Pleasant Spectacle
A courageous and pleasant spectacle is abundant,
The puny sights are tall with a boiling degree of heat.
I see squarely and fairly the real lights, offered by the reality,
Offering me some assistance into the steep cliffs.
A cliff-hanger has brought me here,
Moaning a short way makes it teeny-tiny,
For my end is an obstacle to the future,
The witty and wide are the breathless.
Let this cliff-hanger exit and return to the place
On which I decided my place, the spot of precision,
The precise rectification, a precise meaning,
And not unjust calamity, the opposite of meaning.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Related quotes
A precise art?
That place we were.
How right it seemed then.
The look, the feel of each other.
A precise art?
Flawed by time.
So now sadly out of
Rhyme and communication.
Memories captured
Somewhere in time.
A hidden pain, an unrecognised crime
Of betrayal.
Who's to blame?
This precise art of lovin'
Is never known.
Two minds in synchronicity,
Or in different worlds of relativity?
The ongoing reality of life.
What was that?
Oh just a scientist's thesis on relationships.
A precise art or another fools'
Falling love dart.
poem by Peter Vealey
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I don't want to talk about 'it'!
No thanks.
I don’t want to talk about ‘it’.
‘It’? F*cking ‘it’?
That
tiny,
snivelling
insignificant
mono
syllab ic simile
for something that’s bigger
than a f*cking aircraft hanger?
Your puerile insensitivity
Let me leave you with that thought.
Hanging in the air,
For you to store in your
F*cking aircraft hanger
I do not pretend to start with precise questions. I do not think you can start with anything precise. You have to achieve such precision as you can, as you go along.
quote by Bertrand Russell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A22 God Commands Abraham to Offer Isaac
One day, God tested Abraham.
He called, 'Oh Abraham.'
And he answered, 'Here I'm'
An offering, God asked him.
'At Moriah, there's a mountain.
To its top, you take your son,
And offer him as sacrifice to me.
Let this be my command to thee.'
The next day morning, Abraham loaded,
Onto his donkey logs of firewood;
With two servants and his one son,
He went to the place God-chosen.
He ordered his servants to stay
With donkey, some distance away;
He walked upto the place,
Meant for the sacrifice.
With knife and firewood,
To that spot, Isaac, he led.
On the way, his son enquired,
'Where’s the lamb to be offered? '
'My son, ' so Abraham replied,
'That God will provide.'
When they reached the spot,
An altar Abraham built.
O’er the altar, he loaded,
The firewood carried.
He tied his son and placed
Him on the firewood.
He raised the knife,
To take his son's life;
But an Angel came,
And said, 'Don't hurt him.'
'God knows you honour,
And obey Him forever,
By offering your only son,
Late in your life, who was born.'
The Lord showed a ram
Stuck in a bush to Abraham
Who caught hold of it.
As sacrificial offer, he burnt it.
By Abraham this place was named,
As one meaning, 'God provides'.
As a holy place, it’s now famed
For its sanctity, where God resides!
Again the Lord told,
'Your descendants in the world,
Will be as many as the stars,
And sands in the seashores.'
'You offered me your son,
Despite being your only one;
I'll bless you richly
For your obedience surely.'
poem by Simple Simon
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Stratum Thoughts Timeless Imaging Womanhoods
wow such style pride
in the walk of the character
with fine hat finesse set
at an angle of precision
the boots
the personality
the cloak
she walks a cloud plane
of existence her own
separated several levels
from normality street life
she is no clay cast offering
to gods or a mortal man
she walks on air rarified
passing mind image appealing
women stripped bare projecting
clothes too soon price pealing
passing votive female offering
stretching out naked emotive offering
pleasure timeless sensual offering
all manner of embraces
time of interlocked limbs
time of timeless couplings
into past shadows sinking
into places sweet sweat embracing
into perpetual life releasing
next to placement nude like an offering
time cast in an embrace producing
Earth Mother Mother Goddess enduring
meaning merges into meaning lines merging
meaning is implied
offered accepted
at viewers will rejected
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Parenthood [ I never knew a Father ]
Parenthhood!
I never knew a father
He did the did
And went to sleep
On my mother's laps
He left me to sink
If not fate I would
Be gone in oblivion
.
Hollywood, can you
Still make a character?
Today, my father is
Such poor character
His life is suspended
In a cliff hanger
And I can't make
It any better.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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Exposed on the cliffs of the heart
Exposed on the cliffs of the heart. Look, how tiny down there,
look: the last village of words and, higher,
(but how tiny) still one last
farmhouse of feeling. Can you see it?
