Skinwalker
The lurkers of the serpent sun
Subdue the breathing of the forest
In the ornate tousles and shuffles
Of the sifting madness from within
Where loneliness searches for company
Where silence yearned to be stifled
Breathing underwater, shunning hooks
Until the bubbles transpire
Frothing all the famished hunger
But there was no point of vantage
In a point of no return
Pirouetting in a subterfuge
Of self deception, extemporization
I engulf the coruscations
Of the whetting daggers in the atmosphere
Tattling tales of the northern downpour
Hearts glinting of gilded hands
Of compasses and clocks;
Far-fetched
All is far-fetched
Gone with the winds,
Closed and dabbed with the wounds
Feigning resistance
Eating the skins and tourniquets
And desiccation is bliss
Flaming the mires
Unattended by the currents
Of your hydration
Casted, fated
To pretend
Letting go.
poem by Norman Santos
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Related quotes
Hooks
The night procrastinated
Yet I endured
With the resuscitation
Of cigarette smokes
And the rundown of kerosene
Roaring without recoil
And the nurse and cajoles
Of a trusted man
Glinting in gold
The boys resembled
A retired warfare
Craning over a screen
Emitting a child's play
Whilst taking slugs
And smoldering gulps
Of ambrosia.
And I was there too
Capturing their reflection
Of a subtle conspiracy
And riding the hooks
Swaying like pendulums.
The brusque chortles
Reeled a heartless laugh
Of callused vagueness
And I had endured,
But when it subdued
The dusts would settle
At the floors
Of the pits.
An affable kindness
Hooked to cloy
In the meantime,
In between time,
And I let myself
Be taken away
And I feigned vigor
Holding it high
Like breathing underwater
Until I drown
And breakdown.
The hooks slurred
And caught me
Inclining in a wall
In the penumbra
Of a lamppost
Clogging the rupture
Rifted by the hooks
And a dear comrade
Haplessly vied
For me
And my vantage point
But the damage was
There with us
Only halting
When I sojourn my breath
Underwater.
poem by Norman Santos
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Prime Mover
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
Basic elemental
Instinct to survive
Stirs the higher passions
Thrill to be alive
Alternating currents
In a tidewater surge
Rational resistance
To an unwise urge
Anything can happen
From the point of conception
To the moment of truth
At the point of surrender
To the burden of proof
From the point of ignition
To the final drive
The point of the journey
Is not to arrive
Anything can happen
Basic temperamental
Filters on our eyes
Alter our perceptions
Lenses polarize
Alternating currents
Force a show of hands
Rational responses
Force a change of plans
Anything can happen
From a point on the compass
To magnetic north
The point of the needle
Moving back and forth
From the point of entry --
Until the candle is burned
The point of departure
Is not to return
Anything can happen
I set the wheels in motion
Turn up all the machines
Activate the programs
And run behind the scene
I set the clouds in motion
Turn up light and sound
Activate the window
And watch the world go round --
Anything can happen
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Granny
1 Granny's come to our house,
2 And ho! my lawzy-daisy!
3 All the childern round the place
4 Is ist a-runnin' crazy!
5 Fetched a cake fer little Jake,
6 And fetched a pie fer Nanny,
7 And fetched a pear fer all the pack
8 That runs to kiss their Granny!
9 Lucy Ellen's in her lap,
10 And Wade and Silas Walker
11 Both's a-ridin' on her foot,
12 And 'Pollos on the rocker;
13 And Marthy's twins, from Aunt Marinn's,
14 And little Orphant Annie,
15 All's a-eatin' gingerbread
16 And giggle-un at Granny!
17 Tells us all the fairy tales
18 Ever thought er wundered --
19 And 'bundance o' other stories --
20 Bet she knows a hunderd! --
21 Bob's the one fer "Whittington,"
22 And "Golden Locks" fer Fanny!
23 Hear 'em laugh and clap their hands,
24 Listenin' at Granny!
25 "Jack the Giant-Killer" 's good;
26 And "Bean-Stalk" 's another! --
27 So's the one of "Cinderell'"
28 And her old godmother; --
29 That-un's best of all the rest --
30 Bestest one of any, --
31 Where the mices scampers home
32 Like we runs to Granny!
33 Granny's come to our house,
34 Ho! my lawzy-daisy!
35 All the childern round the place
36 Is ist a-runnin' crazy!
37 Fetched a cake fer little Jake,
38 And fetched a pie fer Nanny,
39 And fetched a pear fer all the pack
40 That runs to kiss their Granny!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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A Singing Lesson
Far-fetched and dear-bought, as the proverb rehearses,
Is good, or was held so, for ladies: but nought
In a song can be good if the turn of the verse is
Far-fetched and dear-bought.
