There's the world by Mercy created
That thunders through the rain
To turn the houses into little dots of existence
That eat their own pictures within a space
The dropp is a vague silence
The space of a place all soaking wet
Washed in the rhythm
Within the word of wounds
Each whisper in Mercy remembers
Its soul's dwelling in blood
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Related quotes
Words fed at the end of lines
Silence of peace live
At which laughs
At which down the waters
Heavens monada
Light love of life
Space draws hinted at
An eye depicted faced
Wisdom sight words
Song touch paths
The rhythm heartbeat drop
Voicing tenderly Thou
Eternal word
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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339
you are telling me about a stone
who refuses to admit anyone simply
because it has no door, no room and no space
for someone like you,
you who does not even know what knowing someone
really means. you ask the stone for a space and it says no
and you tell the stone that it has a space
where the leaf and a dropp of water live
the stone says no, and you insist because of the state you are in
you are dying and you need a place
perhaps a burial space where you may finally lay yourself
to rest, but the stone still says no, telling you that it has
no feelings that for centuries it has always been its nature
stony, stony silence, stony stares, unfeeling, that in its
house of stone, there exists no word for sympathy
that it is simply living up to the demands of its true nature
its tradition, and you finally understand, yet somehow you
tell the stone about what it does not know
inside it there is this leaf with dew, there is dropp of water
coming from the rain, that until now it has not fully known,
that inside its stony silence, there is still this song
that it has a heart that it keeps denying.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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About A Stone Without A Door
you are telling me about a stone
who refuses to admit anyone simply
because it has no door, no room and no space
for someone like you,
you who does not even know what knowing someone
really means. you ask the stone for a space and it says no
and you tell the stone that it has a space
where the leaf and a dropp of water live
the stone says no, and you insist because of the state you are in
you are dying and you need a place
perhaps a burial space where you may finally lay yourself
to rest, but the stone still says no, telling you that it has
no feelings that for centuries it has always been its nature
stony, stony silence, stony stares, unfeeling, that in its
house of stone, there exists no word for sympathy
that it is simply living up to the demands of its true nature
its tradition, and you finally understand, yet somehow you
tell the stone about what it does not know
inside it there is this leaf with dew, there is dropp of water
coming from the rain, that until now it has not fully known,
that inside its stony silence, there is still this song
that it has a heart that it keeps denying.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Sky is an Immortal Tent Built by the Sons of Los (from
The sky is an immortal tent built by the Sons of Los:
And every space that a man views around his dwelling-place
Standing on his own roof or in his garden on a mount
Of twenty-five cubits in height, such space is his universe:
And on its verge the sun rises and sets, the clouds bow
To meet the flat earth and the sea in such an order'd space:
The starry heavens reach no further, but here bend and set
On all sides, and the two Poles turn on their valves of gold:
And if he moves his dwelling-place, his heavens also move
Where'er he goes, and all his neighbourhood bewail his loss.
Such are the spaces called Earth and such its dimension.
As to that false appearance which appears to the reasoner
As of a globe rolling through voidness, it is a delusion of Ulro.
The microscope knows not of this nor the telescope: they alter
The ratio of the spectator's organs, but leave objects untouch'd.
For every space larger than a red globule of Man's blood
Is visionary, and is created by the Hammer of Los;
And every space smaller than a globule of Man's blood opens
Into Eternity of which this vegetable Earth is but a shadow.
The red globule is the unwearied sun by Los created
To measure time and space to mortal men every morning.
poem by William Blake
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Milton: The Sky is an Immortal Tent Built by the Sons of Los
The sky is an immortal tent built by the Sons of Los:
And every space that a man views around his dwelling-place
Standing on his own roof or in his garden on a mount
Of twenty-five cubits in height, such space is his universe:
And on its verge the sun rises and sets, the clouds bow
To meet the flat earth and the sea in such an order'd space:
The starry heavens reach no further, but here bend and set
On all sides, and the two Poles turn on their valves of gold:
And if he moves his dwelling-place, his heavens also move
Where'er he goes, and all his neighbourhood bewail his loss.
Such are the spaces called Earth and such its dimension.
As to that false appearance which appears to the reasoner
As of a globe rolling through voidness, it is a delusion of Ulro.
The microscope knows not of this nor the telescope: they alter
The ratio of the spectator's organs, but leave objects untouch'd.
For every space larger than a red globule of Man's blood
Is visionary, and is created by the Hammer of Los;
And every space smaller than a globule of Man's blood opens
Into Eternity of which this vegetable Earth is but a shadow.
