Category Archives: poetry

poem found online

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She searched the city for anyone. I ran into her on a bus stop. And then she asked me for a light, and then I asked her, “Are you alright?” She said, “I think there’s something wrong, I don’t belong, I don’t belong.”
She lives in gardens, she lives alone. She runs through seasons on her own. And no one knows her or knows her name. And no one ever found out again.

i have no idea who wrote that – i’ve seen it used as a signature on discussion forums.

Khalil Gibran On Joy & Sorrow

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On Joy and Sorrow
 Kahlil Gibran

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Some of you say, “Joy is greater thar sorrow,” and others say, “Nay, sorrow is the greater.”
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits, alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.

Kamilah, Kahlil's mother
Kamilah, Kahlil’s mother. Painting by Kahlil Gibran

Khalil Gibran On Children

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On Children
 Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Marianna, Kahlil's Sister

Marianna, Kahlil’s Sister. Painting by Kahlil Gibran

“Do not stand at my grave and weep” by Mary Elizabeth Frye

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Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave bereft
I am not there. I have not left.
-Mary Elizabeth Frye

“The Atheist” by Aleister Crowley

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Nor thou, Habib, nor I are glad,

when rosy limbs and sweat entwine;

But rapture drowns the sense and self,

the wine the drawer of the wine,

 

And Him that planted first the grape-

o podex, in thy vault there dwells

A charm to make the member mad,

And shake the marrow of the spine.

 

O member, in thy stubborn strength

a power avails on podex-sense

To boil the blood in breast and brain;

shudder the nreves incarnadine!

 

From me thou drawest pearly drink –

and in its pourings both are drunk.

The Iman drives forth the drunken man

from out the marble prayer-shrine.

 

Blue Mushtari strove with red Mirrikh

which should be master of the night-

But where is Mushtari, where Mirrikh

when in the sky the sun doth shine?

 

Now El Qahar to Hazif gives

the worship unto poets due :

-But songs are nought and Music all;

what poet music may define?

 

Allah’s the atheist! he owns

no Allah. Sneer, thou dullard churl!

The Sufi worships not, but drinks,

being himself the all-divine.

 

Come, my Habib, the roses blush,

the waters gleam, the bulbul sings

-To pierce thy podex El Quahar’s

urgent and and imminent design!

“The Heart Cakra” by Timothy Leary

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”The Heart Cakra”
Scarlet
Can you float…through
the universe of your body…
and not lose your way…?
Can you flow…with fire-blood
through each tissued corridor…?
Throb…to the pulse of life…?
Can you let your heart…
pump you…
down long red tunnels…?
Radiate…swell…penetrate…to
the bumpy rhythm?
Can you stream…
into cell chambers…?
Can you center…
on this heart-fire of love…?
Can you let your heart…
become central pump-house…
for all human feelings?
Pulse for all love?
Beat for all sorrow?
Throb for all pain?
Thud for all joy?
Can you let it…
beat for all mankind?
Burst…bleed out…
into warm compassion
flowing…flowing…pulsing…
out…out…out?
Bleed to death
life…
blood
Scarlet
-from the book Your Brain is God

“Call of love” by Rumi

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” At every instant and from every side, resounds the call of Love:We are going to sky, who wants to come with us? We have gone to heaven, we have been the friends of the angels, And now we will go back there, for there is our country. We are higher than heaven, more noble than the angels: Why not go beyond them? Our goal is the Supreme Majesty.What has the fine pearl to do with the world of dust? Why have you come down here? Take your baggage back. What is this place? Luck is with us, to us is the sacrifice!… Like the birds of the sea, men come from the ocean–the ocean of the soul. Like the birds of the sea, men come from the ocean–the ocean of the soul. How could this bird, born from that sea, make his dwelling here?No, we are the pearls from the bosom of the sea, it is there that we dwell: Otherwise how could the wave succeed to the wave that comes from the soul? The wave named ‘Am I not your Lord’ has come, it has broken the vessel of the body; And when the vessel is broken, the vision comes back, and the union with Him.”