Tag Archives: #writing

THE VOICES OF LONG DEAD WISE MEN

WHEN in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary
for one people to dissolve the political bands which have
connected them with another, and to assume among the powers
of the earth, the separate and equal station to which
the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle
them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires
that they should declare the causes which impel
them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all
men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator
with certain unalienable. Rights, that among these are Life,
Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these
rights, Governments are instituted among Men,
deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed,
—That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive
of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it,
and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such
principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most
likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments
long established should not be changed for light
and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind
are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than
to right themselves by abolishing the forms to
which they are accustomed. But when a long
train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce
them under absolute Despotism, it is their right,
it is their duty, to throw off such Government,
and to provide new Guards for their future security.—Such has been the patient sufferance of
these Colonies; and such is now the necessity
which constrains them to alter their former
Systems of Government. The history of the
present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute
Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let
Facts be submitted to a candid world.
He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most
wholesome and necessary for the public good.
He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of
immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should
be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.
He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless
those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature,
a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.
He has called together legislative bodies at
places unusual, uncomfortable, and distance

:: 03.30.2024 ::


Mistral Blows Pain Away

Upon the stagnant sea, I stood sentinel,
My vessel inert, awaiting destiny’s nudge.

Atop that mirror of heaven, I reclined,
Restless, a sailor longing.

I shut my lids, invoking
Incantations for the gentle breath

That animates the briny deep,
To swell my sails.

Whispers in the waves obscure the glass,
Awakening me, like a lover’s murmur.

It enveloped me, whispering sweetly,
Roll over, roll over, roll over.

And in my ear, it murmured its name,
A strange melody, yet clear as day:

Mistral, mistral wind.

Though I’ve long gripped the helm, I surrender
To the wind’s pilfering of my dominion,

Spinning me, losing my bearing,
Nights fleeting like fleeting thoughts.

Yet it guides me,
To towering summits,

Too grand to be real.
Mistral, mistral wind.

Each hour spent in vigil,
I await that breeze to stir me,

And transport me back to that realm,
Magic coursing through my veins.

And I sigh your name,
Across the boundless expanse.

You’ve turned me into a mad dreamer,
Mistral, mistral, mistral, mistral,
Mistral, mistral.

:: 03.30.2024 ::


L’étreinte éternelle – Réflexions sur l’amour et la dévotion

Dans le domaine de l’affection et de l’instant présent réside son essence,
car il a ouvert grandes les portes à l’écume hivernale et à l’été
clameur – celui qui a distillé la pureté en eau et en nourriture – qui incarne
le charme insaisissable des lieux de départ et l’extase transcendante
de lieux fidèles. Il est l’incarnation de l’affection et de l’avenir,
la vigueur et le dévouement que nous, debout au milieu de la fureur et de l’ennui,
apercevez traverser les cieux des tempêtes et les bannières du ravissement.

Il est amour ! Un standard sans faille et redéfini, un miracle, un imprévu
rationalité et éternité : un mécanisme apprécié pour ses attributs fatidiques.
Nous avons tous goûté à la terreur de sa concession et de la nôtre : nous délecter de notre
bien-être, renforcé par nos facultés, égoïstement affectueux et passionné
pour lui, lui qui nous adore parce que son existence est sans limites…

Et nous nous souvenons de lui alors qu’il embarque à nouveau… Et si l’Adoration remue, résonne,
son Vœu résonne : « A bas ces superstitions, ces autres entités,
ces unions et ces époques. C’est l’époque qui est tombée dans l’oubli ! »

Il ne partira pas, ni ne redescendra d’un royaume céleste, ni n’apaisera
la colère des femmes, la gaieté des hommes, ou absoudre toutes les transgressions : car cela
est conclu maintenant, puisqu’il existe et qu’il est adoré.

Son souffle, son visage, ses mouvements rapides ; la rapidité impressionnante de
forme et action lorsqu’ils atteignent la perfection.

La fécondité de la pensée et l’étendue du monde !

Sa forme corporelle ! la libération tant désirée, la fusion de la grâce avec une intensité retrouvée !

Tout ce qu’il voit ! toutes les anciennes supplications et pénalités annulées à son passage.

Son époque ! l’annulation de toute souffrance bruyante et agitée dans une harmonie plus profonde.

Sa foulée ! des migrations plus profondes que les invasions anciennes.

Ô lui et moi ! un orgueil plus magnanime qu’une bienveillance abandonnée.

Ô monde ! — et le chant cristallin des nouvelles douleurs !

Il nous a tous compris et nous a aimés, puissions-nous, en cette veille d’hiver, d’un océan à l’autre,
du poteau bruyant à la citadelle, de la multitude au rivage, d’une vision à l’autre,
nos forces et nos sentiments sont fatigués, saluez-le, soyez témoin de lui et dites-lui adieu,
et sous les vagues et au sommet des déserts enneigés, suivez son regard, son souffle, sa forme, son époque.


Lovely Animals

Whiskers twitching
soft paws padding
through moonlit night,
the cat prowls,
silent sentinel
of the shadowed garden.

Beneath the canopy
of emerald leaves,
a symphony of chirps
and rustling whispers
fills the air,
as creatures big and small
find solace
in the tranquil embrace
of the forest’s heart.

Butterflies dance
in a kaleidoscope of hues,
their delicate wings
brushing against
the fragrant blossoms
of wildflowers.

And high above,
against a canvas of sky,
majestic wings
spanning wide,
the eagle soars,
a regal master
of the boundless expanse
of heaven’s domain.

Oh, to be
amongst creatures
of this wondrous earth,
to share in their secrets
and stories untold,
to revel
in the beauty
of their untamed souls!

