What Is Revealed In Two
Now here must stop
in what is remaining light to cook
must bend to the purple cabbage at hand,
the courage of the knife
the helpful drive of hunger,
marvel yet again, it's faceted pattern when
halved, same as the onion, the leek
Such facets in me too reveal when
I dare to be loved in two
poem by Warren Falcon
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Der Einfall, Remaining Light In Duino
[Beginning with two lines from Duino Elegies by Rainer Maria Rilke]
1
'You that fall with the
thud only fruits know, unripe, '
here wait to be shaken.
Here we carry, or ought to, driven so much past
bitter root,
sugar,
not for selves but for the gods to sweeten their too
objective palates
(at least they have tongues/mouths,
we know they have teeth)
to open them into our subjectivity which, secret told, is
what they crave, our realist sufferings, such are sweet
to them, makes them, too, more solid -
what they seek - solidity beyond our capacities to reify
but for Imagination which conducts/births them into material
being.
Our extreme suffering compensates for, gravitates their
too refined coldness toward heat.
They, like scattered flour, having no leaven,
dream/desire us-the-leaven; they seek/swell
into what we have, what we bring, we, the most baked,
to be torn into, eaten, too, for yearning gods' sake.
They come/fall compelled to colors, palettes, ours, upon
worn pallets, these acrobats, as yet enfleshed lovers in
not yet felt world and literal sense, they
do balance, risk, stumble, break, stutter/cry utter such
further dimension into
desire's bodies' breath, ashes,
importantly, always just arriving
forgetting the arguing seed's
previous vertical discontentment.
2
Such skies already known
limb by limb escape
slowly their shaping.
They suspend, extend then
into their felt fall,
hard land into waking.
What uses for tears there
are gather there from
the eye, pours upon the
cheek from which miscreant
tongues may most drink.
3
Think again upon these things which go about
in darkness and stumble against us begging no
pardon, intent still on passage, confused for words
or Ibn Arabi's 'Black Light' no light at all or
thing but a gnossis found, or given.
Gnossis, most striven for, in minutest motes, is.
All this to say, Ready.
Darkness. Expand/extend
further beyond (yet into)
unsaid street corner,
into inarticulate cathedral,
into unutterable mosque,
into wholly other loci
dependent upon uninhabited
blue field, crust, what
passes for, or has, Light,
just overtones 'beyond the fiddle.'
4
Now here must stop
in what is remaining light to cook
must bend to the purple cabbage at hand,
the courage of the knife
the helpful drive of hunger,
marvel yet again, it's faceted pattern when
halved, same as the onion, the leek
Such facets in me too reveal when
I dare to be loved in two
**The quote in the poem is from the Duino Elegies
poem by Warren Falcon
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A Soldier's War of Courage
Courage is standing in the middle of a war zone
Not knowing if you’ll be making it back home
Courage is leaving your loved ones behind
Not knowing for sure if you were seeing them for the last time
Courage is holding the weapon in your hand in a do or die place
Not showing the enemy traces of your fear and despair on your face
Courage is able to sleep at night with one eye open and eye closed
Not knowing if tomorrow, you’ll be the next one not coming home
Courage is reading a letter from a loved one holding back the tears
Remaining strong is your mission and survival becomes your darkest fears
Courage is seeing soldiers die right in front of you
While you are aware that your life is at risk for a mission you were born to do
Courage is being a hero in everyone’s eyes
Whether or not you come out alive
There, you will always and forever remain; a Soldier’s War of Courage…
poem by Gail Doyle
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Psychopath
The Psychopath
The lane is siesta empty, meanders forever amongst
olive trees and budding almond flowers, but afar I see
a black clad man, an ominous shadow, marching
towards me. He has got one hand in his pocket, a knife?
Bet he is a psychopath out to see if he can kill someone
without being caught. Nowhere to run fields are soggy
and he’s younger than me; he will catch up and plunge
a knife in me when I’m exhausted. When he stops and
looks around to be sure there are no witnesses, I quickly
bend down and pick up a big stone I can hit him over
the head with it, I think I’m stronger than him. He looks
tense as he passes me on the opposite side of the lane,
I stop pretend to look at the sky, can’t let him thrust his
knife in my back. He’s running now, see him disappear
around a sharp bend but I wait till sure he ain’t coming
back, I better arm myself with a kitchen knife next time
I go out the world is full of bad people.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Ode to Tomatoes
The street
filled with tomatoes
midday,
summer,
light is
halved
like
a
tomato,
its juice
runs
through the streets.
In December,
unabated,
the tomato
invades
the kitchen,
it enters at lunchtime,
takes
its ease
on countertops,
among glasses,
butter dishes,
blue saltcellars.
