Cleansing
It was a removed behavioral aspect
of a vivisection;
the moon had left
the grey anatomy of earth.
Crazy,
yes the system shows
sheer lunacy. The prudence
was chasing a smoke.
A long winged golden eagle
soars high for a prey of short limbs.
The opaque ankles
will not take the victim very far.
A cut-glass vase will have
an unrelenting rose, who was not
responsible for crucification,
like hawthorns.
poem by Satish Verma
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The Bald Eagle
Over the river and soaring high,
Wings spread wide, with confidence assured,
The strength, that mighty strength,
Soaring above, high in the sky,
Seeking prey to feed its young,
The courage of a warrior,
With eyes so keen,
Just as a hero, yet so unsung,
Wings so black, yet head so white,
The Bald Eagle Soars,
In the heavens so blue,
It stands for all, willing to fight,
Freedom it stands for,
A beauty in flight,
A character of strength,
With its beauty it soars
Over the water and then the trees,
With wings spread, as it peers to the ground
Owning the sky, as it soars above
Protecting its country, in the early spring breeze.
poem by B.J. Ayers
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Chasing Blue Sky
Shakin time, she needs
Taking rides...to somewhere
Lets lose our minds, no hurry
Im the wakeful night, with dreams...or something
Chasing blue sky,
Were chasing blue sky
Taking time from all this worry
Mesmerized by the waves of your smile
I wish that I could say something
But youre the rose colored glass I see through
Ill see you through
Chasing blue sky, were chasing blue sky
Chasing blue sky, were chasing blue sky
Chasing blue sky, were chasing blue sky
Chasing blue sky, were chasing blue sky
song performed by by Queensryche
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's time to fly
It's time to fly
My winged friend
You were born for the air
Or else you shall become
Stagnant and die
An eagle soars in the eye
Of the storm
While other creatures hide
You were born with an devine instinct
About life's plight
You shall reach
The other side
Prepare for take off
You shall fly high
into the friendly skies
poem by Angel A. Lockwood
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Recovery Disc
i know what you are up to.
i know that you do not forget pain and i know that that pain is still there and no matter how you hide it
it comes like smoke from an old
dirty chimney
and at winter time it shows all the black soot
the gray smoke from the house
to the sky
i know that when you invite me you do not really mean to please me.
you just want to show the changes in the house
the rearrangement of the furniture
it no longer the rose in the vase but
a carnation
that you say is loved by another
but not you
i know what you are up to but i have already prepared myself for that
in my heart i must tell you
pain has no bed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Foolproof Strategy
What powerful things, are an eagle's wings,
As he soars high on currents of air.
So graceful in flight, when seen at great height,
Oh! How you wish you could be there.
Gliding supreme, in a wonderful dream,
Free as that proud bird of prey.
A beautiful sight, when his sharp eyes alight
On good food, when off on a foray.
In silence he sits, motionless, his wits
Gauging what his next move ought to be.
Such elegance and style, he hunts with such guile,
Endowed with a foolproof strategy.
His skill is top-notch he is always on watch,
For creatures that are travelling with haste.
He swoops with sheer speed, and captures his feed,
Devouring it, and loving the taste.
While he is trailblazing, he rules like a king,
The fields are his conquered domain.
A veritable speeder, a formidable leader,
In legendary splendour, long may he reign.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Seascape With Sun and Eagle
Freer
than most birds
an eagle flies up
over San Francisco
freer than most places
soars high up
floats and glides high up
in the still
open spaces
flown from the mountains
floated down
far over ocean
where the sunset has begun
a mirror of itself
He sails high over
turning and turning
where seaplanes might turn
where warplanes might burn
He wheels about burning
in the red sun
climbs and glides
and doubles back upon himself
now over ocean
now over land
high over pinwheels suck in sand
where a rollercoaster used to stand
soaring eagle setting sun
All that is left of our wilderness
poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
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Eagle's song
Flying high in the sky, soaring
very high. High as an eagle
Yet only in my mind's eye.
Not giving up, yet continuing,
to try.
Gliding, through the gusty wind.
Until wings and the wind somehow blends together, as an acoustic, melodic strum, and births a song.
A gentle, distinct sound.
Is this the purpose?
A reason to the why,
Pressing through the storm, head lifted high
Eyes finally to see the sun piercing
behind the clouds. The eagle soars.
poem by Angel A. Lockwood
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A Digital Map Of Anatomical Body
moving compositions
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
...
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
anatomy of mental formations
contemplated erosions below! ! !
The body detailes concepts!
