Quotes about solar, page 5
Pagett, M.P.
The toad beneath the harrow knows
Exactly where eath tooth-point goes.
The butterfly upon the road
Preaches contentment to that toad.
Pagett, M.P., was a liar, and a fluent liar therewith --
He spoke of the heat of India as the "Asian Solar Myth";
Came on a four months' visit, to "study the East," in November,
And I got him to sign an agreement vowing to stay till September.
March came in with the koil. Pagett was cool and gay,
Called me a "bloated Brahmin," talked of my "princely pay."
March went out with the roses. "Where is your heat?" said he.
"Coming," said I to Pagett, "Skittles!" said Pagett, M.P.
April began with the punkah, coolies, and prickly-heat, --
Pagett was dear to mosquitoes, sandflies found him a treat.
He grew speckled and mumpy-hammered, I grieve to say,
Aryan brothers who fanned him, in an illiberal way.
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poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Purple Sun
I would often imagine the sun was purple and there existed another solar system
In some far off distance in this never ending universe-
If the sun did not shine upon our horizon and the moon was always nearby?
Clouds could be none but smoke emanating from our planet earth,
Having been caught on fire-
Fire from the hell beneath our feet,
Flames rising from this hell we have never seen?
I have been asked "Do you believe in heaven and
Is there a god who radiates goodness and answers all of our prayers?
Then I would ask "What made the sun turn purple? "
I hear a voice saying ‘The sun has never been purple-
Your delusions have cast shadows upon the horizon and
You are lost inside of a trance-
A trance where the world is burning and the moon is fading behind the clouds-"
I would wonder if I could only awaken from this frightening reverie and
I hear a siren loudening as a vehicle approaches me -all I can do is to glance upward-
I hear voices saying "We are coming to take you away-"
I feel metal clasping about my wrists as I look up into the sky-
Rain is falling now but will not quench the flames and I ask "Why? "
I hear a voice respond "Because you have escaped reality-"
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poem by Claudia Krizay
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The Day The Earth Stood Still
Travelling to other planets,
Will not allay your fears,
Believe me when I tell you,
This is going to end in tears.
I gave you all you needed,
On my planet Earth,
But The planet's now eroding fast,
You've nowhere left to berth.
You're destroying all my animals,
The trees and flowers too,
As the Earth is slowly dying,
The blame all lies with you.
The oceans and the rivers,
To all life I had them suited,
Then I introduced the human race,
Now they're poisoned and polluted.
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poem by Bri Mar
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From The Tree To The Ground The Seed Is Unbound
From the tree to the ground the seed is unbound
as a bird in a space capsule re-entering the earth's atmosphere
like an apple at splash down withering like a parachute.
Or the wind uplifts you like a lion with the mane
of a solar corona, and you roar in the abyss awhile
and then it lets you down like a dandelion
in a windfall of paratroopers crossing the Rhine.
Rags of the flags of last year's nation of leaves
stuck together like the pages of a wet history book
made sacred by the earth I'm walking on bathed in blood.
Nature red in tooth and claw as if the hot passionate colours
that advance to the foreground were more violent
than the more distantly passive violets, viridians, and blues.
Chill out means stop aiming at everything as if
you were a sniper in a belfry with a machine-gun
looking for God with your third eye laminated to the lens
of a high-powered telescope that's got you in its digital crosshairs.
I'm not seeking freedom to not have to look for anything.
I'm not turning over every stone to see where the angels
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poem by Patrick White
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Apocalypse
Volcanic aerosols tend to block the needed sunlight
And contribute to short term cooling, but it's not perfect.
Volcanoes emit carbon dioxide, which is not alright..
It's a greenhouse gas, which has a warming effect.
Moreover, its level is already more higher than usual
And it determines to increase the global temperature.
When temperatures become warmer, it's not normal,
And carbon is released from the oceans., for sure.
The volume of this gas has increased, exceeding
The thirty five percent in the last three hundred years.
This increase is due to human being induced burning
]From fossil fuels, deforestation and industry, with no fears.
