A little grammar is most becoming, it becomes a man...
And in case no-one mentioned this to you
on those hot summer afternoons when
you could hear the sound of bat on ball, or
ball on racquet, or foot on football, or
just people enjoying themselves out there
beyond the half-open classroom window –
a little bit of grammar can open your eyes,
open your mind, make you curious…
take for example the word ‘become’..
many centuries ago the ancient Brits
got it from some ‘Germanic’ tribe,
and it meant, to come to a place,
be somewhere, go somewhere…
and later it acquired the sense of something
developing into something else, and
being recognised as that –
‘she’s become a real beauty, hasn’t she? ’
then in the Jane Austeny 18th century years,
they would say ‘what a very becoming
young lady..’ though not to imply she
wasn’t quite a lady yet, oh no…
and the verb had ‘become’
an adjective sometimes (well, OK, a verbal adjective..)
or they’d say ‘How well those clothes become her! ’
meaning, not, she hung them up at night, and
in the morning found herself hanging there inside them…
but meaning decorous, well turned out…
then in the 19th century I guess,
philosophers of the heavy sort (we might assume
they’d reverted to Germanic tones…)
talked about ‘Being and Becoming’,
implying that two things were going on,
a bit like one thing standing still inside
something else which was changing;
or perhaps outside; a bit like God
(whom those philosophers didn’t necessarily
believe in – but it serves…)
God saying ‘I Am - BUT – I am going
to become – Everything! ! … so,
Let There Be Light! ’ and
you know what – there was light…
and there alas, we must leave
our friend ‘becoming’; to become
what it will, or rather, how we use it; but
you must agree, life becomes more interesting,
even you could say, more becoming,
with a touch of grammar even
on a hot day when you’re becoming
a little drowsy, please Miss, can I go
and get a glass of water…?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Related quotes
Them Heavy People
Rolling the ball, rolling the ball, rolling the ball to me.
Rolling the ball, rolling the ball, rolling the ball to me.
They arrived at an inconvenient time.
I was hiding in a room in my mind.
They made me look at myself. I saw it well.
Id shut the people out of my life.
So now I take the opportunities:
Wonderful teachers ready to teach me.
I must work on my mind. for now I realise:
Everyone of us has a heaven inside.
Them heavy people hit me in a soft spot.
Them heavy people help me.
Them heavy people hit me in a soft spot.
Rolling the ball, rolling the ball, rolling the ball to me.
They open doorways that I thought were shut for good.
They read me gurdjieff and jesu.
They build up my body, break me emotionally.
Its nearly killing me, but what a lovely feeling!
I love the whirling of the dervishes.
I love the beauty of rare innocence.
You dont need no crystal ball,
Dont fall for a magic wand.
We humans got it all, we perform the miracles.
Them heavy people hit me in a soft spot.
Them heavy people help me.
Them heavy people hit me in a soft spot.
Rolling the ball, rolling the ball, rolling the ball to me.
Rolling the ball, rolling the ball, rolling the ball to me.
Rolling the ball, rolling the ball...
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Love Is (again?)
this morning, you are talking about love
and how you think it is a feeling that sometimes hurt and make you not
easily forget
how time heals and leaves a scar just the same
how you were stoned one time by an uncaring lover
on your head
and since then no hair grows in there
you start with feelings of tenderness shaped like a very white ball
pure and hanging on some ceiling with a very sensitive string
always ready to fall
and fell
always willing to die
and died
how each thread of suffering, that feeling of finally being junked
have become a cloth, a veil in your face, and how you finally covered
yourself with its blanket and how you walked away
to get over with
such an overwhelming sorrow
others tell you that you have been wrong because love too is
a choice
a selection of this and that, a filling of the blanks like a test of life
a quiz
where you get scored and rated and judged and declared either to be a winner
or a loser
lest you forget, one poet who said, that love is not a noun, but a verb
not even just a silly adjective
or some sort of an adjective to another adjective a decor on your thought
or just an idea to be conceived of
from an accident of love at first sight, the giggle and the crush
for after all
love (again, i must tell you) is a responsibility
the capacity to look at the apple of eden and not eat it
the patience, not just the pleasing or the appetite
the way to obey a commandment: to always want the other to be happy
and put yourself last
in the line of those hungry and thirsty and those who want to find meaning
in the other
the beloved, above all yourself, the lips that want to kiss and refrained
because love is always the drive to be strong
and right and
survive
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One layer was certainly 17th century. The 18th century in him is obvious. There was the 19th century, and a large slice, of course, of the 20th century; and another, curious layer which may possibly have been the 21st.
