Strange Mental Wavelengths
Page 286 of my book, highlighting in orange
and pink, writing down references to check
against research notes made long ago, now
tired of sitting still for so long - just reading -
Fixing the kitchen the only opportunity for
physical activity, could clean the floors but
this holds no interest, reading the history of
anthropology, palaeontology and geology
Especially astrology, moving from Hamlet's
Mill to Maurice Cotterel, I'm stuck on strange
mental wavelengths, disappointed that pre-
conceptions make people refuse to accept
New discoveries - history of man's scientific
development a story of selfish aggrandizement
and betrayal - yet the sweet allure of ideals
and dreams remains untouched within me
I keep my inner world safe from decadence
and cynicism by revisiting high visions, in-
doctrinating myself to follow the principles
in which we can only believe as long as
We keep repeating them to counter the
evidence of those who refuse to bring
about changes in the reality inherited
from previous creators
'From Atlantis to the Sphinx' by Colin
Wilson, Virgin Books 2000
pp 108 - 286
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Related quotes
Solo Flights
Woke up to the scary fact that I have no
book to read, after completing household
chores ran off to Tall Stories, second-hand
bookstore, got hold of "From Atlantis to the
Sphinx" by Colin Wilson, left on a quest for
ancient wisdom led by John Anthony West
assisted by Robert Schoch, palaeontologist,
travelling to rain-weathered Sphinx, studying
the Piri Reis Map detailing Antarctica before
ice covered everything; my loved ones mes-
merised watching great rugby wars on TV -
while I'm taking solo flights to pre-history…
"From Atlantis to the Sphinx" by Colin Wilson,
Virgin Books 2000
pp 1-108
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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On Books
Books are my first love, I’m so proud to read;
They give me knowledge and help life to lead;
Hours, days just pass by, by reading life-time;
Life would not be worth, if not for my rhyme.
Great are those people who write books all life;
Burning just candles, with Goose-quills in strife;
Tired of writing though day-long or night,
They keep on writing in such a bad light.
Books serve a great cause; their value can’t cease;
It takes years to write but reading is ease;
Book-makers struggle to print a few books;
And keep spending time to, improve their looks.
Some find their way to libraries in town;
Some remain untouched and nev’r taken down;
Silver-fish, Moths eat the books that are old;
Some are gone obsolete, some sold like gold.
Some are in tatters and must be rebound;
Books are Man’s best friends where solace is found;
Reading for long hours, does help you to learn;
Books give much knowledge and wisdom to men.
Read books with great care whose weight is in gold;
Serve generations though they may be old;
Source of much Info, deserving respect;
Books are life-partners whom you ne’er reject!
poem by John Celes
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My Soul Untouched
My body has given up on me even as
I have given up on life, if THIS is all I
can achieve, it is not meaningful to
continue in this physical world
In my youth I thought to render service
even as I gathered knowledge - yet -
though reading everything in books and
on the Internet, I still understand
Only a few things and my wisdom - such
as it may be - has never been tested, with
regard to service, I have not rendered any
or very little - I smile continuously - so
Everyone asks why I seem happy - I reply
because I work in paradise - and it is true,
the only thing is that there is no-one to help,
no big challenge, the mental stimulation of
Every translation does not fire my heart,
my soul is untouched, if there is no way in
which I can change my life, only moving on
to become pure consciousness - is left…
-------------
Started French revision while watching
television, why not, at school we did our
homework to radio and later to television
as soon as we got one
Soon the repetitive request to rephrase little
questions to indicate knowledge of gender
and verbs as used in French drove me to
distraction, luckily boredom of evaluation
Of every aspiring dancer made me go on
long past my boredom threshold, tonight
I am surprised to find that I feel empty, it
should have been different, I should be
Happy and proud about all I have done -
yet the question remains - what is the
sense of it all - and the reply makes me
feel dumb - realising that it is all
A mental game in the end, we make it
up as we go, I need to make up a new
world because repeating things over
and over ad infinitum is driving me
To despair….
