I Come To Topix Especially To Read Po...

I Come To Topix Especially To Read Posts By

Created by Lucys_Fur_Coat on Jan 28, 2011

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Noah Vail


stacked and proud




Purple Gurl

Adrian DeVine

Any Troll I Can Copy

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The Gap, Australia

#3793 Dec 31, 2012
All is lithogenesis—or lochia,
Carpolite fruit of the forbidden tree,
Stones blacker than any in the Caaba,
Cream-coloured caen-stone, chatoyant pieces,
Celadon and corbeau, bistre and beige,
Glaucous, hoar, enfouldered, cyathiform,
Making mere faculae of the sun and moon,
I study you glout and gloss, but have
No cadrans to adjust you with, and turn again
From optik to haptik and like a blind man run
My fingers over you, arris by arris, burr by burr,
Slickensides, truité, rugas, foveoles,
Bringing my aesthesis in vain to bear,
An angle-titch to all your corrugations and coigns,
Hatched foraminous cavo-rilievo of the world,
Deictic, fiducial stones. Chiliad by chiliad
What bricole piled you here, stupendous cairn?
What artist poses the Earth écorché thus,
Pillar of creation engouled in me?
What eburnation augments you with men’s bones,
Every energumen an Endymion yet?
All the other stones are in this haecceity it seems,
But where is the Christophanic rock that moved?
What Cabirian song from this catasta comes?

Deep conviction or preference can seldom
Find direct terms in which to express itself.
Today on this shingle shelf
I understand this pensive reluctance so well,
This not discommendable obstinacy,
These contrivances of an inexpressive critical feeling,
These stones with their resolve that Creation shall not be
Injured by iconoclasts and quacks. Nothing has stirred
Since I lay down this morning an eternity ago
But one bird. The widest open door is the least liable to intrusion,
Ubiquitous as the sunlight, unfrequented as the sun.
The inward gates of a bird are always open.
It does not know how to shut them.
That is the secret of its song,
But whether any man’s are ajar is doubtful.
I look at these stones and know little about them,
But I know their gates are open too,
Always open, far longer open, than any bird’s can be,
That every one of them has had its gates wide open far longer
Than all birds put together, let alone humanity,
Though through them no man can see,
No man nor anything more recently born than themselves
And that is everything else on the Earth.
I too lying here have dismissed all else.
Bread from stones is my sole and desperate dearth,
From stones, which are to the Earth as to the sunlight
Is the naked sun which is for no man’s sight.
I would scorn to cry to any easier audience
Or, having cried, to lack patience to await the response.
I am no more indifferent or ill-disposed to life than death is;
I would fain accept it all completely as the soil does;
Already I feel all that can perish perishing in me
As so much has perished and all will yet perish in these stones.
I must begin with these stones as the world began.

Shall I come to a bird quicker than the world’s course ran?
To a bird, and to myself, a man?
And what if I do, and further?
I shall only have gone a little way to go back again
And be like a fleeting deceit of development,
Iconoclasts, quacks. So these stones have dismissed
All but all of evolution, unmoved by it,
(Is there anything to come they will not likewise dismiss?)
As the essential life of mankind in the mass
Is the same as their earliest ancestors yet.

The Gap, Australia

#3794 Jan 1, 2013
allergic purges paid no mind
dropped in toll
reversed in backward backyard
uniquely uttered
for the sake of freeing clutter
muttering chops talking slack jawed
rear-view sonnet sound-cloud
share and share alike
indulged by inward lines
“in” rhymes with “thin”
so say that backwards
and count your consonants well

Well, WoW, I wonder where that wisdom went
you know, that witty epitome
that trickles throughout the veins
a spike in the synapses, conjuring elated brain matters
a thought that brought habit
through cavity compositions
which sought what's to be taught by the manual of trial
tribune that for the turbulence that takes
mis-took from the cookie jar
but will not clean up the mess made
in the kitchen that doesn't belong to you
dishes piled up, roaches roaming in the corner of clarity
signed, the deed of disparity

