ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Mar 27, 2016 15:17:14 GMT -5
Here is a poem I wrote yesterday for Easter Sunday
Mary Magdalene
I remember the afternoon sky sucked utterly away into a vortex of darkness
even the tears I shed through those long hours turned barren when the earth received them back
then there was silence, almost a calm, after the wailing a numbness clutched my heart
three days they laid him within a tomb in Joseph's garden, and my life frosted into dulness
no song of birds, no glint of sunlight, not even the glistening sweat of dew; earth, like me, crushed in a deep stasis
but at last I woke from my bitter, dreamless slumber, knowing I must travel to his tomb, anoint his blessed corpse with oil
I crept on trembling feet and then, as if a flame appeared, the tomb was open, and he was not there; the still wind shivered as my breath snapped shut
Lord, where are you, I cried out? Then I saw a shape, a man appearing by the tomb. I took him for the gardener.
sir, where is my Lord? They laid his body here three days ago, and now it seems that they have taken him and I do not know to where
Mary, the soft voice came, do you not know me as I stand before you? Did I not say I would return, victorious even over death?
then I fell at his feet, Lord, Lord, you live; you must tell my disciples, he said: I am not dead but living.
out of the still cold darkness a radiant light shone forth, strangled in death now the flame of life rekindled
on that blessed day I understood, though he had passed away like any mortal, broke through death like erupting spring and now, like the blessed skylarks, earth once more may sing
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Mar 27, 2016 15:20:53 GMT -5
And this is one I wrote a couple of days earlier for Good Friday:
A Good Friday reflection
1) Choked on the endless degustation Of blood and pain, unable to resist The feeding frenzy of the amoral media With its relentless determination to exacerbate The woes of the world, its superlative Depiction of a living hell, an abomination In which no one sane would live by choice, So, in its cult of death, It makes our eyes become unfocused And our hearts incapable of empathy
2) The endless grifting with which they aspire To shuffle through our senses, rob us blind Of any vestiges of joy, compassion, Hope, love, or laughter, reduced to nothing But gangly, desensitized automata, responding Only to their Pavlovian stimuli, Making our eyes incapable of seeing Anything but the shadow play they invent, And so we become conditioned only to witness The lies, the pain, the filth they throw at us, Till their subliminal advertising hems us in, We have become no longer human, Simply another brick in their mental prison
3) The carnage they celebrate is of course real, And equally to any sensitive soul The sight and sound of the beleaguered victims Of death and cruelty, oppress us all
Christ hung upon a cross, Two thieves on either side, That was on Good Friday; Today Christ still hangs On an eternal cross they call the world, And on each side of him the human race, Brainwashed, oppressed, exploited, raped, abused, Tortured and murdered, all in the media's eyes An educational and informational process, The grifter's excuse, not honest enough to admit Pain and misery are entertainment to them And from the endless cross of Calvary Christ still looks down with love and pity
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Mar 29, 2016 15:09:29 GMT -5
Another new poem:
Journey through life:
when our eyes first open after birth we witness all the world around ourself in a state of radical innocence
later, we learn not everyone can be trusted; some are even cruel
as we flesh ourselves and the eyes within us glimmer we quiver into life as rose and thorn
how shall we bear ourselves proudly, knowing within this living world to survive we must sometimes lie, even be hard?
our lives are soon lost in the whirling currents of unceasing events
only much later do we begin to swim rather than floating or even drowning
happiness no longer a natural act, rather, a play we perform
our expected audience offers no salvation beyond at best massaging our fragile ego, which at that stage in our lives is enough for us
though our eyes are open we remain as drowsily slumbering as any lulled to false rest by morphine
to respire is also to inspire, to expire also to fade into nothingness, the circle still unsquared
so it is at least we learn to give up the fripperies we prized; generally this realisation comes too late
true wisdom does not lie in arrogance or shouting frenziedly; its voice is never louder than a whisper
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Post by Deleted on Mar 30, 2016 16:06:57 GMT -5
A rare poem by me!
(For those who do not already know my opinions, I am an agnostic).
