The seventh sense
Beside five senses, you have the sixth.
It is your mind. Also you have seventh.
It is the fitness instincts, which blend
The feelings for the concrete through the fives
And that for the abstract through the sixth.
10.11.2002
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Eight senses
(poetry in progress)
the world starts out
with a consciousness
half a consciousness
then one consciousness
then they morph with one sense,
ask the mountain
they stand and stand until the
volcanoes start to throw them out
then two senses, ask the trees
and the shrubs criss crossing
with your paths in the field
they stand and stand, take
the sunshine and make green
a colour for continuous evolution
their only shortcoming is their
two sense world, they stand and stand
a state of being, a state of living
and that's all
the three senses, the four senses
and the five senses, the human beings
they cry to God to let them
have eternal life
but what ever that's for
without the sixth, seventh, or eight sense
unveiled to them
sixth, the sense to connect the past
with the future
the seventh, the sense to connect
the future with the million of consciousness
clarmouring for the eight senses
to be with the ultimate, the Om,
the Divine where all senses
come together with one Supreme
consciousnes, amalgamation of
senses where knowledge springs forth
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Seven Layers of Heaven
touch,
sight,
taste,
hear,
smell
....
....
seven layers
of heaven
set in me
two more
layers
lost in
myself
clouded
in the views
cast by the world
heaven
comes in
seven
layers
so say hindus,
chinese,
buddhists,
even the muslims
and hell?
between
all
the senses
the heart
that torments
the doers
for
his misdeeds
the fugitive
who manages
to run away from
everybody
but not
the burning hell
of conscience
that pokes
at his top
making him bleed
at the heart
day and night
hell and heaven
bound in this
frame of
heart, soul
and mind
a living hell?
the heaven
in seven layers
the other two layers?
sixth sense?
seventh sense?
two puzzles
that wait
for an answer
hidden
in the realms
that circle
around me
i look into the sky
and journey
to the
eternal sphere
that joins me
to the moons, stars
try taking me
out of this world
and it sure looks different
feel different
a whole new world
the seventh sense
seventh heaven
the sixth?
the woman
who digs
deep into
layers of her own mind
to find the dates
of her own death
and exciting upcoming events
of the world, the tsunami
third world war,
end of the world
a nostradamus
a hell in between all these?
the scorn
from bigots
two layers
of heaven that got lost
in me
covered by
the clouds
five is perhaps
a more lucky number
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Can Streams Flow Along The River Sides?
Can the streams run upto the oceans far?
Can they run along the side of the rivers known?
You were a river and I a stream
Who flowed together once.
Using the sixth sense I read your mind
The one none could read before.
Each line written on your mind
Unveiled a portrait painted never.
You were a river and I a stream..
Aside my failing senses old
Triumphed my sixth sense young.
You, the river got flooded
And I, the stream was drowned.
Denouncing the last reason left you kept even my soul off-
An act someone else could have done.
Each word spoken at my funeral often
Unravelled the mystery of your mind.
Along the side of the river of your ego,
May I flow as a stream entwining you ever in the next life too?
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Sixth Place and Falling
Below children and grand children plus old friends,
My rank in importance continually descends.
Then ahead there's bridge and constant reading,
Which result so sadly in my sixth place seeding.
I find it appalling that I'm in the sixth spot and falling,
Though my greatest concern is where it all will end…
How far down the depths will my position descend?
Now that I'm old, unhealthy and not very attractive,
Will the next level ahead be a person more active?
I don't smoke, can't drink and sex is just a concept.
Maybe sixth place is too high for someone so inept.
At the end no matter how far I sank or my final rank,
Her love made it worthwhile so I'll have her to thank.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Our five senses are incomplete without the sixth - a sense of humor.
Sixth Place and Sliding
Below children and grandchildren plus old friends,
My rank in importance continually descends.
Then ahead there's bridge and constant reading,
Which result so sadly in my sixth place seeding.
I find it appalling that I'm in the sixth spot and falling;
Slipping and sliding at the time of this writing.
Though my greatest concern is where it all will end…
How far down the depths will my position descend?
Now that I'm old, unhealthy and not very attractive,
Will the next level ahead be a person more active?
I don't smoke, can't drink and sex is just a concept.
Maybe sixth place is too high for someone so inept.
At the end no matter how far I sank or my final rank,
Her love made it worthwhile so I'll have her to thank.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Mrs. Martin
My favorite teacher,
Of all times,
Is my old sixth grade teacher.
