jinja
in all the quietness
red pillars
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The frost of the highest peak.
Always been here
In fact
With you
Entwining my name
Forever
With your many names
In the frost of the highest peak.
Unlocking all doors.
When I leave the evil forever
And I say ''Nevermore and never again''
Quietness comes and quietness passes off
It is hang in the air
Both in its own sense and in the opposite
Words around it
Like holes and stars.
Very much like a destiny and an undestiny song
When its sound is moved by the quietness
Into quietness
As a cry is moved by the wind
Into its eco
Forever
When hope.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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The pillars of truth and the pillars of freedom - they are the pillars of society.
quote by Henrik Ibsen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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jinja shrine
i walk around taking in
the breath of God
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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jinja shrine
whistle of fir
carresses of gods
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Followers Are Pillars
Pillars carry the roof.
The roof keeps them erect.
Pillars are happy
That they are connected,
Not minding their labour.
Followers are pillars.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Pillars Of Our Society
see the pillars of our society.
the church, the provincial and municipal halls,
the university, the house of the family,
try to hold these pillars and feel their
strength and width, you think that they are
too strong to protect you
try piercing each pillar with the questions
deep from your heart
ask if they are that strong to make you
strong too
and protect you till the last breath
of your suffering and pain
ask more questions and find out the answers
from all these pillars
lean on them, and touch them and
shoot them with the bullets of your
quizzical looks
listen carefully to the correct answers
and stare at all of them
slowly, these pillars will crumble
and turn to powder for in truth there is no
other pillar stronger than what
they have constructed for you through all these years
except the pillar that your body built
on your legs from the bottom of your feet
it is you ultimately that you can only lean on
you to protect you
till the last breath of you is finally taken away.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Jabberwocky
Other than the slight ringing in my ears
The only other sound I hear is the
Computers low droning inner gears.
Monotonous sounds that drive me a
Little crazy at times; background noises
That become deafening after awhile
Especially sitting in quietness
Or rather semi-quietness. Still, I’ll
Never get used to these subtle noises.
I think, perhaps, I am a little mad
If that’s possible; I don’t hear voices
Like a bug-house lunatic, God forbad!
I must be nuts though, to sit here alone
Typing jabberwocky verses at home.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Just love the Cemetery
one thing about grave
about the cemetery that i like
they are all so real, real as death
and the people who come visiting
they come with their real self
laugh, smile or tears they are
all so reall, for there is no more need
to fake one's feeling, put on a face
everything is now known to the dead
or remains forever unknown
there is a quietness in the grave
and the cemetery that i like
it is the ingratiating quietness
that is so soothing to the soul
the calm acceptance of life
that to die is also a part of living
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Soothing graves
one thing about grave
about the cemetery that i like
they are all so real, real as death
and the people who come visiting
they come with their real self
laugh, smile or tears they are
all so reall, for there is no more need
to fake one's feeling, put on a face
everything is now known to the dead
or remains forever unknown
there is a quietness in the grave
and the cemetery that i like
it is the ingratiating quietness
that is so soothing to the soul
the calm acceptance of life
that to die is also a part of living
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Only Three Days Away
Is it the quietness of midnight,
That people find it appropriate...
To honk a car horn to shock and disturb,
With a shouting to a closed window...
Of someone living just a few steps away.
To then have a loud conversation,
As to where they should meet for lunch...
When the weekend comes?
Is it the quietness of midnight,
That people find this appropriate to do?
Or should I ignore what is going on,
To get up to have a snack of popcorn?
And forget about sleeping.
With a making of my own plans,
For a weekend anticipated with such enthusiasm...
Only three days away.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Thank You For The Distance
i once told you
about the strong house
its pillars
are having distances
to support
the weight of the
roof and the
beams
like us now
our distance shall support
the weight
of dispositions
this house
this acquaintance shall
shelter
what memories we
have kept
the pillars are stable now
the house is not shaky
we leave it that way
we take chances somewhere
under the stars
outside the door
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Aurora Borealis
A crystallization of color spreads from the upper regions of the dark sky towards the trembling nipples of the waves. The feathering fringes of clouds fade behind pillars of green light. Transparent curtains tremble every-where. In the arctic temple, the hidden Samson of light shakes the moon-green pillars of the night.
