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Re: These are the Clouds

PostPosted: Wed Nov 28, 2018 11:44 am
by Cordelia
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Re: These are the Clouds

PostPosted: Wed Nov 28, 2018 6:25 pm
by chump
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Re: These are the Clouds

PostPosted: Thu Nov 29, 2018 10:09 pm
by chump
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Re: These are the Clouds

PostPosted: Mon Dec 10, 2018 11:53 am
by Cordelia
Happy 188th Birthday to Emily Dickinson!

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A Prison gets to be a friend --
Between its Ponderous face
And Ours -- a Kinsmanship express --
And in its narrow Eyes --

We come to look with gratitude
For the appointed Beam
It deal us -- stated as our food --
And hungered for -- the same --

We learn to know the Planks --
That answer to Our feet --
So miserable a sound -- at first --
Nor ever now -- so sweet --

As plashing in the Pools --
When Memory was a Boy --
But a Demurer Circuit --
A Geometric Joy --

The Posture of the Key
That interrupt the Day
To Our Endeavor -- Not so real
The Check of Liberty --

As this Phantasm Steel --
Whose features -- Day and Night --
Are present to us -- as Our Own --
And as escapeless -- quite --

The narrow Round -- the Stint --
The slow exchange of Hope --
For something passiver -- Content
Too steep for lookinp up --

The Liberty we knew
Avoided -- like a Dream --
Too wide for any Night but Heaven --
If That -- indeed -- redeem --

~ Emily Dickinson ~


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Re: These are the Clouds

PostPosted: Thu Dec 27, 2018 8:38 am
by Cordelia
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I have never seen "Volcanoes"
But, when Travellers tell
How those old-phlegmatic mountains
Usually so still-

Bear within-appalling Ordnance,
Fire, and smoke, and gun,
Taking Villages for breakfast,
And appalling Men-

If the stillness is Volcanic
In the human face
When upon a pain Titanic
Features keep their place-

If at length the smouldering anguish
Will not overcome-
And the palpitating Vineyard
In the dust, be thrown?

If some loving Antiquary,
On Resumption Morn,
Will not cry with joy "Pompeii"!
To the Hills return!

~ Emily Dickinson ~

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Re: These are the Clouds

PostPosted: Thu Jan 10, 2019 4:49 pm
by chump
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Re: These are the Clouds

PostPosted: Mon Jan 14, 2019 8:52 am
by Cordelia
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Wetness and Water

How does a part of the world leave the world?
How does wetness leave water?

Dont' try to put out fire by throwing on
more fire! Don't wash a wound with blood.

No matter how fast you run, your shadow
keeps up. Sometimes it's in front!

Only full overhead sun diminishes your shadow.
But that shadow has been serving you.

What hurts you, blesses you. Darkness is
your candle. Your boundaries are your quest.

I could explain this, but it will break the
glass cover on your heart, and there's no
fixing that.

You must have shadow and light source both.
be quieter than a dove. Don't even open your mouth for
even a coo.

~ Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi ~



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ij82eVTx-Pk

Re: These are the Clouds

PostPosted: Tue Jan 15, 2019 11:41 am
by chump
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Re: These are the Clouds

PostPosted: Sat Jan 19, 2019 9:02 am
by Cordelia
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~Kohei Nawa~

Re: These are the Clouds

PostPosted: Sun Jan 27, 2019 12:03 pm
by Cordelia
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Re: These are the Clouds

PostPosted: Tue Feb 12, 2019 11:50 am
by Cordelia
PACK, CLOUDS, AWAY, and welcome, day!
With night we banish sorrow.
Sweet air, blow soft; mount, lark, aloft
To give my love good morrow.
Wings from the wind to please her mind,
Notes from the lark I'll borrow:
Bird, prune thy wing, nightingale, sing,
To give my love good morrow.
To give my love good morrow,
Notes from them all I'll borrow.

Wake from thy nest, robin redbreast!
Sing, birds, in every furrow,
And from each bill let music shrill
Give my fair love good morrow.
Black-bird and thrush in every bush,
Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow,
You pretty elves, amongst yourselves
Sing my fair love good morrow.
To give my love good morrow,
Sing, birds, in every furrow.

~Thomas Heywood~

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~Edward Robert Hughes~ Pack Clouds Away and Welcome Day -England, c.1890

Re: These are the Clouds

PostPosted: Sat Feb 23, 2019 12:02 pm
by Cordelia
A noiseless patient spider,
I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.

And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.

~Walt Whitman~


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Re: These are the Clouds

PostPosted: Tue Feb 26, 2019 8:25 am
by Cordelia
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Re: These are the Clouds

PostPosted: Wed Feb 27, 2019 8:07 am
by Cordelia
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Flower of Love


Sweet, I blame you not, for mine the fault was, had I not been made of common clay
I had climbed the higher heights unclimbed yet, seen the fuller air, the larger day.

From the wildness of my wasted passion I had struck a better, clearer song,
Lit some lighter light of freer freedom, battled with some Hydra-headed wrong.

Had my lips been smitten into music by the kisses that but made them bleed,
You had walked with Bice and the angels on that verdant and enamelled meed.

I had trod the road which Dante treading saw the suns of seven circles shine,
Ay! perchance had seen the heavens opening, as they opened to the Florentine.

And the mighty nations would have crowned me, who am crownless now and without name,
And some orient dawn had found me kneeling on the threshold of the House of Fame.

I had sat within that marble circle where the oldest bard is as the young,
And the pipe is ever dropping honey, and the lyre's strings are ever strung.

Keats had lifted up his hymeneal curls from out the poppy-seeded wine,
With ambrosial mouth had kissed my forehead, clasped the hand of noble love in mine.

And at springtide, when the apple-blossoms brush the burnished bosom of the dove,
Two young lovers lying in an orchard would have read the story of our love;

Would have read the legend of my passion, known the bitter secret of my heart,
Kissed as we have kissed, but never parted as we two are fated now to part.

For the crimson flower of our life is eaten by the cankerworm of truth,
And no hand can gather up the fallen withered petals of the rose of youth.

Yet I am not sorry that I loved you -ah! what else had I a boy to do?
For the hungry teeth of time devour, and the silent-footed years pursue.

Rudderless, we drift athwart a tempest, and when once the storm of youth is past,
Without lyre, without lute or chorus, Death the silent pilot comes at last.

And within the grave there is no pleasure, for the blindworm battens on the root,
And Desire shudders into ashes, and the tree of Passion bears no fruit.

Ah! what else had I to do but love you? God's own mother was less dear to me,
And less dear the Cytheraean rising like an argent lily from the sea.

I have made my choice, have lived my poems, and, though youth is gone in wasted days,
I have found the lover's crown of myrtle better than the poet's crown of bays.

~ Oscar Wilde ~

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Re: These are the Clouds

PostPosted: Thu Feb 28, 2019 10:41 pm
by Karmamatterz
So this isn't a famous poem, but it was powerful nonetheless. In the last year I nearly lost my son. My mother died in early November and then a month ago my brother died suddenly. So much grief that at times its nearly unbearable. My brother wrote this just before Christmas, then he died in late January.

"Every day that I wake up I think to myself you are still here and woke up again for a reason.
Make the best of today because who knows what tomorrow will bring.
Love your family and friends. Make sure they know it."