What we are:
We humans, who see ourselves As somehow privileged above all else, Children of a personal God Who cares for us above all others, We humans, who see ourselves As somehow outside and above nature, Our hubris leading us to imagine The world exists simply for our benefit
Religion ministers to his pride By telling him he is God's noblest creation, While science also feeds his vain conceit, By letting him believe he is lord of nature
Even those who call themselves non-believers Are all too often simply new deceivers
Humans are animals, part of the natural world, Like every form of life, evolved Out of a random rolling of the dice, Out of a whirling maelstrom of chance, A world without order, purpose, structure even, A world without love or pity, thought or feeling, Simply blind force pursuing an aimless quest For a meaningless survival
The myths surrounding us are self-created: We are so rational, we have a consciousness, A sense of selfhood, a will that's free to choose, A structured language, creativity, Inquisitivenness, a desire for exploration, The capacity to show love and compassion, To seek to understand the universe And even fathom out our human nature
The facts of the world say otherwise: The rationality we prize so much Evaporates within a microsecond Faced with extremity; even without that, Our passions, if they are real, rather than masks Adopted, like actors, for our latest role, Are utterly ungovernable. We cannot reason When anger, lust, greed, take control of us, And, though we dress our passions in fine words, Pretending they exemplify a moral code Based on what's truly good, objectively right, All that we do is prettify our passions
All life is conscious, living; there's no special Faculty of consciousness reserved for humans: Animals, plants, even "inanimate objects" Possess a measurable consciousness
Selfhood? How real is that? All we perceive Is a bundle of impressions, which we learn To call our "self." Our consciouusness resides Within the structure of a physical object, The brain. So too our selfhood's fabricated By the same brain into a false identity, As mythical, as undetectable, as angels
Free will? That's an illusion; we can't choose But to act as we do. All praise or blame For any thought, deed, is irrational; We have no power to choose. We can't decide Today we'll like a food but then tomorrow We'll hate it, can't believe today That the same thing that made us happy Now makes us sad
We act on primal instincts: hunger, lust, And when you study brain waves, you discover BEFORE the thought has flashed into your mind The neurons have already "chosen" your path for you
Language is common to all animals: Only the act of writing makes us different. In our vast tomes we endless recycle Paens of praise to ourselves, Exalting those who made the earth a desert, Wiped out innumerable animals, Including tribes of humans
All we are Is the most succesful, rapacious and cruel Animal upon our planet
If a God exists And he chose us He certainly showed poor judgement
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Post by beth on Mar 30, 2016 16:14:46 GMT -5
Very fine, Mike. Thank you for sharing.
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Jun 15, 2016 17:47:39 GMT -5
Fear
Two years from now I will be forty, yet my increasing age brings me no greater wisdom, only a seemingly endless assault of horror upon the world around in which, in spite of the best endeavours of the merchants of hate I still live, draw harsh breath, speak and write
you with your endless unquestioned certainties, you, life's sternest critics, condemning me, the gentle thunder of your reproof is nothing beside my own self-disgust
the voice of your conscience speaks to you in tones of unctuous rectitude, displaying all the duck-billed platitudes dredged up from your brainwashed half-minds
if you were not so relentlessly asleep you would be able to laugh, to shed a tear, embrace each other in love, lend that so much needed helping hand
but you, like me, are weak: I, in my liberal horror of extremes cherish the middle road, the path of tolerance and understanding
your shallow surface world is but a bubble: it is not that I see any deeper but simply that my eyes are open, and flick constantly in all directions
you have the gift of sight, yet prefer blindness, fearing a radical incursion of reality; still worse, the sweaty presence of humanity irrupting into your parched river banks
around your mind and heart you fashion fences, gates and walls of stone; not a seed, an acorn, a leaf, a branch grows within you or is planted by you
safe in familiar worlds, dwellers in caves afraid to greet the day and even on its arrival, shield your eyes against its honest glare
you can only weep for victims of whom you find it appropriate to mourn their passing, share vicariously the sorrow they endure
the utter uselessness of our compassion for humanity is more or less the point; to seek to ration sympathy only for the approved is to be less than human
all my life I have been a coward, fighting foes only to find the enemy I slew was simply another part of me
the perpetual chorus of hate: depending on which hall of mirrors you choose to patronize, you'll find a surfeit of cartoon villains, masquerading as real enemies
Mateen and Breivik, shedders of blood whose victims deserved justice, vengeance even, and certainly compassion
yet each man has his defenders, those who say 'they understand why he did what he did'
and to the fanatical pseudo-religious Mateen did God's work; yes, Allah, the compassionate, the merciful, will surely smile on his courageous deeds
in the same way Breivik was a hero, defending Christian values and the white race against political correctness
to a true liberal (as I hope to be) both acts of senseless slaughter are indefensible, cowardly, contemptible, anti-life, deserving only our anger
sound-bites, populist slogans, moronic brainwashed chants of slimey fakes as discourse of every kind evaporates till genuine, natural thought and emotion grows weightless, strangled in a vacuum where neither sense nor feeling can exist
what sad dreams you have; I long for a world where all of us are sisters and brothers, clasping hands in love, a world of music, colour and light, where respect is mutual, freedom is cherished, tolerance a given, and love conquers all
but as for you: what is the nightmare drowning you in hate, what concrete prisons, overflowing abattoirs excite your lust, your dirty cruelty?
