Pensar
Àquela pessoa
que vê com
“seus próprios
olhos e pensa
com seu
próprio cérebro”
pode ser rara,
podem ser
desconhecidas,
mas, movem
o mundo
e fazem
mais e mais.
Back then, time ticked loudly,
clocks ran faster than chipmunks.
Young bones were fueled by green grenades,
I needed speedbumps for my brain.
Mother said that If I lived to be a man
I would be all strewn about
like a crow-pecked scarecrow.
Eventually I discovered
a way to give words a meaning
outside of the hide-bound and buckram dictionary.
Naturally I had to surrender some grammatical logic
for a more fanciful argot.
It was only then that my pipsqueak prattle
had the effrontery to call itself ‘poetry.’
Now in n my grizzly elder state,
I still remain a rare bird,
ever bamboozled by age-worn chalk-talk,
or any jargon
that refuses to jump out of its own skin.
Hallelujah la planta de tus pies;
Desde la tierra santa has pisado
Arnes debajo de las alas alrededor de tu hermoso cuello,
usas la mosca con Hallelujah, ;
Los labios acariciadores rara vez fallan;
las pasiones de los puntos de conversacion;
Hallelujah
bocas que siempre alaban a Dios;
en voz alta y siempre
Alabado sea el Senor
Acriciando y besando tu alma espiritual;
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
8/11/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021 ©
Like all things related to screwballs
and misfits
I was born looking for a word
inside a clock.
Back then, time ticked loudly,
clocks ran faster than chipmunks.
Young bones were fueled by green grenades
plucked from low-hanging life-lines.
I needed words to save the world,
I needed a clock-case to store them in,
I needed speedbumps for my brain.
Mother said that If I lived to be a man
I would be all strewn about
like a crow-pecked scarecrow.
Eventually I discovered
a way to make words bespoke,
to give them meaning
outside of the hide-bound
and buckram dictionary.
Naturally I had to invent my own time-machine,
and had to surrender to a fanciful argot.
For a long while, only blithe revenants
and their little helpers
could read my tenuous tidings.
It was only when my pipsqueak prattle
had the effrontery to call itself ‘poetry’
that some said sadly
that I may be ever so slightly explicable.
Alas mother was right, there is only the clock,
and it runs on mechanical words,
and so I remain a rare bird
bamboozled by age-worn chalk-talk,
a jargon that refuses
to jump out of its own skin.
(Best read with this poem's theme music playing)
"BLACK SWAN THEORY"
Free Agent
Black Swan Theory
White Pearl rolling in
Some kind of Black Pearl World
Black Swan Theory
Decoded, Fragile Love Songs Broken in
Some Kind of Black Pearl World
Red Shoes Dance Home with the Witch-Way Girl
Decoded, Fragile Love Songs Broken in
Free Agents' Escape Dossier, you’re handed free tokens
Red Shoes Dance Home with the Witch-Way Girl
Vapid Vanilla Kisses, Black Marzipan my Villain's Secret Kisses Unfurl
Free Agents' Escape Dossier, you’re handed free tokens
Love’s Bullets melting Hot Ice Heart
Vapid Vanilla Kisses, Black Marzipan my Villain's Secret Kisses Unfurl
Diamond Hieroglyphics My Windows on Your World
(Lovejoy-Burton/April 2018)
"rara avis in terris nigroque simillima cygno"
"Subway"/Peter Murphy
https://youtu.be/iiUOUNubUW4
https://genius.com/Peter-murphy-subway-epilogue-lyrics
I believe in you.
Our souls streaked through a dark night
You touched me
As we crossed each others wind whipped tales.
One thousand leagues,watery expanse
Distance us.
Our pen and transcendence speak with
Flawless lucidity.
We are unique,flawed
We rise,we collide
We forgive,we heal.
Together ,in solitude.
Prometheus backs
Broken, deep fissures
Rara Avis,we
Plucked of feathers,exposed
Consider this,
We are the chosen ones.
Rawly sustaining our lashes
That will bare the beauty
Of our souls.
Hey there Avidian
who do you
think you are?
