Sages
Sages mark with pens a scribe’s thought,
Masking their mighty thinking and philosophy
And producing scholarship to ruin a devil’s jest.
Scholars are bending the rules
And failing the test of success
For they hasten to their graves
Due to deadly words and deeds.
Their wishes are sounding notes of music,
And the written word has been shown
Always by sages.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Words, Words, Words
We seem to define words so as to use them,
Conquering the speech of another person;
Just to be a speaker is even better for a person
Than to read or write and practise scholarship.
We meet words carefully chosen by them and combine
To form sentences that will be recognised,
Thus the attached meaning is passed on;
Prosperity is the objective, success is marvellous.
Scholars are thinking men, relaxed by books,
They do not only speak, but look at the messages
From the written word, learning godly works,
Escaping blunders, escaping our mockery.
We are with fine words, words capture us,
Your vocabulary depends on your cleverness and intelligence,
So concoct the perfect sentences,
Invent the same language that we speak.
poem by Naveed Akram
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God... Where Are YOU?
Searched for HIM near and far
in temples, mosques, churches and vihars
Browsed Gita, Bible and Quran
peeped into the pages of Vedas and Purans.
Questioned the learned ones, scholars and sages
journeyed in this quest sacred places.
Meditated seeking HIM in lap of the Himalayas
Praying for HIS presence through chanting of mantras.
Sages and savants, answers, could'nt satisfy me
my hunger for HIM, felt, beginning to betray me.
Finding of God particle raised my hope
soon to vanish by another stroke.
Instrumental in forming the Universe, it was revealed
but who made this particle, mystery yet to be unveiled?
Arn't we the God particles in the true sense?
What use this universe without inhabitants?
Eureka! I have found HIM within myself
HE is in everyone, bother to seek within self.
He is in us, in every human being
in good deeds, love, service & pious thinking.
So why search HIM here and there
Universal love marks HIS presence everywhere.
poem by Tribhawan Kaul
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Worried About Work
A fact of worry instils fear in the scholar,
Opening the volumes of worry conquers.
Let scholars love the stars of scholarship,
Justice will prevail from the heavens due to this.
An anxious reply to the jester is not scholarly,
A good student is of the best authority.
A worried look in his eyes suggests his cleverness,
But then evil uproots the warrior, the soldier of sages.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Statues Of Sages
Some statues of sages are requested
For the staying is theirs.
Caught by the realm, we provide a problem
For the stationary sort of creatures.
Sages command me further than me,
They write according to paintings,
Their amusements reveal us as we speak.
Understand the men who accomplish
And their survival is needed by the few.
Reading books of authority
We as statues are also sages.
poem by Naveed Akram
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In the steps of Rumi 83: Watch and pray..
Sages of the east say,
the first cry of the new-born baby
and the last breath of the dying
together make up the divine Name..
in the meantime...
remember, and listen..
sages of the west say,
birds fly, fishes swim, and man prays..
remember what it was
you should be praying for;
listen for the answer...
maybe a sage will pass tomorrow;
maybe you'll be at the window.
Sages like questions;
never enough.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Consolation
O but there is wisdom
In what the sages said;
But stretch that body for a while
And lay down that head
Till I have told the sages
Where man is comforted.
How could passion run so deep
Had I never thought
That the crime of being born
Blackens all our lot?
But where the crime's committed
The crime can be forgot.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Tao's A Verb
eastern sages say
good evil
pleasure pain
all extremes
experience same,
implying thereby
balance is better
than wherever
we happen to be
right now.
a reason
i suppose
one sometimes spots
eastern sages chuckling
poem by Doug Bentley
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Truth
Truthful words are not necessarily beautiful.
Beautiful words are not necessarily truth.
Sages do not argue.
Those who argue are not sages.
Those who have true knowledge
Are different from those with book knowledge.
Those who have book knowledge
Are not wise.
(extracted from Tao Te Ching, chapter 81)
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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A Poet Leaving Athens
Speak not too ill of me, Athenian friends!
Nor ye, Athenian sages, speak too ill!
From others of all tribes am I secure.