As the turn of a wave should it sound, and the thought
Ring smooth, and as light as the spray that disperses
Be the gleam of the words for the garb thereof wrought.
Let the soul in it shine through the sound as it pierces
Men's hearts with possession of music unsought;
For the bounties of song are no jealous god's mercies,
Far-fetched and dear-bought.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Morning Meditation
breathing in,
i take in the pains of hunger,
the ache of loss,
the despair of homelessness.
breathing out,
i exhale oneness, sameness,
and peace.
breathing in,
i take in prejudice, hatred,
fear, and anger,
and the blackness of greed.
breathing out,
i exhale forgiveness,
understanding, and compassion.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Getting To The Point
Its out of control (out of control)
And theres nothing I can do now
Out of control (out of control)
Spinning softly through the blue now
And look beyond these walls
As the meaning starts to dawn
Its getting to the point
Getting to the point.
Its out of control (nothing I can do)
Like a fire that keeps on burning
And nobody knows (what Im going through)
And the thoughts just keep returning
And all you had to say
Was that you were gonna stay
Its getting to the point
Getting to the point.
Chorus:
Its getting to the point
Where nobody can stop it now
Its getting to the point
Of no return
And all that I can do
Is stand and watch it now
Watch it burn, burn, burn
Its getting to the point
Where reasons are forgotten
Its getting to the point
Where no one knows
And all that I can do
Is say Im sorry
But thats the way it goes...
Getting to the point.
Forever
Is a long, long way
Forever
Takes your breath away
Id like to talk about it, try to understand
Its getting to the point
Getting to the point.
Repeat chorus
Its getting to the point (getting to the point)
Getting to the point (getting to the point)
Its getting to the point (getting to the point)
Getting to the point.
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Buddhist Christmas
sitting on the bed
with my old blind dog...
breathing in, breathing out...
breathing in suffering,
all the suffering of the hungry,
the homeless, those in prison....
those ravaged by war....
of the lonely, those filled with despair,
the angry, the fearful, the lost....
breathing in deeply,
wrapping it all in snowlike stillness...
and then breathing out....
breathing out compassion,
total, unconditional, free compassion...
the oneness that feels every feeling,
hurts with every hurt,
prays with every need....
not judging, not holding back,
asking for nothing in return...
just breathing out....
and listening with gratitude
to the heartbeat of my faithful dog...
to the heartbeats of all that live...
lost inside life itself!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Breathing
Outside
Gets inside
Through her skin.
Ive been out before
But this time its much safer in.
Last night in the sky,
Such a bright light.
My radar send me danger
But my instincts tell me to keep
Breathing,
(out, in, out, in, out, in...)
Breathing,
Breathing my mother in,
Breathing my beloved in,
Breathing,
Breathing her nicotine,
Breathing,
Breathing the fall-out in,
Out in, out in, out in, out in.
Weve lost our chance.
Were the first and the last, ooh,
After the blast.
Chips of plutonium
Are twinkling in every lung.
I love my
Beloved, ooh,
All and everywhere,
Only the fools blew it.
You and me
Knew life itself is
Breathing,
(out, in, out, in, out...)
Breathing,
Breathing my mother in,
Breathing my beloved in,
Breathing,
Breathing her nicotine,
Breathing,
Breathing the fall-out in,
Out in, out in, out in, out in,
Out in, out in, out in, out...
(out!)
In point of fact it is possible to tell the
(out!)
Difference between a small nuclear explosion and
A large one by a very simple method. the calling
Card of a nuclear bomb is the blinding flash that
Is far more dazzling than any light on earth--brighter
Even than the sun itself--and it is by the duration
Of this flash that we are able to determine the size
(what are we going to do without? )
Of the weapon. after the flash a fireball can be
Seen to rise, sucking up under it the debris, dust
And living things around the area of the explosion,
And as this ascends, it soon becomes recognisable
As the familiar mushroom cloud. as a demonstration
Of the flash duration test lets try and count the
Number of seconds for the flash emitted by a very
Small bomb; then a more substantial, medium-sized
Bomb; and finally, one of our very powerful,
High-yield bombs
What are we going to do without?
Ooh please!
What are we going to do without?
Let me breathe!
What are we going to do without?
Ooh, quick!
We are all going to die without!
Breathe in deep!
What are we going to die without?
Leave me something to breathe!
We are all going to die without!
Oh, leave me something to breathe!
What are we going to do without?
Oh, god, please leave us something to breathe!
We are all going to die without
Oh, life is--breathing.