Color these crystals with sudden blood; it is dawn, or else the last consumptive saliva of the dying day. Heartless hard light!
In the crisp light of the frozen tinkling stars, no waters flow. The ice-stars are icebergs in this black ocean. When the green glass cathedrals crash, the light and the pillars of light and the green pillars of moon-green crystallized light are reflected through space and finally settle like sharp blades above the trembling nipples of the waves.
Samson moves in the glass cathedrals. Samson and the bull and Samson and the sun and the sun is the bull and Samson is the sun and is the bull.
Let crackling twigs of green-white light weave fantastic tree-patterns on the mirror of the sea. Let the deceptive sky celebrate the fall of its ice-cathedrals and its icebergs and its ice-stars when darkness hardens the black waters into the sullen black ice-pack of night.
Red Samson the arctic red sun is moving in the groves of green pillars. There is the red tinge of consumptive blood flickering behind the moon-green glass pillars of light. Blood of red Samson, red blood of Samson, the red thief is sprinkling blood on the slanting pillars of the falling sanctuary of light that is doomed to succumb soon to the black ice-pack of night. Then there will be night and, suddenly thrust into dark night, the red sex of the Samson-sun must later rise out of eastern whiteness and destroy the night.
Then the pillars of the black shattered temple of night glow with a white light and a red light of consumptive blood, but again later comes night then again the same Samson as the temples crash each time when the red thief scatters blood on the pillars of the light or the pillars of the night. And the thief is Samson and the red sun is Samson and Samson is the thief and Samson is the sun.
poem by Edouard Roditi
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Quiet Everyone
Quiet everyone
I say “Quiet”
Your voices attract disturbances
To my fragile ears like a magnet
Bring forth thy instrument of tranquillity
The bearer of all peaceful placidity
Impose it upon my genial sanity
Let’s have some peace and quiet
For once, this instance
Quietness is a precious piece of sound
Just before words get around
Breaking the strong bond
Of which is required to concentrate
Quietness imposes on our mental state of being,
A certain calmness amongst all this glorified madness
Only in silent thoughts
Can one create the ultimate
Relax and consciously meditate
Copyright 2005 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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The Secret Society Of The Suddenly Quiet...
This Christmas, as ever at this time of year,
there’s a worldwide brotherhood and sisterhood
whose numbers I cannot count
and would not wish to know;
who seldom know each other;
and perhaps, that’s just as well..
who, in their dressing-gowns on Christmas morn,
amid bright wrappings hasty torn,
and exclamations…
fall suddenly quiet,
are far, somewhere else for several moments;
return, and look silently in thought, deeply,
at partner, children; their eyes
now a little more shining than they were..
or who, at a lively dinner-party,
fall quiet for a minute,
look around the table, thoughtfully; or
squeeze a hand, secretly; then
return as if they’d never been away;
return perhaps with new vigour
in their conversation and in response..
or even, acceptably alone at Christmas,
celebrate it in this quietness;
if you knew them, which you don’t,
you might say something to them;
or, just might not know what you should say..
who are these, suddenly quiet
for a moment, far away,
celebrating something in their quietness?
they are those whose quietness would say,
this is what I never knew, when I a child;
longed for, never thought it would come true;
how fortunate I am, that I’ve survived
to feel like this…
Indians might say, this is the story of your present life,
which you wrote with your previous life..
the drama of separation now transcended…
that may be so, explain a lot; or it may not… but,
look at them- when they don’t see you doing that-
look at them deeply with the eyes of love;
saying in yourself, yes, yes, yes…
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Paradigm Shift
Let's dance, stop to fight
We do the paradigm shift tonight
Yeah, it's a natural drift alright
And it's coming up out of the blur
Out of your mind from deep below
The hidden harmonies discover
Chaos-- which means order
Its evolution is a spiritual way
For quietness is stronger than motion
Silence is stronger than sound
Listen to the tone which is not played
Nothing is what we want
Quietness is stronger than motion
Silence is stronger than sound
Nothing is what we get
But the holistic movement of all
Yes, that is the way
Do you hear the river flow?
