Oasis.

[Namaste]

The Landscape -- Robert Desnos

I had dreamed of loving, I still love, but love
Is no longer that bouquet of lilacs and roses
Filling the woods with their fragrance
Where a flame lies at the end of paths which do not bend.

I had dreamed of loving, I still love, but love
Is no longer that storm where the lightning superimposes
Its pyres on castles, routs, convulses, illuminates,
While fleeing the parting of the ways.

It is the spark of flint under my footsteps at night,
The word no dictionary in the world has translated
The foam on the sea, that cloud in the sky.

With age all becomes rigid and clear,
Streets without names, ropes without knots.
I feel myself harden with the landscape.

 

[Namaste]

Simple Things Are Harder Now -- Unknown

I sleep in the shallows of myself. I sleep without reason. I sleep beneath mirrors. I sleep. To calm my soul. I sleep and you are there.

You.

I did not mean to write you into this, but there you are, there you always are. You with voice and name. And what recourse do I have. Dancing on the edges of towers like I do.

On volcanoes, I return to you. I can trace back through the thoughts I have had. I can run my hands across my face. Trying to make of this mask I have made something new. I grow old and find I can no longer conquer the world.

In the winter do you know my eyes go all bright? I cup my hands in the snowfalls and watch the patterns melt together. In other seasons there are only summer houses. Places to walk in among dreams. Places where there are beds and kitchens and gardens and doors. Places where something is created together.

Dream dream let me wake again next to you. That is the promise I made as we lay together and cried for love and happiness. And for the fact we were alone together in a sea so open it scared us both.

 

[Byron In Exile]

Re: A Dream Lies Dead -- Dorothy Parker

A dream lies dead here. May you softly go
Before this place, and turn away your eyes,
Nor seek to know the look of that which dies
Importuning life for life. Walk not in woe,
But, for a little, let your step be slow.
And, of your mercy, be not sweetly wise
With words of hope and spring and tenderer skies.
A dream lies dead; and this all mourners know:

Whenever one drifted petal leaves the tree-
Though white of bloom as it had been before
And proudly waitful of fecundity-
One little loveliness can be no more;
And so must Beauty bow her imperfect head
Because a dream has joined the wistful dead!

Emily Dickinson

I died for Beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for Truth was lain
In an adjoining room.

He questioned softly why I failed?
“For Beauty,” I replied.
“And I for Truth,—the two are one;
"We brethren are,” he said.

And so, as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms,
Until the ivy reached our lips,
And covered up our names.

 

[Namaste]

Beautiful words, Byron In Exile

 

[Namaste]

futile gestures are not often so important -- todd sanders

Throwing copper down the tornadoes I find again that certain things will remain until sometime yet unseen.

Words like Home. Deep. And Blue.

And oh, how we fight and oh, how we struggle against it all. How we carry on for beauty and for love.

Leave me to lay beneath roots and seeds. I will grow when the time again comes to form love. Perhaps I can save patterns on my tongues and they will become words for you to hear. Perhaps I can be what I never was.

I am entranced by these thoughts of you. I am saved from the fall.

I am throwing copper down the tornadoes waiting for you.

 

[Gusty Wind]

Re: futile gestures are not often so important -- todd sanders

Throwing copper down the tornadoes I find again that certain things will remain until sometime yet unseen.

Words like Home. Deep. And Blue.

And oh, how we fight and oh, how we struggle against it all. How we carry on for beauty and for love.

Leave me to lay beneath roots and seeds. I will grow when the time again comes to form love. Perhaps I can save patterns on my tongues and they will become words for you to hear. Perhaps I can be what I never was.

I am entranced by these thoughts of you. I am saved from the fall.

I am throwing copper down the tornadoes waiting for you.

BEAUTIFUL! Namste!! rose: ... sighhhhhh...

Have A GREAT DAY SIR.;-)

 

[Namaste]

To die -- without the dying
And live -- without the life
This is the hardest miracle
Propounded to belief.

-- Emily Dickinson

 

[Gusty Wind]

To die -- without the dying
And live -- without the life
This is the hardest miracle
Propounded to belief.

-- Emily Dickinson

...

 

[Byron In Exile]

Beautiful words, Byron In Exile

Thanks— and thank you for a very enjoyable thread!

 

[Byron In Exile]

...

Beautiful pictures, Gusty!

 

[Gusty Wind]

Beautiful pictures, Gusty!

Thank you sweet Byron.

http://www.boomspeed.com/hongluobo/art/art8/fire_on_the_lake.jpg

The mother nature are always beautiful.... & dangerious too....

 

[Byron In Exile]

Emily Dickinson

I reckon — when I count at all —
First — Poets — Then the Sun —
Then Summer — Then the Heaven of God —
And then — the List is done —

But, looking back — the First so seems
To Comprehend the Whole —
The Others look a needless Show —
So I write — Poets — All —

Their Summer — lasts a Solid Year —
They can afford a Sun
The East — would deem extravagant —
And if the Further Heaven —

Be Beautiful as they prepare
For Those who worship Them —
It is too difficult a Grace —
To justify the Dream —

 

[Gusty Wind]

Re: Emily Dickinson

I reckon — when I count at all —
First — Poets — Then the Sun —
Then Summer — Then the Heaven of God —
And then — the List is done —

But, looking back — the First so seems
To Comprehend the Whole —
The Others look a needless Show —
So I write — Poets — All —

Their Summer — lasts a Solid Year —
They can afford a Sun
The East — would deem extravagant —
And if the Further Heaven —

Be Beautiful as they prepare
For Those who worship Them —
It is too difficult a Grace —
To justify the Dream —

It's beautiful, Bryon ty.. ;-)

 

[Namaste]

Making the Leap -- Jennifer Lagier

You bend, touch your lips to mine.
Common sense cracks; my tidy world starts to shake.

