Dead Poet's Society.

[White Warlock]

i have been known to give lousy advice, be careful.

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm Since when????? <smiling>

 

[My Erotic Trail]

The Great Poets
" No man was ever yet a great poet,
without being at the same time a profound philosopher.
For poetry is the blossom and the fragrance of all human knowledge,
human thoughts, human passions, emotions, language. "

- Samuel Taylor Coleridge

 

[wildsweetone]

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm Since when????? <smiling>

since birth.

 

[wildsweetone]

The Great Poets
" No man was ever yet a great poet,
without being at the same time a profound philosopher.
For poetry is the blossom and the fragrance of all human knowledge,
human thoughts, human passions, emotions, language. "

- Samuel Taylor Coleridge

...poetry is the blossom and the fragrance...

mmm that phrase grows on me for sure.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

...poetry is the blossom and the fragrance...

mmm that phrase grows on me for sure.

I agree grin...

I like the first of this about the arrow (grows on me <grin>) but the later I don't grasp.

Verse 60 of Rumi Daylight:
Know that a word suddenly shot from the tongue
is like an arrow shot from the bow.
Son, that arrow won't turn back on its way;
you must damn a torrent at the source.
Jelaluddin Rumi (1207-1273), Mathnawi, I.2195-8

 

[wildsweetone]

I agree grin...

I like the first of this about the arrow (grows on me <grin>) but the later I don't grasp.

Verse 60 of Rumi Daylight:
Know that a word suddenly shot from the tongue
is like an arrow shot from the bow.
Son, that arrow won't turn back on its way;
you must damn a torrent at the source.
Jelaluddin Rumi (1207-1273), Mathnawi, I.2195-8

Know that a word suddenly shot from the tongue
is like an arrow shot from the bow.

Son, that arrow won't turn back on its way; something spoken is not able to be unsaid
you must damn a torrent at the source. don't say it in the first place

well, that's my take on it.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Know that a word suddenly shot from the tongue
is like an arrow shot from the bow.

Son, that arrow won't turn back on its way; something spoken is not able to be unsaid
you must damn a torrent at the source. don't say it in the first place

well, that's my take on it.

well, that is better than shooting a torrent with the bow <grin

 

[wildsweetone]

well, that is better than shooting a torrent with the bow <grin

i'm not so sure. the bow in a torrent is less likely to get punched.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

i'm not so sure. the bow in a torrent is less likely to get punched.

<GRIN...


Ralph Waldo Emerson. 1803–1882

Poet

TO clothe the fiery thought
In simple words succeeds,
For still the craft of genius is
To mask a king in weeds.

 

[wildsweetone]

<GRIN...


Ralph Waldo Emerson. 1803–1882

Poet

TO clothe the fiery thought
In simple words succeeds,
For still the craft of genius is
To mask a king in weeds.

interesting concept. right, time to do a little gardening...

 

[My Erotic Trail]

interesting concept. right, time to do a little gardening...

definitely


Taigu Ryokan (1758-1831) (nicknamed Great Fool) lives on as one of Japan's best loved poets, the wise fool who wrote of his humble life with such directness. He is in a tradition of radical Zen poets or "great fools" including China's P'ang Yun (Layman P'ang, 740-811) and Han-shan (Cold Mountain, T'ang Dynasty), and Japan's poets of the Rinzai School: Ikkyu Sojun (Crazy Cloud, 1394-1481) and Hakuin Ekaku (1686-1769). Ryokan had no disciples, ran no temple, and in the eyes of the world was a penniless monk who spent his life in the snow country of Mt. Kugami. He admired most the Soto Zen teachings of Dogen Zenji and the unconventional life and poetry of Zen mountain poet Han-shan. He repeatedly refused to be honored or confined as a "professional" either as a Buddhist priest or a poet.


Who says my poems are poems?
These poems are not poems.
When you can understand this,
then we can begin to speak of poetry.

