Yes! AngeliqueSimonetta.
?
If I chose to honor nobel?
I'd go to Vegas, NYC, OS,
Little Italy.
Ay To ask:`
Waitress?
does imitation powder ice
tea go:`Sir bison loin-pork,
or,
can we all spare the drama,
go rush-off to a fast-foodie,
or,
makes splashes in kennels,
vote for who wiggles a tail,
or,
spreads chocolate souffle,
imitation duck-egg yokes,
a great spongy egg-cakes,
a rues the latest bargains,
and boast of investments.
*
`By the way - today You!
`Great expressions. bow.
`You deserve free gorge.
*
`Consumes French fries.
`No sip from Styrofoam.
`Ingests pure Beautiful.
*
irony, parody, sarcasms,
whatever, and please no
go rushing off like a ox
stampede to nowhere
*

"His words poured as if over crevices,
etching images within faces of rocks;"

Evocative and mesmerizing. Images of wisdom of the ages, since that is what it would take, to etch faces on the rocks. If no one speaks truth, She would incent the rocks themselves to speak.

peece,
dj

This is probably one of your deepest most mesmerizing posts as i know there is just so much to be revealed. Perhaps present day Afghanistan is emblematic of the human condition today, in that the human soul (the heart) is what is being repressed, and that some greater reflection is required.

At least this is the sense I get from these lines:

His words poured as if over crevices,

etching images within faces of rocks;

I swallowed the last bits of his wisdom,

bowed my head, turned away, and walked.

Arthur: I think I need to drop acid to fully grasp your always-fascinating utterances...maybe I will just spin like a whirling dervish instead for a few hours, then read your comment again...one "altered state' (turn) deserves another...

DJ: You say so much in so few words...good thing you are already a (natural) poet!

Newton: I am applying your philosophy by posting this poem. It is likely the most coherent and "digestible" offering I have made thus far (but the process of writing it was quite different - more labor-intensive, and I am still not overly pleased with it).

I watched and waited to see if the masses would come to read and comment on my work, as it is work that should be reachable via any point on the mountain. But alas, it suffers the same fate as all the rest...But it was a fun and intriguing social/poetic "experiment," just the same...

This would be the sort of poem I would have to squeeze out of myself, like toothpaste lurking at the bottom of the tube. Kind of like a Thomas Kinkaid painting - it just doesn't feel like the truest core of the transpersonal well is being accessed...Much more linear, cognitive, intellectual process to write this...However, I thought this would be the one you might like best of all I have posted so far...Do you have a sense of why this one, for you, seemed most "mesmerizing"? Somehow it all ties into the thread on your post on the tension of the opposites...

I had such an intriguing dream early this morning - I will either post it or use it in a comment or turn it into a poem, but it was a direct result, I am sure, of our virtual conversations these past few days. I also notice that our dialogues directly threaded into my various clients' own process and work today - It was all (as Spock might say) "most fascinating"...!

Angelique, perhaps that is why it was so mesmerizing, some of it seemed so obvious but I was yet expecting to see deeper symbolism knowing your thought processes. Nevertheless, don't compromise your art, you are not encumbered by any need to make a living from it and can maintain its purity, within time I'm certain it will find a greater audience who will value it as an authentic expression of the highest order.

A,
O ho! I have come upon a most important
sincere utterance of yours
that interests me;

a new process, more labor intensive, you say mysteriously...

(i intuit that arthur's advice: "please no go stamping off to nowhere" is important in understanding the dyanamics oft his work>>)

yes, this is quite a different poem, but with your
characteristic meldingof the personal & transpersonal...

reading it, my head was opened to the broad vistas
once again...but now! ha!

i have likewise adopted a different method of interpretation...we speak so muchof the collective mind that i think i shall morph MY OWN (german(e) musings with those of my Big Head companions)

etching images in/from rocks..this is what people picked up on..
the stone cold poetess...

receive, eat..."swallow"..move on....

taoist poetess...nonbeing and being are identical,
fluctuating in her...i suspect her
alllegiance is squarely to nonbeing...

not the hard historical God of the West..who with his servant Abraham began a timestream of misery and redemption...

no historical God for this poetess...

indeed it is mesmerizing because you are no longer
simply being a passive medium for
the messages from the transpersonal well...

you are starting to create in the historical world..
the world of abraham & chosen peoples & messiahs & judgment..

AT THE END O F TIME...

but first unfortunately you must JUMP INTO time..
into BEING..

this means struggling with Time's Medium...the linear intellectual
cognitive thought you are blithely exquisitely
commanding with....

but a jump into time means ego...
and ego is gonna want an audience..
and ego is gonna be always secondguessing itself..

welcome to earth, angie..


jump into history...and make history.....this is the Western God's
injunction, alas...

ha! "i'll go along with this charade/ til i can THINK my way out/ i know../it was all a big joke / whatever it was all about/ someday maybe i'll remember
to forget.."...."tight connection to my heart", dylan...


history is there for the making...grow a lettuce garden of crip bills as you continue to tellus what we are all about..

by the way, you reached the transpersonal magnificently..even if you dont see it,
in your new linear box...