The Gap, Australia

#3795 Jan 1, 2013
These electric lullabies, covering
the mileage of a thick and heavy
night, trying to creep in
the crevasses of my tea drenched soul,
curl their sounds around
the shadow of your name, lingering
on my tongue…the scent of sounds
shackle the flowing
seconds against an imaginary bed
of a reinvented Procust, trying
to transform them into infinity…
only to allow myself to find
among them the decipherer
of your silent hiding soul…

The night keeps
biting from my unborn
words, savoring each shadow of
the sounds yet flying
through ether like fragile
butterflies waiting to rest
their wings in the corner
of my mouth…kissing you
would taste now dark
chocolate-like, with just a shade
of pepper, a spicy bitter-sweet
bite granting my dreams
free passage towards tomorrow…
and I really miss you…

Those sad, tired raindrops
pearling on the soul of sounds
filling my chackras one by one,
layer after layer of heavenly tears
blessing a rainbowless afternoon
and hiding within them the scent of fall…
of my slow fall…
september is sweeping away tenderly
a few imaginary grains of dust
from the bed of amaranth petals
on which I laid my breath a while ago…
and while the flame of a candle is getting ready
to bring to life the scent of jasmine incense,
those tired raindrops are losing their innocence
to my gaze…


The Gap, Australia

#3796 Jan 1, 2013
Nature and woman
Both are weakness for man
One sheds tear
Another is made to bear

One is ready to offer
Another is ready to suffer
Both identical but different in approach
Noble thoughts for sacrifice as such

Nature is kind
So is the woman very much blind
Gives everything for slight pretext
Without thinking what will be next

Nature has everything in abundance
Women have character by chance
Both stand for giving away the pride
Come closer when wish to confide

Women are worth to be adored
So is the nature to be explored
One may dedicate for whole life
Another may bless for future life

So do we need to be grateful?
Think of wisely and remain faithful
Do nothing contrary to cause harm
When they both are ready to welcome
Level 2

Since: Oct 12

Location hidden

#3797 Jan 2, 2013
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
M. Angelou? Wonderful poem, very popular here in the States.

The Gap, Australia

#3798 Jan 2, 2013
Look in the keyhole
see into infinity
climb through
back where I started
turn around
look in the keyhole
see into infinity
climb through
back where I started
turn around
realize the door is standing in the middle of infinity
I put it there on some drunken night
thinking I was clever in my devising
never realizing I would trick myself with it too
kick the door down
and turn it into a flying carpet
a person can travel forever here
I see others at their own doors
seems my little game wasn't original after all
that's ok
I see others on their carpets
and wave hello
I see rockets and planes and balloons
There is a buddha hovering over a planet there
at peace, in zenful meditation
she is beautiful.
what wonders to discover
what glorious souls to meet
we are all family
we all know each others names and faces
before our first meetings and introductions
Saw a friend knock down her door
and fly away with wings, rapture on her face
I wept for joy to see her go
knowing our foreheads will touch again when it is time
and the stories she will tell!
Oh the stories!
All of these tales from deVine lips
weaving into the fabric of the infinite
weaving us together as a whole
We Are - I Am - You are
We Are One
Each experience becomes a story
Each life is an epic journey
retold with the tongues of cosmic bards
the words resonate in swirls and patterns
making sacred geometry with the stars
I see, I see, I see
there is so much to take in
and so much to give back
dancing with the bear and the wolf
the eagle and the raven cry out above our heads
reminding me of the regal heritage which death wears on it's crown.
Supping at a feast of the gods, I'm on one side,
and you're leaning on my shoulder
they want to laugh and cry and tell cheesy jokes like the rest of us
when we aren't looking
we are in the infinite, there is no rush
for there is no time -

it's all Now !

The Gap, Australia

#3799 Jan 2, 2013
SimplyLoveYou wrote:
<quoted text> M. Angelou? Wonderful poem, very popular here in the States.
Is it ?....I really have no idea....just liked it, glad you did too....thank you.

Whoever has no house now will never have one.
Whoever is alone will stay alone
Will sit, read, write long letters through the evening
And wander on the boulevards, up and down...

