the shiver of hands
blind without memory
yet sweet like the words
to the tremble of lips
there are no surprises here
rest your eyelids
until they become stone
rest your heart
until it stops
(it beats now only for itself
in some secret place)
“Summer deep is in the hills again
His lady is a lioness
Winds of birds blow through the fields again
Invaders from the true worlds”
~ Marc Bolan
If it doesn’t come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don’t do it.
Unless it comes unasked out of your heart and your mind and your mouth and your gut, don’t do it.
If you’re doing it for money or fame, don’t do it.
If you’re doing it because you want women in your bed, don’t do it.
If it’s hard work just thinking about doing it, don’t do it.
If you have to wait for it to roar out of you, then wait patiently.
If it never does roar out of you, do something else.
Unless it comes out of your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would drive you to madness or suicide or murder, don’t do it.
Unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don’t do it.
When it is truly time, and if you have been chosen, It will do it by itself
and it will keep on doing it until you die
or it dies in you.
There is no other way.
And there never was.
“The only people who ever get anyplace interesting are the people who get lost.”
~ Happy Birthday To Mr. Henry David Thoreau
“I think the difference between a lie and a story is that a story utilizes the trappings and appearance of truth for the interest of the listener as well as of the teller. A story has in it neither gain nor loss. But a lie is a device for profit or escape. I suppose if that definition is strictly held to, then a writer of stories is a liar–if he is financially fortunate.”
~ John Steinbeck, East of Eden
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO JOHN STEINBECK
Happy Birthday, Percy Bysshe Shelley
Born 4 August 1792, died 8 July 1822:
- Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
- Poetry is the record of the best and happiest moments of the happiest and best minds.
- What is life? Thoughts and feelings arise, with or without our will, and we employ words to express them. We are born, and our birth is unremembered and our infancy remembered but in fragments. We live on, and in living we lose the apprehension of life. How vain is it to think that words can penetrate the mystery of our being. Rightly used they may make evident our ignorance of ourselves, and this is much.
- Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.
- A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. His auditors are as men entranced by the melody of an unseen musician.
- The more we study the more we discover our ignorance.
- Change is certain. Peace is followed by disturbances; departure of evil men by their return. Such recurrences should not constitute occasions for sadness but realities for awareness, so that one may be happy in the interim.
- Music, when soft voices die, vibrates in the memory.
- War is the statesman’s game, the priest’s delight, the lawyer’s jest, the hired assassin’s trade.
- All spirits are enslaved which serve things evil.
Shelley was one of the major English Romantic poets and is regarded as among the finest lyric poets in the English language. He was a member of a close circle of visionary poets and writers that included Lord Byron; Leigh Hunt; Thomas Love Peacock; and his wife, Mary Shelley, the author of Frankenstein.