Quotes about tuning, page 7
One Hour Ater The Dance Of Death
I lay in the abyss, where twisting squeezing
The lowest form of life pushed itself peristaltically.
Where slippery and slimy worm and eel entwined,
I was a worm myself, overwhelmed with exhaustion.
This lasted an eon before I succeeded,
And one of my senses could slowly lift itself up,
The sense of hearing. Listening, it scouted out if
The dancer, Death, had finally waltzed into the distance.
I eavesdrop breathless. Then a sparkling chromatic scale
Flows wanly from the open window next door.
Maybe Death is sitting there tuning his piano.
And while my life enjoys zestfully eating and fills with gas,
I feel him lean in that requisite little side room,
Where he invisibly reads, rustling the evening paper.
poem by Franz Werfel
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My Gift
You are God's gift to me.
Love travelled land and sea
To rest with tranquility
In my heart.
Your smile I've always known
Before the wind had blown
Before one seed was sown
In my soul.
I rolled with the tide
Was swept far and wide.
My hopes hanging on a crescent moon.
I prayed that you would appear soon,
But i only heard your echo softly say
'Darling, I'll fly with you one day'
I yearned for the lips
I had never tasted.
Burned through the years
That without you I'd wasted.
Que sera sera
God's tuning his orchestra
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poem by Kevin East
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Silly; Cats: Big Fat Cat Without A Hat
Outside my window a big cat sat,
a big, FAT, cat without any hat.
Its fur was white and really quite long.
Nights she would serenade me with a song.
Her song could get loud, almost scary,
almost like a huge monster, hairy.
It got so I had trouble sleepin',
and very late nights I was keepin'.
To quiet her I gave her some food,
but she got even louder with food. How rude!
I took her in, but never again!
My bed she made into a pigpen.
So I put her back out in the night;
with rain she was a pitiful sight.
Then one night along came a big black Tom.
They left like going off to a prom.
[...] Read more
poem by Bri Edwards
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You wore this crown of thorns
Form of this night, approaches in narrow aisles
My impiety upon your valor, my tuning falsity
of a brass bugle, a sound coarse, for miles
A foolishness! I welcome my solitude's asperity.
Do I have some time? Maybe of this, or of another
bright celebration, of a four dimensional space
a costume any customer of odds will wear in order,
my insight on any defined routes to only trace.
Do I have some varnish? To use upon my buttons
of nautilus blue jacket as to exit, a visitor of bars
or soul betrayal; A parallelism to faded blossoms
my old friends wear, an emblem of internal scars.
Can I forget my crimson? My wound, my odd incision
of my swaying abolished soul, a thorn maybe to blunt
as if my quill instates an idol on foolish mission?
As if you wore this crown of thorns, of my stand?
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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To Whistler, American
On the loan exhibit of his paintings at the Tate Gallery.
You also, our first great,
Had tried all ways;
Tested and pried and worked in many fashions,
And this much gives me heart to play the game.
Here is part that's slight, and part gone wrong,
And much of little moment, and some few
Perfect as Diirer!
'In the Studio' and these two portraits, if I had my choice!
And then these sketches in the mood of Greece?
You had your searches, your uncertainties,
And this is good to know for us, I mean,
Who bear the brunt of our America
And try to wrench her impulse into art.
You were not always sure, not always set
To hiding night or tuning ^symphonies';
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poem by Ezra Pound
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End of My Heart
Can you hear the devils fiddle
Tuning up to play me a tune
I am the last true riddle
But the questions will end soon
The horizon is calling
The light begins to rise
This is me falling
Savor this moment with your eyes
I will just fade away
The dust will spread through time
My heart is now empty
I cross the final line
Too many brand new sorrows
Enter my soul deep within
Im running out of tommorrows
To start over again
[...] Read more
poem by Count Dracula
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The Temper
How should I praise thee, Lord! how should my rhymes
Gladly engrave thy love in steel,
If what my soul doth feel sometimes
My soul might ever feel!
Although there were some forty heav'ns, or more,
Sometimes I peer above them all;
Sometimes I hardly reach a score,
Sometimes to hell I fall.
O rack me not to such a vast extent;
Those distances belong to thee:
The world's too little for thy tent,
A grave too big for me.
Wilt thou meet arms with man, that thou dost stretch
A crum of dust from heav'n to hell?
Will great God measure with a wretch?
Shall he thy stature spell?
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poem by George Herbert
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Realmbrations
realmbrations -
every realm vibrates
to its own
i have yet to evolve
to view them all
okay, to view only
for if my physique vibrates
to the same rhythm
to even one other realm
it would cause crashes
realmnilation
the mockingbird
when it sucks paradise
from the blooms,
you see two realms
one clouded by the vibrations of its wings
but if you could go fast enough
you could jump
between its up and down
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Understand For Sure, You Are Here To Learn What Understanding Is!
Can you see dear,
life itself is the fountain of infinite Self,
That tiny drops of life raise from and fall into same,
Rainbow of enchanting beauty,
That due to light of soul,
showing its enchanting colours.
In every drops, large or tiny alike,
Flora and fauna are those devices of self,
rainbow looks more clear,
When tiny drops are in abundance!
Self manifesting its capabilities,
That all energies and forces too,
Change their form for the play of the formless,
Who is in eternal play appearing in various forms,
Formless showing his ability to assume any form!
Life is a school, with dress code,
Uniform that the kids of self wear,
Show in which class they learn,
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poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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The Clinic
I was sitting upon your knee--
When i was all of twenty-three--
And i can still remember you speaking so softly...
On that Friday that seems like an eternity;
You told me that i was your lady--
Why you even called me your baby---
Out in the open-never shady...
Even though everyone knows your rather cagey;
You told of your feelings to your best friend Bob...
Who was just outside about to turn the knob...
But with no intention to wrongfully rob---
Or even act like a nosey slob;
He came inside to see you and me---
And i was still upon your steady knee----
Bob said that we looked 'happy as can be'----
He said that 'The truth shall set us free'! ;
For so long our love song had been outta tune---
And of course you blamed it on the waning moon----
But we rekindled by the end of June...
And married we would be real soon;
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poem by Theodora Onken
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