Intentions~
Chimera knows about the dark side of the moon
Chimera knows many incantations
Chimera knows evil like the back of her hand
Chimera knows sadistic and savagery raise her
Chimera knows toxic pleases her
Chimera knows destruction is her favorite compulsion
Chimera knows that all the good desserts she prepares
Are best served up cold
Chimera's cheesecake is KILLER
Yes, Chimera knows
poem by Theodora Onken
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Related quotes
One must do no violence to nature, nor model it in conformity to any blindly formed chimera.
quote by Janos Bolyai
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I believe that happiness is nothing but a chimera, a state of mind that man cultivates, clinging to the image of the future.
Camelia Oprița in The enigmas of the soul (November 2017)
Submitted by Alexander
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PEGASUS and BELLEROPHONTE
His Creator was Sea God Poseidon
This winged-horse Pegasus demigod
Spiral horn on forehead his talisman
The Gods of Mt Olympus were awed
Pegasus delivered lightning bolts
When Zeus warred against men
When He put down their revolts
Men are prone to sin now n’ then
One day while drinking from a spring
Hero Bellerophonte captured Pegasus
As hero mounted, with deep voice did sing
“I’m coming for you Chimera”
Then tested flying horse flight n’agileness
They flew afar to slay a hideous monster…
Possessed of lion’s head, goat’s body, serpent’s tail
Whose breath could melt a fighting soldier’s armor
Confidently, astride Pegasus the hero could not fail
From high above they saw the ugly beast
As she wreaked death n’ havoc on the land
Into a downward dive, their speed increased
“The clash of the titans” was at hand
Bellerophonte drew a sword, the monster did behead
Pegasus hoofed Chimera, ensured she was dead
They placed the monster’s head in a basket
Then set off for Mt Olympus far away
At the “Golden gate” the two were met
Welcomed by gods and demigods that day
Heroes come in all shapes n’ sizes
Who justly deserve accolades ‘n prizes
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Chimera
The chimera stalks all
with an infamous locked jaw
and such terror he'll evoke
such horror we'll be encloaked
and he'll tear us all asunder
with the anger of the thunder
and then empty us of blood
and throw us in the mud
he'll poison us to ebb
t'will be the kiss of the dead
from that horrible snake head
it will teriffy and thrall
and be the end of us all
poem by Chase Reeves
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Eternal Father
Come closer, you distant animal,
Let me see your face;
Come closer, even if your light
Or darkness will kill me.
It is not a fair game
Following wrong steps
Into the end-roads
Of an endless labyrinth.
Come closer, you wild animal
Even as a chimera or fata morgana;
Let me see your face
My dearest friend and father.
poem by Dejan Stojanovic
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Elan Vital
‘Elan vital' of lyrical acutance
Is carved open from veiled mausoleums
Shrouded embodiments of perpetual beauty
Like a dagger etching ink out of an uncut sapphire
To script life from the milieu of wood pulp
To exonerate pearls of poetry
From the oyster of a poet's heart
As the enchanting nib entwines
Tapestries of romance and epic saga
To metamorphose banality to a rainbow of chimera
To engrave the revelations of the third eye
In the timelessness of impression
In the perpetuity of scripted words
poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
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Poetry Of Things
concentric circles
my universe is not your universe
i am a circle expanding and too
i am a circle shrinking upon itself
parchments of cloth mama's crochet
patches of moments child's chilling
chimera chimes of Chippewa
a blue butterfly kept on moth
balls, purple feathers, a white trunk
a T-square, a picture of Nefertiti
georgia o'keefe, a poetry of things
an art, a form, a shape of pain, a mold
of molds, we relate to this pain that
clings to our feet like anklets. We are.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sunday Morning - IV
She says, "I am content when wakened birds,
Before they fly, test the reality
Of misty fields, by their sweet questionings;
But when the birds are gone, and their warm fields
Return no more, where, then, is paradise?"