It sheds
its own light,
benign majesty.
Unfortunately, we must
murder it:
the knife
sinks
into living flesh,
red
viscera,
a cool
sun,
profound,
inexhausible,
pop ulates the salads
of Chile,
happily, it is wed
to the clear onion,
and to celebrate the union
we
pour
oil,
essential
child of the olive,
onto its halved hemispheres,
pepper
adds
its fragrance,
salt, its magnetism;
it is the wedding
of the day,
parsley
hoists
its flag,
potatoes
bubble vigorously,
the aroma
of the roast
knocks
at the door,
it's time!
come on!
and, on
the table, at the midpoint
of summer,
the tomato,
star of earth,
recurrent
and fertile
star,
displays
its convolutions,
its canals,
its remarkable amplitude
and abundance,
no pit,
no husk,
no leaves or thorns,
the tomato offers
its gift
of fiery color
and cool completeness.
poem by Pablo Neruda
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Song of the Little White Girl
Cabbage tree, cabbage tree, what is the matter?
Why are you shaking so? Why do you chatter?
Because it is just a white baby you see,
And it's the black ones you like, cabbage tree?
Cabbage tree, cabbage tree, you're a strange fellow
With your green hair and your legs browny-yellow.
Wouldn't you like to have curls, dear, like me?
What! No one to make them? O poor cabbage tree!
Never mind, cabbage tree, when I am taller,
And if you grow, please, a little bit smaller,
I shall be able by that time, bay be,
To make you the loveliest curls, cabbage tree.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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Strange Restaurant
I said, 'I'll take the T-bone steak.'
A soft voice mooed, 'Oh wow.'
And I looked up and realized
The waitress was a cow.
I cried, 'Mistake--forget the the steak.
I'll take the chicken then.'
I heard a cluck--'twas just my luck
The busboy was a hen.
I said, 'Okay no, fowl today.
I'll have the seafood dish.'
Then I saw through the kitchen door
The cook--he was a fish.
I screamed, 'Is there anyone workin' here
Who's an onion or a beet?
No? Your're sure? Okay then friends,
A salad's what I'll eat.'
They looked at me. 'Oh,no,' they said,
'The owner is a cabbage head.'
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Truth or Dare
The truth is I loved you, I dare you to remember
The truth is you hurt me, I dare you to share my pain
The truth is I wanted you back, I dare you to say the same
The truth is you never said sorry, l dare you to try
The truth is I protected you, I dare you to not run away
The truth is you squandered trust cheaply, I dare you to lay the first new stone
The truth is I did insane things, I dare you to stop the insanity
The truth is you lied for nothing that was real, I dare you to face the truth
poem by Alexander Downie
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Coffee Courage
The bitter coffee kicked;
I shook and then I licked
My lips and gave a sigh.
Shattered eyes encouraged,
I nearly had envisaged
Waking up an eye.
Another sip; a jolt –
Not unlike a bolt
Of wattage from the mains.
My sockets under strain,
I tried it once again:
Aha! The light, the searing white –
My God, the bloody pain!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Courage, courage, coffee courage,
Courage, courage, courage,
Courage, courage, coffee courage,
Courage, courage, courage,
Courage, courage, coffee courage,
Courage, courage, courage,
Courage, courage, coffee courage,
Courage, courage, courage,
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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What Gives You Courage
Without fear there cannot be courage
Fear drives the unthinkable out of us
What gives you courage when there is none?
What gives you courage to get out of bed?
What gives you courage to drive when you know it's dangerous?
What gives you courage to succeed?
What gives you courage to survive?
What gives you courage to strive?
People have courage to live for their children
People have courage to live for themselves
People have courage to live for hope
People have courage because they believe
People have courage to not give up
Fear is not the essence of life
But a free soul not tamed
Courage is the journey of your heart
Guided by strength
On a path of untamed obstacles
Let courage guide you
As you begin your quest
poem by Alisha Ricks
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Bleeding
Stop bleeding said the knife
I would if I could said the cut.
Stop bleeding you make me messy with the blood.
I'm sorry said the cut.
Stop or I will sink in farther said the knife.
Don't said the cut.
The knife did not say it couldn't help it but
it sank in farther.
If only you didn't bleed said the knife I wouldn't
have to do this.
I know said the cut I bleed too easily I hate
that I can't help it I wish I were a knife like
you and didn't have to bleed.
Well meanwhile stop bleeding will you said the knife.
Yes you are a mess and sinking in deeper said the cut I
will have to stop.
Have you stopped by now said the knife.
I've almost stopped I think.
Why must you bleed in the first place said the knife.
For the same reason maybe that you must do what you
must do said the cut.
I can't stand bleeding said the knife and sank in farther.