Do you hear it?.. Yes!
Do you hear it flow
You talked yourself into wrong questions
You don't care about the answers
You let the others be the good ones
You're part of the death-bringing system
There is no place where you can hide
Stop chasing the wrong Gods of time (ter)
Chasing the wrong Gods of time (bis)
Running out of time (ter)
Time kills!
You're lowering hopes much too much
You get into the grind much too much
And losing faith in your abilities
The loyalty to your beloved system
Of belief must surrender
To chaos which means order
Evolution's not a model of yours
For quietness is stronger than motion
Silence is stronger than sound
Listen to the tone which is not played
Nothing is what we want
Quietness is stronger than motion
Silence is stronger than sound
Nothing is what we get
But the holistic movement of all
Yes, that is the way
Do you hear the river flow?
Do you hear it flow?
Do you hear it
song performed by by Alphaville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What It Took for Me To Get Here
Perhaps I am old fashion.
With a joy of having peace...
And surrounded by quietness,
I've discovered I love alot.
But I can not live within my home,
With rooms that are closed.
And each padlocked.
That's why I refuse to share my space,
With those who have issues.
And I trust not.
'You have enough space.
We could share as room-mates.
We can split expenses.
Doesn't that make sense? '
Perhaps I am old fashion.
With a joy of having peace...
And surrounded by quietness,
I've discovered I love alot.
But I can not live within my home,
With rooms that are closed.
And each padlocked.
That's why I refuse to share my space,
With those who have issues.
And I trust not.
'Trust?
I'm talking about saving us both a few bucks.'
Perhaps I am old fashion.
With a joy of having peace...
And surrounded by quietness,
I've discovered I love alot.
But I can not live within my home,
With rooms that are closed.
And each padlocked.
That's why I refuse to share my space,
With those who have issues.
And I trust not.
'What are you saying?
You can't use a few more dollars,
In your pocket?
Allowing you to breathe.
Economically and more freely? '
Perhaps I am old fashion.
With a joy of having peace...
And surrounded by quietness,
I've discovered I love alot.
But I can not live within my home,
With rooms that are closed.
And each padlocked.
That's why I refuse to share my space,
With those who have issues.
And I trust not.
'So you are saying you prefer to live alone?
Even though you are tight on funds? '
I wouldn't trade this for a million dollars.
Or a feast I could eat everyday,
To have my life any other way.
You have no idea,
What it took for me to get here.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Unbeliever
He sleeps on the top of a mast. - Bunyan
He sleeps on the top of a mast
with his eyes fast closed.
The sails fall away below him
like the sheets of his bed,
leaving out in the air of the night the sleeper's head.
Asleep he was transported there,
asleep he curled
in a gilded ball on the mast's top,
or climbed inside
a gilded bird, or blindly seated himself astride.
"I am founded on marble pillars,"
said a cloud. "I never move.
See the pillars there in the sea?"
Secure in introspection
he peers at the watery pillars of his reflection.
A gull had wings under his
and remarked that the air
was "like marble." He said: "Up here
I tower through the sky
for the marble wings on my tower-top fly."
But he sleeps on the top of his mast
with his eyes closed tight.
The gull inquired into his dream,
which was, "I must not fall.
The spangled sea below wants me to fall.
It is hard as diamonds; it wants to destroy us all."
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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On Those Days One Prays
When one prays,
A seeking from the outside...
Begins within!
To identify miracles,
One must sit in a quietness...
That has come to visit upon request.
When one prays...
The mind should be at rest.
When one prays,
A thankfulness should be first expressed.
With an appreciation for those blessings,
One sometimes ignores but gets!
When one prays.
When one prays,
A seeking from the outside...
Begins within!
To identify miracles,
One must sit in a quietness...
That has come to visit upon request.
When one prays...
The mind should be at rest.
With a confession professed,
As a thankfulness one expresses.
On those days one prays.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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