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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The Romance Of A Book
Reading a book, you're hit by romance,
No matter the subject matter,
You can read and read,
And every book is different,
Some stories are more pleasant than others,
While some are funny, but most are serious,
For the romance of a book,
Is in everyone's heart,
No matter their age or height,
Whether male or female:
It is all relative and I devour,
Each and every book,
I can read the classics,
Or even a heart-warming romance,
I just get through so many books,
I love every storyline,
Not so much the gory parts,
But the cleverness of the fictional detectives,
And those rock stars that roam the stage,
For a book is something that will never age,
No matter how many years on the shelf,
And stories can be shared with everyone else,
Yet everyone has their own views,
And books can be lifting when they're feeling blue,
For people have been reading fiction for centuries,
But, of course, not all books are fictional:
There're the historical books, interesting,
Even if a reader is just passing through,
And we can all learn something from the history books,
And let's not forget the autobiographies:
Many a man and woman fascinating,
Having lead unique lives and having had special loves,
And there is a romance to these people,
For they walked the same earth as everyone else,
Yet brought something strange and special to the world,
Like a scientist making a new discovery,
Or a rock star penning a hit song,
And all these things are which make books belong,
I haven't met anyone yet who finds books boring,
Because books are not boring: they are fascinating,
Unique, special, strange, romantic and enjoyable,
And every reader's dream: like hitting 'play' on a record,
For this is the romance of a book.
poem by Paula Glynn
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History Lessons
Notoriously, history books are warm
and bland.
This one is smaller, neatly compacting
years into large print pages.
Somehow, the near coverless book
reappeared from the long, dim
Nun's library, dug up, specifically for
a reprisal of the 1918 Influenza Revisited.
It was a custom to pass out last editions.
A clear out of the aging history Teacher's
Library section.
An acknowledgement of the past
pressed onto a pupil for a masked honor.
Smells of old lockers, chesty
coughs, and fatigue. So many class
smiles and collective ease.
The book holds the marks of many
boys' notes, hen-pecked bits of scratch paper.
History written within history.
poem by Mary Anderson
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Reading a book is like re-writing it for yourself. You bring to a novel, anything you read, all your experience of the world. You bring your history and you read it in your own terms.
quote by Angela Carter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Hell
You live by the book of wonders,
The book has hell on it when opened.
The inferno carries pits too grilling,
The grills are offered by devils,
Contagious diseases are handed over
To the body and bones, full of hatred.
A hell of books is opened by the librarian,
You choose a simple verb to read,
Then this verb is read, the verb that signals death.
Your death must never come by reading books,
Long scrolls so wonderful,
Of books the world is made
And the reason for books is reading,
Not living in Hell.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Reading Stephen King's book, On Writing, was like being cornered and forced to have a long, drawn out mental enema.
quote by Mary Garden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Book Of Love
In the book of love come of age
When you lose your love, you turn the page
Hey-ho the book of love,
Life is written in your own blood
Say forever and it all sounds fine
When youre holding hands,
With the hands of time
Hey-ho the book of love
Laugh at the dead but tomorrow you cry
Chorus:
My broken hearts from a to z
Dos and donts on bended knees
Change of lovers endlessly
And this book of love is writing me
Chapter 2 you walk away
But in chapter 3 a man made me stay
Hey-ho the book of love
Why dontcha look up
All the games you played
Chorus
Theyll be sweet love in a darkness
But the book of love
Is a story of your loneliness
Finger tipped it on a holy night
And a page is ripped for a name of life
Check the back cause the datell be due
When theyll throw the book of love at you
They are broken hearts from a to z
Dos and donts on bended knees
Disappointed right to be
Celebrate a celebrity
K-i-s-s-i-n-g
Ah stupid cupid set me free
Took a look and whatll I see
This book of love is writing me
This book of love is writing me
This book of love is writing me
This book of love is writing me
song performed by by Cher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black History Month
In January...
There they are making history.
In February...
There they are making history.
In March...
There they are making history.
In April...
There they are making history.
In May...
There they are making history.
In June...
There they are making history.
In July...
There they are making history.
In August...
There they are making history.
In September...
There they are making history.
In October...
There they are making history.
In November...
There they are making history.