I leave your confines: none whom you caress,
Finding me hungry and athirst, shall dip
Into Cephisos the grey bowl to quench
My thirst, or break the horny bread, and scoop
Stiffly around the scanty vase, wherewith
To gather the hard honey at the sides,
And give it me for having heard me sing.
Sages and friends! a better cause remains
For wishing no black sail upon my mast.
'Tis, friends and sages! lest, when other men
Say words a little gentler, ye repent,
Yet be forbidden by stern pride to share
The golden cup of kindness, pushing back
Your seats, and gasping for a draught of scorn.
Alas! shall this too, never lackt before,
Be, when you most would crave it, out of reach?
Thus on the plank, now Neptune is invoked,
I warn you of your peril: I must live,
And ye, O friends, howe'er unwilling, may.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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By Sages
Where are so many of those other pages?
The books are allowed to be written by sages.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Story Of Seven Sages-Prica O Sedam Mudraca
millions of breathings in an anxious breath
seven sages were given
seven drops of waiting
seven drops of hope
seven sages were given
three warm kisses
three gentle touches
seven sages were given
and one though only in endless admiration
Inexpressibility fingers sculptured life
mirijade disanja u tjeskobi daha
sedmorici mudraca neko je dao
sedam kapi čekanja
sedam kapi nadanja
sedmorici mudraca neko je dao
tri topla poljupca
tri meka dodira
sedmorici mudraca neko je dao
i samo jednu misao u beskraju divljenja
sedmorici mudraca neko je da
Život je izvajan prstima Neizrecivosti
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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We survive not on any other resources, but on the expressed taste for music
Marriage getting solemnized
All in appropriate attires
Greetings
Friends in great excitement
Relatives exchanging welfare
And development or otherwise in
Respective families
Photographers, video-graphers
Busy and directing targets for proper posing
Me, alone, present at the request of the
Bridegroom's father
Who, at a distance, was busy
With his traditional rituals
Just fifteen minutes before
He only received me with all enthusiasm
And made have a sumptuous breakfast
I was seated in a select location
With enough air circulation
And was watching everything going on
I was forced into listening to
The instrumental music played live
The traditional manually air-blown instrument
Creates strong sounds of music
Masking all other sounds
And a music-drawn mind
Will not miss to make out the notes being played
Me, having a taste of music,
Was naturally drawn to that
And I was enjoying the same
Failing to note the happenings around
But the musician gives a break and
Allows his percussionist comes out
With a speedy beat to mark the completion of
A particular special traditional event
This helped me to assess the standing of the celebration
Marriage got solemnized
I approached the musician
And told him about those notes
Which I enjoyed very much
And thanked him for a nice presentation
I must indeed thank you,
He said, as
No one really takes note of us, the musicians
At these functions
I only wish your taste for music stay for ever
And let that be made known
We survive not on any other resources
But on the expressed taste for music
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Attention!
Please
do
not
submit
poems
that
include
words like
(f.ck,
a.shole,
p.nis,
v.gina,
b.stard,
s.ck,
s.n o. a b.tch) .
Please
do not use
such letters
as
u.......to complete the f.ck
s......for the a, shole
s
e
a
a
u
f
i
e tcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
Please read all of the formal rules written on this page.
The poems that do not meet these rules will be removed.
l.od and c.ear
c.py & p.aste
what if i write a poem
with some letters missing
wo.ld yu. l.ke t?
we; ; per.onally i like to u.e the wo.d f.ck too
and the v.gina
in some other artful ways
and the p.nes
in some medical means
just a matter of contexting...
poetry, you deals with how we feel
when v.gina meets the p.nis
in some wildlife parks
to create the sparks of life, one of those nice gifts the Great Lord
has given us
and for
f.ee.
well, rules are rules are rules for our peaceful co-existence
but honestly
i have not seen anybody die yet, or being killed by this certain disease
by simply uttering the
word
f.ck.ou
s.it
what i see is the feeling of relief in a democratic state
where one whose chest
or breast is filled with so much oppression and having not means
of satisfying himself
or retaliating from the walls of oppression
the ones inflicted by the
Board of Censors
against his purity of honest expression
when you have no other remedy except to say
F.CK
just to relieve yourself, and then you sit and drink your beer
and lift your feet high against the mighty sun
shielding your face your eyes from such a mighty stare
and
indeed F.ck is the only right word
and you get healed.
i copy. i bow. i am
diminished.
half-beast half-man
are we,
we cannot deny always the other
lurking just behind our backs
ready always for a kill.
half-man, half-best
half-angel, half-devil,
truly i am,
and if this angel has the right to say
praise God in the Highest
let the other one say also what is buried in his
real heart
the f.CK his only right to say
and be himself too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Oh Wordsworth! Wordsworth!