quote by Clement Attlee
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Your Lonely Heart
(written by natalie cole)
Here you are right by my side
Words cannot express how i feel
Being this close to you
Heaven seems much nearer in your eyes
I wish that i could touch your lonely heart
I can see your face and i start to trembling all inside
Don't know why but it's true
We're so close and yet so far away
Wish that i could touch your lonely heart
Open up and let my light inside
I just wanna be your friend
Let's forget about the tears we've cried
Darling i just wanna love you
Wish that i could touch your lonely heart
Open up and let my light inside
I just wanna be your friend
Let's forget about our foolish pride
Darling i just wanna love you
Wish that i could touch your lonely heart
Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo
Here we are together now
Wanting you but don't know how
Knowing i care for you
Even if we have to start all over again
Wish that i could touch your lonely heart
Open up and let my light inside
I just wanna be your friend
Let's forget about the tears we've cried
Darling i just wanna love you
Wish that i could touch your lonely heart
Open up and let my light inside
I just wanna be your friend
Let's forget about our foolish pride
Darling i just wanna love you
Wish that i could touch your lonely heart
Open up and let my light inside
I just wanna be your friend
Let's forget about the tears we've cried
Darling i just wanna love you
Wish that i could touch your lonely heart
(open up and let my light inside) oh----
(i just wanna be your friend) i just wanna be your friend
(let's forget about the tears we cried)
Ooh, hoo my darling i just wanna love you
Wish that i could touch your lonely heart
(open up and let my light inside) open up, let my light inside
(i just wanna be your friend) i just wanna be your friend
(let's forget about our foolish pride) ooh, hoo my darling i just wanna love you
Wish that i could touch your lonely heart...
song performed by by Natalie Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There Is No Such Thing As A Meaningless Poem
there is no such thing
as a word without meaning
each word has a shadow
it has its own moon
and marsh
each sigh calls for a word
to give it a sound that you can hear
inside your heart
each moan has a memory beside it
warm and
so gentle
each touch is a syllable that you
keep in silence
as a treasure inside your skin
hence there is no such thing
as a poem without meaning at all
there is always a body
a hand
at night there is always a whisper
a love call
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Hurt Ego....
some windows really are kept open
even at midnight
the moon in its fullness has always been
that welcome visitor
that sense of mystery long gone
opening a window has always been considered
a healthy option
and people who pass the street look at you
standing by the window
in openness
you trust that openness being arms that know the value of embrace
can be redeeming
in fact some children who play in the yard
have a way of looking at you as their idol
they clap their hands and dance for you
it happens almost all days of the year
the open window appears like a warm smile on the face of sorrow
not everyone likes it though
there is a crazy old man and he picks a stone and throws it against
your glass window
your window cracks and your smile become a word
with double meaning
what damage must have the old man caused?
you should know, you have too
wisdom still lies with the old
their discipline is still in the stone
that leave a scar
on the shattered glass
the ego, this self.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Eyes Wide Open
Your eyes are wide open, but yet you don’t see
All the love I have inside of me.
Eyes wide open, but you don’t look around
You don’t open your ears, you don’t hear a sound.
Eyes wide open but the beauties that surround you
Do not seem to exist.
Is it that your eyes on you are playing tricks?
Eyes wide open and yet you have a blank stare.
Have you closed off your mind?
Or you just don’t care.
What can I do to remove that haze
So that on my face you can gaze.
If I hold you tenderly in my arms
And kiss those beautiful eyes.
Will they move? Will they cry?
What must I do so that you can see
That our love was meant to be.
They say that you went deep inside yourself
To hide the hurt and pain
But without your love “ I am the same”.
Eyes wide open. Did they just glance at me?
Is it because your heart is finally free?
I see a tear forming in your eyes
Emotions being let out that you tried to hide.