 

[wildsweetone]

definitely


Taigu Ryokan (1758-1831) (nicknamed Great Fool) lives on as one of Japan's best loved poets, the wise fool who wrote of his humble life with such directness. He is in a tradition of radical Zen poets or "great fools" including China's P'ang Yun (Layman P'ang, 740-811) and Han-shan (Cold Mountain, T'ang Dynasty), and Japan's poets of the Rinzai School: Ikkyu Sojun (Crazy Cloud, 1394-1481) and Hakuin Ekaku (1686-1769). Ryokan had no disciples, ran no temple, and in the eyes of the world was a penniless monk who spent his life in the snow country of Mt. Kugami. He admired most the Soto Zen teachings of Dogen Zenji and the unconventional life and poetry of Zen mountain poet Han-shan. He repeatedly refused to be honored or confined as a "professional" either as a Buddhist priest or a poet.


Who says my poems are poems?
These poems are not poems.
When you can understand this,
then we can begin to speak of poetry.

i think i have read this somewhere before.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

" To see a world in a grain of sand
And heaven in a wild flower
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour."

William Blake

 

[wildsweetone]

there's got to be more to that Blake quote.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

there's got to be more to that Blake quote.

Auguries of Innocence

TO see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.

A Robin Red breast in a Cage
Puts all Heaven in a Rage.
A dove house fill'd with doves & Pigeons
Shudders Hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his Master's Gate
Predicts the ruin of the State.
A Horse misus'd upon the Road
Calls to Heaven for Human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted Hare
A fibre from the Brain does tear.
A Skylark wounded in the wing,
A Cherubim does cease to sing.
The Game Cock clipp'd and arm'd for fight
Does the Rising Sun affright.
Every Wolf's & Lion's howl
Raises from Hell a Human Soul.
The wild deer, wand'ring here & there,
Keeps the Human Soul from Care.
The Lamb misus'd breeds public strife
And yet forgives the Butcher's Knife.
The Bat that flits at close of Eve
Has left the Brain that won't believe.
The Owl that calls upon the Night
Speaks the Unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little Wren
Shall never be belov'd by Men.
He who the Ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by Woman lov'd.
The wanton Boy that kills the Fly
Shall feel the Spider's enmity.
He who torments the Chafer's sprite
Weaves a Bower in endless Night.
The Catterpillar on the Leaf
Repeats to thee thy Mother's grief.
Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly,
For the Last Judgement draweth nigh.
He who shall train the Horse to War
Shall never pass the Polar Bar.
The Beggar's Dog & Widow's Cat,
Feed them & thou wilt grow fat.
The Gnat that sings his Summer's song
Poison gets from Slander's tongue.
The poison of the Snake & Newt
Is the sweat of Envy's Foot.
The poison of the Honey Bee
Is the Artist's Jealousy.
The Prince's Robes & Beggars' Rags
Are Toadstools on the Miser's Bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the Lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so;
Man was made for Joy & Woe;
And when this we rightly know
Thro' the World we safely go.
Joy & Woe are woven fine,
A Clothing for the Soul divine;
Under every grief & pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The Babe is more than swadling Bands;
Throughout all these Human Lands
Tools were made, & born were hands,
Every Farmer Understands.
Every Tear from Every Eye
Becomes a Babe in Eternity.
This is caught by Females bright
And return'd to its own delight.
The Bleat, the Bark, Bellow & Roar
Are Waves that Beat on Heaven's Shore.
The Babe that weeps the Rod beneath
Writes Revenge in realms of death.
The Beggar's Rags, fluttering in Air,
Does to Rags the Heavens tear.
The Soldier arm'd with Sword & Gun,
Palsied strikes the Summer's Sun.
The poor Man's Farthing is worth more
Than all the Gold on Afric's Shore.
One Mite wrung from the Labrer's hands
Shall buy & sell the Miser's lands:
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole Nation sell & buy.
He who mocks the Infant's Faith
Shall be mock'd in Age & Death.
He who shall teach the Child to Doubt
The rotting Grave shall ne'er get out.
He who respects the Infant's faith
Triumph's over Hell & Death.
The Child's Toys & the Old Man's Reasons
Are the Fruits of the Two seasons.
The Questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to Reply.
He who replies to words of Doubt
Doth put the Light of Knowledge out.
The Strongest Poison ever known
Came from Caesar's Laurel Crown.
Nought can deform the Human Race
Like the Armour's iron brace.
When Gold & Gems adorn the Plow
To peaceful Arts shall Envy Bow.
A Riddle or the Cricket's Cry
Is to Doubt a fit Reply.
The Emmet's Inch & Eagle's Mile
Make Lame Philosophy to smile.
He who Doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you Please.
If the Sun & Moon should doubt
They'd immediately Go out.
To be in a Passion you Good may do,
But no Good if a Passion is in you.
The Whore & Gambler, by the State
Licenc'd, build that Nation's Fate.
The Harlot's cry from Street to Street
Shall weave Old England's winding Sheet.
The Winner's Shout, the Loser's Curse,
Dance before dead England's Hearse.
Every Night & every Morn
Some to Misery are Born.
Every Morn & every Night
Some are Born to sweet Delight.
Some ar Born to sweet Delight,
Some are born to Endless Night.
We are led to Believe a Lie
When we see not Thro' the Eye
Which was Born in a Night to Perish in a Night
When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light.
God Appears & God is Light
To those poor Souls who dwell in the Night,
But does a Human Form Display
To those who Dwell in Realms of day.