Oh Wordsworth! Wordsworth!
In vain you have scattered thy heavy words
Unanchored by human character, sighing, suffering or thought
They to be scudded by the winds towards
Nothing, but a pile of chaffs and morsels in midfield of naught
But once you did captivate the heart of a lad and lass
When you wrote about the splendor in the grass
Tented with the canopy of the glory of the flower
Since then your prose froze, sank never again to tower
Yet to the above well deserved praise
one small correction I am obliged to raise
This is done without any malice or bad intention
but the fact of truth should not be snaffled its mention
That these soft lines of human treasure
were buried in 'ode' beyond any measure
under the weight of ten stanzas that ware wilt any reader pleasure
Oh Wordsworth if you had just written half less
your message and verse would have so much more grace
Failing to recite your long lines of 'nature' at school
The teacher called me loud and clear ‘You damned fool’
Stone cold at heart she could never feel or tell
How arid, dull to death and ludicrous was ‘Peter bell’
Oh Wordsworth! Wordsworth!
In your rather long and tedious “Excursion”
A quarto that hold several hundreds pages
You have given a sample from the vasty version
Of your “new system” to perplex the sages
I assume that he who understands it would be able
To resolve the confusion at the tower of Babel
Oh Wordsworth! Wordsworth!
In vain you have summoned the earth, sun and creeks
That rush in the maze of forest gloom
Your verse is doused with heavy dunce to be a doom
And never your pen treads with your colleagues peaks
The wording of your prose in human aspect is low
It teaches me the nothingness of things
Word after word line by line about nothing
You gathered winds and storms but never let them see a show
The anticipated climax that never culminated into its conclusion
The converging clouds dissipated leaving the reader struck with illusion
But some dignitary scholars of the world idol you
As the distinguished poet of nature
They teach your philosophy in every college lecture
“He who has mourned and wept to know
The sweet memories of childhood, friendship and love first glow
Once they leave us, we forever live in vexing pain of their shadow”
copy rights 2010
Wisdom Of The Ages
(words & music by giant - baum - kaye)
Listen, to the wisdom of the ages
Listen, to the words of many sages
Live each day, as if it were your last
Its written in the stars, your destiny is cast
And that hourglass, runs too fast no doubt
For the sands of time are running out
Listen, to the wisdom of the ages
These words, can be found in historys pages
Live each day, for happiness cant wait
And love while you may, but heed the hand of fate
If the finger points, its too late no doubt
For the sands of time, are running out
But the man who turns, and escapes somehow
Is the wisest of men
And to such a man, Id bow
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Polyacrostic Palimpsest - What Will Follow?
Notes on Polyacrostic Palimpsests
Acrostic: Verse in which certain letters form a word or message
Polyacrostic: Several acrostics within the same composition;
Acrostics to be found below:
What will follow - external
Name an Acrostic - vertical from middle
Robin Jonathan - double diagonal from middle
Palimpsest: A manuscript on which more than one text is written
with earlier writing, or one level of meaning, partially visible.
Enjoy!
3 versions below:
4 March 2009
6 January 2007
2 January 1992 [Jonathan Wrobel]
What Will Follow?
Who knows what in our future lies ahead,
How will man's banana skin unpeel,
And thus show him what follows on, reveal
Tomorrow's stated story. Living dead,
We wait and ask vain sages why we're led
In ignorance to never-never's wheel.
Life is lost as man sets out, why steal
Little joys in scheming, joys gainsaid:
Fond intention ropes soon ties instead
Of painting scroll whose links naught need conceal.
Let be all fears, shine out as beacon real.
Look forward to trial met book open, read,
Or is all error, nightmares' terrors where
We puppets find chance rules us? Judgements spare!
© Jonathan Robin polyacrostic palimpsest sonnet written 2 January 1992 revised 4 March 2009
What Will Follow?