- from Autumn Day, Rainer Maria Rilke.

“Want A Friend, Be One..”

Level 9

Since: Mar 12

Friends Are Great...

#3800 Jan 2, 2013
Never lie to someone that trust you and never trust someone that lies to you!!!!

The Gap, Australia

#3802 Jan 3, 2013
When the green lies over the earth, my dear,
A mantle of witching grace,
When the smile and the tear of the young child year
Dimple across its face,
And then flee, when the wind all day is sweet
With the breath of growing things,
When the wooing bird lights on restless feet
And chirrups and trills and sings
To his lady-love
In the green above,
Then oh! my dear, when the youth’s in the year,
Yours is the face that I long to have near,
Yours is the face, my dear.

But the green is hiding your curls, my dear,
Your curls so shining and sweet;
And the gold-hearted daisies this many a year
Have bloomed and bloomed at your feet,
And the little birds just above your head
With their voices hushed, my dear,
For you have sung and have prayed and have pled
This many, many a year.
And the blossoms fall,
On the garden wall,
And drift like snow on the green below.
But the sharp thorn grows
On the budding rose,
And my heart no more leaps at the sunset glow,
For oh! my dear, when the youth’s in the year,
Yours is the face that I long to have near,
Yours is the face, my dear.

The Gap, Australia

#3803 Jan 3, 2013
Is a cave so dark that every ghost shines
with the luminescence of super novas;
wish upon every one, and you would
want for nothing.

The cave is a house with seven windows
and no doors.

The house of no doors is not lacking
an entryway, you have only to open
your imagination. Sometimes
a wall is a fear so old it has become brick.
Sometimes a wall is a wish so fragile
it would crumble if you uttered its name.

The name is a ghost offering
every possibility to the dark: A shining thing.
The name is an echo, is a mirror,

a corridor of clocks between now
and no time.

Now is a single drop of rain
hurtling towards a river.
The river runs, like all rivers – on.

At the mouth of the cave,
in the belly of the house,
at the edge of every hunger, the river
runs on.

Ghosts drink from it......

The Gap, Australia

#3804 Jan 4, 2013
The redness of the apples
Cannot see,
I understand
In the night-black air
The smells of no fear—
Just the crackling
Of bent limbs in hidden places.

I smell the reasons,
They are all sweet,

I go down on my hands,
And on my knees,
And shed my skin—
For health,
And spend the night.

The Gap, Australia

#3805 Jan 4, 2013
If you are a revolutionary
Then I must be a reactionary
For if you stand for the future
I have no choice but to
Be with the past

Bring back suspender!
Bring back Mom!
Homemade ice cream
Picnics in the park
Flagpole sitting
Straw hats
Rent parties
Corn liquor
The banjo
Georgia quilts
Krazy Kat

The syncopation of
Fletcher Henderson
The Kiplingesque lines
Of James Weldon Johnson
Black Eagle
Mickey Mouse
The Bach Family
Sunday School
Even them kids
Who read the comics
Is more appealing than
Your version of
What Lies Ahead

In your world of
Tomorrow Humor
Will be locked up and
The key thrown away
The public address system
Will pound out headaches
All day
Everybody will wear the same
Funny caps
And the same funny jackets
Enchantment will be found
Expendable, charm, a
Love and kisses
A crime against the state
Duke Ellington will be
Ordered to write more marches
“For the people,” naturally

If you are what’s coming
I must be what’s going

Make it by steamboat
down the Mississippi
I likes to take it rrreeaaaal slow

The Gap, Australia

#3806 Jan 4, 2013
Back when the earth was new
and heaven just a whisper,
back when the names of things
hadn’t had time to stick;

back when the smallest breezes
melted summer into autumn,
when all the poplars quivered
sweetly in rank and file …

the world called, and I answered.
Each glance ignited to a gaze.
I caught my breath and called that life,
swooned between spoonfuls of lemon sorbet.

I was pirouette and flourish,
I was filigree and flame.
How could I count my blessings
when I didn’t know their names?

