Stillness
Stillness
This room, dirty windows and
pale squares
were pictures hung,
has no furniture,
dust on floorboards
dance to a tune unheard by man;
the beauty here is that of
eternal nothingness,
the essence of happiness is less,
yet many fill their
space with futile objects
because they can’t bear
the intrusive silence of bareness.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Related quotes
Heartsong, heart's dance
In silence, every song that’s sung
is as a wheatgrain in the hand;
known in wonder, love and awe;
its essence more than human sound;
in stillness, every joyful dance
is summed as if in perfect prayer;
though every muscle yearns to praise,
unmoving; more than mind in air;
silence sings and stillness dances
in the freedom of the heart;
self, content to be the watcher;
loving each and every part.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Silence Is...
Silence is an absence
Silence is profound
Silence is a conversation
Being had without sound
Silence is an expression
One that cannot be heard
Silence cannot be spoken
Although it is a word
Silence is a presence
Of great nothingness
Silence can be something
And yet cease to exist
Silence can fill a room
And have no mass at all
Silence cannot be dropped, yet it can fall
Silence is a mystery
That will forever go unsolved
Silence is how every sound can swiftly be dissolved
Silence is the sound of rest
The only sound that can sound best
While other sounds can cause great pain
Silence is not the sound to blame
For Silence is what silence is
Something that is nothing
Nothing that exists
poem by Kyle.J Carruthers
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Dance, Dance Everywhere!
Dance, Dance Dance
everywhere,
When I look at the sky,
I see the clouds dance
Into steps of winds
My heart dance when I watch clouds dance!
How it can make me dance?
Without any tune or beats,
Its own beats me my heart dance.
Some strange tune it sings in silence and dance!
When I see at shore of ocean waves that dance,
Some birds in sky fly and dance,
On the waves boats that to the tune of waves, dance,
My mind sing lyricless
music to which it dance!
When I walk along the beach,
The headless crown of palm trees with wide open hands dance,
Watching them dance trees start their dance!
When I on countryside, green paddy fields dance,
Looking at them, the bird on the branch dance!
When walk along, trees with fruits dance,
And to its own rustling music, leaves dance!
When I walk in the park,
Plants with flowers dance!
Looking at the graceful dance flowerless dance,
When I move on street, hope and hap dance,
Seeing at them even hopeless an hapless to dance!
Smile on faces with hope dance,
Wrinkles on the forehead of hapless dance!
When I look at people in them mind dance,
In some happiness dance,
In some sorrowfulness dance,
Some I found with desperation dance
In some their laziness dance,
In some saintliness dance,
Most of the time wickedness dance,
And in some other dreams that dance!
Success that dance with some,
Distress that in unsuccessful dance,
In some hearts mercy that dance
Together with love and kindness dance!
Some where cookedness dance,
And some where innocence dance,
In every nation either hunger dance,
Or in people's mind anger that dance,
Either corruption in corrupt mind dance,
Or those systems on the heart of people dance!
Dance, dance, dance everywhere,
It is time for my soulful dance,
If you see somewhere some other type of dance
Just sing it dance
and let no other see the pain in your heart dance
Hide it with that unfailable lips on which smile may dance
Dance, Dance, dance,
Tune your steps with eternal dance!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Sigh Of The Returnee
it is not the fullness that
overflows
it is the emptiness
of the house when you arrive
when the door that feigns the abundance within the room
finally surrenders
to the brokenness of the hinges
it is the fullness that spreads
too quickly like an ink of the squid
from the previous paths
of its escapades
from the threats of the predating ell
it is the silence that fills
the nothingness that sings
the unmoving furniture dressed in dust
the tempura that is left uneaten
and now
filled with
molds.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Discover ‘SILENCE ‘
I discovered a stunning stillness,
‘SILENCE’ a musical wave,
My thoughts dint appear beautiful than this time,
I felt, I regained my inner dead Emotions,
And now ponder more on …Silence’s Beauty...
Silence is a mystery,
And a magical union,
Silence is of soul and heart,
And mind’s internal peace,
Silence unite love with all creations,
And form attachment with all disclosed hearts.
Silence belongs to everyone,
It is beyond word ‘SILENCE’….
