Quotes about impetus, page 9
12.11.06
…swerving into the spin I rammed the railing holding me sane, bursting through the papier mache linings of translucent hopes and dreams, clouded by this need to fail, this need to rise below what consumes me, this holy trinity of lethargy apathy and enmity, the gasping fins of piscine recantations withering with each atmosphere of sordid delight, bemused by the bemoaning begrudging be wildered wildebeest wavering none in his ample prose, the pose of angular vivisections aiming like inanimate barrels barreling without feeling into a bleak path of purpose, pure pain and painfully pure in the purity of the aim, degraded desires bounce as they waltz toward me, shining and shimmering without faulty footsteps to perpetuate the potentate poem, or elegy, prescribed by scribes to be scrivener’s one shiny day this dangerous disdain, crustaceans and octopi are my family tonight, the mold of their souls melds with mine in a ritualistic dance meant to harm and inflict the infliction already growing, manifesting, changing in me, the grotesqueness of my deeds perpetuates in the gravity of my words as well as the insouciance of my will to bend even a little to catch your fall from disgrace, angel of mine waiting to be saved, or at least savored as you are eaten by the primordial angst of a millennia of struggle within self to delineate the spirit and the flesh, to arrive somewhere new after taking the same path, to ram the railings until we fail again and again to kill the impetus of our frown….
poem by Dan Hightower
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Strongly built relation
I have put profile picture for identification
Any one can see it as proof or verification
Some image is built in the minds of reader
As you daily you reach to them
It is neatly woven and strongly built relation
You are directly linked and have absolutely no isolation
You get return impetus with useful suggestions
Each idea is subjected to and put to questions
The face reveals the exact personality
It is reflection of strong resolve and ability
The eyes are so forceful in appearance
It has got complete look with lots of balance
Some of the faces look very hard
As if they have urgent need to look forward
Yes, we are left with pure imagination
It may puzzle us more if find no clue or indication
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Hard snow
The surface was shining with glow
As the sun was lazy and very slow
It had no impact on ground
Everything looked beautiful and sound
It was all white and clad with snow
I have come very close to know
It has steel like quality and stiffness
Though very beautiful with smoothness
Every season there is fresh snowfall
It is beautiful response to the seasonal call
Change over in every season with fresh impetus
Life to be tested in different way thus
We pick many good things from nature
Snow may melt and that is fact for sure
It is natural to be submissive and change
As per environment and manage
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Funeral for a Friend
The corona of the sun rolled
Into the steep ridges of the cliffs
Where the swaying of svelte legs
Still cast the black pendulums
Out-shadowing the anthem of the day
And as it flushed the slithering roads
Without a hiss, raising the skeptic head
Like the serpent that it was
Still, I traversed the valley valiantly
Shunning the venoms and fangs
Straight into the point blank demise
Of ephemeral times
I shall don my best guise
As I trample in my meander
And swallow the slivers
Of sequestered amenities
And I shall mount the granite legs
With the impetus of veracity
Detaching from the rail tracks
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poem by Norman Santos
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Daunted Compunction
The mordant emanation of efflorescence
Stings of vaporous mildew aroma and vim
Obfuscating the garrulous ripples of decadence
Abashed in the eloquent flow of the stream
Where we all bloomed from a profane abolition
Dispensing the pompous holiness of the verdure
Harrowed by scathing talons of an immolation
In the hefty crunches of trepidation's dentures
Constantly abjuring the serpents in the ladder
And girdling blaring chortles to fluently subdue
The woebegone ululation of the viscera's utter,
Superimposing a moored spine for incertitude's overdue
As the soul diverge from the meat, leaving a vestige
Of the disquietude citadel toppled and chagrined
By the gauche maneuver to unfurl the jagged ridge;
I veil myself surreptitiously in a pantheon: a perfidious fiend
Time flickered, soughing phantom prose and elegies
Expostulating in the verdigris' serrations for an espionage
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poem by Norman Santos
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This Game with the Wheel and Stick
The whiff of exultance stirs the maladroit pace
Of the mantling clouds of the noon-time haze,
‘Twas another dance for the buckling dusts
Beneath the fluttering canopy of the jaunty slugs
Of feet and the tinkering gist these children seek
In playing this game with the wheel and stick;
Beating the corpulent ring with a stick up the hill
And down need not steer the unfettered wheel
In the innocuous charade, my resilience trampled
As I heard the wails of the shattering scaffold
Oh, what a picturesque scene bloats the meadows
While these children fondle the stick and the wheel wallows;
The joie de vivre that inveigles the unclothed sun,
The glissando phase that cloys the assiduous wand
And the same impetus that conveys the wheel in miles
Could only taint a scarce desire in my lifeless smiles
The system is simple: participate but do not topple
Pound the wheel with the stick and veer quite supple
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poem by Norman Santos
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Dangerous Thoughts
At one point of time I dangerously thought
Lot many ideas came and bravely fought
None of them were meant to be useful
They were all bound to make me unsuccessful
'Idle mind is devil's workshop' I feel it right
No one should take it casually or light
There is heavy impetus in it and needs study
Whole concept itself is beautiful and praise worthy
'One must end the life' to test the another world
It may be looking beautiful with many features and fold
Such things invade and make mind shaky
Compel us to do the unusual things and make unhappy
Remain among family members when feel such tendency
It should not occur often and at regular frequency
It speaks of defeatist views and helpless stage
It comes in mind when faced by failure or due to age
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Four Muses
~Inspiration
~Illumination
~Incubation
~ Modification
The four primordial states of consciousness
That randomly express artistic creativity.
Painting, sculpting, composing,
Crocheting a pastoral tapestry
With billions of hummingbird feathers -
Every artist experiences
Their affecting pulsion,
None predominating
Then suddenly one leading
And reaching fruition.
Four conditional factors,
Mind enhancers
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poem by Daubmir Nadir
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The Spirit Of St. Louis
In my consirtium,
In my realm,
In my apartment,
And like thr spirit of St. Louis in the land of my muse;
But this world is full of sins.
Three months of studies and three months of love,
But Thomas Alva Edison taught himself everything that he knew;
And he became a great man! !
As he also invented the phonograph in 1877,
But cry the beloved child of Africa.
Achilles dipped into the River Styx,
But i was born on Friday the 13th of October 1961;
In the very time when the cameras around could not take my picture.
My image at birth was very hard for the cameras,
But do kiss the missing birds when i am about to touch you with my love;
For my words are more imaginative than ever!
And like Thomas Alva Edison who taught himself.
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poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Aurobindo 38-Savitri-Book -2
An appreciation on Savitri
Book II The Book of the Traveller of the Worlds
Canto VI The Kingdoms and Godheads of the Greater Life
Words within inverted commas are Aurobindo's
'Insignificant her means, infinite her work; '
'A timeless mystery works out in Time.'
A world she made touched by truth's fleeing hem,
A world cast into a dream of what it seeks,
An icon of truth, a conscious mystery's shape.'
Closed eyes open well in a heart of desires..
Than a godly figure what could savve the needy 'I'..
'It dared to trust the dream-mind and the soul.'
'It seized in imagination and confined
A painted bird of paradise in a cage. '
'It can feel the Silence that absolves the soul;
It feels a saviour touch, a ray divine:
Beauty and good and truth its godheads are.'
'It has kinship with the demon and the god.'
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poem by Indira Renganathan
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