She's known me,
Since I was small.
She's helped me,
With womework and love.
Sweet and nice,
Beautiful and friendly,
My old sixth grade teacher,
Will be my friend,
Til the end.
poem by Dragon Crenshaw
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Seven Angels
Seven angels got my number
Since I fell in love with you
Seven angels got my number
Theyre all telling me what to do
First angel says go on and love her
Second angel says aint you tired of being alone?
Third angel says do the right thing, meat
Fourth angel says check that other little angel walkin on down the street
Seven angels got my number
Since I fell in love with you
Seven angels got my number
Theyre all telling me what to do
Fifth angel says, dont worry
Loves waitin round the corner for you, son
Sixth angel says you better hurry
It dont take long for the good to get gone
Walkin on wings all sexy and blue
Seventh angel says Im a fool
I got seven angels calling on my pride
Seven devils crawling around inside
Seven angels tellin me which way to turn
One kiss and my soul wanna burn
Seven angels got my number
Since I fell in love with you
Seven angels got my number
Theyre all telling me what to do
The earths so lonely, sad and blue
And without love, your souls dyin
Sixth angel says to believe you
When you say youll never leave me cryin
Seventh angel says youre lyin
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poet’s Poetry
A budding poet learning to express
Pouring the images of the conceived world;
The sensibility maturing with years
The abstract becoming concrete and the concrete abstract;
Shares with the world the inner core of mind
Few dropp deep with him the rest read and don’t mind.
What is it?
Is it Wordsworth’s overflow of Powerful Feelings
Or Eliot’s Escapism from a Personality
Or just a passing thought eager to take birth
Groomed and nurtured with words
Rescued by Coleridge’s Secondary Imagination
Constructing Deconstructing comprehended
By modest and learned souls,
Thus matter converted to flux
Imparting admission to the creator and the created.
poem by Abha Sharma
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The Concrete and the Abstract
The concrete is visible,
the abstract is invisible.
The concrete is the outside,
the abstract is the inside.
The concrete is objective,
the abstract is subjective.
People go on searching for
God in the concrete.
'We would like to see God'
-they say.
But only the concrete can be seen;
the abstract has to be felt.
The concrete can be seen-
with the eyes open,
the abstract has to be seen-
with eyes closed.
God is inside you, as you.
You cannot stand outside God
and see Him;
you can see Him
only from the inside-
by being Him.
If you see a flower,
you can look at it scientifically.
You look at the chemistry of it,
You dissect it and
you come to know
about the components of it.
But something is missed
in that very analysis.
The beauty is missed,
because beauty is not a component.
If you ask the scientist -
'Where is the beauty that was in the flower? ’ he will say-
'That was not there,
it was just an illusion.'
'I have dissected it-
all and all,
and these are the things
that I have found.
These chemicals were there,
this matter was there,
these atoms, these molecules....
but there was no beauty.'
But when the scientist
gives the flower to his wife,
he knows deep within his heart
he is not giving her
something chemical,
He is giving to her
the beauty of the flower.
A poet said -
'Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder',
But I say it lies in the heart of the lover.
That beauty is not be seen,
it has to be felt,
not from the outside,
but from the inside
by being the flower itself.
poem by Nazmul Haque
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When Paul and I were first friends, starting in the sixth grade and seventh grade, we would sing a little together and we would make up radio shows and become disc jockeys on our home wire recorder. And then came rock and roll.
quote by Art Garfunkel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Truth Reverse
Nothing is universal,
But, the truth reverse.
What we see sometimes,
Isn't true but farce.
The abstract seems concrete,
The concrete appears abstract.
The thing we hate ever,
Also can attract.
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Evil of rivalry
Be it a root, shoot, bark or leaves,
Be it sepals, petals, ovary or seeds.
No rivalry, no infighting, no usurpation.
Their goal is to live their parts and die.
They have no sixth sense to rival.
22.06.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Seven Sages
The First. My great-grandfather spoke to Edmund Burke
In Grattan's house.
The Second. My great-grandfather shared
A pot-house bench with Oliver Goldsmith once.
The Third. My great-grandfather's father talked of music,
Drank tar-water with the Bishop of Cloyne.
The Fourth. But mine saw Stella once.
The Fifth. Whence came our thought?
The Sixth. From four great minds that hated Whiggery.
The Fifth. Burke was a Whig.