Eyes wide open- now they are mine
I can see your love for the very first time.
poem by Louis Rams
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Artist as verb
Perhaps the world is more grammatical
than grammar: reveals itself, a little coded –
as codes tempt, when grammar hides
under the guise of schoolmaster:
the artist, say, as verb:
as the verb, to be:
luring the mighty subject
beyond all thought, to become
an object we can all enjoy:
the sculptor, deep within his isness,
praying with his chisel
so that Krishna cannot but consent;
entering this stone;
the poet, listening to
the Word behind all words,
charming the spirit of all things
to make all objects sacred in our eyes;
the musician, listening to the silence,
as through his being, pass
worlds of knowledge beyond all words..
we, as heaven’s verb,
watching as subject, object,
make themselves a mirror for each other.
Grammar could be love.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Open Your Life
Do you know what there is
Just behind your wall?
Do you hate what you can't see
On the spinning ball?
Ignorant and wasted
That's what you are
But you could be so much more
Listen to your TV
Believe the words
And you're dumber than before
Try to see the real picture
Train your mind
To read between the lines
Take your level higher
That is your way
Just get up
Start out today
Time seems an endless road
When we are young
It don't need a genius to know that it's wrong
Hey now, hey now
Open your life
Hey now, hey now
Open your life
Rise now, rise now
Feel the new drive
Hey now, hey now
Open your life
Full synthetic anger
That's what you breathe
It's a strategy for all
Telling people stories
And bed time tales
But the real important false
So you grow the wrong seed
Inside your head
To the will of the modern priest
Supervised aggression
Instructed to sleep
That's the devil that you breed
All that we learn
Is just one point of view
Out there in the world
It may not become true
Hey now, hey now
Open your life
Hey now, hey now
Open your life
Rise now, rise now
Feel the new drive
Hey now, hey now
Open your life
Time seems an endless road
When we are young
It don't need a genius to know that it's wrong
Hey now, hey now
Open your life
Hey now, hey now
Open your life
Rise now, rise now
Feel the new drive
Hey now, hey now
Open your life
song performed by by Helloween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Andi
Andi won't dance
Andi won't sing
Andi won't play
She sits in her room, hiding away, hiding away
She hasn't a friend
They think she's a boy, they leave her alone
But what they don't know
Andi has dreams, all of her own
Yea, she wants to be a lady
Can anyone see?
That's she's trapped inside a little boy's body
She's waiting
For the dream of her life
To be a lady
That's all she wants to be
(Chorus)
Andi you're not just anyone
Don't be ashamed
Open the door, don't hide away
Your dreams will awaken
Andi you're not just anyone
Don't take the blame
Though you're scared and all alone
You'll be there someday
Oh Andi, you're old enough to know
Don't ask me why
The leaves they fall down from the trees
But in the spring, they come again
Yes, they come again
Oh Andi, don't be afraid
Oh Andi
Andi can you hear me?
Will you come out on your own?
Oh the voice in the distance
Saying don't be afraid, Andi
I will make you somebody
I will make you a lady
The dream of your life
A lady, is what you will be
(Chorus)
song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lennox
Let us talk about you and i on this love,
For you are the shadows of the things to write about;
And, where will your mind be when the rain drops?
Open bruises and open wound,
And to kick the ball into the net;
But, what else can i say about you?
I am Lennox and i am your past,
For yesterday's lady was you;
And i am now smiling with success as my fiend today.
There is a difference between a hole and a stick,
And you've now taken your own decision on this love;
But for once, i was the ball-boy for you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beg Me
Take one more step and its over
Back up slowly inside
Breathe too loud and Ill kill you
Get down on your knees and beg me
Beg me, beg
Beg me, beg me, beg
Take off all of your clothes
Lie face down on the bed
Move one inch and Ill shoot you
Make like a woman and beg me
Beg me, beg
I said, beg me, beg me, beg
Every night on tv
I see things that should make me blush
Looks like its going to be another open season
Open season on us
Open season, open season on us
Its the first hot day of the summer
Looks like theres gonna be thunder
Ive been sitting here all afternoon
Watching the clouds
You can see the sky from my window
Can feel the wind and smell the rain
And I dont see what difference it makes
If Im a man or a woman
song performed by by Liz Phair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Time Passes
Time is passing while I am waiting
For true life to have some meaning-
Time is passing and I blindly
Count to ten upon my fingers-
Not knowing and not even able to distinguish
What is real from what is not?