An Eagle's Life
An Eagle soars high above,
Skimming seas, lakes and cove,
Piercing, sharp, an Eagle's eye,
Swooping down, did spy,
Swimming trout en route,
Mother Nature's food.
She swooped down and without a doubt,
The majestic eagle has just caught a trout.
With one swipe, her claw did grab,
A fleshy trout, hardly a flap.
On The Gallows
Lead me into, the green darkness, under
the nude flames.
It was hurting; the golden sun.
Out of full moon, werewolves would
come out
chasing the flesh, the long limbs
of silence, in asci of fluids, stopped
in tracks.
No seed will grow now in wilderness.
My extended shade becomes anarchic
if fleetingly.
A miracle falling like a hurricane.
poem by Satish Verma
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Unattended
Evening wore a floral dress.
Blue birds announced their departure
opening red wings.
You know them, buffs
of night who would not wait for the moon
to rise and I had nothing to hide.
These tragic toes
black with gangrene
still want to mount on red clovers.
That anatomy of desire
will dance with snakes. Who knows
the beautiful anxiety of lying on hawthorns?
poem by Satish Verma
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Links
The little and the great are joined in one
By God's great force. The wondrous golden sun
Is linked unto the glow-worm's tiny spark;
The eagle soars to heaven in his flight;
And in those realms of space, all bathed in light,
Soar none except the eagle and the lark.
poem by Emma Lazarus
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Show Tune II
That's the long and short of it
now you know
how I've been waiting all these years
where I'm coming from
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
now you see
just how hot hot jazz was
how it turned about, my bookcase
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
now you know
that my arrest record's
not my best record
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
now you see
how the Past's like a love
you can neither leave nor live
that's the long and short of it
That's the long and short of it
now you know
it was no gun in my pocket
it was a rocket
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
and you're wond'ring dear
how I kept so pure
hull, it was easy
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
now you see
so bounce your head
into bed
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
read the blues
in these tattoos
make a song of it
that's the short and long of it.
How I wish
there was a bridge-
then I could burn it;
or the train
of a refrain
then I could board it
but there isn't
no there isn't, so...
poem by Morgan Michaels
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How Does It Feel To Fly
from a walk early morning
you enter the door
of your house
you see a glass vase
with a red rose
alone in the
living room
you go near and smell
the rosiness
of the rose
and gaze at it
as though it is the only
rose of your
home
you feel
a heart with wings
you fly
like a very light feather
on the wind
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Eagle And The Man...
like an eagle one soars and tries
to scuttle for an island where it may nest
and lay its eggs
hoping for the cliffs and
some sticks and trunks of deadwood
wandering if there is
a monkey for dinner to start with
none so far attracts the beginning
of greatness
there is no height and there is no
sound for prey
the eagle wanders dissolving in
a far horizon
the man stays foot under the big tree
envious of the searching trip
unable to dissolve itself in his
chosen horizon
in his world of fences and walls
safe and yet so unhappy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Why love the moon?
Why love the moon?
Because she is fair?
Because she seems so debonair?
The moon you love lives away so far,
She left you long ago for the stars;
For which in her insecurities she has prevailed,
As she hides behind her silver veil.
Why love the moon?
Because she shines?
Because you think her beauty divine?
The face she shows is but a play,
There’s another side she never displays;
A side so dark you cannot see,
It’s there she hides her agonies.
Why love the moon?
Because she is there?
Because you think you have her care?
Every month she shows her entire face,
You stare at her beauty and sit in her grace;
But as the days pass she turns to the Sun,
The person who has her eternal love.
The Sun however rejects her again,
So she turns back to you to comfort her pain;
And again you accept her, again and again,
It is your heart she holds,
it has been slain.
So why love the moon,
The Superficial moon,
The Cruel, the Uncaring and Inconsistent moon,
The moon who Scorns you!
The moon who Left you!
The moon who CHEATS WHEN SHE'S BEHIND YOU!