There is not any haunt of prophecy,
Nor any old chimera of the grave,
Neither the golden underground, nor isle
Melodious, where spirits gat them home,
Nor visionary south, nor cloudy palm
Remote on heaven's hill, that has endured
As April's green endures; or will endure
Like her remembrance of awakened birds,
Or her desire for June and evening, tipped
By the consummation of the swallow's wings.
poem by Wallace Stevens
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Only a Chimera
little bird see her sunshine again
and she is so happy feel his brightness which warms all over the globe
little bird could sing again coz she knows that even far away
she still can feel her sunshine warms her heart even a bit, since he should
shares with others as well as his wisdom tasks
she is happy that still could hear many stories from her sunshine from his journey
she knows that she only one tiny bird among enchanting and precious birds
who always surround her sunshine for share brightness and warm of him
little bird is something which is nothing and she realize that from the beginning till now
that her sunshine only a chimera...
poem by Minaslune Serene
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True Love Inspires Hope
True love inspires hope
hope that love is forever and true
one hopes that with love one can elope
their heart with thee, thine heart that's you.
The absence of my life, where art my love?
in day chimera, in my hope meek?
throughout my sorrow deep, in my transports above
with hope I seep, for love I seek
I hope... Wanting love that is not true, forever and lasting
I hope for love through and through
by my hope, for love's hope, truly casting
my eye on love, my eye on you...
Hoping
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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The Good Ship Benevolent
Fomenting a fervor and stirring the bones
Ensnaring the sirens with songs from his lips
In voice of contralto or bass baritone
The dashing corsair in splendiferous ship.
A weathered and feathered, half woman half bird
Chimera admired his masterly spark
And breadth of his vision the first time she heard
The quick-witted salt in his broad-bottomed barque.
So lashing her limbs to the limb of a tree
To steady herself from the force of his throat
She listened with mixture of shock, awe and glee
To talented tar in his seaworthy boat.
Then plucking a shellfish she flew to a tor
And wielding a talon, proceeded to shuck it
One beady red eye on his exploits galore
The bold buccaneer in his barnacled bucket.
poem by Diane Hine
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A Psychedelic God - A Thank You Note
The drift of a percussion nib
A mental voyager, a bohemian cosmonaut
Exploring uncharted frontiers of the whimsical mind
In the vastness, the infinitude of galactic spaces
Perforating ingenious black holes
Chutes of inspiration, free falling to the plea of gravities
As the wandering mind chisels on stone paper
Its journeys and treks, legendary tales exuding the essence
Of an overgenerous chimera, surpassing sight's farthest prophecies
Cerebral odysseys transcending mythical epics, medieval folklore
To capture the nomadic spirit, yet the exemplary purity
Of the suppleness of creation, masterminded
By another horizon-less wayfarer, an apical journeyman
A celestial potter, nom de plume ‘Lord the creator'
As a humble poet parts with a thanksgiving note
For the gift of a boundless providence, to sketch his own tale of fatum
As he tributes the imaginative force of a psychedelic God
poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
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America, America!
I am a poet of the Hudson River and the heights above it,
the lights, the stars, and the bridges
I am also by self-appointment the laureate of the Atlantic
-of the peoples' hearts, crossing it
to new America.
I am burdened with the truck and chimera, hope,
acquired in the sweating sick-excited passage
in steerage, strange and estranged
Hence I must descry and describe the kingdom of emotion.
For I am a poet of the kindergarten (in the city)
and the cemetery (in the city)
And rapture and ragtime and also the secret city in the
heart and mind
This is the song of the natural city self in the 20th century.
It is true but only partly true that a city is a "tyranny of
numbers"
(This is the chant of the urban metropolitan and
metaphysical self
After the first two World Wars of the 20th century)
--- This is the city self, looking from window to lighted
window
When the squares and checks of faintly yellow light
Shine at night, upon a huge dim board and slab-like tombs,
Hiding many lives. It is the city consciousness
Which sees and says: more: more and more: always more.
poem by Delmore Schwartz
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Sounding I
I see my soul come galloping
making and patching my threading seams
embracing me in the gloaming
between twilight and evening
making new passages as the younger years
fall away.