Angelique Simonetta. Huh? No!
Ya may fall out of bed too bump!
No knock your head, toe, sacral!
And flop on a cat in a bail of hay!
I am not supposed to comments!
No be too dizzy if you climb tree!
Doze all day in a red clover patch!
Or,
If it rains remain in "Old House"...
Old House is a pleasant sentiment.
`
apology?
I followed Newton. Feed. Eat Figs!
from:`Isabell Fiske Conant. a poem.
`
He who loves an Old House
Never loves in vain,
How can a old house
Used to sun and rain,
To lilac and larkspur,
And an elm above,
Ever fail to answer
The heart that gives love?
that from Old House. by
Isabel Fiske Conant. wow.

why are you letting your waiter
to eschew your musings?
he's your Servant only....


(think transpersonal here)

oh..i meant to say:

...eschew yr musings
and dictate his images on you...
stone cold............

hey wow just read arthur james' comment..
more synchronicity...My grandmother on my mother's side was a Conant...

I happen to be related to ROGER CONANT, who founded
Salem, where a good time was had by all...
till the little crybabies started making accusations
etc

arthur:
safe old house, surrounded by red clover...
trees calling to be climbed squat
in protection...the cat sleeps in the hay...
a hay loft...


what happens in the hay loft, eh?
falling out of a hay loft is more serious
than falling BUMP
outta bed...

James: This is very true about me and my experience with this waiter. The first night I went with a group of professors (my school, and a scholar from UC Berkeley, and all that) - The waiter spoke to us for hours (it seemed the rest of the staff was used to that), having no (conscious) idea who he was dispensing his "wisdom" to. We all listened open-heartedly, respectfully, attentively. That night, when I returned home, I started the poem (this was a few months ago).

I returned to the restaurant a couple of months later. The waiter told the same exact story, in just the same way. This is when I felt something in me turn more "hard" and observatory. What was truly going on beneath? I began thinking of what Charles Bukowski would always say (bitch about) in regard to his ex-wife ("The same 9 poems. She always goes out and reads the same damn 9 poems she wrote" - implying something was static, not fresh, a record being played over and over. This really pissed him off.) So this second time I became a bit more glinty and Clint Eastwood-like, and the final poem is likely a reflection of this.

It is interesting to note (as I only do now, from your mentioning it) that the word eschew contains the word CHEW in it.

To go even further: I began to sense that the waiter makes many assumptions about his "wisdom", and who needs to hear to hear it / benefit from it. It is, each time, a one-way, didactic monologue - We are his audience. He has no idea who we are, yet we get this again and again from him. There is a suggestion of Narcissism floating beneath the portrayed humility and gratitude that seems carefully honed and deliberately presented on the surface.

I see this often in the Transpersonal field as well and it bothers me. In a sense, the waiter is "performing," "preaching," and I wonder about this, his need to do this, again and again and again...

Arthur: You speak of Old Houses. I have posted a poem called "Bleak House." It is on my blog. Read it yet?

Newton: I think it is a wonderful challenge for me to attempt to be a bit more linear, for reasons James highlights well. I have been "digesting" and integrating many of your comments, James as well (of course,) and others - and am so pleased Arthur is visiting more regularly also - in regard to our own "dialectic" we have been engaging in. I am quite sure I can write in both styles at will - I am able to actually choose whether to dig deeply into the chaos of symbolism in non-linear ecstatical fashion, or stream-line my words out in some semblance of order. I wonder if eventually the two styles will meet in the "middle" somewhere, and I will be a far stronger poet because of it.

Therefore, I continue to find our collective engagement deeply enriching and rewarding.

Angelique Simoetta. Iil read it slow. So much to revel in...

So- I best shush and Listen:` We are only trying to aspire ...
Listen. Learn. (tease) If I was in a ICU unit, you'd care. a CEO?
no?
em?
cold?
CEO?
O lost!
control!
dumbstruck?
play a washboard?
use a few thumb guards,
and thumb a bumpy road.
If others observe? gofer holes?
Golfer holes? Pot holes? bump!
You teach the harp? The fiddle?
I barter ice cream cone and beet!
I pray Ya no become wacky! okay.

This has a lovely rhythm, and I like the slant rhymes in the second and fourth lines of the stanzas.

Arthur - Whirling away over here...WHEEEEEE (in glee!)

CandV - Damn, I did not even notice those slant rhymes until you said something - Some others stood out (I am not one who attempts to rhyme often - I am more rhythmic in my sensibilities regarding poetry and such) but not the ones you point to...Eeegads! Thanks for visiting and enlightening!

You are being force-fed, as we all are...
and the ennui we currently have
inour hearts and guts
is the nausea from being
fed something we never wanted...