Exposed on the cliffs of the heart. Stoneground
under your hands. Even here, though,
something can bloom; on a silent cliff-edge
an unknowing plant blooms, singing, into the air.
But the one who knows? Ah, he began to know
and is quiet now, exposed on the cliffs of the heart.
While, with their full awareness,
many sure-footed mountain animals pass
or linger. And the great sheltered birds flies, slowly
circling, around the peak's pure denial. - But
without a shelter, here on the cliffs of the heart...
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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Two To The Power Of Love
(duet with cliff richards)
Janet: I know we just met, but I feel like Ive known you before
Cliff: but something about you my heart has been searching
Janet: I dont understand it, its over my head
Cliff: so dont try to solve it, just feel it instead. ooh
Chorus:
It isnt really such a mystery
Anyway you add it up it turns out to be
Attraction automatic, a simple mathematics
Two to the power of love
Janet: I look in your eyes and everything falls into place
Cliff: you dont have to say it, its written all over your face
Janet: by my calculation, Im falling for you
Cliff: its a perfect equation
Janet and cliff: and I know that its true
Repeat chorus
Janet and cliff:
Its complicated, but its easy to see
A combination that was meant to be
Its something you can count on
Repeat chorus
It isnt really just a shot in the dark
Somebody mustve worked it out on the chart
Attraction automatic, a simple mathematics
Two to the power of love
song performed by by Janet Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A precise woman
A precise woman, something of a control freak
with hair cropped short, reminds me
of the military
brings order to my life and thoughts
while she arranges everything
putting shining shoes in their place,
panties, pantyhose, brassieres shelved
in neat rows
in a easy accessible way
and even when we make love
her behaviour is predictable
from the removing of her stockings,
where she folds them,
the look in her eyes
and her whimpers and cries
and yet somehow
there is something sweet in the loving,
in the order that she brings.
[Reference: A Precise Woman by Yehuda Amichai.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Apparitions
BECAUSE there is safety in derision
I talked about an apparition,
I took no trouble to convince,
Or seem plausible to a man of sense.
Distrustful of thar popular eye
Whether it be bold or sly.
Fifteen apparitions have I seen;
The worst a coat upon a coat-hanger.
I have found nothing half so good
As my long-planned half solitude,
Where I can sit up half the night
With some friend that has the wit
Not to allow his looks to tell
When I am unintelligible.
Fifteen apparitions have I seen;
The worst a coat upon a coat-hanger.
When a man grows old his joy
Grows more deep day after day,
His empty heart is full at length,
But he has need of all that strength
Because of the increasing Night
That opens her mystery and fright.
Fifteen apparitions have I seen;
The worst a coat upon a coat-hanger.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Cloud Of Meaning Over My Head
There is always a cloud of meaning over my head, I know
But I always look down on the ground
Never look up in the sky as my head is stuck with heat of life under my feet running into the shoes of tomorrow
I don't know how I can construct meaning out of dust in the heat
But I know meaning is over my head staring down at me
Absurdity is not meaning but life itself is meaning
Words on Conceptual Poetry
no points in making a bridge of connected reality.what is art? A for articiality/authenticity.R for reality/repitation.T for time/truth.this is what art is about.
art of reality and art of proff/witness is atr of conceptual poetics.
proof makes meaning, not meaning making system.
reality makes conceptual poetry, not concept.
Live In A Hiding Place
There are times that I should try,
To be so much more alive
But if time was right then I would be with you again
Or do you worry that I try to avoid the point
And then deny
The time I spent deciding it was you again
It's when I live in a hiding place
It's the only way I feel safe
When I'm safe in a hiding place
(That's not hidden now)
I'm safe in a hiding place
It's the only way I feel safe
When I'm safe in a hiding place
And you're full of facts
But not things that could add up to words
Think about meaning more as an after word
As in afterward
I return but don't remain,
I'm impatient for a reason
To complain about winter,
Making me see through again
Or is it your damaged reply,
That makes me realize that
The more I try
The less that plans will help me comprehend again
So I live in a hiding place
It's the only way I feel safe
When I'm safe in a hiding place
(That's not hidden now)
I'm safe in a hiding place
It's the only way I feel safe
When I live in a hiding place
And you're full of facts
But not things that could add up to words
You think about meaning more as an after word
And you're full of facts
But not things that could add up to words
You think about meaning more as an after word
As in afterward
song performed by by Idlewild
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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when I met Sir Cliff
When I Met Sir Cliff
I once met Cliff Richard at a newsagent he bought a conservative paper
which, makes sense since he is loaded? Cliff smiled to everyone in the shop,
I did not, can’t see why I should smile buying a newspaper.
