Posts Tagged quotes
James Douglas “Jim” Morrison (December 8, 1943 – July 3, 1971)
We dream out of a poetry karaoke below the constellated shine, let’s just create one, if there be nay for random words to be yours and mine.
“Listen, real poetry doesn't say anything; it just ticks off the possibilities. Opens all doors. You can walk through anyone that suits you.* The audience, they, were quiet vampires Nights are fiction in a subway, where lovers and pens write their quires.
I talk of spirits woven in the air I am the voice of a diegesis Her laughter, the shadows of a mimesis there are streaks of whiteness in the dark chambray
“I believe in a long, prolonged, derangement of the senses in order to obtain the unknown”*
Someday on that stone there will be a coda and your ashes will become dandelion dust The day is inflamed, aroused till the final star so will us gain, by the bathos of death, harvest.
“Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens claws.”* THIS IS NOT THE END OF THIS END.
Jim's gravestone bears the Greek inscription: ΚΑΤΑ ΤΟΝ ΔΑΙΜΟΝΑ ΕΑΥΤΟΥ, literally meaning "according to his own daemon" and usually interpreted as "true to his own spirit" (wikipedia :en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jim_Morrison)
©Rangam Chiru, 26/2/12
at the neighborhood mall,
nor hang at the butcher’s shop
to choose a fine breast
that just covered a finer heart,
to feed my own.
But was it you whom I heard when I was deaf ?
deaf to banal words, but yours were absorbed
Was it you who shew the next obstacle,
when I was blind?
they gave a myriad sights, yet I preferred
a simple hold of your arm, the candor in your voice
Apartments of books lean on a burdened bookend
the pock-marked bespectacled librarian,
with intermittent beard
(like moss on burnt brick)
picks out the thickest
with a keenest intent ;
Glad he lightens the weight on a deadwood.
It would take the time of libraries
to know all authors and pages
Next time you pay the bookman,
look at the unbelievable shelf-stack of attractive wisdom
But gaze longer at that book, when you
put your hands in the backpocket
and pay for the one you just chose;
It’s not necessary for its little press time
or its author’s household connect,
that you’d put it later
on your own shelf.
Who is worthy and who is not?
I rang the bell of my neighbor
to return a well-liked book
she says, “keep it, I just didn’t like it”
I said,” Thank you so much”
and my shelf was happy
for my well-read trophy.
[Author notes] : Prompt : True happiness consists not in the multitude of friends,But in the worth and choice.
For me, a friend is so much a book at first, that allows to grow itself into books.
And in a library world of all sorts of books, true happiness is found only in the selected ones you borrow for a lifetime.