It inculcates an extreme essence to fasten together,
And embody a true peace and love within and around.
Silence is present every moment...
And it alerts you to open yourself towards life.
Silence is present every moment...
Within the stillness of nights and peace of early mornings
Silence is present every moment…
To intimate its appearance in all worldly needs.
poem by Richa Dhodi
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Satisfaction is the Key of Happiness
Entire space, not only every atoms,
Space look throbbed with life,
The nature dance with joy,
The presence Of eternal her beloved Self,
Fill her heart with strange music,
Self is like that Grand space,
The stage on which nature take form,
Play eternal drama with colourful
Infinite role,
Just like seven basic colours make billions of shade,
Self, nature with five elements,
Bring forth the dancing billions of billions forms,
Where is the pause,
Where is the end,
When river of life can pause,
Illusion remains as illusion,
only blessed souls no there is no wayout from this labyrinth,
Only way out is resting in Self,
Resting desireless, knowing falsity of eternal drama,
Resting as a witness to nothingness in action as everything,
Or everything is that grand nothing everfree of life!
Happiness is a state of mind,
A painless state,
A desireless state,
Contented state of mind,
Mindfulnes attained by
mindlessness, resting in true self,
What else can bring more
happiness than self satisfaction,
The satisfaction of successful
completion of duties,
Successful graduation of Self, Earned by either self mastery,
Or by self surrender,
Prapatti or pratipatti,
Swimming against current or
swimming along it!
The satisfaction of reaching desireless state of Self's own
glory,
Without getting drowned!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Early Morning Silence
Sitting in the early morning silence
that hasn’t filled with
the approaching days gloom.
That time when the mind
has a chance to run free.
The early morning silence
when no one is around.
The intrusive world has not
invaded our space with idle chatter
from sources that surround us
making up our daily lives.
The early morning silence
we need to activate our mind.
You sit in the darkness
just before the dawn appears
enjoying the solitary that is temporary stillness
brings to your ears.
The early morning silence
when no one is around.
16 September 2010
poem by David Harris
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Dichotomy....
the room there was spartan,
empty except for
a pair of dirty pants
hanging on the side
of the wall,
the atmosphere of wood
and dust and
bareness
i was lonely, i was always lonely
and some say
that i was sick almost all the time
there was either cold or
fever
mother and father died almost together
when they were alive they were not close
they always quarrel on something
be it fish or dog
or linen
they died a long time ago and there was that moment
when they both visited me in the room
and ask me if i was alright
if i want then to go with them and join them in their new place
and without hesitation i said: nope, thanks, i have my own world
and i like to keep it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lets Dance To The Tune Of Lust
The world says hush
It's not the time to rush
Forget the things which are must
Let's dance to the tune of lust
The common man may feel disgusted
Their manhood has got rusted
So ladies tighten your bust
Forget the things which are must
Let's dance to the tune of lust
Fill environment with moans and groans
Flush out every booming drone
Entice the world with bust, booty and curves
Burst every man's crust
Forget the things which are must
Lets dance to the tune of lust
Blast the society,
Blast the blasphemous rules
We aren't 21st century fools
Blow out cynical and old fashioned dust
Just forget the things which are must
Let's dance to the tune of lust
poem by Freespirit Juneja
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Monastery
Up the long flight of stairs
every tread echoes from stone walls
as if to comment on how stillness
tells of sound its silent origin.
In the quiet library, the central table
bears a careful written message:
‘Silence is spoken here’..
and that’s truer than
at first it seems to read;
round the walls, shelves of books
as silent as the monks
standing upright in their stalls
witness words that seek to share;
yet ultimately, wave fare well, turn back;
speak of silence sought and silence found;
yet cannot speak of silence;
in the name of silence, take a book,
well-worn, from off the shelf;
meet it in the silence of the room,
read a few words, and lay it down;
glance at the other readers round the room;
fall still.
