Quotes about tuning, page 8
Alaska Epiphany
At first there was only the quiet solitude of the vast wilderness
Until I started tuning in to the symphony of life around me
It was then that I found my inner peace and began living in pure bliss
So much of Mother Nature's beauty was in abundance for me to see
Almost all of the pathways I walked on were left by my large furry friends
Many of whom I fished alongside, marveling at their angler skills
For a sockeye salmon, surely a bear's paw always trumps how a fly mends
There is something pure and essential that the natural order fulfills
At times when in meditation I could actually hear the whisper of trees
Then I realized all living things can communicate in their own way
And in that awakening, suddenly understood the language of the bees
It wasn't long before the secrets of the universe came into play
For when you are away from the hustle and bustle, out here on your own
You truly have a chance to experience what God created for you
Perhaps seeing the world as it is for the first time and not from your throne
But from His, then understanding that all He created and did is true
poem by Paul H Nelson
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The Prowler
The prowler lurks, the prowler stalks, the prowler softly treads.
The tiger smirks, the tiger walks, the tiger tension spreads.
The forest king intently stares... he feels the prey is close.
With every step, he shows he cares, for suddenly he knows.
It's time for him to concentrate, to focus with his mind.
For soon he must accelerate, to catch up from behind.
His muscles poised, his eyes alert, his ears now tuning in.
In seconds, he may quickly spurt, to race and then to win.
His heart beats wildly for the chase his instincts have foretold.
His prey will feel his warm embrace and yet it's cruel and cold...
He salivates for memories now come to his recall.
They torture him as if they tease, for who knows if he'll fall?
He doesn't always win the game that Nature makes him play.
Each hunt's unique and not the same, sometimes they get away...
He's hungry now... the forest king, the prowler on the path...
The ruler not the underling, who kills on his behalf.
Beware this mighty fiercesome one, he's not afraid of you...
If you see him, it's time to run... I know that's what I'd do...
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poem by Denis Martindale
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The House of Odes
Writing
these
odes
in this
year nineteen
hundred and
fifty-five,
readying and tuning
my demanding, murmuring lyre,
I know who I am
and where my song is going.
I understand
that the shopper for myths
and mysteries
may enter
my wood
and adobe
house of odes,
may despise
the utensils,
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poem by Pablo Neruda
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A Duty Done - 1935
The swallows are back, and I'm tuning my lyre,
For today 'tis my duty to sing
A melodious lay that is graciously gay
To welcome - officially - spring
Ting-a-ling
So let's have a song with a swing.
Bing!
High cockalorum and fal-de-rah, whack!
Young Spring's in the offing! The swallows are back!
To put sense in the song matters little so long
As the lift and the lilt of it ring.
And a mention be made of the wattle-hung glade
Where the blithering birds are a-wing
Ting-a-ling
And the clamorous honey-bees cling.
Z-z-z-ing!
Tho' I'm scarce in the humor, alas and alack!
Ho, merry-down-derry! The swallows are back!
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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At the "J. C."
None ever knew his name,
Honoured, or one of shame,
Highborn or lowly;
Only upon that tree
Two letters, J and C,
Carved by him, mark where he
Lay dying slowly.
Why came he to the West?
Had then the parent nest
Grown so distasteful?
What cause had he to shun
Life, ere ‘twas well begun?
Was he that youngest son,
Of substance wasteful?
Were Fate and he at War?
Was it a pennance, or
Renunciation?
Is it a glad release?
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poem by Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
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Frozen to Death
I wanted not to be frozen to death
As it was life time wish to remain with
Fear was just gripping me from inside
Chances were there and differences very wide
I can afford no more isolation
As I have developed sound relation
It is fine tuning with you on sound footing
No more trouble ideas are shooting
I can have no peace with disturbed news
My relation with you can’t have any more reviews
It is firm and never getting strained
Little upset thought makes me completely drained
I would prefer death in your hand
This may prove to be real companion and friend
Life can be meaningless if there is no aim
I would love to be very near and earnestly claim
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Everywhere There Is A Medic
Isn't it easier to criticize,
Anyone doing something with their life...
They seem to like to do with a doing done.
Than it is to stop from feeling aggravated...
That no one gives us the time of day to listen,
To everything negative we say and can find...
That describes why we are such miserable people.
All the time.
With a tuning into grief as if to be treated by it,
On a daily basis to feed on diets of aches and pains.
We keep those feelings bottled up,
And ready to blow...
To explode!
As mean streaks steam...
From jealousies we can't let go.
Oh yeah we keep those feelings bottled up,
And ready to blow...
To explode!
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sinners, Obey the Gospel-Word!
Sinners, obey the gospel-word!
Haste to the supper of my Lord!
Be wise to know your gracious day;
All things are ready, come away!
Ready the Father is to own
And kiss his late-returning son;
Ready your loving Saviour stands,
And spreads for you his bleeding hands.
Ready the Spirit of his love
Just now the stony to remove,
To apply, and witness with the blood,
And wash and seal the sons of God.
Ready for you the angels wait,
To triumph in your blest estate;
Tuning their harps, they long to praise
The wonders of redeeming grace.
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poem by Charles Wesley
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A UFO of Night or Mind?
He focused on the waters. Above, an
Overhanging vista: layers of hues
Were blending in complexity,
Tuning in the sky's allure – the blues
Had darkened overhead, revealing
What he really sought - the minor streak
Could not have been a meteor.
An easy thrum had underlined a sleek
And ever-growing yellow core,
Pursued by dancing tails of teasing fire;
His hopeful eyes adapting, peering,
Smoothing out the contrast. A glorious choir
Trilled inside the power plant,
Harmonising in the pitch of black.
The trail of dazzling effluence had
Harkened him to bend, arch his back;
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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She's Been Tuning Her Chakras
She's been tuning her chakras,
While balancing her aura
And practicing vegetarianism,
Standing up for animal rights
As her latest fashion statement,
Surrounded by effeminate and gay men,
Who pay her countless compliments-
And I'm reminded of Madonna,
Once a talented singer,
Now obsessed with Kabbalah-
She is obsessed with surroundings
That harmonize with the shallowness
Of her love and her life
And her androgynous sexuality
Of casual bisexual encounters-
And she has seen God in her
Latest orgasm, while washing
The dishes and cleaning the toilet,
And she's determined to be the
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poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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