The red globule is the unwearied sun by Los created
To measure time and space to mortal men every morning
poem by William Blake
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Exe
there were pictures on the faces
pictures words clear on faces vague
they let them let hang like birds wet
pinned on the wire to dry they hanged them
each edge bridge thought
the water was a suicidal thing
but it was the what they hanged
already dead drip dropp dripping
crossing cursed scar scanned x rayed
through evil hands of time
into a sound beautiful caress
hugged and kissed comforted alive
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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NG didn't know
something beautiful
how to say it
or at least to lie
never knew how
so silence NG took
angelic winged space
no one ever looked
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Calendar Day 23/Kalendar dan 23.
…that is the way a rainy day opens.
Like a dropp of rain at the edge of a split atom anticipating the parameter of light-that is the way a rainy day opens. The light on the wind, the step on the water, a water desert dropp and a voice at the bottom of the drizzle, the silence of the boughs rising into the sky to be a cloudy treetop. An axiom of the word within a dropp unuttered by words strengthened for creation. Stripped free from everything, liberated from the word itself and its understanding, the muteness of a dry soul burying the axes of war under an oak tree. To think the water desert into a vacant space.
Календар Дан 23.
...тако се отвара кишни дан.
Као када кишна кап на ивици атома ишчекује параметар свјетла-тако се отвара кишни дан. Свјетло на вјетру, корак на води, водене пустиње кап и глас у дну ромињања, ћутање грања што у небо израста да крошња од облака буде. Аксиом ријечи у капи неизговорене ријечју оснажене на стварање. Слободно од свега и од ријечи саме поимања њеног, нијемост суве душе што сјекире ратне под храстом покопала је. Да у празан простор водену пустињу мни.
©Мирослава Одаловић
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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An Echo Of A Why
growing wild through the mountain space
we should beware an earthquake of a word
as it's being killed by ether
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Dream vision reality
Dream vision reality
Don't leave me as yet
In this broken space
Where to say a thing
Is merely a gift of time
Never to return
Сањај визију стварности
Не напуштај ме још
У овом простору сломљеном
Гдје речи било шта
Тек дар хе времена
Да се никад не врати
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The Room/Soba
The room the dropp of space
Inhabited by the dwelling mistrust
A grain four dimensioned pushed
Into time as if pushed into an hour
That tick tock possessed by
The sound of its own rhythm
Crosses the limits into an endless over itself
It wants eternity immortality
The root of each a-prefix
Obliteration of oppositions
Endlessly sharpened into the hints
Of each existence where there exists
Endlessly crossed
The room cannot be corners overstepping
It's got its depth the magic power of the center
Matrix of a metropolis cube
Its own soul crying for a mother
The room the mythrix of the outcast of delivery
Evenly creates the sharp lines of writtenness
Within its own creation
Without a single dropp of fear
Of closed space
Soba
Soba kap prostora u koji ulazi nepovjerenje stanovanja
Četvrtom dimenzijom survan grumen u vrijeme
Ko u sat što tik tak ophrvan opsjednut
Zvukom sopstvenog ritma opkoračuje granice
Teži u beskraj preko samog sebe
Hoće vječnost besmrtnost hoće korijen svakog a-prefiksa
Ukidanje suprotnosti neizmjerno izoštrenih
U obrise svakog postojanja
Kojim se postoji raspeto do iznemoglosti
Soba ne može biti premošćivanje uglova
Ona ima dubinu magičnu moć centra
Matrix kocke metropolu sopstvene duše
Što za majkom jauče
Soba je 'mitriks' na kojoj odrod radjanja
Ujednačeno tvori oštre linije iscrtanosti
U sopstvenom tvorenju bez kapi straha
Od zatvorenog prostora
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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I’ll leave the breathings below the horizon (Nafaka)
Let them be a border of life
The sky is an encircled space
Ocasionally opening the cages of existence
For a hungry restlessness
To run away
I’ll leave the words cut
within the circles of waiting
To be a heritage of life
Like a thunder made of silence
I’ll be burned by passion
Shut the gates of sense
Open the gates of love
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The Dark Side of the Coin
“‘Space, the bound of a solid’: Silence, then, the form of a melody.” - Alice Meynell
I surrender Myself to the dark.
Disappearing in the consummate blackness,
I send up a non-thought to Absolute Silence,
All spaces and the in-between –
To unfathomable frontiers.
I fall down on my knees before the
Celestial sculptors of Reality:
Space, Silence and the in-between;
Their punctuation of Experience
Makes a dwelling place for Dreams
Just as Silence composes a symphony,
Shapes the course of its melody –
Praise nihility!
poem by Danielle Moffat
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The Dark Side of the Coin
“‘Space, the bound of a solid’: Silence, then, the form of a melody.” - Alice Meynell
I surrender Myself to the dark.