William Blake

<grin>

 

[wildsweetone]

well, that'll teach me.

lol

 

[Sex and Death]

well, that'll teach me.

lol

Here's one of my favorite of Blake's (my favorite favorite is in red)...from Proverbs From Hell:

The pride of the peacock is the glory of God.
The lust of the goat is the bounty of God.
The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God.
The nakedness of woman is the work of God.

The roaring of the lions, the howling of the wolves, the raging of the stormy sea, and the destructive sword, are portions of eternity, too great for the eye of man.

The tygers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction.

You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.

What is now proved was once only imagin'd.

Improvement makes straight roads; but the crooked roads
without improvements are roads of Genius.
Sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires.

The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.

He who desires but acts not, breeds pestilence.

Eternity is in love with the productions of time.

No bird soars too high, if he soars with his own wings.

If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise.

Exuberance is beauty.

 

[wildsweetone]

hmm William Blake...

The Tiger

Tiger! Tiger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tiger! Tiger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Here's one of my favorite of Blake's (my favorite favorite is in red)...from Proverbs From Hell:

The pride of the peacock is the glory of God.
The lust of the goat is the bounty of God.
The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God.
The nakedness of woman is the work of God.

The roaring of the lions, the howling of the wolves, the raging of the stormy sea, and the destructive sword, are portions of eternity, too great for the eye of man.

The tygers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction.

You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.

What is now proved was once only imagin'd.

Improvement makes straight roads; but the crooked roads
without improvements are roads of Genius.
Sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires.

The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.

He who desires but acts not, breeds pestilence.

Eternity is in love with the productions of time.

No bird soars too high, if he soars with his own wings.

If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise.

Exuberance is beauty.

I like this <grin

 

[GypsyMystik]

You have touched my passion

Auguries of Innocence

TO see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.

