A cloud of dust gathers.
the dust finds its way
and falls together into clumps;
clumps of iron, carbon, water and all the good stuff.

A dust-beam in the center.
Iron-clumps, both cold and hot.
And she radiates of warmth, both day and night.
Both he and she meet and cheer
He red colored giver shoots dreams away of life.

A mother and father sent their spring
and dusted out about the starry night
so you could live today;
dust,
stardust.



Better in the original language

(July 2, 2019 at 6:28 am)BrianSoddingBoru4 Wrote: That's amazing.  Is it yours?

Boru

Sorry, no. It's by Kahlil Gibran, a Lebanese poet. Forgot to add the author name and for some reason my copy/paste put bullet points in that aren't supposed to be there. If you like that, you may want to read a book by him called The Prophet. It's a book of prose poems written in biblical free verse. It's his masterwork. I recommend bouncing around and reading the chapters/topics that interest you rather than reading rather than reading it straight through (the chapters are very short and can be read in two or three minutes). The ones on love, friends, work, and death are amazing. But they all contain some pretty deep insights. He's one of my favorite poets.


Here's another Gibran poem you may like:

Faces

I have seen a face with a thousand countenances, and a face that was but a single countenance as if held in a mould.

I have seen a face whose sheen I could look through to the ugliness beneath, and a face whose sheen I had to lift to see how beautiful it was.

I have seen an old face much lined with nothing, and a smooth face in which all things were graven.

I know faces, because I look through the fabric my own eye weaves, and behold the reality beneath.

(July 2, 2019 at 1:07 pm)vulcanlogician Wrote:

(July 2, 2019 at 6:28 am)BrianSoddingBoru4 Wrote: That's amazing.  Is it yours?

Boru

Sorry, no. It's by Kahlil Gibran, a Lebanese poet. Forgot to add the author name and for some reason my copy/paste put bullet points in that aren't supposed to be there. If you like that, you may want to read a book by him called The Prophet. It's a book of prose poems written in biblical free verse. It's his masterwork. I recommend bouncing around and reading the chapters/topics that interest you rather than reading rather than reading it straight through (the chapters are very short and can be read in two or three minutes). The ones on love, friends, work, and death are amazing. But they all contain some pretty deep insights. He's one of my favorite poets.


Here's another Gibran poem you may like:

Faces

I have seen a face with a thousand countenances, and a face that was but a single countenance as if held in a mould.

I have seen a face whose sheen I could look through to the ugliness beneath, and a face whose sheen I had to lift to see how beautiful it was.

I have seen an old face much lined with nothing, and a smooth face in which all things were graven.

I know faces, because I look through the fabric my own eye weaves, and behold the reality beneath.

I actually own a copy of The Prophet.  I'll dig it out and give another look.

Boru

(July 2, 2019 at 1:58 pm)BrianSoddingBoru4 Wrote: I actually own a copy of The Prophet.  I'll dig it out and give another look.
Boru

Definitely read the physical copy. It's a beautiful book. Some of the passages are very powerful and uplifting. I'm interested to hear your opinion on it.

His philosophy is more reflective than rigorously logical. He's a theist, too, but he was influenced heavily by Nietzsche.

My dad gave me a copy as a gift for my Catholic confirmation. I was around 15 or 16. It was a great influence on me when I was a young philosopher.

To be clear, I’m not putting this here because I think it’s “great” (ha!), but I know some folks were posting personal work so I thought it would be fun to share. Constructive criticism is always welcome. I workshop regularly on another forum so I’m quite comfortable with critique. 🙂


Tethered

When I die I’d like to stay;
to weave around the filaments
of organized matter, and make
a home on the riverbank.

What is a heaven
without slippery pebble, and frothing peaks;
without the slow groan of dock line
tugging on sun-stung fishing boats
in meter with the tide?
You can keep your angels;

I’ll swoop with the great blue heron,
scanning watery bottoms for the emerald flash
of stray rock bass, and swirl
in the luster of lighthouse beams
that have married with the morning fog.

