The document is a poem that explores themes of addiction, loneliness, sexuality, and love. It describes the narrator's conflicting feelings of wanting and not wanting a cigarette, and longing to fill an emptiness through various physical and emotional holes. The narrator questions whether they truly feel love for a woman, or if it is just another addiction or means of filling a void. They contemplate calling her but are unable to determine if they love her or not by the end.
Documento de la Fundación Catalana per la Recerca acerca de algunos consejos para una navegación y un uso seguro de Internet, especialmente entre los más pequeños de la casa.
La remota AXPLC-100 es un sistema de adquisición, procesamiento y elaboración de
datos para su transmisión a un elemento superior mediante radio TETRA o GPRS
num.32 de l'UEA Magazine, del mes de juliol.
Zoom UEA, Sopar Empresarial UEA 2014 al Campus Motor Anoia, Entrevista a Xavi Camins, Entrevista a Roser Cejudo de l'Autoescola del Poble Sec, Andreu Salvadó de CEO Expocomputer i Reportatge de Caves Bohigas i del Campus Motor Anoia.
What You Don't Know About Event Sponsorship Today by Lance BroumandBizBash
Lance Broumand of UrbanDaddy presents What You Don't Know About Event Sponsorship Today during the Event Innovation Forum at BizBash Live: The Expo New York on October 28, 2014 at the Jacob K. Javits Convention Center.
Documento de la Fundación Catalana per la Recerca acerca de algunos consejos para una navegación y un uso seguro de Internet, especialmente entre los más pequeños de la casa.
La remota AXPLC-100 es un sistema de adquisición, procesamiento y elaboración de
datos para su transmisión a un elemento superior mediante radio TETRA o GPRS
num.32 de l'UEA Magazine, del mes de juliol.
Zoom UEA, Sopar Empresarial UEA 2014 al Campus Motor Anoia, Entrevista a Xavi Camins, Entrevista a Roser Cejudo de l'Autoescola del Poble Sec, Andreu Salvadó de CEO Expocomputer i Reportatge de Caves Bohigas i del Campus Motor Anoia.
What You Don't Know About Event Sponsorship Today by Lance BroumandBizBash
Lance Broumand of UrbanDaddy presents What You Don't Know About Event Sponsorship Today during the Event Innovation Forum at BizBash Live: The Expo New York on October 28, 2014 at the Jacob K. Javits Convention Center.
I first published these poems on DeviantArt, but I decided to put them all in one place and write this ebook. Thus, this 72-page ebook is a collection of my work from the past five years. I divided the ebook into two parts: Free Verse Poetry and Haiku. I started writing these poems as a 100-poems challenge, which I started in 2011, and so I used my poetry’s beginnings as inspiration for the title: “One Hundred and More“.
This ebook is for any romance or free verse poetry lover who is looking to find his/her own experience in someone else’s poetry. Also, if you like Japanese poetry, I encourage you to take a look at the second part of the ebook, and maybe try writing haiku poems yourself.
These are a series of poems written for a class I took as credit towards my creative writing certificate. They have been through series of rewrites and modifications, including a workshopping process
Hymns to the NightNovalis (1772 – 1801) was a poet, mystic, an.docxwilcockiris
Hymns to the Night
Novalis (1772 – 1801) was a poet, mystic, and philosopher. He was influenced by German Idealism, especially the philosopher Johann Gottlieb Fichte, and became one of the great poets of German Romanticism.
He developed the spiritual symbol of the Blue Flower, an integral part of his ‘religion of love.’ Appearing for the first time in his unfinished novel, Henry von Ofterdingen, the Blue Flower represents man’s longing for heaven.
His first major work, Hymns to the Night, was written upon the death of his beloved fiancee Sophie, who died of tuberculosis when she was fifteen years old.
HYMNS TO THE NIGHT (translated by George MacDonald)
I.
Before all the wondrous shows of the widespread space around him, what living, sentient thing loves not the all-joyous light, with its colors, its rays and undulations, its gentle omnipresence in the form of the wakening Day? The giant-world of the unresting constellations inhales it as the innermost soul of life, and floats dancing in its azure flood; the sparkling, ever-tranquil stone, the thoughtful, imbibing plant, and the wild, burning multiform beast inhales it; but more than all, the lordly stranger with the sense-filled eyes, the swaying walk, and the sweetly closed, melodious lips. Like a king over earthly nature, it rouses every force to countless transformations, binds and unbinds innumerable alliances, hangs its heavenly form around every earthly substance. Its presence alone reveals the marvelous splendor of the kingdoms of the world.
Aside I turn to the holy, unspeakable, mysterious Night. Afar lies the world, sunk in a deep grave; waste and lonely is its place. In the chords of the bosom blows a deep sadness. I am ready to sink away in drops of dew, and mingle with the ashes.-- The distances of memory, the wishes of youth, the dreams of childhood, the brief joys and vain hopes of a whole long life, arise in gray garments, like an evening vapor after the sunset. In other regions the light has pitched its joyous tents. What if it should never return to its children, who wait for it with the faith of innocence?
What springs up all at once so sweetly boding in my heart, and stills the soft air of sadness? Dost thou also take a pleasure in us, dark Night? What holdest thou under thy mantle, that with hidden power affects my soul? Precious balm drips from thy hand out of its bundle of poppies. Thou upliftest the heavy-laden wings of the soul. Darkly and inexpressibly are we moved: joy-startled, I see a grave face that, tender and worshipful, inclines toward me, and, amid manifold entangled locks, reveals the youthful loveliness of the Mother. How poor and childish a thing seems to me now the Light! how joyous and welcome the departure of the day!-- Didst thou not only therefore, because the Night turns away from thee thy servants, you now strew in the gulfs of space those flashing globes, to proclaim, in seasons of thy absence, thy omnipotence, and thy return?