A Robin Red breast in a Cage
Puts all Heaven in a Rage.
A dove house fill'd with doves & Pigeons
Shudders Hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his Master's Gate
Predicts the ruin of the State.
A Horse misus'd upon the Road
Calls to Heaven for Human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted Hare
A fibre from the Brain does tear.
A Skylark wounded in the wing,
A Cherubim does cease to sing.
The Game Cock clipp'd and arm'd for fight
Does the Rising Sun affright.
Every Wolf's & Lion's howl
Raises from Hell a Human Soul.
The wild deer, wand'ring here & there,
Keeps the Human Soul from Care.
The Lamb misus'd breeds public strife
And yet forgives the Butcher's Knife.
The Bat that flits at close of Eve
Has left the Brain that won't believe.
The Owl that calls upon the Night
Speaks the Unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little Wren
Shall never be belov'd by Men.
He who the Ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by Woman lov'd.
The wanton Boy that kills the Fly
Shall feel the Spider's enmity.
He who torments the Chafer's sprite
Weaves a Bower in endless Night.
The Catterpillar on the Leaf
Repeats to thee thy Mother's grief.
Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly,
For the Last Judgement draweth nigh.
He who shall train the Horse to War
Shall never pass the Polar Bar.
The Beggar's Dog & Widow's Cat,
Feed them & thou wilt grow fat.
The Gnat that sings his Summer's song
Poison gets from Slander's tongue.
The poison of the Snake & Newt
Is the sweat of Envy's Foot.
The poison of the Honey Bee
Is the Artist's Jealousy.
The Prince's Robes & Beggars' Rags
Are Toadstools on the Miser's Bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the Lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so;
Man was made for Joy & Woe;
And when this we rightly know
Thro' the World we safely go.
Joy & Woe are woven fine,
A Clothing for the Soul divine;
Under every grief & pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The Babe is more than swadling Bands;
Throughout all these Human Lands
Tools were made, & born were hands,
Every Farmer Understands.
Every Tear from Every Eye
Becomes a Babe in Eternity.
This is caught by Females bright
And return'd to its own delight.
The Bleat, the Bark, Bellow & Roar
Are Waves that Beat on Heaven's Shore.
The Babe that weeps the Rod beneath
Writes Revenge in realms of death.
The Beggar's Rags, fluttering in Air,
Does to Rags the Heavens tear.
The Soldier arm'd with Sword & Gun,
Palsied strikes the Summer's Sun.
The poor Man's Farthing is worth more
Than all the Gold on Afric's Shore.
One Mite wrung from the Labrer's hands
Shall buy & sell the Miser's lands:
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole Nation sell & buy.
He who mocks the Infant's Faith
Shall be mock'd in Age & Death.
He who shall teach the Child to Doubt
The rotting Grave shall ne'er get out.
He who respects the Infant's faith
Triumph's over Hell & Death.
The Child's Toys & the Old Man's Reasons
Are the Fruits of the Two seasons.
The Questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to Reply.
He who replies to words of Doubt
Doth put the Light of Knowledge out.
The Strongest Poison ever known
Came from Caesar's Laurel Crown.
Nought can deform the Human Race
Like the Armour's iron brace.
When Gold & Gems adorn the Plow
To peaceful Arts shall Envy Bow.
A Riddle or the Cricket's Cry
Is to Doubt a fit Reply.
The Emmet's Inch & Eagle's Mile
Make Lame Philosophy to smile.
He who Doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you Please.
If the Sun & Moon should doubt
They'd immediately Go out.
To be in a Passion you Good may do,
But no Good if a Passion is in you.
The Whore & Gambler, by the State
Licenc'd, build that Nation's Fate.
The Harlot's cry from Street to Street
Shall weave Old England's winding Sheet.
The Winner's Shout, the Loser's Curse,
Dance before dead England's Hearse.
Every Night & every Morn
Some to Misery are Born.
Every Morn & every Night
Some are Born to sweet Delight.
Some ar Born to sweet Delight,
Some are born to Endless Night.
We are led to Believe a Lie
When we see not Thro' the Eye
Which was Born in a Night to Perish in a Night
When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light.
God Appears & God is Light
To those poor Souls who dwell in the Night,
But does a Human Form Display
To those who Dwell in Realms of day.

William Blake

<grin>

I've long been passionate for Blake and you have brought him at a time when I truly needed to hear his words. I thank you for your timely pursuit of his verses. He has admiring qualities to his poetry that is hard put to find elsewhere.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

I've long been passionate for Blake and you have brought him at a time when I truly needed to hear his words. I thank you for your timely pursuit of his verses. He has admiring qualities to his poetry that is hard put to find elsewhere.

with that being said I went and read some of William Blakes poetry. A lot of it deals with Heaven and Hell (that which was offered on a web site) I found this one to touch me more than the others.

Proverbs of Hell (selected)
The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.
Prudence is a rich ugly old maid courted by Incapacity.
He who desires but acts not, breeds pestilence.
The cut worm forgives the plow.
No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings.
Prisons are built with stones of Law, Brothels with bring of Religion.