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Pretend I Do Not Know You
in darkness
as we tryst upon
cold hearts
rubbing our skins
to warm the night
there is too much
of us in here
in familiarity,
to cure this
loneliness, i,
must pretend
that i do not know
you not to hurt you
as you pretend too
that you have nothing
to do with this
escapade of the
hearts fed up
with love
inhibited.
i like in fact
a kiss without
a name.
it is exciting.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hands On Deck
The tides resurrected
And mangled with the undulation
A salient limn on my vision
Where power engulfs power,
Water condenses water,
Paroxysm crashes paroxysm;
Willowing the bouffant steerage
To descry the eviscerating road
In the ocean's trifling ablution
That sifted the luster of the reflection
In the palm of the sea's moiré
Leaving me astray and demented in the vesper
Of my flustering resolution
This is a peripatetic sailing
In the chagrined tongue of contingency
Shooting sundered quasars blindly
In the raucous rocking of the sea
That debilitates my recalcitrant heart
Rectified like the stones ashore
Excoriated by the constant slathering
Of the frothing waves
Flowing, ebbing, erring, fading
Leaving a malignant sheen
To vex the firm gradients of a feint
To delude the fastidious weather
I brought a compass from Atlantis
To flounder in lubricious skates
In the transverse behest of the callow water,
A compass with a turgid hand
Pointing to the inflected horizon
Shrouding the inclement songs
Of the siren's harangue,
An opposing limn on my ears
Digressing the secret subterfuge
To subsist the slumbering pathos
And to moor the soul to the body
With the ersatz felicity
Of silent screaming breaths
Hands on deck, heart on gallows,
Soul pouncing in the trident tides,
Loneliness sitting in the dark
Preyed and devoured by your loneliness
To survive the ocean hunger,
Bleakly lone in the incarcerating capitulate
Where the soul drown inside the body
As the ship ferry me away
Far from your distant memories
Where are the winds that took me
In the belly of the sea
Gravid with honesty
And enigma?
Where are the intrepid cajoles;
A peremptory invitation
To coddle
The trifling desiccation?
Hands on deck,
Hold tight
In letting go.
poem by Norman Santos
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Anatomy of Rue
The far flung tirade bellowed
into the gray reflection
and the resistance knelt
before its banquet of rue
but sleep was neglected
by the sullen eyes,
and tales were still narrated
into the frosted-glass
fearfully staring daggers
like a hysteric pistol
crying at point blank
knowing well that the only eyes
it can look into are the mirror's
The seasons passed hurriedly
but solace never came with
the showering yellow petals
and the breadth of trepidation
grew like a feral bush of ivies
and its thorns instilled
false-hopes in waiting futilely
for the sound of keys
unlocking my ajar doors
And here, in the decapitation
of my cloud's phantom-musing
I fell into a monastic languor -
limbs falling like yarns
untangled from the web of life
and in the wanton silence
I listened to the veracious absence
of pliant footsteps chasing
the setting of my red cooling star
It gave way for oscillating sequins
of the night to enthuse aeons
to go back to their weaving
of nostalgic poisons and
the monsoon beat like wings
escaping the hunter's net
Obdurately, the bridges held strong
even when the constitutions are burned,
I remember you as who you are
with a stark pang of grandiose
and remembering is no different
than breaking bones just
to prove that you are still alive
And as death sieges my garrison
with myriad auguries sifting through
the spurious altering lights
outside my cellared window,
the casted shadows on my walls
can only bring a cloak of life
into this steel-cold self-incarceration.
poem by Norman Santos
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The Cage
In the waking night
The forests have stopped growing
The shells are listening
The shadows in the pools turn grey
The pearls dissolve in the shadow
And I return to you
Your face is marked upon the clockface,
My hands are beneath your hair
And if the time you mark sets free the birds
And if they fly away towards the forest
The hour will no longer be ours
Ours is the ornate birdcage
The brimming cup of water
The preface to the book
And all the clocks are ticking
All the dark rooms are moving
All the air's nerves are bare.
Once flown
The feathered hour will not return
And I shall have gone away.
poem by David Gascoyne
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Defining The Kind Of Silence He Needs
it is like the silence of an empty room
not keeping anything
not holding
not gripping hands
or gnashing teeth
the windows are not closed
or the doors
to keep a hounding silence
it is a silence with still air
you hear me breathing in
and out
of my nostrils
nothing kept like grudges
nothing hidden like
some disappointments
it is the silence that heals
that gathers strength
the silence of your gratitude
the silence that rests
the silence
of the soul in solitude
the silence of peace
one that looks out
to the grandeur yet to come
one that waits patiently
the silence of
glory
godlike
humane, and seeks to understand
the one that drives
confusion away
like a bird
nesting its eggs for days
on a stable branch
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Is letting go a metaphor?
what is letting go -
letting go of grief?
the serenity of letting go?