I see my heart throbbing, mending
and renewing
even in a veil of past-time tears.
I see my youth standing by
in the cracked mirror
and curse how much of my outward identity is emprisoned
there
and the voice says counterpoint
'Don't drown in that mirror pool.'
I hear, voices, mostly my own
clamor down from its retreat
and reassert once again
'Why can I not be forever me
and not be betrayed
by times passages
and the views of me
others hold
who lack my life's memories
because they can only remember
the morning's cereal
whist I can recall
a life-time's banquet.
Yes, its time which is the barrier
I sometimes breach with stories
I tell my kids about the old days
how things were different
but they blank stare politely
and indulge dad's preoccupations
in irrelevancies, they themselves
can never know.
I feel my youth as if yesterday
explaining to them it took this long
to be me my youth again
but alas my renewed youth has become invisible
to them and other others
and I can hear them mouthing 'don't embarrass us
trying to be young again
look in the mirror; '
and I do and lecture it on its inadequacies
to reflect this new older, younger me.
Is this foolish, a chimera?
Or merely my own imagined and denied reflection.
But do I sound middle-aged and crotchety?
Maybe, but that is only sound
and not I.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Elegy XIV: Julia
Hark, news, O envy ; thou shalt hear descried
My Julia ; who as yet was ne'er envied.
To vomit gall in slander, swell her veins
With calumny, that hell itself disdains,
Is her continual practice ; does her best,
To tear opinion e'en out of the breast
Of dearest friends, and—which is worse than vile—
Sticks jealousy in wedlock ; her own child
Scapes not the showers of envy. To repeat
The monstrous fashions how, were alive to eat
Deare reputation ; would to God she were
But half so loth to act vice, as to hear
My mild reproof. Lived Mantuan now again
That female Mastix to limn with his pen,
This she Chimera that hath eyes of fire,
Burning with anger—anger feeds desire—
Tongued like the night crow, whose ill boding cries
Give out for nothing but new injuries ;
Her breath like to the juice in Tænarus,
That blasts the springs, though ne'er so prosperous ;
Her hands, I know not how, used more to spill
The food of others than herself to fill ;
But O ! her mind, that Orcus, which includes
Legions of mischiefs, countless multitudes
Of formless curses, projects unmade up,
Abuses yet unfashion'd, thoughts corrupt,
Misshapen cavils, palpable untroths,
Inevitable errors, self-accusing loaths.
These, like those atoms swarming in the sun,
Throng in her bosom for creation.
I blush to give her halfe her due ; yet say,
No poison's half so bad as Julia.
poem by John Donne
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El Nudo (The Knot )
Spanish
Su idilio fue una larga sonrisa a cuatro labios...
En el regazo cálido de rubia primavera
Amáronse talmente que entre sus dedos sabios
Palpitó la divina forma de la Quimera.
En los palacios fúlgidos de las tardes en calma
Hablábanse un lenguaje sentido como un lloro,
Y se besaban hondo hasta morderse el alma!...
Las horas deshojáronse como flores de oro,
Y el Destino interpuso sus dos manos heladas...
Ah! los cuerpos cedieron, mas las almas trenzadas
Son el más intrincado nudo que nunca fue...
En lucha con sus locos enredos sobrehumanos
Las Furias de la vida se rompieron las manos
Y fatigó sus dedos supremos Ananké...
English
Their idyll was a smile of four lips...
In the warm lap of blond spring
They loved such that between their wise fingers
the divine form of Chimera trembled.
In the glimmering palaces of quiet afternoons
They spoke in a language heartfelt as weeping,
And they kissed each other deeply, biting the soul!
The hours fluttered away like petals of gold,
Then Fate interposed its two icy hands...