In December...
There they are making history.
But...
It's nice to know
The shortest month of the year
Was chosen to celebrate
The great deeds of African-Americans!
However...
It is those LEAP YEARS,
That really have the blacks jumping for joy!
Note: 'Black History Month' along with other
works of interest can be found in...
*'MindPrints from Untouched Places-VOL I'*
~Now available online at a PC near you~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Storyteller's Word
In a decent book, I can lose myself,
For, at least, a good couple of hours.
A well told story, for young or old,
My mind will quite hungrily devour.
I’ve always loved a real page turner:
A story, which, is totally compelling.
Sometimes, there’s a story, true or invented,
Which, simply, deserves, and needs telling.
Sometimes, a person in a book,
To me, can feel like a true friend;
You share their life and adventures,
And feel rather sad, when it all ends.
A story can stir up a mixture of emotions:
I’ve cried tears, and gasped with surprise.
I’ve found myself completely captivated,
As a story unfolds before my very eyes.
A good story, has the ability to transport you,
To different places, and to different times.
You just never know where you may end up,
When you sit and read those immortal lines.
Stories should never be kept locked away:
With others, they should be readily shared.
There is no other past-time, known to man,
With which, reading a book, can quite compare.
Whether a story is based on a person’s life,
Or whether, it has been quite purely invented,
A story can make such an impact upon you,
That, forever, in your memory, it is cemented.
I’ve always adored a really well written story,
Regardless of, by whom, or when, it was written.
Snuggled up, with a book held in your hands,
It is so easy, to become completely smitten.
A story can make you lose all track of time,
When, in a book, you are totally immersed.
I love reading a story, and really drinking it in;
For reading books, I’ve developed a real thirst.
There are many stories, the world over,
Which, are still waiting to be heard.
Nothing on earth, is quite so powerful,
As the power of the storyteller’s word.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Impeccable...
each word is well chosen
it has a history and significance
each syllable is important
to build the empire
of his poem,
majestic now
people keep on reading
amazed and
awed
by the impeccable,
and yet for how long will this majesty
last?
only for once,
and then the reading is over
and no one talks about
the word, and the syllable is not even uttered
only for once and then
gone forever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Aggression
The compilation of aggression is a far-fetched book,
It has bonds of degree, the findings are there inside.
Inside the body and its soap of heaven remains are clear
Over the waters of our own bodies, the corpse is clearly us.
To charm us please accuse and refuse once they appear,
Organs offered by us, we are donors, clearly repair the man;
Once the compilation is a commotion of sorts,
The pedigree of a man is hidden, concealed by him.
To refuse and interfere may bring bad luck,
As this furiously changes as if history has enlarged.
poem by Naveed Akram
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A Kinder Eye
In his widowed years of longing, in his windowed room of light
He lay the oil upon the canvas, brought sweet memory to life
His speckled beard a brush of colour, his spotted hands both grace and speed
I was the boy who came with evening, to sweep his floors and bring his tea
To the world he was the master, his landscapes filled the gallery halls
But now he painted only portraits, unframed upon his private walls
Subjects sitting-walking-laughing in playful flight or soft refrain
A thousand forms and colours, but every face the same
Across the page (across the ages) the moving hand of history bleeds
... for a kinder eye to see us, not as we are, but as we dream
A winters night when I arrived there, he looked so tired and near the end
And as I cleaned his bench and brushes, I wished out loud to be like him
He said that art was only longing, trying to do what cant be done
And though hed signed a thousand paintings, still hed never finished one
As I finished up my sweeping, in his sleep he spoke her name
I looked again at all the portraits, each and every face the same
Not as she was in pain or sorrow, but in timeless beauty seen
As she served his noble dream
Across the page (across the ages) the moving hand of history bleeds
... for a kinder eye to see us, not as we are, but as we dream
song performed by by Level 42
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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TENSION (Revised)
No use reading positive books if I cannot
survive your grumbling complaints about
wonderful events – like visits from family
and friends I see as privileges which are
infringements of your privacy
No escaping suffocation today, you fell
victim to symptomatic fears about the
future while my mind stuck on Station
Worry; a surprise visit depressed, tomorrow
will bring more of the same –
Your unhappiness stifles my anxious
attempts to be sanguine, hopeful and glad,
the world threatens, full of monsters and
hateful events – it should be a fairytale,
even books fail to provide sanctuary
Can’t sleep or fit soft mattress curves,
torture is the floor, nerves charging my
body like high-tension wire: Spiritualists
say I can rise above this but I have a long
way to go before I can age gracefully
I guard my hope, trust and visions of future
and past jealously, even the fraudulent – as
long as composition harmony is supreme…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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An hour or two spent in writing from dictation, another hour or two in reading aloud, a little geography and a little history and a little physics made the day pass busily.