One, two, three and the voices inside me won't stop commanding-
Four, five and six-
All I see are snakes within the bleakness and confinement of this room-
Seven, eight, and nine, and even through this dim light I believe I am being watched-
I count aloud to ten upon my fingers and
Time is passing and all that is all that I hear for the moment-
All that I see, I reach out to touch or to open my eyes to see-
Time has passed and everything is silent, without a trace of
Ever being near and once more I count,
Starting at seven, eight and then nine- watching the second hand on the wall clock and
Ten? Ten more hours to be locked inside of this empty, room where
The walls are barren and I am alone with my thoughts-
Time is passing and I would be running away, but there is nowhere to run to, except to
Places inside of my mind and one, two three and all that I see is
The walls of this empty room and a locked door-
I could count from one to a thousand and
Inside of this room I would remain- I could count to one million and
I would die before I even got there- so I count from one to three over and over because
Everything is seemingly easier when I am lost inside the world of my fantasies and
I realize now what is not truly real and threatening shall never harm me and
Time is passing and as I count, I am blissfully losing myself inside the world
I have made here inside of my mind for myself, alone…
This way time may pass even before the sun rises tomorrow, and then-and then?
My life perhaps shall have some meaning-
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Learning
I think I've learned too many things
and I kow it's not over 'til the fat lady sings.
But I think I hear her sound coming 'round.
And I don't like her approaching sound.
You know they say that ignorance is bliss
but learning truths I cannot resist.
Does that make me different?
Does that make me strange?
You bet it does but I can't exchange
all of these things that are living with me.
So just like the tides are a part of the sea
I move along and take it in stride.
It lives with me. It lives inside.
So I keep my mind open and learn more things
and maybe some day when the fat lady sings
I'll be ready for her song.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Secret of Lady!
There, the sun comes
Then exposed,
The lightness of their shy
Room clear, bed done.
Morning!
It's early yet.
But something kept
In soul, in bed.
Half-Moon
becomes a day
She hopes.
Infinite wait.
No sooner ended Light
Is finite, also
few modesty of the Lady!
Are not Afternoons! !
It is Night.
The NOCTURNE!
And more darkness comes down
more creeks and
Ponds!
Taking advantage of the lunar spasms
She is the sleeping night! ! !
Panting, longing!
Became ball of wool!
soft cotton!
And more nigh walk......
you listen in the streets
Sounds Shameless!
sound dewy!
Sound nocturnal lost...
Sounds of the Lady's Secret! ! !
poem by Mirna Morgan
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Outside331’sSleep
Don’t open your eyes yet not until I explain last night I went to bed with Sleep last night I fell for Sleep last night Sleep unclothed me left me naked in a room painted black I couldn’t see Sleep because Sleep was dark too and the room was black and the foreground blended in with the background I couldn’t tell what was far and what was close I became frustrated because Sleep was either hiding inside the room or the room was hiding behind Sleep neither were being fair to my eyes who wanted to play hide and go Sleep I hide inside the room and Sleep seeks I said where are you Sleep I can’t see you my eyes can’t find you Sleep I said I wanted to fall inside you brought me into this black room and I am trying to wrap myself around you won’t you come inside of me you won’t stage scenes in my eyes created with color everything is black one long stretch Sleep are you moving and I can’t see you or are you standing still and I can’t feel you are here Sleep you are silent Sleep I feel alone Sleep I want you to be inside me if you take me to a black room and make me go to bed are your eyes open I can’t see you did you leave is Sleep here Sleep am I inside you explain Sleep explain did you open your eyes Sleep are my eyes open Sleep are you outside me Sleep you took me to bed and left me Sleep I can’t open my eyes until you are back inside me I can’t see Sleep when you’re not inside me open your eyes Sleep do you see me inside you explain last night am I still inside Sleep?
