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Thread: Sorry, but I've written another poem...
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10-31-2012, 10:45 AM #1
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Thanked: 485Sorry, but I've written another poem...
It was inspired by a book I was given yesterday called 'The Tea Book'. It was from the 70's. In it were photos of clean cut looking Indian men and sad looking Indian women looking to be, for all the world, 'enslaved' in the production of tea. In the book also was a bit of an idiot's (me) guide to the opium trade with China and the reasoning behind it. Interesting. I'll not post a comment. Apart from the poem...
Incarnation
You know how sometimes you think, ‘I feel old; older than I am, I have old knowledge, yet my memories are recent’?
You know how sometimes you think, ‘my soul is aged, more aged than my memories’?
Well, guess what?
What if you’re an old old being, an old old soul?
What if you inhabit bodies?
You live in them.
What if the bodies’ memories re-set at birth but your soul’s character doesn’t?
What if you keep going until you’re ‘done’, ‘cooked’, ‘ripe’?
Doing ‘Character building’ stuff?
Is that re-incarnation?
Is that what Indians think?
They’re all so lithe and they seem to wash a lot. I like that.Last edited by carlmaloschneider; 10-31-2012 at 10:50 AM.
Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me? And why should I not speak to you?
Walt Whitman
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10-31-2012, 11:36 AM #2
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Thanked: 983Interesting...I don't think much of it as a poem, but I can follow the thought process to a degree...In as much as any one can follow anothers thought train anyway...Here's something, not a poem, that I wrote about 18 years ago.
Life and Life after Life
The body is aged and worn out, it is beyond usefulness to my soul. I rise above my tired old bones and feel the joy and the freedom of the youth of my past.
I look down upon myself and feel a twinge of sorrow for what is no more. Now I feel the need to move on, on to the place known to me as Valhalla.
Others know it by different names like Heaven or Void, it is all the same. When I arrive at my Valhalla, after my journey along the river of light, I am met by others of my form. They were there to guide me through my life and now they are here to guide me through my life after life.
These are the ones who will show me the mistakes I made in my physical life, so that I may learn the necessary lessons for my next incarnation.
Time is nothing here, but if I was to place a time from my “Death” till now, it would be Eighty years, I have 925 to go till my next incarnation, mere moments away....It is time now, and I am ready for my next level of existence. I cannot incarnate back on Earth as I am now above that vibrational level and Earth is dying, Atlantis could not do by accident what modern man so thoughtlessly achieved.
The journey from Astral back to Physical is different from the reverse journey. On my way to physical existence I must pass through the Psychic river, designed to erase the memories of the past happenings.
This is not a malicious act as nothing in this particular realm can be, it is just something to ensure that I make my own decisions in this, my next existence. After all, how much study would a student do if not for the test at the end of the term?
I have already chosen the two who will be my parents, reviewed theirs and my lives and found them satisfactory to our respective goals.
I know I can leave it at any time in the future if there are any major unsuitable changes they may make. If I do it will be a set back for us, so I think I will see it through to the end. Now I must go and give this child life as I am about to be....re-born.
And another written around 20 years ago...It was, in actual fact, a dream I had, thus the title.
A DREAM
Last night I had a dream, and in that dream I had a vision. A vision in which I saw my self and my soul as two separate entities. My self in all its ugliness and horror, looked more mythical beast than human.
Facing my self, was my soul, in all her glory and radiance.
But the beast that was flesh only knew that someone blocked his path, and this brought about rage and fury in its most basic and violent form and instead of recognising and welcoming her, he lunged and tried to grasp and kill her.
My soul not comprehending the rage directed at her, but knowing that the only real thing that could harm her, stood before her, floated from harms way.
At this point a Third and higher Self appeared, and through his eyes I watched the events unfolding beneath me amongst the rubble that was to be the battleground between my flesh and soul.
This higher Self seemed totally devoid of emotion for what was happening beneath him and at the same time emanated a love that was as discernible as a luminescent white fog. More living thing in its own right than an emotion from another being.
During the moments as I watched from above, I knew that for there to be an end to this battle, soul had to defeat flesh without inflicting harm.
At this point I was spun upwards out of my higher Self and found myself watching from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
And a knowledge of all things great and small, were like seeds of ideas in a great cavern containing everything and nothing.
As I watched the scene below I saw my three forms join and merge as one...Spinning down...And from my new beings eyes I saw the world as it truly could be, in all its radiance and beauty.
With the joy of flesh and its five senses, with my emotions tempered by soul and with unending love from my link with God and the knowledge that that being gave me, I set out to make it so.
Mick
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10-31-2012, 11:50 AM #3
You guys really need to start wearing masks when you are grinding metal...
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10-31-2012, 12:22 PM #4
I ain't hardly much of one of them poets so I ain't got much to say.
I'm still trying to figure out shaving, honing and stropping I pray.
But I shaved with this old English blade today and it pulled and it tugged
And it felt like shaving with an electric razor that had been unplugged.
So it's back to the stones for a touch-up, then it's over to the leather.
I can't figger what went wrong unless it's this damn hurricane weather.
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10-31-2012, 09:01 PM #5
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Thanked: 485I must say I agree with Mick, I don't think much of it as a poem either. My wife calls them 'observations', but isn't that what poems are anyway?
[EDIT], those writing are cool, Mick, but, umm, your souls a LADY!?!?
Is there something you're not telling us sweety?Last edited by carlmaloschneider; 10-31-2012 at 09:03 PM.
Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me? And why should I not speak to you?
Walt Whitman
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10-31-2012, 09:35 PM #6
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Thanked: 983Well Carl, I had another mate express the same thought. I said it may be the case that my soul is a lady, or it may have been the way my mind decided to express a more gentle image.
Now if you want some thoughts and observations, I have plenty of those written down as well. I went through a very philosophical stage some years back ( I may still be going through it, but I just don't have a pencil on me half the time when inspiration strikes.)
Mick
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10-31-2012, 09:50 PM #7
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11-01-2012, 08:28 AM #8
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Thanked: 485Oh, a 'changes' comment begs this...
Ozzy Changes - YouTubeStranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me? And why should I not speak to you?
Walt Whitman
11-01-2012, 12:27 PM
#9
Sorry, but I've written another poem...
I disagree, a Poem doesn't need to be hampered by the need for rhyme or the number of lines or syllables it has. Think we saw the change here in the US with poems like: The Leaves of Grass. ("That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.”
Poetry has seemed to be a battle between the Liberal and the Conservative thought.
11-01-2012, 08:59 PM
#10