Who knows what in our future lies ahead,
How will man's banana skin unpeel,
And thus show him what follows on, reveal
Tomorrow's stated story. Living dead,
We wait and ask vain sages why we're led
In ignorance to never-never's wheel.
Life is lost as man sets out, why steal
Little joys in scheming, joys gainsaid
Fate, in waiting, rarely runs, - instead
Our sins turns to our loss without appeal.
Let be all fears, shine out as beacon real.
Look forward to the future, - grow, love, wed -
Or all’s terror, nightmare error where
We soon will see climactic climes none spare…
© Jonathan Robin polyacrostic palimpsest sonnet written 2 January 1992 revised 6 January 2007
What will Follow?
Who knows what in our future lies ahead,
How will man's banana skin unpeel,
And thus show him what follows on, reveal
Tomorrow's stated story, live or dead.
We wait and ask vain sages why we're led
In ignorance to never-never's wheel.
Life is lost as man sets out, why steal
Little joys in scheming, joys when fed
Fulfill our hearts which lay too long abed.
Our selves we should revive, all sloth repeal,
Let be all fears, shine out as beacon real.
Look forward to the future, - grow, love, wed!
Or all is error, 'tis but nightmare where
We soon will see chance rules us without heir!
Jonathan Wrobel polyacrostic palimpsest sonnet © Jonathan Robin written 2 January 1992
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Faith vs. Doubt
Feed your faith and starve your doubt,
Confess the Lord Jesus with your mouth,
Praise His holy name with a shout,
Drive the demons of the devil out.
First and foremost read the word,
Speak it aloud to be sure it’s heard,
Don’t be like Peter starting to cuss & swear,
Tell the world you know Jesus is there.
Doubt is deceitful and doubt is doom,
Doubt is defeated and doubt is gloom,
Faith is victory and faith is success,
Faith is the word and it brings out the best.
Imagine the Colts or Steelers being 0 & 16,
Is it sinking in now, understand what I mean?
How about the New York Yankees at 0 & 162?
What other way can I make it clearer to you?
Faith is not something you buy and exchange,
God wants it permanently stamped on your brain,
D is for the devil that wants you to deny,
Satan is jealous he’s already lost eternal life.
Faith is a trait the devil can no longer possess,
He’s already been given and failed his test,
Satan doesn’t doubt God’s love being true,
This is why he’s trying so hard to defeat you.
He tried to overthrow the Commander In Chief,
Failing miserably Satan wants more to share his grief,
Sadly, too many don’t believe Narrow is the Gate,
And all you need to do is have God given faith.
poem by Luke Easter
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The Final Lesson
The final lesson carried a wealth of knowledge,
The benevolent teacher married the facts to our heads.
Our heads munched on, on and on, like saints,
Even like the muttering of priests engaged in prayer.
We lead and benefit with evenness, electric fighting happens,
The awe in our scripts belongs to the scribes,
To the ancient sages and lively scholars.
Our best wishes go to culprits of best learning,
It benefits, it bruises, it brings goodness and divineness.
The approach is the same, events permeate our lives
As life is adventure, life grows with the agility of the body.
Our minds munch and manufacture, collapsing the heart eventually.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Since in music we deal with notes, not words, with chords, with transitions, with color and expression, the musical meaning always based on those notes as written and nothing else - has to be divined.
quote by Claude Arrau
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Logical Conclusion
When earth's last thesis is copied
From the theses that went before,
When idea from fact has departed
And bare-boned factlets shall bore,
When all joy shall have fled from study
And scholarship reign supreme;
When truth shall 'baaa' on the hill crests
And no one shall dare to dream;
When all the good poems have been buried
With comment annoted in full
And art shall bow down in homage
To scholarship's zinc-plated bull,
When there shall be nothing to research
But the notes of annoted notes,
And Baalam's ass shall inquire
The price of imported oats;
Then no one shall tell him the answer
For each shall know the one fact
That lies in the special ass-ignment
From which he is making his tract.
So the ass shall sigh uninstructed
While each in his separate book
Shall grind for the love of grinding
And only the devil shall look.
Against the 'germanic' system of graduate study and insane specialization in the Inanities.
poem by Ezra Pound
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