How To Speak Poetry
Re: How To Speak Poetry
How bountiful
this solitude,
surrounded,
filled
and mastered
by
the Name,
from which all things
arise
in splendour,
depending
one
upon
the
other.
…and finally,
insane for the light,
you
are the butterfly
and you
are gone.
It is not necessary
to be
in love,
or to be
in love
with butterflies.
Echoes,
voices,
traces
of text
born
out of other words,
staggeringly beautiful,
entwined
and
spiraling
in the mind.
this solitude,
surrounded,
filled
and mastered
by
the Name,
from which all things
arise
in splendour,
depending
one
upon
the
other.
…and finally,
insane for the light,
you
are the butterfly
and you
are gone.
It is not necessary
to be
in love,
or to be
in love
with butterflies.
Echoes,
voices,
traces
of text
born
out of other words,
staggeringly beautiful,
entwined
and
spiraling
in the mind.
- Attachments
-
- butterflyaway.jpg (38.58 KiB) Viewed 9390 times
Re: How To Speak Poetry
I even heardIt is not necessary
to be
in love
the angels
declare it
from above.
There ain't
no cure
for love.
~ ~
A desire
for higher
love-making
sweeps you
upward
until the
lengthening
wings
break into
fire.
I praise what is
truly alive,
what longs
to be burned
to death.
Leonard Cohen wrote:
As I lay dead
in my love-soaked bed,
angels came to kiss my head.
carm wrote:
Echoes,
voices,
traces
of text
born
out of other words,
staggeringly beautiful,
entwined
and
spiraling
in the mind.
Re: How To Speak Poetry
Take the word butterfly.
Leonard writes:
that if a butterfly
enters your guestroom
and perches behind
the bamboo screen,
the person
whom you
most love
is coming
to see you.
.....
Spirits succinctly uniting, by curves of chance.
Two souls
standing upright
and strong,
face to face,
silent,
drawing nigh
and nigher,
until
the lengthening air
breaks into fire –
'tis as though
each soul
is dropped
into some golden orb
of perfect song.
.....
And this desire
sweeps you upward,
and finally,
insane for the light,
you are the butterfly
and you are gone.
Winged prayers
usurp the palest canvas,
with the bliss of being –
so colourful, so alive.
A strange feeling comes over you,
when you see the silent candle burning.
You can see a face
as you saw it
when you were young,
in the middle of the night,
wondering how to be beautiful.
How bountiful
this solitude,
surrounded,
filled and mastered
by the Name,
from which
all things arise
in splendour,
depending
one
upon
the
other.
We live in all we seek…
Now come into my arms.
You are the image of my beauty.
.....
Echoes, voices, traces of text
born out of other words entwined and spiraling…
I even heard the angels declare it from above.
As I lay dead in my love-soaked bed, angels came to kiss my head.
......
Witness
this riot of colour
In the resurrection of
the butterfly,
And how its
script so freely
calligraphies
the open air,
coruscating,
all over
and everywhere,
as it ascends
the infinite
passages
of silent
unending light,
dreaming of origins,
and glorified
at each breadth
and depth.
.....
Look how a certain beauty
has alighted the winged angel
that has descended here,
vivaciously linked
to blossoms of grace,
newly born
out of pure madness,
and who’s profile
of stone and light
burns a feverish
flaming gold,
in the blaze
of double-pulsed
allegories,
this winged dancer
of so many holy places,
whose liquid flame
dovetails in
that ecstatic light,
until its radiant surface
is sanded down
to a golden new skin,
brighter than crystal clear,
thus, it dissolves of itself
into sweet wine,
by means
of passions inferno –
its echo,
becomes eternal,
like a burgeoning
cycle of song –
just as the nightingale
strains aloud
its heart-rending tune.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZGiF-NIb0f8
Tho‘ you are singing somewhere still
I can no longer hear you…
Leonard writes:
It is saidDo not make so much of the word.
that if a butterfly
enters your guestroom
and perches behind
the bamboo screen,
the person
whom you
most love
is coming
to see you.