Carbon dioxide is an important greenhouse gas.
The human caused an increase in its concentration
And the atmosphere has strengthened the greenhouse
Effect, contributing to global warming without salvation.
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poem by Marieta Maglas
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Do Re Mi
DO RE MI FA SO LA TI DO
anagram
DO I FORMALISE, DOAT?
Mind finds through magic interface
enchantment in soft smile whose grace
leaves senses reeling into space.
Form, face, inspires as, in disgrace,
Time disappears, and in its place
all doubts dissolved, we solve life’s chase.
Mingling, jingling, words may trace
cheer and charm which interlace
heart with heart, - no commonplace
encounter doubles pulse rate race.
It sudden seems, in any case,
prismatic colour tones replace
monochrome monochord most embrace
12 June 1997 revised 1 October 2005
robi03_0844_robi03_0000 SXX_LMX
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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There's A Black Lotus In My Heart
There's a black lotus in my heart, black hole
of enlightenment, black waterstar, sacred eclipse.
Nothing worth attaining that isn't unattainable.
And all the gates are upside down and backwards.
Albino starmaps with black dots shining
on the other side of the mirror, zodiacs
of black matter looping back on themselves
like solar auroras of the sun that rises at midnight.
I don't know what all this means. I may have gone
too far into exile and actually managed to get
to the dark side of the moon. Or I'm a warehouse
of shadows at noon that have lost track of the time
like blind sundials that feel they're being followed.
The light illuminates, but I bloom nocturnally.
I've got the burn marks of stars all over my skin.
I work on the nightshift at the foundry of a constellation
busy pouring itself out like iron and oxygen, blood and air,
forged out the afterlives of hydrogen I've gathered over the years.
A fire-womb engendering one you fill with water.
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poem by Patrick White
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Silent Towers Wait
Only darkness.
Filtered through.
Veil upon seam veil.
Life sustaining veil.
Comprising increasingly.
Denser earthbound air.
Only darkness filtered through.
Till it seems intensely blue.
Until appears aerial illusion.
Heavenly threaded palette.
Painted through composite.
Strands upon stretching gulf.
Encompassing life web strand.
Embryonic space.
An earthly atmosphere.
A birth blue sky.
Rise through
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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Could I Breathe The Stars
Could I breathe the stars, I would expire in light.
Were I the harvest moon, I would retract my claws.
Were my heart anything other than what it is,
I would be a windfall of silver apples burnished by crows
and not this rag of a man with a mouthy wound.
I would not be this perversion of radiance mutating
in these acephalic mirrors warped by shape-shifting space.
I would see clearly the angry red berries of the hawthorn
and adopt them as a solar system. And think I was blessed.
And, o yes, spiky woman, when love was in eclipse
if I were not so afraid of falling upon you like a sword,
I would notch the moon like a gunsight
with its own valleys and mountains,
and let the light shine through like Bailey's Beads,
and place it on your head like a laurel of fire,
the enlightened corona of a door I've left ajar.
You agitate the spiders in their morning webs
into vibrating like the needles of sewing machines
or the clappers of fire alarms, as the sun
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poem by Patrick White
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I'm Having An Unrequited Love Affair With Myself
I'M HAVING AN UNREQUITED LOVE AFFAIR WITH MYSELF
I'm having an unrequited love affair with myself.
It's surrealistically ironic and spiritually annihilating
at the same time, and I can say from personal experience
black holes have a profound sense of humour.
The waterlilies look up at the stars and wonder
if they could shine like that if they ever dried out.
Fire and water. The serpent fire of my electrical potential
jumps the gap like a spinal cord, a bridge is made.
Spiders weave enlightened filaments in a light bulb
like webs of neuronic wiring into dream catchers
and empowering mandalas. I have ignition.
Billions of eyes light up in the dark like fireflies.
I always thought if I really wanted to do the world some good,
I'd lead it away from myself. My alter-ego
shines like a demon in a dark light whose intelligence
is intent on ruining my life compassionately
out of a begrudging respect for sacred rodeo clowns
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poem by Patrick White
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