I hate it too said the cut I know it isn't you it's
me you're lucky to be a knife you ought to be glad about that.
Too many cuts around said the knife they're
messy I don't know how they stand themselves.
They don't said the cut.
You're bleeding again.
No I've stopped said the cut see you are coming out now the
blood is drying it will rub off you'll be shiny again and clean.
If only cuts wouldn't bleed so much said the knife coming
out a little.
But then knives might become dull said the cut.
Aren't you still bleeding a little said the knife.
I hope not said the cut.
I feel you are just a little.
Maybe just a little but I can stop now.
I feel a little wetness still said the knife sinking in a
little but then coming out a little.
Just a little maybe just enough said the cut.
That's enough now stop now do you feel better now said the knife.
I feel I have to bleed to feel I think said the cut.
I don't I don't have to feel said the knife drying now
becoming shiny.
poem by May Swenson
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Dick Fozard's Wartime Navy Knife
I’m not one for mementoes – Grandma
in sepia, pie-crust necked and pleated blouse,
expressionless amidst her dressed-up, mixed-up brood; chic aunt
with that hundred-watt smile which clicked
off, the instant the shutter clicked…but now
I’m holding this kitchen knife.
It’s got a triangular blade to allow
for that quick chop-chop of the trained cook
or kitchen-hand; black, dulled ebonite handle;
and although it’s made in Sheffield,
by Geo.Watt,1943, it’s not stainless steel
but stained iron; sharp, but not too dangerous
when used in the cook’s galley of a hungry ship of the unslept
that’s simultaneously zigzagging to avoid torpedoes
and kamikaze dive-bombers, while buffeting through
the South China Seas. The ‘ broad arrow’
stamped on it – as once used to pattern convicts' clothes –
here means, that it was wartime issue.
Dick trained as artist and lithographer’s apprentice
just in time not to hone his talents when called up
to fight the Japs in that nasty, ruthless end-campaign
when Europe had declared peace, but not Japan.
He wouldn’t talk of it; and when a few years back
someone saw and remembered him from then, he
shook hands warmly, said little, left it to the other jacktar
to tell the story when he’d gone. And went back to find himself again,
walking the Yorkshire hills and dales with rucksack, pipe, a crust,
an onion, cheese, cut I guess with this same knife, and
missing nothing with his artist’s vision;
beyond solitude; content; complete.
He never really used his part-developed skills again
except to teach, with few words but with superb craftsman’s care,
leaving a trail of devoted pupils: ‘He taught me all I know’.
Only those, perhaps, who know war,
can know peace in this way, asking nothing; to know him
(but careful not to question) was to know a little of that peace
deep within the sea of himself, the sea
which holds so many souls.
When he moved on, as he often did,
he left his knife. I use it every day,
remembering this man who was just one
who knew, lived, war, quietly guarding his memories
of pain with love, of love with pain.
I sharpen it, like a memory
I do not have. Like one who prays
devoutly, to that unknown god
of war; who may, in ways we cannot understand,
guard such souls.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Hand That Rocks The Cradle
Young life, too young, whos eyes are choking,
Cant rest, cant sleep, for dreams that set you
Falling.
Dont feel the hunger, cant drink no holy water,
No light in these eyes, no place for dreams at all
Tonight.
When the hand that rocks the cradle, is the hand
That holds the knife,
And the knife that cuts the cable, kills the spark that
Feeds the life.
Chorus:
No grave could be deep enough, down to hell if we
Were able,
The veil of life was pushed aside, by the hand that
Rocks the cradle.
The oath you take is sacred, to save not steel a life,
Like the passing of the sweetest soul, that looked
Through human eyes
Chorus
Young life, too young, whos eyes are choking,
Cant rest, cant sleep, for dreams that set you
Falling.
Dont feel the hunger, cant drink no holy water,
No light in these eyes, no place for dreams at all
Tonight.
Chorus
Its the hand that rocks the cradle, its the hand that
Steels the life.
song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Any time you stop looking at evil as a black and white thing, it's helpful. So the fact that there won't be any obligatory Islamic terrorist stereotypes in movies any more, that'd be helpful.
quote by John Cusack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Can We Just Stop & Talk Awhile
(jose mari chan)
Fancy meeting you alone in the crowd
Couldn't help but notice your smile
While everybody else around us is going about
Can we just stop and talk awhile?
I've been often told our world's growing old
And that friends are harder to find
Do tell me more about yourself
We could share a thought or two
Now who would mind?
Maybe then we could go for a ride
Drive down to the countryside
Get away from the gray
And frenzied hurly-burly of the city life
Early yet to say what lies ahead
It's the first day of the rest of our lives
Can we just stop and talk awhile
Get to know each other
Who are we to know?
