An Instant in Time

Fragmented dreams and glistering desires

Are scattered like a myriad of ocean drops

So different, with numerous shortcomings

Unreachable up there at Heaven’s shore

By:  Gulnara Karimova

Deep calls unto deep… A spirit of soaring above all pettiness, mediocrity, earthly bounds… to soar above all earthly things… to be all of yourself (no more, no less) and no other… to suffer no guilt for being… the mind unbounded by the constraints of space and time… to believe that impossibility is a matter of opinion and not of fact… to breathe the fresh airs of nature and hear the songs of birds unseen… to hear music that touches the depth of the soul… to feel the golden rays of my memories touch my skin and give me shivers… to climb to the top of the mountains of our fears… to shout out and cry out in joy for being… to drive the roads wherever they lead to… to live in Mars, Titan or some galaxy far away… to worry about the state of some peasant in China or Africa… to seek challenges greater than myself… to stand on top of a green hill in Siberia … be a human being and LIVE until we die… pride and passions … to fight in the arena regardless of the opinions of others… to conquer paradise … to reach out and feel the touch of the hand and face of God.  By:  Homeless with a Laptop, that is my name

Floating over mysterious clouds

Trying to touch some unreachable heights

Breathing it over amazed and astounded

Leaving all daily requirements behind

Getting your mind and your body united

Grasping upon something really immense

Taking a gulp of enchanting and boundless

Listening in to inexplicable bells.

By:  Gulnara Karimova

The night blossoms

            with a thousand shadows

                        so long

as there are stars,

            street lights

                        or a moon and

who shall say

            by their shadows

which is different

            from the other

                        fat or lean.

By:  William Carlos Williams

The sun is hidden out

Behind a certain line

Who knows without a doubt

Where abyss meets blue skies?

By: Gulnara Karimova

Ripped from the concept of our lives

            and from all concept

                        somehow, and plainly,

the sun will come up

            each morning

                        and sink again.

So that we experience

            Violently

                        every day

two worlds

            one of which we share with the

            rose in bloom

                        and one,

by far the greater,

            with the past,

                        the world of memory,

the silly world of history,

            the world

                        of the imagination.

Which leaves only the beasts and trees,

            crystals

                        with their refractive

                        surfaces

and rotting things

            to stir our wonder.

                        Save for the little

central hole

            of the eye itself

                        into which

we dare not stare too hard

            or we are lost.

                        The instant

trivial as it is

            is all we have

                        unless—unless

things the imagination feeds upon,

            the scent of the rose,

                        startle us anew.

By: William Carlos Williams

The Muse

You may hide before she sees you

But she will find you.  She will
Call your name.  You’ll hear
Her mad, bewitching moan, and,
You, a shipwrecked sailor, drown
In the undulating waves of her devotion
As she rides the tides of your emotion;
And when she’s gone,
She’ll haunt you
As the day is long,
And you will mourn.

 She will wrap you in her long, blonde tresses

The way your ligaments coil round
Your bones and tendons,
Taut, yet yielding,
Moving where you move.

 You must shed your skin

so she can feel the bare, attenuated sinew
And where the nerves begin and end.

 Her laughter falls like tiny drops of mist

Upon your face and hands;
She hears the sound that pleasure makes
When pleasure aches
As only pleasure can.

You’ll wish your face were wet with kisses,

Her lips upon your lips and lashes
When dawn unties her golden tresses
And dresses her in morning mists.

 And when the night softly undresses

Veil by veil her silk and laces,
The moon will smile her silver smile, her body
More lovely than her face is.

She’ll kneel before you on the ground

And ask the stars to wear her crown.
You lay her on a bed of down.

 Her golden hair your hands caress

And you, your love, to her confess
With every wave of tenderness
That heaves from one who has been blessed.