Ah! the bodies yielded, but tangled souls
Are the most intricate knot that never unfolds...
In strife with its mad superhuman entanglements,
Life’s Furies rent their coupled hands
And wearied your powerful fingers, Ananké*...
poem by Delmira Agustini
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Theme and Variation
That summer there was no honey.
The queens led their swarms away,
the strawberry bed dried up in a day,
the berrypickers went home early.
All that sweetness, swept on one ray of light
off to sleep. Who slept this sleep before his time?
Honey and berries? He is a stranger to suffering,
the one with the world at his hands. In want of nothing.
In want of nothing but perhaps a bit,
enought to rest or to stand straight.
He was bent by caves-and shadows,
because no country took him in.
He wasn't even safe in the wood-
a partisan whom the world reliquished
toher dead satellite, the moon.
He is a stranger to sufferin, the one with the world
[at his hands,
and was anything not handed him? He had the bettle's
cohort wrapped round his finger, blazes
branded his face with scars and the wellspring
appeared as a chimera before his eyes,
where it was not.
Honey and berries?
Had he ever known the scent, he'd have followed it
long ago!
Walking a sleepwalker's sleep,
who slept this sleep before his time?
One who was born ancient
and called to the darkness early.
All that sweetness swept on one ray of light
before him.
He spat into the undergrowth a curse
to bring drought, he screamed
and his prayers were heard:
the berrypickers went home early!
When the root rose up
and slithered after them, hissing
a snakeskin remained, the tree's last defense.
The strawberry bed dried up in a day.
In the village below, the buckets stood empty
like drums waiting in the square.
Then the sun struck
and paradiddled death.
The windows fell shut,
the queens led their swarms away,
and no one prevented them from fleeing.
Wilderness took them in,
the hollow tree among ferns,
the first free state.
The last human being was stung
and felt no pain.
That summer there was no honey.
—Translated from the German by Lilian M. Friedberg
poem by Ingeborg Bachmann
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Akbar, the Great (1542 - 1605)
Can a man - all alone - foist a god upon his fellows
Even if it's only himself
And they his subjects
G.. is Akbar!
Does the muezzin from the minaret of Qoutoub-Minar
look up or
down to the illiterate savant emperor
whose newly-ordered cosmos
much as Tamerlane and Genghis Khan's blood
mixed gods
invented the Gysin-Burroughs cut-up and fold-in method
a cornucopian chimera
shi'ite-sunnite-kharidjites
hindu/buddhist-jain
confucian-taoist/zoroastrian
orthodox-christian/judaic
saivite-vaisnavite
mahayanist-theravadite
shintoist-zen-chan
agnostic-atheist
A…. is Great!
In the begining there was no VERB for him
In the end
from
'brahmana' Himalayas to the 'asurya' Deccan
from
Ghazna and Kabul to the spent chugged mouth of the Ganges
where bloomed the Allah-Upanishad
One common language
One uncommon religion
One classless society
One mutually nourishing art
One scientific quest
and the sweet music of friendly disputation
within then the world's vastest book and art collection
though knowingly
took to wife an Hindu princess
chose his prime counsellor from among the Brahmin élite
where within hearing distance lithesome nymphs bathed in scented milk
his victoriously wearied warrior limbs back from punitive expeditions
through Panipat Delhi Agra Punjab Gwalior Ajmer
Gujarat Bengal Sind Orissa Baluchistan Ahmadnagar Kashmir
Khandesh
to circumscribe the sub-continent
a Ceasar at the court of Fatehpur-Sikri
Akbar is ___!
Who would parse and complete or conclude the syllogism
For « One » who dared abolish the jiziyah
Note
Jalal ud-Din Muhammad Akbar (1542-1605) , the third Mughal Emperor, edicted that muezzins should herald the rising of the sun by the call: Allah-u-Akbar!