Here, silence speaks of stillness;
stillness joys in silence.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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In the empty studio
The diffused northern sunlight
of this studio at dawn
matches the silence and the stillness
like the speaking silence
of the retrochoir behind the altar
of a simple white Greek island church –
that has no ornament; simply walls
painted in a pale blue wash,
the space, the air itself, as radiant with heaven;
behind the iconostasis – gold and candle and eternal gaze -
where praise is prepared; thought surrendered;
humility the robe; the sacred word awaits
the moment when it’s spoken;
so this studio; and at its centre, calling,
stands an easel with a white canvas on it;
what waits in this empty studio
that’s so full of emptiness that calls?
what challenges? This canvas
waits, as being ever does; full, content,
needing nothing but itself…
the silence will accept our spoken word,
then return to stillness;
the canvas will not be so forgiving;
‘make a mark on me that will not diminish
my completeness…; so let our being
meet, before a mark is made…’
this holy place: only godself may mark
this canvas and yet not detract; from space,
draw space; or may with colour stain transparent
this white white radiance of eternity:
and in the place whence all arises,
Nothing and Everything smile together
in their secret play.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Dance with Me in The Key of Life
Holding the strings of vibes
We move to dance of life
When I look I see your essence
In space now empty
Quiet where the shout of whisper
Voice unheard in heart beats
Come here and dance
Hear the song of my mind
Dance to my beat in life
Let me hold you close to me
I feel my song is you
I want to sing you play to you
My beautiful song you be
Let me turn you
In step with my life
Move with me to music of life
Dance to pain of life
To joy of reality
The song for us to dance
Your moans of pleasure
Move me to love you
I now want to dance with you
Our finger touch our lip meet
Kissing to beats of jazz before
The blue come down on my soul
On I am coming to be true
To need what you be for me
Let just dance to our song
What the matter I’m the same as
Before your beats is my beat
Come dance with me come need me
I wait for you to know
I am for you only
Dance come dance your story with me
Move to life up and down
Dance with me I need you to dance
The dance of life in song of love
poem by George Jerone Jefferson
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Eternal Screen
Eternal Screen
It`s too hot to go for a walk, I stare at a blank screen
Its afternoon, in my cabin and silence is intrusive,
a low one toned hum of doom.
Intense white screen, but when looking closer I see
myriads of tiny black squares, a mask that will not
let go of its dark secret.
I try to rip it open with a volley of words, but they
bunch back, and reduced to banality of what have
been overstated a million times.
Exhausted I erase words send them into the bleak
world of Delete, a place where surplus words and
emails are sent to shuffle in obliquity.
I read the news 228 people have fallen into the sea,
hasty words fell out of them too and into silence.
Cooling breeze, must get out and hear the day sing.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Voices
Blames of my existence are just increasing
Being blamed for something which I never did do
Never did I commit a sin knowingly, although sins are really never known while committing
Everyone just passes out while being alive
The senses just fade, while living
Nothing is present, it is complete stillness
Voices I cannot hear
Complete silence from now, life is going to have
The stillness is going to take a course which will forever be
In this life where everything is temporary, quietness is the only thing eternal
Living in a cage, nobody does like
Sometimes, the heart just desires to break the shackles in every way possible
Nobody can restrain my views
My real thoughts, no longer will be held
I am free, voices are going to be unheard.
poem by Rohit Sapra
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A room hung with pictures is a room hung with thoughts.
quote by Joshua Reynolds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One World (Not Three)
Everyone I know is lonely
And God is so far away,
And my heart belongs to no one,
So now sometimes I pray
Please take the space between us
And fill it up some way.
Take the space between us
And fill it up some way.
Oh my God you take the biscuit
Treating me this way
Expecting me to treat you well
No matter what you say.
How can I turn the other cheek
It's black and bruised and torn
I've been waiting
Since the day that I was born.
Take the space between us
And fill it up some way.
Take the space between us
And fill it up some way.
The fat man in his garden
The thin man at his gate
My God you must be sleeping
Wake up, it's much too late.
Take the space between us
And fill it up some way.
Take the space between us
And fill it up some way.
Do I have to tell the story
Of a thousand rainy days?
