THE LOVE MACHINE

The Gap, Australia

#1 Mar 6, 2013
He is affection and the present moment because he has thrown open the house to the snow foam of winter and to the noises of summer—he who purified drinking water and food—who is the enchantment fleeing places and the superhuman delight of resting places.—He is affection and future, the strength and love which we, erect in rage and boredom, see pass by in the sky of storms and the flags of ecstasy.

He is love, perfect and reinvented measure, miraculous, unforeseen reason, and eternity: machine loved for its qualities of fate. We have all known the terror of his concession and ours: delight in our health, power of our faculties, selfish affection and passion for him,—he who loves us because his life is infinity…

And we recall him and he sets forth…And if Adoration moves, rings, his Promise, rings: "Down with these superstitions, these other bodies, these couples and ages. This is the time which has gone under!"

He will not go away, he will not come down again from some heaven, he will not redeem the anger of women, the laughter of men, or all that sin: for it is done now, since he is and since he is loved.

His breathing, his heads, his racings; the terrifying swiftness of form and action when they are perfect.

Fertility of the mind and vastness of the world!

His body! the dreamed-of liberation, the collapse of grace joined with new violence!

All that he sees! all the ancient kneelings and the penalties canceled as he passes by.

His day! the abolition of all noisy and restless suffering within more intense music.

His step! migrations more tremendous than early invasions.

O He and I! pride more benevolent than lost charity.

O world!—and the limpid song of new woe!

He knew us all and loved us, may we, this winter night, from cape to cape, from the noisy pole to the castle, from the crowd to the beach, from vision to vision, our strength and our feelings tired, hail him and see him and send him away, and under tides and on the summit of snow deserts follow his eyes,—his breathing—his body,—his day.
THE LOVE MACHINE

The Gap, Australia

#2 Mar 6, 2013
The swaying motion on the bank of the river falls,
The chasm at the sternpost,
The swiftness of the hand-rail,
The huge passing of the current
Conduct by unimaginable lights
And chemical newness
Voyagers surrounded by the waterspouts of the valley
And the current.

They are the conquerors of the world
Seeking a personal chemical fortune;
Sports and comfort travel with them;
They take the education
Of races, classes, and animals, on this Boat.
Repose and dizziness
To the torrential light,
To the terrible nights of study.

For from the talk among the apparatus,—blood, flowers, fire, jewels—
From the agitated accounts on this fleeing deck,
—You can see, rolling like a dyke beyond the hydraulic motor road,
Monstrous, illuminated endlessly,—their stock of studies;
Themselves driven into harmonic ecstasy
And the heroism of discovery.

In the most startling atmospheric happenings
A youthful couple withdraws into the archway,
—Is it an ancient coyness that can be forgiven?—
And sings and stands guard.
THE LOVE MACHINE

The Gap, Australia

#3 Mar 6, 2013
A lacrymal tincture washes
The cabbage-green skies:
Under the drooling tree with tender shoots,
Your raincoats

White with special moons
With round eyes
Knock together your kneecaps
My ugly ones!

We loved one another at that time,
Blue ugly one!
We ate soft boiled eggs
And chickweed!

One evening you consecrated me poet,
Blond ugly one:
Come down here, that I can whip you
On my lap;

I vomited your brilliantine,
Black ugly one;
You would cut off my mandolin
On the edge of my brow

Bah! my dried saliva,
Red-headed ugly one
Still infects the trenches
Of your round breast!

O my little lovers,
How I hate you!
Plaster with painful blisters
Your ugly tits!

Trample on my old pots
Of sentiment;
—Up now! be ballerinas for me
For one moment!…

Your shoulder blades are out of joint,
O my loves!
A star on your limping backs,
Turn with your turns!

And yet it is for these mutton shoulders
That I have made rhymes!
I would like to break your hips
For having loved!

Insipid pile of stars that have failed,
Fill the corners!
—You will collapse in God, saddled
With ignoble cares!

Under special moons
With round eyes,
Knock together your kneecaps,
My ugly ones!
Really Now

Chesapeake, OH

#4 Mar 6, 2013
I love to read poetry... It's a Refreshing change from the original forums posted. Thank you for sharing
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#5 Mar 7, 2013
Men are fools begotten by the lure of darkness,

They visualise often a false perception.

Yet communicate through mind the advent of realism,

Whichsoever it would be the choices of individuals.



We as humans, we are the knowledge thereto,

Everything from birth to death we absorb profoundly.

But in the global design we're overly insignificant,

Like with unmeaning, fractional let's say to be tenuous.



However, at the same time we are prodigious,

The only beasts to least accept just to be.

Self-awareness is then what's made us consequential,

An appreciable rise it's thus given the human race.



And the world we ultimately belong to

A revolving sphere of hope it is that's our violent home.

Tragic, explosive, mysterious and beautiful,

Thereof god doesn't even come into the equation.



For billions of years he didn't exist at all,

Then through the evolution of man we saw his arrival.

But why was he not there previously?

Surely the creator of us paid heed to all life-forms afore.



Well, the truth of who we are is easily explained,

Just look into the image and seek its birth.

Though find it you will not for you were never there,

Your reality so is the whole of something abstract.



It's the idea that the world is round you acknowledge,

For you're told and believe without seeking proof.

It's the idea that Jesus is alive inside you to guide you,

For you're told it's the truth and you don't question it.



But we are so universally small how can it be so?

For there exist all the animals ignorant of self.

That's how it is, the immediacy of life they don't perceive,

Yet the living specimen maintains its assured balance.



And there it all goes on, life and death combined,

Where then its perception we must question.

But why I do say? Why not just accept that it just is?

Or perhaps humans truly need a greater truth.



Ah the fools we are, afraid to embrace ourselves,

Insecure and too terrified even to be insensible.

But what if life held no real meaning to give us purpose?

Like we just were, an abstraction leading to nothing.


THE LOVE MACHINE

The Gap, Australia

#6 Mar 9, 2013
I carry your heart with me
(i carry it in my heart)
I am never without it (anywhere
I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)
I want no world.....
(for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
J RIPPER

Huntington, IN

#7 Mar 9, 2013
Contempt in this sour moment, fleeting in such precious breath.
Her beautiful brown eyes, now set upon an untimley death.
I would sell my soul, just to reach out and touch this void.
An empty heart I have. Swimming in sorrow for these tactics employed.
You would have been much safer if we never would have met.
I see that now. Has I retreat my hands from your neck.
J RIPPER

Huntington, IN

#8 Mar 9, 2013
Praise God or damn the devil for such a gift of steady hands.
Marrying knife to flesh, blood to ground, curiosity in such command.
Her body is my canvas, my delight in such crafty attire.
In these shadows, I use her, abuse her, to my Absolute desire.
Her clothes remain her last link to a past life once obtained.
Now removed as a momento to love now soiled and stained.
Oh, but wait, she has friends. Correction. She once had friends.
Rivival and reunion. Let my lust rage as primal as it stands.

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