The « jiziyah », a word of Arabic origin, meaning a tax levied on non-Muslims who wished to conserve their own property, and imposed by the Moghul sovereigns - on and off - in India, was abolished by Akbar in his seventh year of accession to the throne.
(©: T. Wignesan, March 13,1992, Paris - from the sequence/collection: 'Words for a Lost Sub-Continent')
poem by T. Wignesan
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An Altruistic Self-Advocacy Of A Man Wholly Enamored By An Angel (Part 2 of 2)
I am Your Good Will Hunting, and You, my 'gurl I have to go see about'-
We together are the love that naught may stamp out;
As the Eternal Chimera, of tales of lore,
We are never enough for one another, and always crave more-
Because our near perfection, for each, the other,
Is too near to Divinity for this Brother,
And conversely for You, Sister of mine;
THIS is yet another reason why we need combine
Our individual Magnificence and Glory
To Truly Show the world the Truth of OUR story!
The True reality of our love is only just begining-
With the Inspired Acts of God of late, winning-
But wait, what is to be of us next? I cannot wait-
But I must, for Your Faith to catch up to the desires of Your Heart-
For the Strength You have always had, to impart
Same to You-as well as same from me, from 5 miles away:
THIS is why OUR love has not gone astray!
Why Beloved, have You treated the Love of Your Life
With such ill-repute and caused so much strife
That could have been avoided, with honesty to all around
About how You TRULY feel! ? This enigma doth confound!
Why did You run and hide from Your biggest fan?
Is it because I am also the only Man
That has ever intimidated You, and You feel You do not deserve?
Well, if true, -as your best friend-what nerve
Have You-to become Saboteur of Your own
Happiness, As though a Lady in Love, but with a Heart made of stone!
Yet, I know You better than anyone else has ever known you-
And I know that Your real response has shown You
That OUR Love is not only True, but Real;
This is the Power of the Love You now feel!
Your Strength has proven to be immense,
As it is Divine, and You, its Earthly quintessence!
I know that God Willed the Strength into You,
As He has Shown all the world all that He could do,
Both BY and THROUGH me-
But especially in these Latter Days, because we
Are THAT important to Him, both individually
As well as a Consortium, like none other that Earth has ever seen!
You want to: 'Marry the man you deeply love',
THIS is why you have been ruminating of
Me with constancy, as have I, for most of your days-
Your head is not 'in the clouds', you are not in a haze-
THIS is most assuredly, undeniably-a verity;
THIS is why you need to step back, to ensure clarity,
Without the benefit of my soothing voice,
Because You need to ensure Your choice
Is exactly that, and want not, undue influence
Of the Love of Your Life, at the confluence
Of this very trying time-as you seem a glutton for self-inflicted pain;
There was surely a storm-yet, You brought the rain!
Still, the storm is over Beloved, and the veil, lifted-
From the erstwhile 'secret' Love, Heavenly Father Gifted!
You caused the storm, with no 'help' from ME-
Yet, together We brought the calm that has followed-WE
Have always worked together to solve problems before;
We have seen His Glory, and WE want more;
You NEED to: 'kiss the man I love...for the very first time',
And want for same evermore, as you read this rhyme!
You NEED to: 'cuddle on the couch with this man'
And 'fall asleep in his arms'-and he, your biggest fan,
Wants, er, NEEDSfor the very same, with constancy;
He has expressed this NEED many times-without any expectancy
Whatsoever, -just mutual desires and mutual
Wants, that have come to be Blessedly Habitual!
We NEED to 'be Seled in the Temple' together,
To finally begin to Live, to Love OUR forever,
Where we may-'walk on the beach holding hands'-
Because THIS is what Heavenly Father Divinely Commands!
As You have expressed before, you NEED to: 'travel everywhere with him'-
This further PROVES the Light of OUR Love is bright, not dim!