And when you lay in deepest sleep

She’ll quietly retreat into the corners of your dreams.
She is more than what she seems.
Neither lover nor wife, she is the dawn that comes
In the middle of your life.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nT7_IZPHHb0

By:   Barbara Millar 

Copied, pasted and dreamed by:  Homeless with a Laptop, that is my Name

 

 

Welcome back to school!!!

I was at a book store in a mall this evening.  While browsing the Current Affairs/Modern History section, I overheard some young people talking—about evidence of faster-than-light neutrinos and the impact of such a happening on Einstein’s theories.

 

Bless the teachers who teach kids to question even Einstein’s laws. 

By:  Homeless with a Laptop, that is my Name

Making Poetic Love

You asked how poets make love with words
I decided to show you not by mouth or curves
Tonight I'll write my poetry across the canvas
Of your body, my willing blinded accomplice
Expressing my innermost secret desires
Planning every word's placement my pen attires
Your angled and plane aroused contour
With pleasure filled fantasies writing on your
honeyed skin; tastes of budding succulence
Building from the ladder of your emergence
From dreamlike slumber to writhing climax
Orgasmic words are the finest aphrodisiacs
So when you feel my pen tantricly lift up
I'll mount you Lover while I sensuously touch
And moan each tattooed word in your ear
Til you can't breathe and can't conjure
More passionate love than a poet's words.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ENo-FHL1t0

By:  Can't remember author
Copied, pasted and music added for someone by:  Homeless with a Laptop, that is my Name

Flight of Stars

Our life is ruled by accidents and chances
And common sense cannot befriend your ways
Your stars have constancy and shine, they know the answers
And that is why they are so far away!

Gulnara Karimova

 

     In my back patio, I see the colors of the sky, so bright and blue, fading away under the golden hues of the setting sun. The puffy white clouds reflect the sun’s golden rays, which contrast so sharply with the sky’s deepening crystal blue. I see the sun reflected away from the leaves of the trees. The tree has little leaves, like those of a fern. I admit that I do not know the scientific name of the tree, I call it the tree in my backyard. What is important is that among the shadows which are lengthening by the moment, the fading sun’s rays, still reflect the beauty of nature. I feel overwhelmed.

     I remember yesterday reflected in the golden rays. The deepening twilight mirrors my life as it passes into the night. There is no pain but rather warmth despite the chill of the evening, which reflects the warmth of my youth.

    The future that remains, and what may happen afterwards, is now reflected in the sparkling stars of the night. A star here, a star there... stars, stars, stars. I have often thought that life is like the night sky. There is the gloom of everyday life, yet there are moments that shine so bright. Every little star reflects a moment in our lives, a bright shining moment which illuminates the gloom of everyday life... and makes life worth living. 

 

"Cast away sadness and melancholy. Life is nice, it has  few days and only we have now to enjoy it."

 

Federico García Lorca

 

"Let us see how high we can fly before the sun melts the wax in our wings"  Subrahmanyan Chandrasekhar

"I accept the flight and the fall." Gulnara Karimova 

 

Yet, before the fall, what a flight it shall be...

Homeless with a Laptop, That is my Name, navigator

Бездомные с ноутбуком, это мое имя, штурман

Lost Child...

A child who does not play is not a child,
but the man who doesn't play has lost forever
the child who lived in him
and who he will miss terribly.

 

Pablo Neruda

 

Not Enough

With you
It's not enough
To burn our nude, spent bodies
In the fist of summer's heat
Passion, welding us together
Fusing us in oneness

 

With you
It's not enough
To tangle our ribs, merged bodies
In the branches of fall's genealogy
Limbs, twisting together
Tying us in knots

With you
It's not enough
To rock our twin, conjoined bodies
In the cradle of winter's womb
Hearts, beating together
Lulling us to sleep

With you
It's not enough
To plant our future, mated bodies
In the fertility of spring's mind
Lives, blooming together
Joining us as one.

 

By:  I can't remember the author

Copied and felt with passion by:  Homeless with a Laptop, That is my Name