Back when everything was still to come,
luck leaked out everywhere.
I gave my promise to the world,
and the world followed me here.

The Gap, Australia

#3807 Jan 5, 2013
truth is too simple for words
before thought gets tangled up
in nouns and verbs
there is a wordless sound
a deep breathless sigh
of overwhelming relief
to find the end of fiction
in this ordinary
yet extraordinary moment
when words are recognized
as words
and truth is recognized
as everything else.


“Want A Friend, Be One..”

Level 9

Since: Mar 12

Friends Are Great...

#3808 Jan 5, 2013
Grant me the strength from day to day
To bear what burdens come my way
Grant me throughout this bright new year
More to endure and less to fear
Help me live that i may be
from spite and pitty malice free
Let me not bitterly complain
When cherished hopes of mine prove vain
or spoil with deeds of hate and rage
Some fait tomorrows spotless page
Lord,as the days shall come and go
In courage let me stronger grow
Lord as the new yeardawns today
help me to put my faults away
Let me be big in little things
grant me the joy which friendship brings
Keep me from selffishness and spite
Let me be wise in what is right
A happy new year!Grant that I
may bring no tear to any eye
When this new year in time shall end Let it be said Ive played the friend Have lived and loved and labored here and made of it a happy year..

God bless to all and hope your new year is the best one yet..

The Gap, Australia

#3809 Jan 5, 2013
Why would an atheist enjoy reading the Bible? I’m not talking about the kind of smirking enjoyment some people seem to get by cataloguing the verses where God commands his followers to do awful things.

Those kind of lists are useful, I suppose, but in anything other than a theological debate they miss the point: the Bible is first and foremost a story. Like any story it has its moments of blood and violence, darkness and hopelessness, love and death. It is interesting; it is beautiful; it is, on occasion, even true. The King James Version especially is written incredibly well, and it is from that that I wish to draw a verse that is both poetical and insightful.

"I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all".
Ecclesiastes 9:11

This is, coincidentally, the verse that George Orwell – famously agnostic – cited as an example of excellent writing. In his essay Politics and the English Language he renders that verse in ‘modern English’. I believe that the best way to appreciate a skilfully-crafted sentence is to see it in contrast with a sentence of worse quality, so I will reproduce Orwell’s rewording here:

"Objective consideration of contemporary phenomena compels the conclusion that success or failure in competitive activities exhibits no tendency to be commensurate with innate capacity, but that a considerable element of the unpredictable must be taken into account".

There may, of course, be someone who considers this second version better, but I would not wish to discuss poetry with them. Some of the merits of the original verse – directness of language, clarity of expression, richness of examples – should now be clear.

Let’s look at the cadence or rhythm of the verse.....

Each middle clause has two distinct areas of emphasis – and saw under the sun....that the race is not to the swift – which are linked together by meaning. The first clause – I returned – can be read as a kind of warm-up to the beat of the next six clauses. After the sixth we have the final clause, separated from the rest of the sentence by a semi-colon.

Rhythmically, I would read it as two iambs, a dactyl and an anapaest:

but time and chance happeneth to them all.

The sound of it somehow brings a satisfying end to such a long sentence. Try tapping the strong and weak beats out on a hard surface; it’s almost like a concluding drumroll.

What about the meaning of the verse?

Coming from the most existential chapter of the Bible – the chapter that brought us “vanity, vanity, all is vanity”– it’s a statement about the unreliability of everything.

Spend years building up your strength?

You still might not win the battle.

Study your whole life?

There’s still a significant chance you’ll end up poor and alone.

The verse gives no indication that God will protect the sufficiently devout.

“Time and chance” are uncontrollable forces that can, in one stroke, ruin your hopes.

It’s a sobering message, expressed beautifully, and that’s why it’s my favourite Bible verse.....

Even though I’m an atheist.

The Gap, Australia

#3810 Jan 5, 2013
Cold is the chill of the northern wind
Uninvited guest from a desolate land,
Lending little but dormancy,
And showing no conscience for life,
Only taking it,
And preserving the specter of death
That only tenderness will abate.