...because you love her.
poem by Warren Chan
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Less’er Love, And A Rose, In My Garden
I am gardener…. I prune, sheer… at times
…at times I have lesser love
And in less is more, very much more
…………….and there is this garden
..the garden, ours by the Grace of the Life Force, supreme God
..there is this Rose, and those Roses there… all chose a place to be
I, the Gardner choose the blooms from which Rose goes to the glass next my bed
I love this Rose, and less but similar those other
….they decide when to bloom
In sping late winter their souls weep, as I sheer, as I must
In spring and summer and early winter we rejoice as they bloom abundantly
…..every night one bloom from The Rose that’ad also chosen me
in the glass of water next my bed read to me, and comfort me
the delicate-, bewitching fragrance the bookmark for tomorrow night
I love that Rose as my chosen
I am gardener…. I prune, sheer… at times
…..only one Rose reads to me… I a lesser Gardener
Lesser, cause I’m only able t’love one Rose…..this Rose here
….those Roses there, some’r lessor Roses, some’r superior Roses, are my friends
Lesser in texture, shape and fiber and fragrance
Some superior in texture, or shape and or fiber and or fragrance
Friends equal in dimension with the Rose, but less in love than the Rose
…..every night one bloom from The Rose, that’s chosen me
in the glass of water next my bed read to me, and comfort me
the delicate-, bewitching fragrance the bookmark for tomorrow night
I love that Rose as my chosen
I, the gardener…. I prune, sheer…. at times
These other Roses who chose my garden
...so valuable in a muchness o’ Friendship,
…the quality their love much the same as that The Rose
Different the lesser my love, even though my caring equals that towards The Rose
We are blessed, those of us in the garden
…the magnificence of this garden in my life is the sumtotal of you all in my garden
I drink your fragrance intoxicated with love
I love The Rose, and my friends these other Roses in the garden Bless this love
poem by Johan Fourie
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Moon, Moon, Crazy Moon
moon, moon, crazy moon
natural moon
torn apart and snoozing moon;
lovely moon, romantic moon
poor poor moon
the romance
plucked out of its drab surface;
moon moon going wild
moon moon running away
from the earth -
O moon, why do you run away from the earth?
does earth touch you in the wrong places
and you've got no Body
to which one could lodge
a complaint about sexual harassment? ?
ah, moon moon, temperamental moon
dark moon
glowing moon;
sexy moon
and old-woman hag of a moon;
moon moon with the best views of the earth
moon moon moon
puts me to sleep and wakes me up
in the middle of nights;
and one day we'll sleep in the moon
and produce babies there
and we'll have the first moon-ish boys and girls
and moon-ly families;
but meanwhile
moon moon driving fanatics
and inspiring love and romance and myths
moon moon eerie moon
moon moon that presides over love and horrors
and evil and good
and naked witches dancing in moonlit groves;
pooor moon moon the earth moon
not as interesting and dramatic as other moons;
don't get too friendly and dropp in -
oh, never dropp in, no one invited you
silly mooonn, no no, you're not invited home to earth
moon moon cheese moon eaten by mice;
but still our dear moon darling moon
moon mooon
our very own earth's moon
as we moo moo like cows
moo moo moo mooo
at our own moon moon moon
poem by Raj Arumugam
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Rake At The Gates Of Hell
Mother's eyes are sparkling diamonds,
Still the moon shows no light
This rose is withered, may God deliver
The rake at the gates of hell tonight
Yigh!
I wish that they could walk forever,
On the earth, alone, unfettered
Til they pray for consolation,
Til they beg for sweet damnation
Then I'll come and bring them water,
Bring them hope, bring them laughter
Raise their hopes so sad and sunken
Slash them up as they lie there drunken
Push them down into the foul mud
Til they choke up on their own blood
Drag them out before their last breath
To take away the mercy of death
Mother's eyes are sparkling diamonds
Still the moon shows no light
This rose is withered, may God deliver
The rake at the gates of hell tonight
Yigh!
Mother's eyes are sparkling diamonds
Still the moon shows no light
This rose is withered, may God deliver
The rake at the Gates of Hell tonight
Mother's eyes are sparkling diamonds
Still the moon shows no light
This rose is withered, may God deliver
The rake at the gates of hell tonight
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paradise: In A Symbol
Golden-winged, silver-winged,
Winged with flashing flame,
Such a flight of birds I saw,
Birds without a name:
Singing songs in their own tongue
(Song of songs) they came.
One to another calling,
Each answering each,
One to another calling
In their proper speech:
High above my head they wheeled,
Far out of reach.
On wings of flame they went and came
With a cadenced clang,
Their silver wings tinkled,
Their golden wings rang,
The wind it whistled through their wings
Where in Heaven they sang.
They flashed and they darted
Awhile before mine eyes,
Mounting, mounting, mounting still
In haste to scale the skies—
Birds without a nest on earth,
Birds of Paradise.
Where the moon riseth not,
Nor sun seeks the west,
There to sing their glory
Which they sing at rest,
There to sing their love-song
When they sing their best:
Not in any garden
That mortal foot hath trod,
Not in any flowering tree
That springs from earthly sod,
But in the garden where they dwell,
The Paradise of God.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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