More heaven.
A collection of texts published in various web pages at random who were together in one volume the author (smcvinicius) for editing a book. They are poetry, poetic prose, music lyrics and tests that report the most varied themes.
1. Holes
Cigarette smoke hunkers round the angle-poise,
a vile yellow fog thickening the air, congealing
your thoughts: you want/ you do not want,
the words slowed to meaninglessness
the sluggish sound of them sucked in
with each tight nicotine tainted breath.
Wanting... like the empty ache
after masturbation,
the hole that will never be filled.
Wanting... you feel
the wantonness of it in the pit of your belly:
a hunger that drives snakes to eat their tails.
Wanting... you know it in the darkness
of the dark hole below:
fucking and being fucked,
men, women, images, demons;
you’ve had them all...
you have filled and been filled,
but never have you been fulfilled.
Never, until now, you think, maybe.
Maybe, shaman raking your way
through a fragmenting underworld:
crawling over sharp, broken things;
china doll parts, razorblades, watch springs.
And for a moment there,
you realise
you are truly revolting to yourself.
What is this love you think you feel?
You love her/ you love her not.
The questions plucked like petals from hemlock,
you nibble them with the puckered lips of the connoisseur,
the gourmet who has had too many holes,
the salt-earth aroma of them conjured up like so many words -
small, tight holes,
hot wet holes,
holes of every taste and texture...
like wines, you can describe
every nuance of their flavour.
But what is this love you think you feel?
Something beyond the boredom of fucking:
the endless, but compulsive dinner of nothing?
The realisation that you are revolting to yourself?
The desire to transcend the banality of simply being?
2. You love her/ you love her not.
The image of her with briars of blue cornflowers
woven through the sunlight gold of her hair.
You ache to touch, to stroke the downy cheek,
the crook of arm, the blush of freckles:
to sink into the dark, endless blue of her eyes.
Longing, wanting, needing.
You love her/ you love her not.
The water of her turning your headstrong planets top-heavy,
spinning orbits of chaos. You have never felt
as deliriously delicious as this,
not even at fourteen,
with unrequited lust painting pastel fantasies of love.
You love her/ you love her not.
How many times have you had your hole and felt nothing?
How many times have you clung to the shores
as the rip-tide dragged you under?
All that flesh, all these holes...
All those dangerous nights turned to nothing.
She has destroyed everything:
this Kali Ma dressed in blonde softness,
with her breasts of sweetened, poisoned milk.
* * * *
Midnight.
The hours spiral away in narcotic confusion,
the clarity you sought to possess eludes you still.
Another pill?
As if you could tear salvation from God’s winking eye:
the God who comes only in moments of despair,
the God who couldn’t care,
the God who was never there...
except in a stranger's embrace.
The telephone is hot vulva pink.
You could call.
But not before you know
whether you love her or you love her not.
She’s ruined everything:
turned flesh into mere flesh,
holes into mere holes.
Black midnight, the city pulses with sex:
Saturday night prowlers and ghosts seeking their own extinction
3. but tonight, you are separate: outside, watching dispassionately,
as the strangle tango begins the process of its own completion.
Another pill? You think you will:
something to see you into the sober light of Sunday morning,
something to lead you to comprehension.
Meanwhile the ghost of you haunts the pick up joints:
tequila rapido, absinthe, after shock, cocaine,
leading you on to the inevitable expiation of flesh.
Is it too late to get your coat?
Ghosts.
But you cannot leave.
The telephone is hot vulva pink
and you love her/ you love her not.
The moon tracks a slow arc across the sky,
bodies briefly couple,
orgasms ring out into a void of impermanence,
atoms disperse and reform
and then, all are sullenly alone.
Your cock presses hard
against the dark cotton of your trousers:
all that fucking,
all that knotted, sweating flesh...
And yet, so desperately sad.
Your fingers cradle your balls,
comforting your world weary soul.
You slow-dance solo through the schizophrenic night:
the half-eaten moon calls, cold and white.
The telephone is hot vulva pink, tempting your fingers:
Across the city,
seven digits away,
she is naked, warm, willing,
waiting for your loving.
She loves you/ she loves you not.
When you think of her, it is more than tits and holes.
She’s the home you’ve been seeking all these years.
She is the moon, she is Venus, she is Mars.
She is a countless number of distant stars:
a scattering of light that turns the sky away from night.
And now everything else is corruption and rotten flesh.
You love her/ you love her not...
4. remembering the taste of her, the touch of her:
angelic, golden and clear,
as if she were made from finer dust.
* * * *
You imagine her petrol blue eyes,
the clouds passing away,
a clear and calm day,
the fruit of the forbidden tree,
a forgiving God,
a pink telephone,
a harbour of still waters,
the touch of her fingers on your chest,
the crinkle of her cheek as she smiles,
the smell of summer,
dandelion fairies blown in the wind.
She loves you/ she loves you not.
She loves you/ she loves you not.
Her petrol blue eyes:
you drown and you burn,
the spectre of flesh.
How can you love her and love her not?
* * * *
Hours into the morning, nothing is resolved.
You love her/ you love her not.
A sleeping pill for each which way:
you slide under the duvet, alone and lonely,
your fingers cupped round your balls; chaste, safe -
the marshmallow wonders of chemistry
dragging you out into the warm dark seas.
You love her/ you love her not.
Sinking into dreamless sleep,
tomorrow is a hundred million light years away.
Dee Sunshine
Dee Sunshine, 35 Falkland Street (0/1), Glasgow, G12 9QZ, Scotland, United Kingdom.
Email: dee@thunderburst.co.uk Website: www.thunderburst.co.uk