Is it flesh or spirit which saves us;
Not from our own foul hearts,
But the elements,
Always seeking to claim us
Like another trophy of the hunt,
The path of intelligent design
Littered by the unprepared among us.

Sing for me your song of foreboding
High upon an indiscriminate wind.
I hear you in my rest,
Cold breeze upon the mask of life
As my feet freeze within pretense,
And cold chill grasps my lungs
And I see, just this once,
The frailty of my quest:
I am here at your behest,
Insignificant creature,
Both lost and alone.

The nature of my days
May be enhanced by my weakness,
For humility engenders preparation,
A simple act to ward away fear,
But in the chilled scream of the night
When every creature is foe,
I learn, finally, who I am,
And grateful indeed am I
That bravado has been cast aside,
As I embrace the driving gale
And accept my twisted fate.

The Gap, Australia

#3811 Jan 5, 2013
Betrayal comes in many forms,
But relies on underlying intimacy
To insure a lethal wound.
It is an emotional ambush,
Carefully designed,
Flawlessly executed,
Producing an evil sound
In the orchestra of life.

"Let's talk about it," she said,
"So I might explain why you are wrong.
You are paranoid, suspicious
And you lack the proper trust.
If only you had more faith in me,
You would understand your flaws."

Then, filled with doubt,
And tangents notwithstanding,
I struggle with myself.
Am I flawed?
Do I lack the proper trust?
Am I paranoid and suspicious?
Perhaps it is me.

The Betrayer
Will wrap themselves in a coat of righteousness,
Impervious to honest eyes
That are searching for a soul.
They will describe their soul for you,
And demand that you will see
The spiritual mirage.

And so I am stranded
In the valley of disregard,
And I am left to decide
Who brought me to this barren wasteland.

Why does conscience desert me
And tell me that I am wrong,
When evil lies before me and not within?
And then I know...
That betrayal is not a lonely thing,
It has an evil twin.

Betrayal is a conspiracy
With those who would wield the saber;
Darkened assignations,
Construe d in private
By blighted souls.

Consider if you will,
Old Palestine,
Where the blood of innocents was spilled
By a thousand stones,
And jeers,
And a hatred born of lies.

Consider life in Salem,
And screams heard above the flames,
Hatred in the eyes of the accusers,
Tragic death without a crime.

And so we arrive at a point in our lives,
When I know that I've been betrayed.
I hear hushed conversations from afar;
Justifications and rationalizations
From those who have sprung the trap.
Perhaps I am wrong,
And this is all some tragic mistake,
But I reside in the valley of disregard,
And I feel the stones as I am tied to the stake.

“Want A Friend, Be One..”

Level 9

Since: Mar 12

Friends Are Great...

#3812 Jan 5, 2013
For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son that whosoever believeth in him should not perish but have everlasting life...John 3:16

The Gap, Australia

#3813 Jan 6, 2013
O moon! O court of heaven, O shiny pearl!
deeper-fragrant blue reflection
gentle, whimsical, in delight.
I tell you I must genuflect
and beg your heart
burst to bloom and kiss the day,
silver-stained in-translucence,
in protection's festive whisperings
from above -
you're here to watch us,
kindest, dear one.

Shape of marble
craving dreams in wonderment
praying with song along bastion walls
children wait by angel's feet,
Christmas in their heart
eyes dazzling from light-of-bright
the world in romance
beholding thoughst
into blueness of elusiveness
for blueness is not transparent,
extremely rare; pure, most exquisite -
for it is in you I write this prose.

Morning gallant,
a horseman rides with fervor
bringing fire to her blood
in the manner of an opalescent glow,
without it angels could not belong
more than any myth or legend
a chapter with citadel of gild and gold
fond of prayer to wrap in sleep
ceremonial; perhaps sincerity deep -
deep when morning walks our way.
O ivory moon you hear and listen
and pay us homage
graced and blessed.

O fellow poet,
you, a patron here on earth;
hear us sing to you ecstatic
to oblige in precious tones and heal those transposed
for words would hold a heart with words,
in grace from God -
I, too, share with you.

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