Thank you for your poem. I understand and intuit it but a little and it is beautiful, mysterious and it is …becoming. thank you.
Thanks, I wrote it about detachment 
You may not believe this, but I did glean detachment from it. At the same time, I like the way the words/phrases hid and shroud some of the mystery. I think it is not only about detachment but I somehow seem to intuit it about leaving space for Something fresh and new to enter in; thus, becoming…or am I just projecting? I think not. 
Re-read, it 
at attachment…an ever-ending dance of harmony between attachment and detachment. You write so beautifully, you know, as the sunlight humbly kneels and kisses the dew-dropped grass and the grass responds with a glistening smile. ](https://www.ilovephilosophy.com/uploads/default/original/2X/7/7c349bf1053f368a5729d053e1e91215f22ce66c.gif "Brick wall"){kind=small}
Oh boy! Freddie’s getting to me. 
Haha yes wonderful! He will do that, for sure 
You intuit correctly, I did leave space for “something else”, other perspectives. I had detachment in mind, but also “right attachment” perhaps is the way to describe it. . . basically authenticity, being honest, being genuine with oneself. The idea somewhat spanning the existential and the metaphysical, these two meeting (as I believe they ought to do) in the psychological.
Perhaps a bit more optimistic or positive than the neuromonster lol, but really not all that different in content, the same or similar idea approached from different angles - getting out of identity, getting out of status, getting out of attachment (wrong attachment!), getting back to oneself and one’s true essence which is always and everywhere diffuse, multiple, complex, ever-changing, transient and transcendent, child-like and innocent . . . elusive and illusive and imaginative.
When we become one from the many, where we first must be the many in order to be the one, and any oneness which does not start from the ground, from the many, is doomed to be false, destructive and deceptive - to be deadly, really.
Ozymandias
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: ‘Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear –
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.’
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
(Beat that for diction!)
Coatless,
I like Shelley and Lewis Carroll can do much better for diction than that: 
Does it get any better…
Jabberwocky
Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought –
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!’
He chortled in his joy.
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Just by way of translation…en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jabberwocky
Diction? Bah! He cheated with lots of pretend words!
(Damn good poem though- I’ve loved it since I was very young).
I always loved this poem - and it brings tears to my eyes. And it is a human thing…in other words - you’ll be a woman, my daughter - works too.
The below is definitely something to be strived for!!!
If
Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And - which is more - you’ll be a Man my son!
Kipling’s eldest son died during World War I.
THOSE WHO DO NOT DANCE!
Gabriela Mastral
A crippled child
Said, “How shall I dance?”
Let your heart dance
We said.
Then the invalid said:
“How shall I sing?”
Let your heart sing
We said
Then spoke the poor dead thistle,
“But I, how shall I dance?”
Let your heart fly to the wind
We said.
Then God spoke from above
“How shall I descend from the blue?”
Come dance for us here in the light
We said.
All the valley is dancing
Together under the sun,
And the heart of him who joins us not
Is turned to dust, to dust.
We are the Mirror as Well as the Face
Rumi
We are the mirror as well as the face in it.
We are tasting the taste this minute
of eternity. We are pain
and what cures pain, both. We are
the sweet, cold water and the jar that pours.
I love this!!
I Know The Way You Can Get
Hafiz
I know the way you can get
When you have not had a drink of Love:
Your face hardens,
Your sweet muscles cramp.
Children become concerned
About a strange look that appears in your eyes
Which even begins to worry your own mirror
And nose.
Squirrels and birds sense your sadness
And call an important conference in a tall tree.
They decide which secret code to chant
To help your mind and soul.
Even angels fear that brand of madness
That arrays itself against the world
And throws sharp stones and spears into
The innocent
And into one’s self.
O I know the way you can get
If you have not been drinking Love:
You might rip apart
Every sentence your friends and teachers say,
Looking for hidden clauses.
You might weigh every word on a scale
Like a dead fish.
You might pull out a ruler to measure
From every angle in your darkness
The beautiful dimensions of a heart you once
Trusted.
I know the way you can get
If you have not had a drink from Love’s
Hands.
That is why all the Great Ones speak of
The vital need
To keep remembering God,
So you will come to know and see Him
As being so Playful
And Wanting,
Just Wanting to help.
That is why Hafiz says:
Bring your cup near me.
For all I care about
Is quenching your thirst for freedom!
All a Sane man can ever care about
Is giving Love!
From: ‘I Heard God Laughing - Renderings of Hafiz’
The Princess: Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font.
The firefly wakens; waken thou with me.
Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.
Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.
Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.
Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake.
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.