You are every color I have never seen, coolness
spilling onto desert where a shriveled heart pants.

Within hungry dreams, the cold slither
of naked realization flickers.

Clear-eyed, I ignore all warnings,
seek the abyss.

There is nothing original about this stumble.
We burn, break our orbits, collide until quenched.

We are children, seduced by hypnotic fruit,
craving and remade from our innocent state.

 

[Namaste]

Everything About You -- Jane McCreery

The computer operator knows your debts to the penny
but doesn't have a clue what people owe you.
Your hairdresser knows how hard it is
for you to look like yourself.
Your physician knows your weaknesses
but your body will surprise him eventually.
Your boss knows what you want her to know.
The man in the ski-mask knows your fear
as well as your bravery.
Your therapist knows about the darkness, but not the same
darkness as your lawyer.
The maid knows less than you suspect.
Your parents have amassed information
but often confuse you with their other children
and give themselves too much credit.
Ditto your brother and sister, who also know less and less
as time passes.
Your grandparents know the family history, but only
your childish ways.
Your best friend knows the most and still manages
to be indulgent.
Your spouse knows the second most and that bad and good
even out after all these years.
Your children know which of them you love best
and how to get over on you.
Your lover knows the wildest secrets of your heart.
You think you know every part of the story
but even you'll never know
what you really look like
and who will miss you most when you're gone.

 

[Namaste]

I Have Dreamed Of You So Much -- Robert Desnos

I have dreamed of you so much that you are no longer real.
Is there still time for me to reach your breathing body, to kiss your mouth and make
your dear voice come alive again?

I have dreamed of you so much that my arms, grown used to being crossed on my
chest as I hugged your shadow, would perhaps not bend to the shape of your body.
For faced with the real form of what has haunted me and governed me for so many
days and years, I would surely become a shadow.

O scales of feeling.

I have dreamed of you so much that surely there is no more time for me to wake up.
I sleep on my feet prey to all the forms of life and love, and you, the only one who
counts for me today, I can no more touch your face and lips than touch the lips and
face of some passerby.

I have dreamed of you so much, have walked so much, talked so much, slept so much
with your phantom, that perhaps the only thing left for me is to become a phantom
among phantoms, a shadow a hundred times more shadow than the shadow the
moves and goes on moving, brightly, over the sundial of your life.

 

[Gusty Wind]

Re: I Have Dreamed Of You So Much -- Robert Desnos

I have dreamed of you so much that you are no longer real.
Is there still time for me to reach your breathing body, to kiss your mouth and make
your dear voice come alive again?

I have dreamed of you so much that my arms, grown used to being crossed on my
chest as I hugged your shadow, would perhaps not bend to the shape of your body.
For faced with the real form of what has haunted me and governed me for so many
days and years, I would surely become a shadow.

O scales of feeling.

I have dreamed of you so much that surely there is no more time for me to wake up.
I sleep on my feet prey to all the forms of life and love, and you, the only one who
counts for me today, I can no more touch your face and lips than touch the lips and
face of some passerby.

I have dreamed of you so much, have walked so much, talked so much, slept so much
with your phantom, that perhaps the only thing left for me is to become a phantom
among phantoms, a shadow a hundred times more shadow than the shadow the
moves and goes on moving, brightly, over the sundial of your life.

Ahh so touching.. Namaste .. be well!

 

[Namaste]

And you, Gusty

 

[Gusty Wind]

And you, Gusty

This is a very touching abd beautiful thread. Thank you .

 

[SpiritKitty]

REMEMBER by CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

 

[Namaste]

Nice choice, SpiritKitty

 

[Gusty Wind]

REMEMBER by CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

Aww.. that's ery touching too.. . sigh.. ty

 

[SpiritKitty]

Originally posted by Namaste
Nice choice, SpiritKitty

thank you, Namaste.

 

[SpiritKitty]

Originally posted by Gusty Wind
Aww.. that's ery touching too.. . sigh.. ty

thank you, too, Gusty.

make up for deserting you earlier?

 

[Namaste]

The Place Where Forgotten Things Go -- Rebecca Lu Kiernan

We meet at the foot of Lighthouse Bridge
in day lilies, lemon-chrome leaves
ascending, splitting, recurving.
We take marigold soup at the beach bistro,
cakebread wine and ostrich fettuccini,
cappuccino cake with tart raspberries.
Black clouds streak a flickering cobalt
sky, barefoot in the sugary sand,
we tempt the emerald neon waves.
A curse it is, knowing how things end.
We meet like this again, a bouquet
of red valerian, shallow toothed leaves
in pink bakery paper, I am the ghost
on your back, you are the tentative lover,
someone new to open with a kiss.
Excuse me for this caution.
Forgive me if I know
the place where forgotten things go.