That is the difference between us except he can sing bland songs that are
pleasing to the ear and has got hair. We spoke he was pleased to have
someone to talk to who wasn’t an adoring fan. We drank wine, too much
and I walked him home, he lived nearby. He had forgotten his keys to
the gate, but jauntily jumped over the wall. And that was the last I saw of
Cliff, a slim bum disappearing behind a wall
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Mouse and the Grouse
The teeny, tiny mouse said to the finely feathered grouse
“I’d like to come and visit you in your lofty, lovely house.”
The finely feathered grouse smiled at the teeny, tiny mouse
And said, “You can’t since I'm saving it for my future spouse.”
The sad teeny, tiny mouse said, as tears started to douse,
“I’m lonely and just wanted to say hello, finely feathered grouse.”
Well, the finely feathered grouse with his lofty, lovely house
Was lonely too since he hadn’t yet found his future spouse.
But how could a mouse so teeny, tiny and a grouse so fine of feather
Ever visit each other and have a talk together?
They had nothing in common and their lives had different starts.
Although one thing was the same; they both had hurting hearts.
No one had ever visited the finely feathered grouse
And he did like friendly words uttered by the teeny, tiny mouse.
As mister mouse gazed aloft, sir grouse returned that smile
And suddenly blurted out, “Come on up and we’ll chat for awhile.”
Overjoyed, the teeny, tiny mouse jumped, but just bumped the tree.
Then tears wet ears to tail as teeny tiny moaned mournfully,
“You can fly free through the air, but alas, I’m earthbound.
There’s no hope since you live in a tree, but my house is on the ground.”
Suddenly, a star from the heavens flashed an idea for these two.
Perhaps they could visit together if both tried something new.
The finely feathered grouse left his lofty, lovely house
And eagerly landed in a bush near the star struck tiny mouse.
In one hop teeny, tiny leapt toward the bush, and I’ve heard tell
That the friendship of grouse and mouse has been doing very well.
(Illustrated book available direct from author)
poem by Gregory Huyette
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A Junction Of Fate
My ending begins here,
I never believed I could be this free,
Fled the immediate sorrows of a young graduate,
Still can't find a better explanation,
of what my passed fate could have been.
Talking from an in depth,
Now with a clearer sight of hope,
I'm just wanting to believe, that I'm the luckiest human
What is actually the price behind all this,
I tell you, never forget the beholder of your joy.
My real appreciation, lies on many hands,
This is why I've being stripped of sadness,
Believe it or not, it has all been replaced with a bunch of joy,
Their thoughtfulness, has led me to a place of no return,
A better place of no return to be precise.
Speechless, is still a word that won't express it all,
when I look back at my past, I feel fulfilled,
That my past of past, has been left crawling in the past,
And now I'm proud to say something that I know everybody has not said,
you are a part of my good fate and unlimited joy,
That's why I'm proud to say this all, and finally say a big thank you....
Your Struggles And My Own
we climb this cliff
and up there let us see
what is best for us
you think about something else
like jumping off
while i stay and ponder
about the meaning of the
climbing the significance
of cliffs
if you jump off and you
think you fly away like a bird
just like that
that is your choice
if i remain here like
a stone or a vine or a worm
and think that there is something here
worth the stay
that is my choice too
oh, you fly away like a bird
and i am left
with all the guilt you are leaving me
how can you be so
treacherous and so unkind?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Film fixes a precise visual image in the viewer's head. In fiction, you just hope you're precise enough to convey the intended effect.
quote by Jeff Vandermeer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Tryst Of Light And The Cliff
when the sun is
up the hills
and light is strong
and hot
the tryst with
the cliff begins
surging light
piercing through
a slit in the cliff
vibrating the
tiny bodies of the
sands of
desire
the moment
is enduring
but not that
ecstatic
like us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Offerings Moving Time Cast
the character with the hat set
at an angle of cute precision
the boots the personality the cloak
juxtaposition next to female nude
like an offering moving time cast
a couple form in an embrace her back
Picasso brushstrokes meaning is implied
offered accepted at viewers discernment will
nude dances eyes appeal to listening hearts
poem by Terence George Craddock
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