:: 03.25.2024 ::


Beautiful Words From Her Grave

From the quiet depths of my repose,
I rise, a specter of verse and woe,
To lend my voice to this poetic fray,
In my voice and guise, I’ll have my say.

As Emily.

Upon the stair’s highest brink I’ll stand,
Gazing upon a garden’s urn in hand.
Let sunlight thread through each solitary hair,
In quiet contemplation, I’ll ponder there.

To wish a swift departure, ah, how vain!
Or for her heart to linger, steeped in pain.
Yet such is life’s ephemeral dance,
Each soul must part from its mortal trance.

In search of paths both light and fleet,
Where heart and mind in union meet,
A quest as fragile as a smile’s brief grace,
Or a gentle touch, a warm embrace.

As autumn’s breath whispers its refrain,
In my mind’s eye, I’ll call forth the pain.
My arms laden with blossoms fair,
A vision lost to the autumn air.

Oh, the musings that linger and roam,
In midnight’s silence, in noon’s bright dome.
Emily Dickinson, through endless throes,
In verse, in spirit, I’ll forever compose.

:: 03.17.2024 ::


She Moves On

IS she beautiful…first watching her eyes
Thunderous waves of oceans she destroys
Before a brilliant noise of Life
her lungs eternal enormously flourishing

— not upon Earth or it’s Oceans
but within Space she goes

flourishing within eons of distance
having met Earth and it’s creatures.
She moves on.

Unto the deepest of time and space.

:: 03.16.2024 ::


By Divine Design

By divine design, a melody takes flight,
Like sunbeams dancing on a celestial height.

Each note, a whisper from the heavens above,
A tapestry of sound woven with love.

Fingers dance on ivory keys so white,
Translating the divine into earthly light.

 (By divine design, a melody unfolds,

A symphony within, a story untold)

Each phrase, a brushstroke on the canvas of the soul,
Unearthing emotions, making them whole.

A dance of joy, a whisper of despair,
The melody reflects the burdens we all bear.

The angels sing:

“By divine design, a melody ignites,
A journey through landscapes, bathed in starlight!”

This poem, broken writes:

“From rolling hills where gentle breezes sigh,
To mountain peaks that pierce the endless sky.
The melody evolves, a constant surprise,
Unveiling mysteries in each listener’s eyes.”

:: 03.07.2024 ::

Notes:

I express my love and soul through divine design.
The thematic depth and this poem’s ability to evoke
powerful emotions and imagery.

I write notes because after I am gone I wish the readers
to understand what I have written. I am not cheating.
I am telling you, the reader why I wrote this poem.

This written poem delves into a transformative nature
of words and music and its ability to connect individuals
on a spiritual level. The imagery of fingers dancing on
ivory keys and phrases being brushstrokes on the canvas
of the soul highlights the profound emotional and
psychological impact of music.

My poem also acknowledges the universal human experience
of joy and despair, suggesting that music has the power
to reflect and alleviate the burdens we carry.

Overall, I want to express words and music as a universal
language that transcends cultural and linguistic barriers.


A HUNDRED POEMS – LV

In the tapestry of verse, my poetry lies,
A shattered mosaic beneath somber skies
.
Each fracture a tale of a distant past,
A kaleidoscope of memories amassed.

I am not whole, nor is my verse complete,
A mirror reflecting sorrows, bittersweet.
In every shard, a glimpse of my soul,
A fractured image I cannot control.

Yet in these fragments, truths reside,
Echoes of me I cannot hide.
Though my poetry may lack completion,
It’s a testament to my inner disposition.

So let me embrace this fractured art,
Wearing scars with grace, a noble part.
For within each shard, a tale is woven,
A journey of pain, yet also of devotion.

:: 03.03.2024 ::


Nightmares & Sweet Dreams

In the dead of night, I close my eyes to sleep,
But into darkness, my subconscious starts to creep.
I’m trapped within a nightmare, a twisted scene unfolds,
Where shadows dance with demons, and terror takes its hold.

Oh, in the grip of fear, I cannot scream,
Lost in the maze of a horrific dream.
Monsters lurk in the corners of my mind,
In this surreal world, there’s no solace to find.

I stumble through the darkness, chased by unseen foes,
Their whispers echo hauntingly, chilling to the bone.
Every step I take, I feel the dread draw near,
In this nightmare realm, there’s no escape, no sanctuary here.

Oh, in the grip of fear, I cannot scream,
Lost in the maze of a horrific dream.
Monsters lurk in the corners of my mind,
In this surreal world, there’s no solace to find.

I try to wake myself, to break free from this trance,
But the nightmare tightens its grip, refusing to enhance.
Each moment feels like an eternity, trapped in this twisted scheme,
Oh, how I long for morning light, to shatter this dreadful dream.

Oh, in the grip of fear, I cannot scream,
Lost in the maze of a horrific dream.
Monsters lurk in the corners of my mind,
In this surreal world, there’s no solace to find.

As the first rays of dawn break through the night,
I wake with a gasp, bathed in cold sweat, filled with fright.
Though the nightmare fades, its echoes still remain,
A chilling reminder of the horrors that haunt the domain of my brain.

:: 02.29.2024 ::


The Tiger Who Grew Old

Once I thought you a tiger,
Now a kitten, frail and small,
Once so fierce, your roar resounding,
Now a whisper, faint and pall.

Your eyes, once ablaze with fire,
Now dimmed by time’s relentless march,
Once you prowled with graceful stride,
Now you stumble in the dark.

Gone the days of wild defiance,
Now surrender to the night,
Once a ruler of the jungle,
Now a shadow, lost in flight.

Yet in your gentle purring,
Lies the echo of your past,
Once a king, now humbled servant,
Memories fading, fading fast.

Once I thought you a tiger,
Now a kitten, frail and thin,
Once so fierce, but now I see,
You were always gentle within.

:: 02.28.2024 ::