.....
Spirits succinctly uniting, by curves of chance.
Two souls
standing upright
and strong,
face to face,
silent,
drawing nigh
and nigher,
until
the lengthening air
breaks into fire –
'tis as though
each soul
is dropped
into some golden orb
of perfect song.
.....
And this desire
sweeps you upward,
and finally,
insane for the light,
you are the butterfly
and you are gone.
Winged prayers
usurp the palest canvas,
with the bliss of being –
so colourful, so alive.
A strange feeling comes over you,
when you see the silent candle burning.
You can see a face
as you saw it
when you were young,
in the middle of the night,
wondering how to be beautiful.
How bountiful
this solitude,
surrounded,
filled and mastered
by the Name,
from which
all things arise
in splendour,
depending
one
upon
the
other.
We live in all we seek…
Now come into my arms.
You are the image of my beauty.
.....
Echoes, voices, traces of text
born out of other words entwined and spiraling…
I even heard the angels declare it from above.
As I lay dead in my love-soaked bed, angels came to kiss my head.
......
Witness
this riot of colour
In the resurrection of
the butterfly,
And how its
script so freely
calligraphies
the open air,
coruscating,
all over
and everywhere,
as it ascends
the infinite
passages
of silent
unending light,
dreaming of origins,
and glorified
at each breadth
and depth.
.....
Look how a certain beauty
has alighted the winged angel
that has descended here,
vivaciously linked
to blossoms of grace,
newly born
out of pure madness,
and who’s profile
of stone and light
burns a feverish
flaming gold,
in the blaze
of double-pulsed
allegories,
this winged dancer
of so many holy places,
whose liquid flame
dovetails in
that ecstatic light,
until its radiant surface
is sanded down
to a golden new skin,
brighter than crystal clear,
thus, it dissolves of itself
into sweet wine,
by means
of passions inferno –
its echo,
becomes eternal,
like a burgeoning
cycle of song –
just as the nightingale
strains aloud
its heart-rending tune.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZGiF-NIb0f8
Tho‘ you are singing somewhere still
I can no longer hear you…
Re: How To Speak Poetry
Released into the
seductiveness of sleep,
lost to the pre-existence
of previous things.
Scrolling upwards,
toward surfeits of beauty,
messaging the invisible –
purposed with a joy,
and a delicate savoir-faire.
Numinous the flame
of those silent hours,
dreaming the word
B U T T E R F L Y –
tethered to its graceful,
harmonious sway.
seductiveness of sleep,
lost to the pre-existence
of previous things.
Scrolling upwards,
toward surfeits of beauty,
messaging the invisible –
purposed with a joy,
and a delicate savoir-faire.
Numinous the flame
of those silent hours,
dreaming the word
B U T T E R F L Y –
tethered to its graceful,
harmonious sway.
Re: How To Speak Poetry
Carm, how excellent to see you. I so love your poetry, and 're-mixes'! (I shall return should inspiration strike.)
Re: How To Speak Poetry
Hi Diane, thanks for bringing me back to this thread. I do hope inspiration finds its way to you soon…
. . . . .
Life’s imperfections softened by
the cellophaned yellow of the sun.
Alive and puissant, its spill of light,
gifted to all that abide somewhere
beneath its blissful comfort of warmth.
Once received, one begins to consider
if ever for a day, they’ve been without.
. . . . .
Finding peace, they take rest, humbly easing themselves deeper into that
lovely sunlit day as its flame ever so gently caresses their enlivened centre.
. . . . .
Life’s imperfections softened by
the cellophaned yellow of the sun.
Alive and puissant, its spill of light,
gifted to all that abide somewhere
beneath its blissful comfort of warmth.
Once received, one begins to consider
if ever for a day, they’ve been without.
. . . . .
Finding peace, they take rest, humbly easing themselves deeper into that
lovely sunlit day as its flame ever so gently caresses their enlivened centre.
Re: How To Speak Poetry
Hello Carm:-)
I was grimly wondering how I was going to be inspired. Then I read the actual piece you posted at the top of this thread. Yay.