quote by Hudson Stuck
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Page of my History
Some laughs some tears
This is it, its what we feared
We are going our separate ways
Things getting easier by the days
You’re now a page of my history
Many days of adventure and fun
But we both know we aren’t the one
The pain eases so very slow
But it’s for the best and we know it
You’re now a page of my history
The not knowing is the mystery
But us being together is history
We will get over the misery
Even though I miss yee
You’re now a page of my history
We gave it our best shot
But it was a game we lost
Our love is lost but never gone
We will find a place to keep it safe
You’re now a page of my history
poem by Stephanie Mcgrath
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Made For TV Movie
I heard a word from on high
Clear like a light in the sky
It said, "quit blowing each other up"
The voice seemed so crystally clear
Some things are clean in your ear
When only blood fills your cup
Hello
I'm trying to focus, but my eyes deceive me
Focus
I'm witnessing history repeating
It fell like a tear from my eye
Flying machines so up high
Well, there goes the neighborhood
A scene set to singe innocence
Upheave, unhinge, and pit against
Like every made for TV movie should
Hello
I'm trying to focus, but my eyes deceive me
Focus
I'm witnessing history repeating
Focus, Focus
Focus (I can see now)
We are, we know, we see, we think for you
The who, the what, the when, the where, the why
We build your hill, we build you too, we see you
Hello
I'm trying to focus, but my eyes deceive me
Focus
I'm witnessing history repeating
song performed by by Incubus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Academics Are Daft
Wanted to quote striking lines from a book
by someone called Richard D-v-np-rt-Hin-s
who left a teaching position delineating a
social history of drugs then saw no words
of his book may be quoted except by
express permission of the author
With trepidation I copied only part of the
author's name not daring to mention the
book's title for fear of being pursued for
quoting it - a light went up - no wonder
people don't read, worries about copy-
right means we can't do anything
With a text we come across, luckily I bought
this book through a library donation, paid only
half a dollar for it - so there, getting to read it
for next to nothing - I'm glad that most people
detest reading, intellectual snobbery protecting
author's rights makes it inaccessible
Being boring to boot except to a bookworm,
nobody else interested, keeping it exclusive
demanding payment for repeating any word
from it authors make sure nobody interested
in a factual account of cold facts - if they wish
to remain incognito, ignored by the masses
It is fine with me; I may not breathe a word
about this fellow's research and conclusions
he might as well have buried his gift under a
bushel for fear of anyone reading it without
paying exorbitant amounts and that for stuff
that is not entertaining - seems to me
Academics are rather daft - he used to be
a lecturer…
Saturday 19 May 2012
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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How Long
climb on top of all you despise
it's a better view from the lies
two steps behind before I've begun
time stops to tell me all I could have done
and I'll say
how long till the word will be completed
how many times will history repeat it
how long will it take
how long
how long
I want to go
will you show me the way
I'd rather be wrong than be deceived
to thinking that I believe
that I can stand to be here on my own
there's too many questions that we won't ask
in hopes that this too will pass
but how far down do we have to go before we know it
how long till the word will be completed
how many times will history repeat it
how long will it take
how long
how long
I want to go
will you show me the way
how long
how long
how long will it take
how long
how long
how long
I want to go
will you show me the way
how long
how long
how long will it take
how long till the word will be completed
how many times will history repeat it
how long till the words fall to the pages
how many times till all we can say is save us
song performed by by Lifehouse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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