if we are fully awake, in tune with the world around us, conscious of others, caring for them, perhaps in time enlightenment will shine its tower of hope across the world
at least some of us are still alive and awake, gazing towards the future with more than fear corroding our anxious hearts, and with the firm conviction that ultimately evil always loses; the good will prevail, love is stronger even than death
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Post by Deleted on Jun 17, 2016 0:19:50 GMT -5
I admire your submissions to this thread.
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Jun 17, 2016 13:58:22 GMT -5
Thanks, Shades; I wrote it from the heart.
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Jun 25, 2016 6:52:49 GMT -5
Here's my most recent poem written to celebrate the unexpected victory of Brexit in the UK referendum on the EU.
Brexit:
A sound of unexpected thunder: it rolls across the unprepared sky as if to remind us in this dark night, where votes are in the balance of all we are, British
Caswallon, Caradoc, Boudicca, Arthur, Alfred, Simon de Montfort, Wat Tyler, John Hampden, Thomas Rainsborough, John Lilburne, Gerard Winstanley, John Howard, Elizabeth Fry, Lord Shaftesbury, the Pankhursts
all these and innumerable others of lesser fame are British, remembered in the thunder's rolling roar
the lightning flashes, engraving freedom's banner in the sky, and, amidst unearthly silence, the thunder rolls again, strong and true
white cliffs of Dover, those all too precious few guarding our freedom, Drake, Bader, Montgomery, Bill Bowes - so many others unsung, deserving fame, fighting for our freedom
our precious heritage, Shakespeare, Dickens, Browning, Elgar, Vaughan Williams, Turner, Constable, Lowry, Hepworth
the thunder is a hymn of praise, celebrating the land of freedom, its music loudly thundering our values, our compassion, our fairness, our decency, our sense of what's not cricket
and we stood firm, against the prophets of doom, against the lords seeking to enslave us, against the voices of the elite
the thunder and lightning proclaims that we chose freedom
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Post by beth on Jun 25, 2016 11:07:55 GMT -5
Here's my most recent poem written to celebrate the unexpected victory of Brexit in the UK referendum on the EU. What a nice surprise, Lin. Much thanks.
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Jun 29, 2016 8:25:57 GMT -5
Thanks, Beth.
Here's another one I wrote on Brexit.
Divorce:
they say that none of us are islands, but as we float in the currents of the waves our island status seems extremely tangible
in our northern promontories, night creeps upon us stealthily, not lingering interminably as it does in Mediterranean lands
it isn't simply geography, or even language, that makes us different
our culture, our history, in spite of many dark stains on our past, has on the whole been a continual progress towards tolerance and liberty
we weep more frequently and publicly than once we did; we've said goodbye to that stiff upper lip
for a thousand years no invader has succeeded in conquering our lands
most of our wars (except the civil ones) we've fought at a distance, the homeland fires unquenched
so our forthcoming divorce is partly born out of our history, the fact that neither Nazis nor Communists occupied our lands
a divorce is not a death; no sense pretending otherwise
resigning from a job doesn't mean you hate your fellow-workers, nor does being anti European Union mean you're anti-European
we can start a new life: it doesn't have to come to war; we can hug and kiss each other, still see ourselves as sister and brother
slowly through the evaporating fog a lantern of future hope shines brightly, and it isn't our job to grumble and peer abstractedly, resentfully, with eyes half-closed through the rapidly dissolving gloom
like the cockerel's crow announcing dawn the beacon of hope foretells the imminent arrival of a new day, a new destiny
no one can tell how brightly the future will shine, but it is certain that the present is dark, and we must leave the jetstream of regret for the beckoning shores of opportunity
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Jun 29, 2016 11:32:44 GMT -5
Here's one I wrote in response to someone who claimed that people voted for Brexit because they were racists and hated immigrants.
My choice:
The choice I made was NOT compelled by hate, Driven by fear; I chose the exit gate For the same reason prisoners seek parole, Regarding it as a desirable goal.
The lies upon both sides washed over me: I freely chose to choose that we be free. Hatred and fear of others played no part In the workings of my mind, my soul, my heart.