It is not necessary to invent a sunny day or a field of daffodils. It is not necessary to be in love, or to be in love with butterflies.
It is not necessary to be inspired; only to read what's in front of you.
------
I was grimly wondering how I was going to be inspired. Then I read the actual piece you posted at the top of this thread. Yay.
It is not necessary to invent a sunny day or a field of daffodils. It is not necessary to be in love, or to be in love with butterflies.
It is not necessary to be inspired; only to read what's in front of you.
------
carm wrote:
We live in all we seek…
Last edited by Diane on Sun Jul 10, 2011 12:11 am, edited 1 time in total.
Re: How To Speak Poetry
Butterfly: antennae rounded clubs on the ends
Moth: antennae thin or often feathery
Butterfly: body thin and smooth
Moth: body thick and fuzzy
Butterfly: active during the day
Moth: active during the night
Butterfly: colorful
Moth: dull
Butterfly: pupal stage, chrysalis
Moth: pupal stage, cocoon
Butterfly: wings held vertically when resting
Moth: wings held flat against body when resting
-------------
it seems there are a lot of opposites, when it comes to butterflies and moths.
is it necessary, do you think, to be in love, or to be in love with moths?
is the butterfly the light, and the moth crazy around it?
When you see the silent
candle burning you
are the butterfly
and you are gone.
Finally insane
for the light
I am both candle
and the moth crazy around it.
Moth: antennae thin or often feathery
Butterfly: body thin and smooth
Moth: body thick and fuzzy
Butterfly: active during the day
Moth: active during the night
Butterfly: colorful
Moth: dull
Butterfly: pupal stage, chrysalis
Moth: pupal stage, cocoon
Butterfly: wings held vertically when resting
Moth: wings held flat against body when resting
-------------
it seems there are a lot of opposites, when it comes to butterflies and moths.
is it necessary, do you think, to be in love, or to be in love with moths?
is the butterfly the light, and the moth crazy around it?
Rumi wrote:
Say, I am You
I am dust particles in sunlight.
I am the round sun.
To the bits of dust I say, Stay.
To the sun, Keep moving.
I am morning mist,
and the breathing of evening.
I am wind in the top of a grove,
and surf on the cliff.
Mast, rudder, helmsman, and keel,
I am also the coral reef they founder on.
I am a tree with a trained parrot in its branches.
Silence, thought, and voice.
The musical air coming through a flute,
a spark of stone, a flickering in metal.
Both candle and the moth crazy around it.
Rose, and the nightingale lost in the fragrance.
I am all orders of being, the circling galaxy,
the evolutionary intelligence, the lift, and the falling away.
What is, and what isn't.
You who know, Jelaluddin,
You the one in all, say who I am.
Say I am you.
When you see the silent
candle burning you
are the butterfly
and you are gone.
Finally insane
for the light
I am both candle
and the moth crazy around it.
Re: How To Speak Poetry
Diane, thanks for your words…
Diane writes:
Diane writes:
It is not necessary to be inspired; only to read what's in front of you.
Re: How To Speak Poetry
Diane writes that Rumi wrote:
Slilence.
Thought.
And Voice.
What is
and what isn't.
. . . . .
You
the one in all,
say
who I am.
Say
I am you.
. . . . .Say, I am You
I am dust particles in sunlight.
I am the round sun.
To the bits of dust I say, Stay.
To the sun, Keep moving.
I am morning mist,
and the breathing of evening.
I am wind in the top of a grove,
and surf on the cliff.
Mast, rudder, helmsman, and keel,
I am also the coral reef they founder on.
I am a tree with a trained parrot in its branches.
Silence, thought, and voice.
The musical air coming through a flute,
a spark of stone, a flickering in metal.
Both candle and the moth crazy around it.
Rose, and the nightingale lost in the fragrance.
I am all orders of being, the circling galaxy,
the evolutionary intelligence, the lift, and the falling away.
What is, and what isn't.
You who know, Jelaluddin,
You the one in all, say who I am.
