
Cause you don't seem to feel it quite like I do
And we don't seem to see it eye to eye

song performed by by Heather Nova
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A difficult separation

First time in life I came to know what is separation
I had read enough about it in books with simple narration
I took it lightly with single meaning of staying away
Only for few days or months to be free from her sway

Many husbands may be wanting complete freedom form her yoke
They may enter into cheap comments about her and cut rude jokes
They may feel her association with them as real curse
They simply forget that she is the only person who can heal or nurse

In reality it is altogether different from what we think or profess
In private they may come out with all difficulties and openly confess
The whole home turns into shambles and things get scattered
On her arrival she may find it altogether in new form and altered

The feeling for complete freedom form her becomes complete illusions
Things go completely out of hand to make it as mere compulsion
It is altogether a show of desperado wanting to enjoy in absence
Wife was always providing all comforts in her presence

Well I could find so much difference when she was not here
I had all the options to go and make marry making anywhere
At the same time it occurred to the mind that it may be totally unfair
Why to create ugly scene in her absence and later on split the hair

I felt some thing was snatched away to make me feel lonely
I preferred to stay at home and feel everything homely
It was her presence that made surrounding lively
Nobody can take her place even if it is done nicely

Opening of the day and bright sun had nothing special to offer
Many times I used quarrel with her and on most of the points differed
She may come smilingly at me and make the thing so smooth
She knew the essence of relation and realized the truth

I could feel her absence in every corner
It looked as if it had no owner
Garden too started turning into desolations
This truth was emerging in isolation

I still hear her sweet voice in kitchen
Honey bees come and make sound in garden
Cool breeze too spread fragrance with open sky
I continuously wonder and ask the questions, why?

I was dreaming in day light when heard some sweet voice
She was getting down with some kids making heavy noise
I didn’t believe my eyes as to what made her come back soon?
Why had she made p her min d to reach here in hot afternoon?

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Some one near by

I sensed some one near by
Moved head to see and try
It was just wind's flow
That tried gently to blow

May be it had some sensation
Very kind with known relation
I failed to understand
I must have known it as close friend

She was whispering slowly
As wind blew nearly
Without any speed
Very much eager to lead

I remembered her gentle hands
Put on my eyes to make me not to see blind
But that reminded me of her body fragrance
I had occasion to smell it by chance

I was so much blown by your presence
That was as if I felt as real essence
The love has special attraction
That can't be substituted by any action

I fear to be blown off into pieces
As it may fail to withstand embrace
You wear gorgeous look on face
I just feel its gentle presence

You have reminded me of precious relation
You were not present but purely gave an indication
You may not be with me all the times
But will always remind me with times

I am burning with rage
As if locked in cage
Let our love appear on golden page
And played beautifully on stage

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spirits?

Though I've never seen one exactly
I've encountered some evil presence
The very sense of it overwhelms me
But with God, Fear lurks in absence.

Spirits of dead are mere wanderers
Some are evil and utterly vicious
Some are more harmful than the others
And some possess humans for their use.

The spirits who protect us are angels
And the spirits who harm us are vile
Some in realms of government control
And some enthroned in fake piety's style.

Spirits of the dead they call 'ghosts'
They seem to avoid me and hide
They're the ones I would like to ask most
What they felt at the moment they died.

For you see, I am quite prepared
To meet that old man with the sickle
For Death is the one Jesus dared
Over which He proved He was able.

That Jesus Who now lives in me
Has power over all of these spirits
At the mention on His Name they flee
For they know there's just One Holy Spirit.

poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Hall of Mirrors

Starring down the long impenetrable hallway
Mirror after mirror after mirror
They always bring you back to the same spot
One turn and you walk straight into glass
Another turn and you fall on your ass
You only come face to face with yourself
There’s no escape
From the dark egotistic mind
That brought you here
To the hall of mirrors
Nobody is around to save you
It is only you
It’ll only ever be you
Trapped, lost and suffering
In a field of your repetitive reflection
It's that egotistic mind
That brought you here
To the hall of mirrors

poem by Elyse Elwood
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Breathe Me

Come closer;

I need to feel
your body
heat.

Your breath,
on my face;

I paint
you inside my eyes
so I can see you
all the time-

look at the
nape
of your neck,
its curvature;

your eyes.

All slopes away
to my waiting soul
which pauses
at odds times
in the day to
look at you.

My finger tip
has a tiny glow
as I trace
across your lips;

as I move close behind you
worshiping in that cathedral body space
between us;
static electricities crackle;
small lighting bolts
spark.

Give me;
your anticipation;
drape me
in your contour
as we
sooth screaming desire
furtively.

Put my hand
beside your face;
my mouth to your mouth

as I feel your body tingling
tremoring,
soft quakings
from kneading touches
which occasion
others:
stellar propulsions
and more lighting strike intensities.

You exhale slowly;
intake again,
swelling;
your breath is a
warm effusion and egress
surging into me
lung ward
between soft lips;

where all settles in
like home;
I feel you quiver
and release.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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It

Rael cannot look away from those eyes, mesmerized by his own image. in a quick movement, his consciousness darts from one face to the other, then back again, until his presence is no longer soli
Ontained in one or the other. in this fluid state he observes both bodies outlined in yellow and the surrounding scenery melting into a purple haze. with a sudden rush of energy up both spinal c
S, their bodies, as well, finally dissolve into the haze.
All this takes place without a single sunset, without a single bell ringing and without a single blossom falling from the sky. yet it fills everything with its mysterious intoxicating presence.
Over to you.
When its cold, it come slow
It is warm, just watch it grow
- all around me
It is here. it is now.
Just a little bit of it can bring you up or down.
Like the supper it is cooking in your hometown.
It is chicken, it is eggs,
It is in between your legs.
It is walking on the moon,
Leaving your cocoon.
It is the jigsaw. it is purple haze.
It never stays in one place, but its not a passing phase,
It is in the singles bar, in the distance of the face
It is in between the cages, it is always in a space
It is here. it is now.
Any rock can be made to roll
If youve enough of it to pay the toll
It has no home in words or goal
Not even in your favourite hole
It is the hope for the dope
Who rides the horse without a hoof
It is shaken not stirred;
Cocktails on the roof.
When you eat right through it you see everything alive
It is inside spirit, with enough grit to survive
If you think that its pretentious, youve been taken for a ride.
Look across the mirror sonny, before you choose decide
It is here. it is now
It is real. it is rael
cos its only knock and knowall, but I like it...

song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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