(12-13-07)
poem by Chelsea Trescott
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Gaia Mantra
Open your soul and be surprised,
open your eyes and be energised,
open your mind and be mesmerised,
open your heart and be hypnotised,
by the beauty that is found worldwide,
but also held by the spirit inside.
poem by Dale Mullock
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The Islam of the 18th, 19th and first half of the 20th century was a poor thing. Nobody bothered about it. Islam was that funny sort of pure system of beliefs that depressed people in the Middle East held as their religion.
quote by John Keegan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Sit At My Window
I sit at my window
trying to translate the Kufic script
of the shadows of the trees on the snow,
smoking the invisible ink of the light
over the flame of my mind
to clarify my seeing
by realizing there is no deep or shallow
in the fathomless depths of I am,
nothing hidden, nothing revealed.
And it's not so much that I am in the presence of the world,
but that the presence, the world, is me,
and if I go looking for it,
only my fingerprints will be found
like these violet shadows dusted by the snow
under my multitudinous mugshot in the mirror.
So I open my mind and my eye, my heart and my hand
and let things arise as they will,
knowing that even this is a blunder
that advances my tardy illumination by another eclipse.
This morning blue is the taste of the sky
and I am alive again at my desk
to wonder who or what or why I might be
this wondering spontaneity
circling like a bird in the abyss,
feathered by feeling and thought
for a tree or a meaning to perch in
that hasn't already been struck
by the lightning of my homeless insight.
Indwelling energy in the turmoil of a terrible silence,
I am an ambassador of water to an unknown star
that foils my blood with light the closer I approach
and I don't know what the message is
or who it's from, but every time I deliver it,
my head comes off like the moon.
At some point you have to give up looking
to go on seeing, you must
come to a full stop
if you want to liberate the pen
that indicts you like an assassin
with his ear to the wall.
So I go by night, unheeded and alone,
a constellation of my own
that doesn't read the braille of itself
reflected like direction in the starchart on the lake,
cored like eyes into the dice of my bones,
or mummified by a legend in a straitjacket
interred in the long-standing consensus of a guess,
knowing I would only be following my own footprints
like the shadows of these words
that flow from the trees in the snow.
And there are squirrels that leap from branch to branch
of these arboreal letters like commas
that don't know where they go
and wrens that perch like quotation marks
around things that can never be said
that everyone claims they know
as they call out their name
like the echoless vocabulary
of a febrile grammar in a mad dream
as if their whole life were ingathered into one last scream
that might shatter the mirror of the way things inevitably seem.
I listen to the world and hear in each person and form
the mindstream moving through the night
like the voice of a mystic alphabet
returning to the sea
with news of itself
whispered into its own ear.
And if sometimes the stars think
my seeing goes too far,
my seeking exceeds the bounds of the light,
as it turns planets like doorknobs
to open new rooms in a dark mansion
that stands like an abandoned cornerstone of the night on a hill
waiting for me to return like a lost threshold,
or the faceless side of the moon to a window,
then let me here and now confess to my own denial
and knock on the door of the next false address
to see if I can find who wrote
this loveletter that slashes me open like a smile
and reads me out loud to the stars on the wind
as if I were the last flare from an empty lifeboat.
poem by Patrick White
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Big Brother
Open Up Your Mind And Let Some Thought Inside Open Up Your Mind As They All
Survey 4 Out Of 5 And They All Survey 4 Out Of 5 And They All Survey Open Up
Your Mind And Let Some Thought Inside Open Up Your Mind As They All Survey
And In This Time Of Free Thought It'd Be A Shame To Let It Rot Open Up Your
Mind As They All Survey When You're All Alone You'll Never Wanna Know Open Up
Your Mind As They All Survey 4 Out Of 5 And They All Survey You Gotta Let
Some Thought Inside As They All Survey Caught Between The Parallels Of Life
And Death And Compromises Fill The Hours With New Vices Voices Screaming Time
Is Numb Single File Come And Follow Choosing Futures From Brochures Changing
Channels No Opinion Losing Track Which Way Is Up Use Your Head For What It's
There For Though Not One In The Same Receptive Minds Co-operate Do Not
Dissect The Human Race Make One United Higher Plain And In This Time Of Free
Thought It'd Be A Shame To Let It Rot Open Up Your Mind And Let Some Thought
Inside Use Your Head
song performed by by Mushroomhead from Superbuick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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