The Sixth. Whether they knew or not,
Goldsmith and Burke, Swift and the Bishop of Cloyne
All hated Whiggery; but what is Whiggery?
A levelling, rancorous, rational sort of mind
That never looked out of the eye of a saint
Or out of drunkard's eye.
The Seventh. All's Whiggery now,
But we old men are massed against the world.
The First. American colonies, Ireland, France and India
Harried, and Burke's great melody against it.
The Second. Oliver Goldsmith sang what he had seen,
Roads full of beggars, cattle in the fields,
But never saw the trefoil stained with blood,
The avenging leaf those fields raised up against it.
The Fourth. The tomb of Swift wears it away.
The Third. A voice
Soft as the rustle of a reed from Cloyne
That gathers volume; now a thunder-clap.
The Sixtb. What schooling had these four?
The Seventh. They walked the roads
Mimicking what they heard, as children mimic;
They understood that wisdom comes of beggary.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Set About
to do a sarcastic....oooops...meant acrostic.....
slud into a slew of desponding aphorythmicisms....
hoping to be acquitted...or, at least, unrequieted....
in the interest of pendragoons and pencilpushings....only at 1.5% at present.....
there must be a sixth columny and a seventh estate...
.a twentysecond under..whirled?
poem by that's how I intended to ... delilah contrapunctal
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A Hell In A Concrete Jungle
A hell in a concrete jungle
A hell in a concrete jungle
We have already turned animals
and lost our sixth sense,
merely to fill the stomachs
we run days, months and years
after unreal wealth.
Love has turned into lust
Romance is no more pure
Violence encroaches
every inch of our being
Peace is long perished
and is burried in the land of demons
God is helpless. Yes god is helpless
to help humanity in this concrete jungle
Heaven has vanished and
this planet is now a hell
and the people live in sorrow and grief
poem by Sakthi Ravichandran
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Forbidden Zone
Living in the sixth dimension
Things get rough
Living in the sixth dimension
Can be tough
It's so hard when your on your own
When your on your own
Moving in the wrong direction
Brings bad luck
Living without protection
Really sucks
It's so hard when your on your own
You might fall into the forbidden zone
Going down, down, down
How far can you go?
You might fall into the forbidden zone
Going down, down, down
'cross the border line
The guards look scary but the girls are pretty fine
I'm going down
I'm going down
I'm going down i go
Turning me around
Turning me around
Turning me around i know
Living in the sixth dimension
Moving in the wrong direction
Living in the sixth dimension
Moving in the wrong direction
Living in the sixth dimension
Moving in the wrong direction
It's so hard when you're on your own
When your on your own
The forbidden zone
Going down, down, down
How far can you go
You might fall into the forbidden zone
Going down, down, down
'cross the border line
The guards look scary but the girls are pretty fine
Going round, round, round
Driving me insane
Everything looks different
But nothing has changed.
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tunnel Vision
I have been advised of having tunnel vision...
You know when you are near blind as a bat?
Worried and in fear-for my eyes my dear?
Nah, my nose works and i'm sure i smell a rat**! ;
Thank God for my nose and my ears...
Never mind my limited sight...
A highly developed instinct also carries me-
Through the blackest of darkest night! ;
It gives me much sought after information...
Of long ago sequesterd plans and schemes...**
I've been told that i am sixth sense old...
That my information is formed in my dreams;
So never mind my tunnel vision sweetheart-
My nose and my ears do just fine...
Coupled with the sixth sense instinct God gave to me...
For miles i can smell my enemies sign**;
May 14,2010
**Smoke From The Attic (as usual)
The Phantom IS Back.
poem by Theodora Onken
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Sports Day Lament. For CJ.
tenth in the sprint
ninth in the four hundred
eighth in the cross-country
seventh in the potato race
sixth in the egg-and-spoon
fifth in the high jump
fourth in the long jump
third in the hurdles
second in the basketball shoot
that's Sports Day over for this year.
But Mom and Dad will tell me (again) that
'I'm still the best at being me'...
and they'll sing all the way home oh god...
'they can't take that away from me
no....
they can't take that away from meeee...'
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Several battles of a holy war
When I was in my mother’s womb
I fought my first battle.
I waged my second on her lap,
The third one the chest of my father,
The fourth necessarily with the girlfriends,
The fifth, a heroic battle at first night,
And the sixth one with my children.
Then battles were with elusive women
The penultimate one is with grandchildren
The last battle is to be with Yemah.
29.08.2002
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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