Accept the foregoing as TRUTH, and as YOUR Reward;
You receive not only all of same-you can certainly afford
To recompense same with Love of Your own;
You may: 'make love to the man
I love (on OUR honeymoon
...and ebvery day after that) -THAT is YOUR Plan,
Yet also MINE, -remember? It was NOT that many a Moon
Ago that YOU sent ME, YOUR Bucket List,
Which was not too long BEFORE You became a self-destructionist!
I, nay, WE are so very, very close to OUR dreams fulfill,
And God Himself ensured all who have concern, know it is His Will-
So, where is the real argument against
THIS Love, to posit same arguendo, leaves YOU without a defense!
This was evidenced by You, first with Your words-
Then, You cross-examined Yourself and saw how absurd
Your argumentation really was-preposterous would be a word!
To describe the deceit Your own heart heard
From Your afeared mind, that briefly abandoned Your Inspired Soul;
Yet, You bravely fought back against this self-betrayal,
To win back the Love, and see to its future avail!
You Beloved, are MY Heroine, in Earthly form;
You Inspire and Amaze me, it has kept my Heart warm
At night, through many a blustery Winter's night-
To know, deep in my soul that you love me with all your might!
poem by Maurice Harris
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III. The Shadow Of Lilith
The tuberose thickens the air: a swoon
lies close on open'd calyx and slipt sheath
thro' all the garden bosom-bound beneath
dense night that hangs, her own perturbing moon:
no star: and heaven and earth, seeking their boon,
meet in this troubled blood whereunder seethe
cravings of darkling bliss whose fumes enwreathe
some rose of rare-reveal'd delight: oh, soon! —
Ay, surely near — the hour consents to bless! —
and nearer yet, all ways of night converge
in that delicious dark between her breasts
whom night and bloom and wayward blood confess,
where all the world's desire is wild to merge
its multitude of single suffering nests.
Cloth'd now with dark alone, O rose and balm,
whence unto world-sear'd youth is healing boon,
what lures the tense dark round thy pulsing calm?
Or does that flood-tide of luxurious noon,
richly distill'd for thy sweet nutriment,
now traitor, hearken to some secret moon.
Eve's wifely guise, her dower that Eden lent,
now limbeck where the enamour'd alchemist
invokes the rarer rose, phantom descent;
thy dewy essence where the suns persist
is alter'd by occult yet natural rite:
among thy leaves it was the night we kiss'd.
Rare ooze of odour drowns our faint delight,
some spilth of love that languishes unshared,
a rose that bleeds unseen, the heart of night;
whose sweetness holds us, wondering, ensnared:
for cunning she, the outcast, to entice
to wake with her, remembering how she fared
in times before our time, when Paradise
shone once, the dew-gem in her heart, and base
betrayal gave her to the malefice
that all thro' time afflicts her lonely face,
and all the mournful widowhood of night
closed round her, and the wilderness of space:
O bleeding rose, alone! O heart of night!
This is of Lilith, by her Hebrew name
Lady of Night: she, in the delicate frame
that was of woman after, did unite
herself with Adam in unblest delight;
who, uncapacious of that dreadful love,
begat on her not majesty, as Jove,
but the worm-brood of terrors unconfest
that chose henceforth, as their avoided nest,
the mire-fed writhen thicket of the mind.
She, monsterward from that embrace declined,
could change her to Chimera and inspire
doubt of his garden-state, exciting higher
the arrowy impulse to dim descried
o'erhuman bliss, as after, on the wide
way of his travail, with enticing strain
and hint of nameless things reveal'd, a bane
haunted, the fabled siren, and was seen
later as Lamia and Melusine,
and whatsoe'er of serpent-wives is feign'd,
or malice of the vampire-witch that drain'd
fresh blood of fresh-born babes, a wicked blast:
faces of fear, beheld along the past
and in the folk's scant fireside lore misread,
of her that is the august and only dread,
close-dwelling, in the house of birth and death,
and closer, in the secrets of our breath -
or love occult, whose smile eludes our sight
in her flung hair that is the starry night
poem by Christopher John Brennan
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