Since we first met,
It's a big enough umbrella
But it's always me that ends up getting wet.
song performed by by Police
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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O My God
Everyone I know is lonely
And gods so far away
And my heart belongs to no one
So now sometimes I pray
Please take this space between us
And fill it up some way
Take this space between us
And fill it up some way
O my God you take the biscuit
Treating me this way
Expecting me to treat you well
No matter what they say
How can I turn the other cheek
Its black and bruised and torn
Ive been waiting
Since the day that I was born
Take this space between us
And fill it up some way
Take this space between us
And fill it up some way
The fat man in his garden
The thin man at his gate
My God you must be sleeping
Wake up, its much too late
Take this space between us
And fill it up some way
Take this space between us
And fill it up some way
Do I have to tell the story
Of a thousand rainy days
Since we first met
Its a big enough umbrella
But its always me that ends up getting wet
song performed by by Police
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Futile
assimilate the night
they cut into your brain
they crack apart the skull
and stick the wires in
the computer releationship
a flame into the flesh
a cut into the brain
a cut runs in your face
you can't believe your head
you can't believe your eyes
nobody can escape
the futile assesment
the futile assesment
oh, futile
we're futile
futile
you're futile
futile religion
futile expression
your futile aggression
a futile obsession
oh, futile assasination
you'll faulter
your generation
your immoral futile assimilation
expressionation
annihilation
song performed by by Velvet Acid Christ
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Autumn Perspective
Now, moving in, cartons on the floor,
the radio playing to bare walls,
picture hooks left stranded
in the unsoiled squares where paintings were,
and something reminding us
this is like all other moving days;
finding the dirty ends of someone else's life,
hair fallen in the sink, a peach pit,
and burned-out matches in the corner;
things not preserved, yet never swept away
like fragments of disturbing dreams
we stumble on all day. . .
in ordering our lives, we will discard them,
scrub clean the floorboards of this our home
lest refuse from the lives we did not lead
become, in some strange, frightening way, our own.
And we have plans that will not tolerate
our fears-- a year laid out like rooms
in a new house--the dusty wine glasses
rinsed off, the vases filled, and bookshelves
sagging with heavy winter books.
Seeing the room always as it will be,
we are content to dust and wait.
We will return here from the dark and silent
streets, arms full of books and food,
anxious as we always are in winter,
and looking for the Good Life we have made.
I see myself then: tense, solemn,
in high-heeled shoes that pinch,
not basking in the light of goals fulfilled,
but looking back to now and seeing
a lazy, sunburned, sandaled girl
in a bare room, full of promise
and feeling envious.
Now we plan, postponing, pushing our lives forward
into the future--as if, when the room
contains us and all our treasured junk
we will have filled whatever gap it is
that makes us wander, discontented
from ourselves.
The room will not change:
a rug, or armchair, or new coat of paint
won't make much difference;
our eyes are fickle
but we remain the same beneath our suntans,
pale, frightened,
dreaming ourselves backward and forward in time,
dreaming our dreaming selves.
I look forward and see myself looking back.
poem by Erica Jong
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Catatonica
As our duet of love, a performance shown, is put upon display for vulgar eyes on the floor; the lights change with painted overlooks splashing their palette of watercolours over our moving bodies.
To the beat we dance, our tune a virgin, for the tune's beat that we dance to is no longer a mere dance away, our dance must fly with this tune in time with the tune's beat and in beat with our dance that we synced to this tune.
We tune our bodies in, tune them perfectly together with not just the beat and our dance, but with each other's minds and each other's hearts.
Within our thin, weak, skinny minds our thoughts think their own thoughts, deeper within our thought's tune and beat it dances inside a caved-in thought of the thinking tune's rhythmic beat timing itself to our dance.
Matching in the sky, our steps amaze, no tune can support us on its waves of notes and colons and no beat can out-beat us in it's own tragedy of percussion.
Our dance is a shaman of ritual love, packaged under the moon's eye for all to see and admire in its own tunefully-beating-dancing light.
We are going to dance forever, dance until there's no dance left in us, dance until our blood mixes with each others and our soul's diseases decay with one another's and we become the dance.
The tune we create in our minds is that of purity, no one will hear this tune except for us. Me and You.
The beats will never fade, no stamp stopped too sincerely, no stomp slacking too slowly.
We're going to dance, we're going to dance, we're going to dance. We're going to dance to our own beat, to our own tune, and to our own love.
poem by April Abigail
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