Ah…
Well i am not posting any poem over here but can’t stop myself for commenting over it. You people have written nice poems and i must appreciate the creativity of all of you.
Welcome.
Ah, if only, just speaking for myself, I was capable of writing the poetry that I’ve put in here.
This is poetry that has been written by renowned Poets, not by us.
Read my opening lines in the beginning of the thread.
And please - do feel free to sit down next to the fire and warm yourself and order a drink - I will personally serve you. And when you’ve come to feel cozy and your belly is blissfully warm from your drink, you can then get up on the stage and read your favorite poems that so move you - and that you love. Oh, and by the way, there are a number of uniquely-shaped candles on the table over by that large bay window. Feel free to get one, place it on your table and light it. It is yours to take home when you leave - as a ‘treasure’ of your unforgettable Moment here. Below is my favorite candle.
STARFIRE
Outside on a winter’s night when the rain begins to fall
There’s a chill in the air and the howl of the wolves
While the rain beats at the door
Seven kings will ride on the wind up towards the mountains high
And the only sound that will break the air is the warrior’s bitter cry
When the dawn of a new song will see the day
Then the strongest hearts grow old
And the warrior stands on top of the hill in the snow
Dark night with a glimmering light in the distance up ahead
In the forest they dwell with a misty spell no one hears what once was said
And the eagle fly through the clouds while the earth bleeds dark and cold
When the voices of men will ring out again all creation shall unfold
When the color of night will fade to light
As the mysteries unfold
And the warrior stands on top of the hill in the snow
And we’re standing one and all fighting 'til we fall
Hoping for a better day
Never giving in until we find the words, 'til we find the words to say
'til we find the words to say…
Burning starfire, shine in the sky
For the lives of great men, who stand by your side
When the night falls, on we will ride
For no lost souls will live on forever
Midnight on the valley below still the horsemen follow through
There’s a forest that leads to the foot of the hill that inside the magic holds
Seven strong they ride on along to the place where sorrow lies
And the shadows of the night will no longer hide all their mysteries come
undone
When the dusk of a full moon will see the light
And the weaker hearts go cold
And the warrior stands on top of the hill in the storm
And we’re standing one and all fighting 'til we fall
Hoping for a better day
Never giving in until we find the words, 'til we find the words to say
'til we find the words to say…
Burning starfire, shine in the sky
For the lives of great men, who stand by your side
When the night falls, on we will ride
For no lost souls will live on forever
And we’re standing one and all, fighting 'til we fall
Hoping for a better day
Never giving in until we find the words, 'til we find the words to say
'til we find the words to say…
Burning starfire, shine in the sky
For the lives of great men, who stand by our side
When the night falls, on we will ride
For no lost souls will live on forever
No lost souls will live on for…ever
Dragonforce
From A Shropshire Lad, by AE Housman:
XIV
There pass the careless people
That call their souls their own;
Here by the road I loiter,
How idle and alone.
Ah, past the plunge of plummet,
In seas I cannot sound,
My heart and soul and senses,
World without end, are drowned.
His folly has not fellow
Beneath the blue of day
That gives to man or woman
His heart and soul away.
There flowers no balm to sain him
From east of earth to west
That’s lost for everlasting
The heart out of his breast.
Here by the labouring highway
With empty hands I stroll:
Sea-deep, till doomsday morning,
Lie lost my heart and soul.
Pasolini.
I am a force of the Past.
My love lies only in tradition.
I come from the ruins, the churches,
the altarpieces, the villages
abandoned in the Appennines or foothills
of the Alps where my brothers once lived.
I wander like a madman down the Tuscolana,
down the Appia like a dog without a master.
Or I see the twilights, the mornings
over Rome, the Ciociaria, the world,
as the first acts of Posthistory
to which I bear witness, for the privilege
of recording them from the outer edge
of some buried age. Monstrous is the man
born of a dead woman’s womb.
And I, a fetus now grown, roam about
more modern than any modern man,
in search of brothers no longer alive.
That’s really very sad but I can’t put my finger on why, at least not yet. But i will. It sort of also reminds me of William Butler Yeats for some reason.
Hi, how are you today, a/k/a Vanitas? That poem sort of reminds me of this picture:
Can you imagine the passion, patience and the love that it took to do what those men (and perhaps some women too) did to record history? From morning to night, by candlelight, every little character that went into that parchment. I realize that Pasolini’s poem may not be about that but somehow that’s what it reminds me of…recording time and history. It’s a very poignant poem.
I can do more than imagine it.
And how is it going? I’m still addicted to pain killers.
And I am not out yet, so good.