(must be a bad metaphor)
losing represents letting go of control
I need to understand this 'letting go'
is it a metaphor for facing the inevitable?
breathing as a metaphor for living
'the practice of pruning wine vines'
is that a metaphor for letting go?
surrender. reaching towards the future
if you'll excuse another bad metaphor...
'the last of the sand is pouring...'
onion metaphors are stripped down to the core
letting go is a metaphor for acceptance
is acceptance a metaphor for failure?
'The freedom of letting go'
that does sound grand
letting go is not for the faint-hearted
my hands and heart are tired from letting go
so many times over
examine why metaphor is not
a substitute for the literal
letting go is
a metaphor
for goodbye
110709
poem by Terri Turrell
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No Point
J. spinks
This aint working out
Its not worth the time I spent on it
When Ive been next to you
Its not the way you want it
And all I wanna do
Is get away and as far away from it
Theres no point cos Im not winning
Theres no point going back to the beginning
Theres no point to keep on waiting
Theres no point in talking it over
Theres no point in getting any closer
If it was up to you
Wed go around in circles forever
Theres nothing left to do
I go around - around in you
Ive tried to see it through
All Ive seen is the stormy weather
Theres no point in still pretending
Theres no point cos this is never ending
Theres no point in keep on trying
Theres no point to carry on lying
Theres no point acting like children
Theres no point cos this time Im gone
Theres no point in talking it over
Theres no point in getting any close
Theres no point in still pretending
Theres no point cos this is never ending
Theres no point in keep on trying
Theres no point to carry on lying
Theres no point in talking it over
Theres no point in getting any closer
Theres no point cos Im not winning
Theres no point going back to the beginning
Theres no point in hesitating
Theres no point tonight
Theres no point at all
song performed by by Outfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Point Of Know Return
I heard the men saying something
The captains tell they pay you well
And they said they need sailing men to
Show the way and leave today
Was it you that said
How long
How long
How long
Was it you that said "How long"
They said the sea turned so dark
That you know it's time to see the sign
And they say the point
Demons guard is an ocean grave for all the brave
Was it you that said
How long
How long
How long
How long to the point of know return
Your father
He said he needs you
Your mother
She said she loves you
Your brothers
They echo the words
"How far to the point of know return"
"Well how long"
Today I found a message floating
In the sea from you to me
You wrote that when you could see it
You cried with fear the point was near
Was it you that said "How long
To the point of Know Return
song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Vantage Point
Dennis Quaid, Matthew Fox, Forest Whitaker, Bruce McGill, Édgar Ramírez
from Vantage Point (2008)
Submitted by anonym
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Peroration at 5: 43 a.m.
the mountains may howl like wild dogs of the desert nights
but wake up, focus, and listen
for in reality they are not but only creations of the fears of your mind
sounds are as deceiving as the limitations of the eye where
the hands skilled in deception can very well deceive the deceiver
of things that you must understand do not attempt to overwork
things settle, mud in water, dust on leaves and furniture
keep on waiting like a monk facing the first morning light
let things simmer, let your tongue savor the breathing of the soul
be the patient receiver, indulge in the luxury of silence,
no one knows perfectly what is right, what is good, what is beautiful
everyone are relatives, as everything is, one point of view to another
one's freedom fighter is another man's terrorist
one woman's lover is another woman's infidel.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I see no point in
I see no point in
Understanding, as
At the end of it all
I am misunderstood
I see no point in
Visualizing
As in that process
I get drowned in dreams and inaction
I see no point in
Loving
As in its demonstration
I am either hurt or in hatred
I see no point in
Accumulating
As what is accumulated
Makes me its accumulation
I see point in
Teaching
As I am a proven failure
In unlearning
I see no point in
Giving
As I take pride in that
And am made arrogant
I see no point in
Becoming (something)
As I nurse the gnawing
That I am not that yet
I see no point in
Braving
As by that I proved
That I feared something
I see no point in
Praying (for something)
As it amounts to telling
That I am a beggar
I see no point in
Suffering
From something
As I prefer to struggle to overcome
I see no point in
Writing
As I will not be there with you
To say why I wrote this
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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The City Clocks
THE City clocks point out the hours
They look like moons on their darkened towers-
And I who was shown my destination
Thrice, but have no sense of location,
Am back again at one or the other
Looming clocks that have changed the figure.
Moments a thousand have hurried over,
And the sought place is as far as ever.
The City clocks point out the hours
They look like moons on their darkened towers;
That Time and Place are a tangled skein
Their mingled strokes say over again.
poem by Padraic Colum
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