Disappearing in the consummate blackness,
I send up a non-thought to Absolute Silence,
All spaces and the in-between –
To unfathomable frontiers.
I fall down on my knees before the
Celestial sculptors of Reality:
Space, Silence and the in-between;
Their punctuation of Experience
Makes a dwelling place for Dreams
Just as Silence composes a symphony,
Shapes the course of its melody –
Praise nihility!
poem by Danielle Moffat
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Primal Death
Space
Time
Space
Travel
Raining
Ai ming
Space
Time
Space
Expanding
Un iting
Increasing
Space
Time
Space
Sweeping
Restraining
Stretching
Space
Time
Space
Wrestling
Throwing
Throwi ng up
Space
Time
Space
Falling
Sinkin g
Overturning
Space
Time
Space
Whi rling
Space
Time
Space
Disturbing
Space
Time
Space
Whirring
Space
Ti me Space
Erring at
Nothing
poem by August Stramm
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The walking thunder my brother/Grom koji hoda moj brat
The walking thunder my brother
He breathes whatever the fire can se
Foretells his own flame
The walking thunder my brother
An echo of a bigiining thunders across the mountains
To stop the silence of the world
The walking thunder my brother
He lets the rains go down
For a dropp of life to fall
Grom koji hoda moj brat
Diše sve što vatra vidi
Sopstveni proriče plamen
Grom koji hoda riječ
Prolomi planinom eho početka
Ćutanje svijeta da stane
Grom koji hoda moj dan
Kiše pušta u pad
Kaplja života da kane
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Our stars have trodden all the milk paths
our stars have trodden all the milk paths
spilled like dust for the souls to split
heaven and earth and the hell in stones cast
learn every single pebble in its aftermaths
murmuring through the galaxy that fails
at first whispers stricken by the lip crack - its holes
breathing stardust sucked in the mouth - its halls
mastering the silence and all its ways
still there we stood
still there we could
talk to the trees and survive uncut
by the grass swords wet with a dropp of dew
shivering an early blood
in a nightly touch handful of the blue
they rained they crashed they touched the soil
chained in the castles talking through the walls
settled in our bodies spirit sealed forgiven
the first day of silence the first evil word
just begging for some more time to be given
a silent prayer heavenward heard
to hold a star in the first of its falls
now we wait and wait and weigh the day
when the sky parchment silently unrolls
to gather above all the silent cries
to gather the dust and its silent calls
so that we can
that we can again
talk to the trees and still be uncut
by the grass swords wet in a dropp of dew
shivering an early blood
in a nightly touch handful of the blue
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Hounds of hurts and sounds of silence
Blind blood bound in blasts and bursts
Hundred a hound hunts in hidden hurts
The lip bloom slips the snow's slope embedded
Wept in white whispers time wound and wedded
A hello to hollows is holiness still heard
Beating in the blasts burning in the blood
Shimmering ashes by silent shores ensured
Foes to frightful fight of feverish floods
Ashes wash the wounds wipe away the weeds
By a sky-lark melody down the lily lakes
The sweetest singing in silence sewed seeds
A sewer-seer's secret this melody makes
2010.
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Carry me
the whirl spinned leaf
the sandclocked glass
the short breath brief
and the rhythm blast
the stormed healed tongue
the winged splash of a bird
the song heard unsung
and the word whispered unheard
the passion burned unforgotten
the beauty spoken miracle touch
give it all to 'the only begotten'
Son of Earth you gave me too much
Copyright circle Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The Memory of Water (for Scarlet)
Water remembers you
falling now on your sleeping face
waking you from dreams
with its surprise
after you fell asleep
at your first pinic.
Water remembers your childish
laughter.
Water remembers you
holding your body
in its body
as you learn not to fear it
as you learn the words float...sink...swim.
Water remembers you
becoming its friend.
Water remembers you
diving into its honeymoon waters
becoming fishes....kisses
lasting from here to eternity.
Water remembers two
delerious skinnydippers.
Water remembers you
crying in its rain
sobbing 'I'll never fall in love again! '
as if you were an old 1950's tune.
Water remembers such tears
hiding them in its rain.
Water remembers you
laughing in the rain
having fallen in love again
so quick to change
your tune.
Water remembers you
laughing here we go again.
Water remembers you
soaking wet in a sudden thunder storm
flowers held in your hand
having lost their heads
presenting her
with nothing but stalks.
Water remembers you
having to wear her old dress
as she dried your clothes.
Water remembers
kisses lost amonst the roar of a fire.
Water remembers you
& is saddened to find you
with no answers
with no questions
here on this bridge
reflecting itself
here in its depths
where only silence lives
holding you
as before
only water
remembers your death.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
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