I am currently listening to one of my personal muses,
Guess Wh..he has a hook nose and shaggy hair..
his latest:"beyond here lies nothing"..
and as i write i am transpersonally translating his song
into my subjective universe, which threatens occasionally
(when i am not being hurried or hassled)
to eat the current universe for lunch...or maybe as an
hors d'oever...

We struggling poetic abstractifiers extrodinaire
are the swallowers of the paradigms we are fed...
we munch em up and against our will digest them and
they really dont nourish us much, do they?
sometimes i feel we are all bringing something
new into the world...but it is so fragile...look at how our comrade rolling...
who has counselled & saved me multiple times...has
dropped out of sight, swallowed by the very world we have supposedly swallowed...

we have eaten of the beast,
and want some christ to chew on instead...
and it IS available, in isolated, hard to find locations...
we struggle & strive to findour nourishment, eat a bit, are nourished awhile..
until They come 7 shove some disgusting mush down our unwilling gullets....

we "bow our heads, turn away, and walk"...

throught the Mystic garden, where wounded flowers dangle from the vine
precariously eyeing us, pleading, in exquisite subjective agony...

we walk along the path...knowing that
"to exterminating learning is the way to no worries " (tao20)
but hungering for the next bit of intellectual
sustenance...we hold in our heads ALL THE ANSWERS
to allthe questions, but,...well,

noone is asking the questions but us, alas..and we walk alone...
helping here...advocating there..doing our bit..
and collapsing from ennui at day's end...
we self generate eacha nd every day, or try to...

and face the same old shadowy world
"my slef-hood! Satan!
is this thy soft family love
thy cruel patriarchal pride
planting thy family alone
destraoying all the world beside"...(blake, "jerusalem")

A man's worst enemy ar e those of his own house & family...
i.e. the human family...
es-chew-ing us...all our words land exactly nowhere...the ideas we generate for fucking FREE
floating uselessly away...and we have no confidence in them,
as a result..and they are shrunk down,
these explsive apocalyptic utterances,
to ..
theories.
propostitions, yet to be proved...

while they ahve already "proved"
themselves in the un/forgiving karmic Ether
that surrounds all human interaction...
we labor in noospheric tides of our own design,
and recieve no credit...

and our own damn tao and git a and mystics ofa ll stripes tell us
not to...

this seems to be the key..

and i sure aint THERE yet, are you?

ack

James

You are being force-fed, as we all are...
and the ennui we currently have
inour hearts and guts
is the nausea from being
fed something we never wanted...

I am currently listening to one of my personal muses,
Guess Wh..he has a hook nose and shaggy hair..
his latest:"beyond here lies nothing"..
and as i write i am transpersonally translating his song
into my subjective universe, which threatens occasionally
(when i am not being hurried or hassled)
to eat the current universe for lunch...or maybe as an
hors d'oever...

We struggling poetic abstractifiers extrodinaire
are the swallowers of the paradigms we are fed...
we munch em up and against our will digest them and
they really dont nourish us much, do they?
sometimes i feel we are all bringing something
new into the world...but it is so fragile...look at how our comrade rolling...
who has counselled & saved me multiple times...has
dropped out of sight, swallowed by the very world we have supposedly swallowed...

we have eaten of the beast,
and want some christ to chew on instead...
and it IS available, in isolated, hard to find locations...
we struggle & strive to findour nourishment, eat a bit, are nourished awhile..
until They come 7 shove some disgusting mush down our unwilling gullets....

we "bow our heads, turn away, and walk"...

throught the Mystic garden, where wounded flowers dangle from the vine
precariously eyeing us, pleading, in exquisite subjective agony...

we walk along the path...knowing that
"to exterminating learning is the way to no worries " (tao20)
but hungering for the next bit of intellectual
sustenance...we hold in our heads ALL THE ANSWERS
to allthe questions, but,...well,

noone is asking the questions but us, alas..and we walk alone...
helping here...advocating there..doing our bit..
and collapsing from ennui at day's end...
we self generate eacha nd every day, or try to...

and face the same old shadowy world
"my slef-hood! Satan!
is this thy soft family love
thy cruel patriarchal pride
planting thy family alone
destraoying all the world beside"...(blake, "jerusalem")

A man's worst enemy ar e those of his own house & family...
i.e. the human family...
es-chew-ing us...all our words land exactly nowhere...the ideas we generate for fucking FREE
floating uselessly away...and we have no confidence in them,
as a result..and they are shrunk down,
these explsive apocalyptic utterances,
to ..
theories.
propostitions, yet to be proved...

while they ahve already "proved"
themselves in the un/forgiving karmic Ether
that surrounds all human interaction...
we labor in noospheric tides of our own design,
and recieve no credit...

and our own damn tao and git a and mystics ofa ll stripes tell us
not to...

this seems to be the key..

and i sure aint THERE yet, are you?

ack

James

i really should do something about my spelling, yes?

Affectionately, James E.,
(previously a public projection screen for all & sundry...
but..currently...closed for repair
and private use)