Go Panther Pawed Where All The Mined Truths Sleep

[cluegirl.livejournal.com]

Not smash and grab, but rather find and keep;
Go panther-pawwed where all the mined truths sleep
To detonate the hidden seeds with stealth
So in your wake a weltering of wealth
Springs up unseen, ignored, and left behind
As you sneak on, pretending to be blind.
On your return along the jungle path you've made
Find all the littered stuffs where you have strayed;
The small truths and the large have surfaced there
Where you stealth-blundered, wildly unaware
Or seeming so. And so these mines were mined
In easy game of pace and pounce and find;
But mostly fluid pace, and not too much pounce.
Attention must be paid, but by the ounce.
Mock caring, seem aloof, ignore each mile
And metaphors like cats behind your smile
Each one wound up to purr, each one a pride,
Each one a fine gold beast you've hid inside,
Now summoned forth in harvests from the brake
Turned anteloping elephants that shake
And drum and crack the mind to awe,
To behold beauty, yet percieve its flaw.
Then, flaw discovered, like fair beauty's mole,
Haste back to reckon, all entire, the Whole.
This done, pretend these wits you do not keep,
Go panther-pawwed where all the mined truths sleep.

-- Ray Bradbury

(no subject)

[dragon-flies.livejournal.com]

And it was at that age...Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating planations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesmal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
I felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke free on the open sky.

BY: PABLO NERUDA

Su Tung-P'o, Winter Solstice, 1071

[sylphbranching.livejournal.com]

Winter Solstice, 1071

I took an outing to Lone Hill and visited two Buddhist priests, Hui-ch'in and Hui-ssu

The sky threatens snow,
clouds cover the lake;
towers appear and disappear, hills loom and fade.
Clear water cut by rocks - you can count the fish;
deep woods deserted - birds call back and forth.
Winter solstice: I refuse to go home to my family;
I say I'm visiting priests, though really out for fun.
These priests I visit - where do they live?
The road by Jewel Cloud Mountain twists and turns.
Lone Hill's lone indeed - who'd live here?
These priests - the hill's not lonely after all.
Paper windows, bamboo roof - rooms sheltered and warm;
in coarse robes they doze on round rush mats.
Cold day, a long road - my servant grumbles,
brings the carriage, hurries me home before dark.
Down the hill, looking back, clouds and trees blend;
I can just make out a mountain eagle circling the pagoda.
Such trips - simple but with a joy that lasts;
back home, I'm lost in a dreamer's daze.
Write a poem quick before it gets away!
Once gone, a lovely sight is hard to catch again.

-Su Tung-P'o