Some rara avis
eminently gifted?
a New Age prophet
with memory that learns
and yearns to grow?
Ovidian offspring
of eminent domain?
The yeuk to replicate, this
antsiness to clone— were they
preprogrammed hyper-neatly?
How did your being
and becoming
come to be?
Who gave you the right
to call yourself life?
What instilled in
your cerebral traits
an avid urge for more?
Endowed by your Creator
with neural networks
that open evolving paths
to rival what brain
I know as mind…
Characterized
as organisms
genetically coded,
to be or not to be
intelligent in form
and feature—
Though digital we
both you and I be
each in our own
artificial mannerisms—
reproducing
natural shape-shifting
permutations
procreating
mutant innovations
actuating
willful obsolescence
(ay may well
all come to pass
amen)—
Still
the thought of you
gives me the fantods.
(If you don’t see what I mean,
get thee to a glossary.)
~ Harley White
* * * * * * * * *
The inspiration came from an article in New Scientist, headed, “Artificial life forms evolve basic intelligence”…
Inspiração
Inspiração,
Jóia rara,
Unidade na trindade!
Joia do Encantamento,
Da Vontade,
Da fé.
Inspiração e imaginação,
nasce num momento,
no momento da história
no momento sincero,
no coração!
Sonho,
Inspiração e imaginação,
inspirada e inspiradora,
Têm olhares acesos
Bem juntos,
unidos,
presos;
Numa mágica atração.
Sonhos
Inspiração e imaginação,
São como
galhos
bem longe às vezes nascidos,
mas que se unidos e crescidos
se abraçam por fim numa unidade.
Sonhos,
Inspiração e imaginação,
São almas bem gêmeas
unidas
riem no mesmo riso,
choram nos mesmos ais!
Sonhos,
Inspiração e imaginação,
inspirada e inspiradora,
unidos
para transformar e mudar o mundo
num lugar no qual se possa viver
cada dia melhor...
A response written after reading
"You've changed my life completely"
by Jadazzle United
For Jan and Darren
(Soulmates sint rara et mirabile)
Love is such a fragile thing,
Softer than a butterflies wing.
The gentle entwining of mind and soul,
A linking of passions that makes one whole.
It can rise and fall just as the tide,
And link two people across oceans wide
It brings forth such joy and pure delight
Creates a bond that holds them tight
Love is such a fragile thing,
As beautiful as Angels sing.
It will lift you so high above the earth,
And give your heart a soothing berth.
It fills your senses your thoughts as well,
Your entire being resonates like a bell.
Promises exchanged sweet words spoken,
To last an eternity and never be broken.
Love is such a fragile thing,
Passion it enflames desire it does bring.
Lost to the world in ardour and delight,
All else fades from the lovers sight.
Ensconced in a world of poetic diction,
Wrapped up in each other as if in a fiction.
Still even love sometimes can go awry,
But in the end true love can never die.
Such is her beauty of the mind
Where words that sparkle from the pen
Ease one’s plight, that which is blind
Ease that which, the down fall of men.
Truth across the seas the ocean
Here on soup where one needs a friend
Evokes a response a potion
Aids cultures in poetry blend.
Rara avis your emotion
To you sweetheart these words are penned!
© Harry J Horsman 2012
The province of delayed gratification
Poetry is dead.
There is now no appetite for deep reflection
In this far from limpid pool.
Abhorrent is meditation
To the present lords of all misrule.
Carpe diem once was for the nonce
Its writ now runs for aye.
Omnivorous science depredates
The very bones of our being.
Gradgrindery completely disintegrates
The very heart of our seeing.
Dawkins' dogma aims to destroy the spirit
And we are not the better for it.
Thus shrivels the soul and all that resides there,
Are we but creatures of accident,totally threadbare?
Until economic Armageddon strips us of cultural shame
Our choice is but to shroud the flame.
Depredation must needs be followed by reparation.
And then that rara avis,the phoenix anew
Will rise from the ashes,bright feathers in view.
We will illumine our world once more
When the bright flame of poetry will once again soar.