If I grow lonely
after everyone has passed,
I’ll just swallow the wet sand,
and slam into the rocking boat hulls
until there’s nothing left,
and I am the river -

the clusters of catfish eggs,
and the spiny legs of scuttling blue crayfish.
I am the silt that touches everything.
Don’t bother beckoning me.
I won’t fit inside a paradise.

That is frikkin' awesome, Camus.

(July 2, 2019 at 10:33 pm)vulcanlogician Wrote: That is frikkin' awesome, Camus.

Nah, you are! 😊❤️

(July 2, 2019 at 9:09 pm)LadyForCamus Wrote: To be clear, I’m not putting this here because I think it’s “great” (ha!), but I know some folks were posting personal work so I thought it would be fun to share. Constructive criticism is always welcome. I workshop regularly on another forum so I’m quite comfortable with critique. 🙂


Tethered

When I die I’d like to stay;
to weave around the filaments
of organized matter, and make
a home on the riverbank.

What is a heaven
without slippery pebble, and frothing peaks;
without the slow groan of dock line
tugging on sun-stung fishing boats
in meter with the tide?
You can keep your angels;

I’ll swoop with the great blue heron,
scanning watery bottoms for the emerald flash
of stray rock bass, and swirl
in the luster of lighthouse beams
that have married with the morning fog.

If I grow lonely
after everyone has passed,
I’ll just swallow the wet sand,
and slam into the rocking boat hulls
until there’s nothing left,
and I am the river -

the clusters of catfish eggs,
and the spiny legs of scuttling blue crayfish.
I am the silt that touches everything.
Don’t bother beckoning me.
I won’t fit inside a paradise.

In my decades of reading and writing, I have long since learned, art is simply that which works. It will work for some and not others. That is why I am no fan of being a critic. I can only say if I like an individual piece of work, or not. But I never like to assume it wont work for others. 

I have listened to poets whom will never be famous, whom I love. I have listened to others whom are perfectly metered where the message is lost on me, or I got the message but didn't agree with it. 

All I can say to anyone who writes, is to always be yourself, and never be afraid of putting it out there. When you write what you feel, it shows a lot more than if you try to force what you think someone else thinks you should be.

I liked your poem. Especially the last two lines.

"""God Said", By Brian37(AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB and @brianrrs37 on twitter)
 
"God said"
And funny how
The claimants of the varieties
Take that vow
 
To be blindly loyal
To kill anyone
Who dares 
To question them
 
"God said"
Let there be light
One separating 
Day from night
 
But science knows
This is not right
For the sun the only source
Bouncing off the moon
 
"God said"
Obey my tune
Do anything I order
That of you
 
And what the result
All this time
All the factions
Defending such fiction
 
"God said"?
No, humans say
Killing over
Not getting their way
 
As a human
I will fervently say
Give up on old mythology
It is the only way
 
We as a species
Have much more in common
Than the dilapidated
Claims of of antiquity
 
"God said"
No, humans claim
No matter the flavor
It is all the same
 
Our insecurities
Our desires
Or antiquated
Mythology
 
A old way
Of making sense
Of seeking control
Over our environment 
 
There is no God
Telling us what to do
There are only humans
Whom pick and choose
 
And the disastrous
Result of such
Is our tribalism
That holds us back.

Since we're posting original stuff here:

Word Junkie

by vulcanlogician

I'm a junkie.
Instead of crack I fiend on facts.
Knowledge is my drug of choice.
Books, my pen cap.

Logic, my syringe
I bang, bang philosophy.
It's like a double double dose
of ecstasy.

On a philosophical high;
a puff of logical chronic,
I turn the pages.
Hooked on phonics.

I like to write, too.
I move keys of truth
like coca cola
to the schoolyard youth.

Proof
positive that it's good shit.
If ya wanna take a hit
got it on my booklist.

Proof!
positive that it's good shit.
If ya wanna take a hit
got it on my booklist.

Word up!