Love could be waiting at the end
'round that bend and so
Let's stop and talk awhile
Maybe then we could go for a ride
Drive down to the countryside
Get away from the gray
And frenzied hurly-burly of the city life
Early yet to say what lies ahead
It's the first day of the rest of our lives
Can we just stop and talk awhile
Get to know each other
Who are we to know?
Love could be waiting at the end
'round that bend and so
Let's stop and talk awhile
Let's stop and talk awhile
Let's stop and talk awhile
Let's stop and talk awhile
song performed by by Lea Salonga
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Courage Responding
To stay in a pure way is not to live.
We'll get hurt, damage and damaged.
If you love you learn how to cry
If you hate you need love
if you keep hating forgiveness.
If you kill, only the Mighty might help you.
But diamonds are the eye of all that shines made evil.
Yes you need courage to face life in all it's facets.
You need courage to stay open and aware
You need courage to love yourself and others,
who else will feed the seeds of a good sower.
poem by Madrason writer
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Whatever You Do! Don't!
Deep in Denialville
Tryin' a' fight the way I feel
I go jello when you smile
I start blushin'-my head rushin'
If you stand too close to me
I might melt down from the heat
If ya' look my way one more time
I'm gonna go out of my mind
Whatever you do...
Don't even think about it!
Don't go and get me started!
Don't you dare drive me crazy!
Don't do that to me baby!
You stop me in my tracks
My heart pumpin' to the max
I'm such a sucker for your eyes
They permanently paralyze
Whatever you do...
Don't even think about it!
Don't go and get me started!
Don't you dare drive me crazy!
Don't do that to me baby!
(Whatever you do
song performed by by Shania Twain from Come On Over
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Talking Cabbage
A talking cabbage told me, it would prefer to be in a side salad
Than watch the news
The couch potato listless of endless media coverage
Said it would rather be mashed and squashed
Than bored by another soap
Then it changed it's mind
And said it would prefer to mingle with mayonaise and chives
The talking cabbage said it would rather be coleslaw
Than know the weather
At least it could mingle with the onion and the carrot together
The talking cabbage said
' I would rather have my own chat show than watch Jerermy Kyle'
And then thinking it was all a dream
I showed him the chopping board
SILENCE
Then the cucumber started
I decided to become A NON VEGETARIAN
But something is telling me the lamb chops are restless
The eggs are becoming quite unreasonable
Over the spilt milk
And the bread is unhappy with it's filling
Happiness never lasts!
Decided to fast
But the silence is unbearable,
Who can fill it?
So I turned on the news.......! ! ..
yvette smith
poem by Yvette Smith
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Before Wine Is Drunk
Before wine is drunk
We are going to an art exhibition this afternoon, but first we have to
buy groceries, cabbage, leek, bread, margarine, milk and tomatoes.
You can’t eat a picture even if it displays an orange beside a banana,
“I will give you “The Scream” for a boiled potato and a slice or two
of yesterday’s loaf, ” the poor artist said. I had no time to cook, gave
him ten shilling and hung the painting in the toilet; it was stolen by
a guest who needed a leak. He sold it for a million; the painter got
his photo in the newspaper and was never hungry again, I have a pale
square on the bathroom wall. Günter Grass, I always think of horses
when mentioning his name, paints still-life and his yellow in lemons
is stunning, I drink tea with citron for weeks after seeing his work.
I have no original paintings on my walls. But many prints, and that’s
ok, I just like art, but dislike fake experts who think they know what
the painter thought of when putting wonder on his blank canvass.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Green Onion Shampoo
The baby-sitter's nuts! Please listen Mom, it's true!
Last night she washed my hair with Green Onion Shampoo!
Green Onion Shampoo! Green Onion Shampoo!
It smells worse than bad, and when you get through,
Your poor scalp will burn, your eyes will burn too!
Who ever heard of Green Onion Shampoo?
Why did she do that? She has a loose screw!
It's made in Cleveland! This stuff is brand new!
I don't understand! God, what did I do?
To ever deserve Green Onion Shampoo?
Promise to fire her! And trust when I say...
If you rehire her... I must run away!
poem by ToddMichael St. Pierre
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Onions Onions! Enjoy onions!
Every life is here,
Is like onion
Some are good some are bad,
Some are white,
Some are red,
They are alike when are peeled!
But some are chopped,
Some are cooked,
Some are eaten raw,
Some are rotten
some are planted,
To yield more onions!
Look this world ls full of opinion,
world filled with divine Onion,
no one believes in soul _God Union,
THOSE WHO DARE NOT TO DIVE INTO OCEAN,
EVER sit on shore
and shout IN SUSPICION!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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