Those who prefer dogma to sober fact Are quite unable to comprehend an act Born, not from prejudice, simply desire To cast aside our shackles, to respire In the purer, cleaner air freedom provides, Refuse the poisoned water so-called guides Offer us, choked with rohypnol and greed. On Thursday we began to plant a seed That hopefully will grow to a mighty oak, Strong enough to free us from the yoke Of ALL oppressors, home or overseas; I feel the first faint breath of freedom's breeze On my warm cheeks, upon my brown-skinned face. We are all members of the human race, So let's exult a little, wild and free As horses galloping towards the sea
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Post by Scottish Lassie on Jun 29, 2016 18:44:29 GMT -5
Here's one I wrote in response to someone who claimed that people voted for Brexit because they were racists and hated immigrants. My choice: The choice I made was NOT compelled by hate, Driven by fear; I chose the exit gate For the same reason prisoners seek parole, Regarding it as a desirable goal. The lies upon both sides washed over me: I freely chose to choose that we be free. Hatred and fear of others played no part In the workings of my mind, my soul, my heart. Those who prefer dogma to sober fact Are quite unable to comprehend an act Born, not from prejudice, simply desire To cast aside our shackles, to respire In the purer, cleaner air freedom provides, Refuse the poisoned water so-called guides Offer us, choked with rohypnol and greed. On Thursday we began to plant a seed That hopefully will grow to a mighty oak, Strong enough to free us from the yoke Of ALL oppressors, home or overseas; I feel the first faint breath of freedom's breeze On my warm cheeks, upon my brown-skinned face. We are all members of the human race, So let's exult a little, wild and free As horses galloping towards the sea Hi Lady Linda. Very poetic, but not necessarily practical.have you ever heard of the expression 'out of the frying pan into the fire'? That could just be the case, it is called 'foolhardy'. I don't think anyone is really free from subjugation. We may think so, but there is always something or somone lording it over our heads. We depend on each other.
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Jun 30, 2016 9:30:20 GMT -5
Friendship isn't marriage; family isn't marriage; marriage isn't children; and so on.
Anyone who seriously assumes that being anti-EU is the same as being a xenophobic, racist, anti-European is just silly.
As for oppression, I fight it with every breath in my body whatever the source.
The EU is simply ONE of the many oppressors seeking to place its jackboots on our body.
You might like (or not) another poem I've written on the same subject but perhaps with a broader application - the way some people (bafflingly to me) seem to PREFER to be slaves rather than free.
I'm about to post it.
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Post by ladylinda on Jun 30, 2016 9:31:10 GMT -5
On parole:
Even free verse is perpetually trapped in the prison cage of finite words, the bars of language, diction, constricting us all
is that perhaps too daring a metaphor, too reminiscent of downright anarchism? rebellion can never be condoned, approved of: order, system, regularity, must govern all
so it is they seek to shape our formerly free words and thoughts with the anodyne coldness of an eternal frost, clutching the heart in a deadly embrace they try to make us welcome
even the wedding gown of the young brides seem no more than a cloak of snow, even the static and moralizingly pedantic lectures about what is and is not approved, ring hollow in our increasingly deaf ears
the young, tucked cosily into the imaginary warmth of their already shorn coats of wool, still unaware that their fleece has been taken, grumble about the recklessness of the old
surrounded by oceans of free swimming fish, they can no longer imagine a world without the constant metronome of the jailer's key safely housing them in their cells at night
now they have been rudely, unexpectedly woken from their comatose dream, the largactil of endless rules and regulations threated to be so suddenly swept aside
with astonished eyes they gaze upon the sky as if seeing it for the very first time in their lives, locked in a virtual reality, prisoners of concrete, slaves to the metropolitan elite and their demands
unseeing, unthinking, how willingly they have chosen to volunteer to be sacrificial victims to Moloch, praising Procrustes as he forces their limbs to fit his bed of death, admiring Sisyphus in his endless, futile endeavour to roll rocks up a hill incessantly
now the old map of the prison must be redrawn, one inmate at least escaping, with some surprise, from the Gulag within which, for so many years, they had drummed into the ears of the serfs the mocking words 'only here are you truly free'
bewildered, the released prisoners quarrel among themselves, many insisting 'we did not want to be free,' others declaring 'we didn't understand exactly what freedom meant'
while the worst of the convicts demand an immediate retrial, insisting loudly not simply upon their guilt, but on their wish to live and die within the confines of the prison walls. only there, they declare anxiously, can we find purpose and happiness
those with the souls of swallows chafe at the decay, urgently demanding to be allowed to fly their gilded cage and live in dignity and freedom
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