The pride of the peacock is the glory of God.
The lust of the goat is the bounty of God.
The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God.
The nakedness of women is the work of God.
Excess of sorrow laughs. Excess of joy weeps.
What is now proved was once only imagin'd.
The fox provides for himself, but God provides for the lion.
Think in the morning. Act in the noon. Eat in the evening. Sleep in the night.
The tygers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction.
Expect poison from standing water.

The weak in courage is strong in cunning.
Damn braces. Bless relaxes.
Joys laugh not! Sorrows weep not!
The head Sublime, the heart Pathos, the genitals Beauty, the hands and feet
Proportion.
Exhuberance is Beauty.
Sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires.

William Blake

 

[GypsyMystik]

with that being said I went and read some of William Blakes poetry. A lot of it deals with Heaven and Hell (that which was offered on a web site) I found this one to touch me more than the others.

Proverbs of Hell (selected)
The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.
Prudence is a rich ugly old maid courted by Incapacity.
He who desires but acts not, breeds pestilence.
The cut worm forgives the plow.
No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings.
Prisons are built with stones of Law, Brothels with bring of Religion.

The pride of the peacock is the glory of God.
The lust of the goat is the bounty of God.
The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God.
The nakedness of women is the work of God.
Excess of sorrow laughs. Excess of joy weeps.
What is now proved was once only imagin'd.
The fox provides for himself, but God provides for the lion.
Think in the morning. Act in the noon. Eat in the evening. Sleep in the night.
The tygers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction.
Expect poison from standing water.

The weak in courage is strong in cunning.
Damn braces. Bless relaxes.
Joys laugh not! Sorrows weep not!
The head Sublime, the heart Pathos, the genitals Beauty, the hands and feet
Proportion.
Exhuberance is Beauty.
Sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires.

William Blake

Once again you have sought and drawn me near. I believe in fate and she is conspiring here. I feel that though your writing is different from Blakes it catches the same flair of style and presence of energy. Thanks once again.
Your poetry also reaches deep places in me and I'm taking the time to follow your works also. Yours Gypsy

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Ah Sun-flower! weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the Sun:
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the traveller's journey is done;


Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow
Arise from their graves and aspire
Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.

William Blake

(I learned today that he was British <grin)

 

[wildsweetone]

Ah Sun-flower! weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the Sun:
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the traveller's journey is done;


Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow
Arise from their graves and aspire
Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.

William Blake

(I learned today that he was British <grin)

so, you're saying they don't have pale virgins shrouded in snow in your neck of the woods then, Art?

 

[wildsweetone]

oooooooooh here's one:

NIGHT

by: William Blake (1757-1827)

THE sun descending in the west,
The evening star does shine;
The birds are silent in their nest.
And I must seek for mine.
The moon, like a flower
In heaven's high bower,
With silent delight
Sits and smiles on the night.

Farewell, green fields and happy grove,
Where flocks have took delight:
Where lambs have nibbled, silent move
The feet of angels bright;
Unseen they pour blessing
And joy without ceasing
On each bud and blossom,
On each sleeping bosom.

They look in every thoughtless nest
Where birds are cover'd warm;
They visit caves of every beast,
to keep them all from harm:
If they see any weeping
That should have been sleeping,
They pour sleep on their head,
And sit down by their bed.

When wolves and tigers howl for prey,
They pitying stand and weep,
Seeking to drive their thirst away
And keep them from the sheep.
But, if they rush dreadful,
The angels, most heedful,
Receive each mild spirit,
New worlds to inherit.

And there the lion's ruddy eyes
Shall flow with tears of gold:
And pitying the tender cries,
And walking round the fold:
Saying, 'Wrath by His meekness,
And, by His health, sickness,
Are driven away
From our immortal day.

'And now beside thee, bleating lamb,
I can lie down and sleep,
Or think on Him who bore thy name,
Graze after thee, and weep.
For, wash'd in life's river,
My bright mane for ever
Shall shine like the gold
As I guard o'er the fold.'