It lands left.
I ride after a deer and find myself
Chased by a hog.
I plot to get what I want
And end up in prison.
I dig pits to trap others
And fall in.
I should be suspicious
Of what I want.
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Ode 1620
There is a passion in methat doesn’t long for anythingfrom another human being.I was given something else,a cap to wear in both worlds.It fell off. No matter.One morning I went to a place beyond dawn.A source of sweetness that flowsand is never less.I have been shown a beautythat would confuse both worlds,but I won’t cause…
Bring Wine
Bring wine, for I am suffering crop sickness from the vintage;God has seized me, and I am thus held fast.By love’s soul, bring me a cup of wine that is the envy of thesun, for I care aught but love.Bring that which if I were to call it “soul” would be a shame,for the reason…
The Lovers
The Loverswill drink wine night and day.They will drink until they cantear away the veils of intellect andmelt away the layers of shame and modesty.When in Love,body, mind, heart and soul don’t even exist.Become this,fall in Love, and you will not be separated again.
This we have now
This is notgrief or joy.Not a judging state,or an elation,or sadness.Those come and go.This is the presence that doesn’t.
Who Makes These Changes?
Who makes these changes?I shoot an arrow right.It lands left.I ride after a deer and find myselfChased by a hog.I plot to get what I wantAnd end up in prison.I dig pits to trap othersAnd fall in. I should be suspiciousOf what I want.
Last night my soul cried, “O exalted sphere of Heaven, you hang indeed inverted, with flames in your belly.
“Now happy, now unhappy, like Abraham in the fire; at once king and beggar like Ebrahim-e Adham.“In your form you are terrifying, yet your state is full of anguish: you turn round like a millstone and writhe like a snake.”Heaven the blessed replied, “How should I not fear that one who makes the Paradise of…
Who makes these changes?
I shoot an arrow right.
It lands left.
I ride after a deer and find myself
Chased by a hog.
I plot to get what I want
And end up in prison.
I dig pits to trap others
And fall in.
I should be suspicious
Of what I want.
Similar Posts
Any lifetime that is spent without seeing the master
The water that pollutes you is poison;The poison that purifies you is water.
Don’t go anywhere without me.
or on the ground, in this world or that world,without my being in its happening.Vision, see nothing I don’t see.Language, say nothing.The way the night knows itself with the moon,be that with me. Be the rosenearest to the thorn that I am.I want to feel myself in you when you taste food,in the arc of…
Gray Shadings
Barely discerned cloudsHard, hard to get herewhat worth, what worthRiver of steel.River of no one becoming you.Trees that are emptier today, more forced in their formsTo focus on them is to be made glad of them in theirstrangenessThe earth extrudes through them toward emptinessThe few elms dismemberingThe willow’s bloom above shore like a curtainingTo focus…
Sonnet 103: Alack, What Poverty My Muse Brings Forth by William Shakespeare
Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth,That having such a scope to show her pride,The argument all bare is of more worthThan when it hath my added praise beside.O, blame me not if I no more can write!Look in your glass, and there appears a faceThat overgoes my blunt invention quite,Dulling my lines, and doing…
Design – Poem by Robert Frost
I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,On a white heal-all, holding up a mothLike a white piece of rigid satin cloth —Assorted characters of death and blightMixed ready to begin the morning right,Like the ingredients of a witches’ broth —A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,And dead wings carried like a paper kite….
The Blossom by William Shakespeare
ON a day–alack the day!–Love, whose month is ever May,Spied a blossom passing fairPlaying in the wanton air:Through the velvet leaves the windAll unseen ‘gan passage find;That the lover, sick to death,Wish’d himself the heaven’s breath.Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;Air, would I might triumph so!But, alack, my hand is swornNe’er to pluck thee…