Say I am you.
Slilence.
Thought.
And Voice.
What is
and what isn't.
. . . . .
You
the one in all,
say
who I am.
Say
I am you.
Re: How To Speak Poetry
Silence.
Thought.
And Voice.
What is
and what isn't.
You
the one in all,
say
who I am.
Say
I am you.
Verse 41 from Book of Mercy, by Peter Danielson: http://www.leonardcohenfiles.com/pdan2009.mp3
And you say,
I am in this heart,
I and my name are here.
Re: How To Speak Poetry
I have tried in my way to be free.
I lift my hands to you.
I kneel toward my heart.
Do not fix your burning eyes on me when you speak about love.
Silence.
My love is here.
I and my name are here.
Speak the words, convey the data, step aside.
I have saved all my ribbons for thee.
And you say, I am in this heart, I and my name are here.
You the one in all, say who I am.
Step aside and they will know what you know because you know it already.
What is and what isn't.
And Voice.
Be by yourself.
Do not be afraid to be weak.
I have torn everyone who reached out for me.
Everywhere the blades turn, in every thought the butchery,
and it is raw where I wander; but you hide me in the shelter of your name,
and you open the hardness to tears.
You draw me back to close my eyes, to bless your name in speechlessness.
Do not be afraid to be weak.
In speechlessness.
Say I am you.
I forget you.
And you say, I am in this heart, I and my name are here.
Blessed are you in the smallness of your whispering.
These pieces were written in silence.
This is an interior landscape.
It is inside.
It is private.
Let the audience feel your love of privacy even though there is no privacy.
In speechlessness.
Say I am you.
Blessed are you who speaks to the unworthy.
Avoid the flourish.
Do not be ashamed to be tired.
You look good when you're tired.
I look far.
I forget you.
And I’m lost.
And you say, I am in this heart, I and my name are here.
The drifting is to you, and the swell of suffering breaks toward you.
Bind me, ease of my heart, bind me to your love.
Bound to you – your love, I fall away.
Gentle things you return to me, and duties that are sweet.
This wave of longing, through the air slips.
Invisibly I cling to the music that is you, that is of motion and of colour.
And you say, I am in this heart, I and my name are here.
Now come into my arms.
You are the image of my beauty.
And I am lost.
But I swear by this song
And by all that I have done wrong
I will make it all up to thee.
Bound to you – your love,
I end the day in mercy that I wasted in despair.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oI7tuRn3RC0
I lift my hands to you.
I kneel toward my heart.
Do not fix your burning eyes on me when you speak about love.
Silence.
My love is here.
I and my name are here.
Speak the words, convey the data, step aside.
I have saved all my ribbons for thee.
And you say, I am in this heart, I and my name are here.
You the one in all, say who I am.
Step aside and they will know what you know because you know it already.
What is and what isn't.
And Voice.
Be by yourself.
Do not be afraid to be weak.
I have torn everyone who reached out for me.
Everywhere the blades turn, in every thought the butchery,
and it is raw where I wander; but you hide me in the shelter of your name,
and you open the hardness to tears.
You draw me back to close my eyes, to bless your name in speechlessness.
Do not be afraid to be weak.
In speechlessness.
Say I am you.
I forget you.
And you say, I am in this heart, I and my name are here.
Blessed are you in the smallness of your whispering.
These pieces were written in silence.
This is an interior landscape.
It is inside.
It is private.
Let the audience feel your love of privacy even though there is no privacy.
In speechlessness.
Say I am you.
Blessed are you who speaks to the unworthy.
Avoid the flourish.
Do not be ashamed to be tired.
You look good when you're tired.
I look far.
I forget you.
And I’m lost.
And you say, I am in this heart, I and my name are here.
The drifting is to you, and the swell of suffering breaks toward you.
Bind me, ease of my heart, bind me to your love.
Bound to you – your love, I fall away.
Gentle things you return to me, and duties that are sweet.
This wave of longing, through the air slips.
Invisibly I cling to the music that is you, that is of motion and of colour.
And you say, I am in this heart, I and my name are here.
Now come into my arms.
You are the image of my beauty.
And I am lost.
But I swear by this song
And by all that I have done wrong
I will make it all up to thee.
Bound to you – your love,
I end the day in mercy that I wasted in despair.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oI7tuRn3RC0
Re: How To Speak Poetry
carm wrote: Diane writes:It is not necessary to be inspired ...
Try to look inspired
One two three, one two three one
There’s a rose in my hair
My shoulders are bare
I’ve been wearing this costume
Forever
Turn up the music
I'd crawl
to you baby
And I'd fall
at your feet
And I'd howl
at your beauty
like a dog in heat
I'd claw
at your heart
And I'd tear
at your sheet
(photo by Daybis http://www.flickr.com/photos/daybis/3029754295/)
Everywhere
the blades turn,
in every thought
the butchery,
and it is raw
where I wander.
I end the day in mercy
that I wasted in despair.
This is an interior landscape.
You the one in all,
say who I am.
one two three
one two three
one
...
... two three
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AtQys5Q9hjk
from this broken hill
I will sing
to you
Re: How To Speak Poetry
And in this brief moment
where everything is still and perfect,
I see my path but I know not where it leads,
and in this not knowing I am inspired to travel it –
my heart, my spirit, a rage of flight…
It is bittersweet this melody,
yet I indulge, wrapped up in longing,
while an arc of flame circles above,
one two three, one two three one…
. . . . .
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BtGihagBdyo
. . . . .
But the green was so green
And the blue was so blue
I was so I
And you were so you
The crisis was light
As a feather…
One two three, one two three one.
. . . . .
And draw us near
And bind us tight
All your children here
In their rags of light
In our rags of light
All dressed to kill
And end this night
If it be your will
One two three, one two three one.
where everything is still and perfect,
I see my path but I know not where it leads,
and in this not knowing I am inspired to travel it –
my heart, my spirit, a rage of flight…
It is bittersweet this melody,
yet I indulge, wrapped up in longing,
while an arc of flame circles above,
one two three, one two three one…
. . . . .
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BtGihagBdyo
. . . . .
But the green was so green
And the blue was so blue
I was so I
And you were so you
The crisis was light
As a feather…
One two three, one two three one.
. . . . .
And draw us near
And bind us tight
All your children here
In their rags of light
In our rags of light
All dressed to kill
And end this night
If it be your will
One two three, one two three one.
Re: How To Speak Poetry
it is bittersweet this melody,
yet I indulge, wrapped up in longing -- Carm
that ragged, jagged melody
she still clings to me like a leech -- Springsteen
all deep things are song -- Thomas Carlye
we don't need to go any deeper -- LC
but we could go deeper ...
And in this brief moment
where everything is still and perfect,
I see my path but I know not where it leads,
and in this not knowing I am inspired to travel it –
my heart, my spirit, a rage of flight … -- Carm
the green was so green
And the blue was so blue
I was so I
And you were so you
The crisis was light
As a feather…
rags and feathers
rags of light
One two three, one two three
One
from which all things arise in splendor
depending one upon the other
it is not necessary to be in love
or to be in love with butterflies
the heart is a rage of directions
the raw heart beat against the world
the tears were for my lost victory
yet I indulge, wrapped up in longing -- Carm
that ragged, jagged melody
she still clings to me like a leech -- Springsteen
all deep things are song -- Thomas Carlye
we don't need to go any deeper -- LC
but we could go deeper ...
And in this brief moment
where everything is still and perfect,
I see my path but I know not where it leads,
and in this not knowing I am inspired to travel it –
my heart, my spirit, a rage of flight … -- Carm
the green was so green
And the blue was so blue
I was so I
And you were so you
The crisis was light
As a feather…
rags and feathers
rags of light
One two three, one two three
One
from which all things arise in splendor
depending one upon the other
it is not necessary to be in love
or to be in love with butterflies
the heart is a rage of directions
the raw heart beat against the world
the tears were for my lost victory