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Poet King

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Yogi Bear
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Posted 11/14/06 - 10:38 PM:
Subject: Poet King
I am the poet king
Humbly serving you

I offer you alms
That taste like words

Let them ruminate a while
Until you recall their flavor

The taste of
‘I love you’
libertygrl
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Posted 11/14/06 - 10:57 PM:

that's awesome.

welcome, herald of the poet king.

smiling facelib
Yogi Bear
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Posted 11/14/06 - 11:04 PM:

The poet king is in all of us, no?

Thanks for the compliment.

Here's another, for the trained/open ear.

Let’s play a game

I said to god
let’s play a game

later
I almost felt reluctant
in doing so
since she is a wild
One

she said
I will be a tightrope
and you
will walk my path

with balance
you will be close to me

but if you fall
there is a 50/50 chance
you will land on
something
good
libertygrl
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Posted 11/15/06 - 12:23 AM:

Yogi Bear wrote:
The poet king is in all of us, no?
indeed. nod

Yogi Bear wrote:
Let’s play a game

I said to god
let’s play a game

later
I almost felt reluctant
in doing so
since she is a wild
One

she said
I will be a tightrope
and you
will walk my path

with balance
you will be close to me

but if you fall
there is a 50/50 chance
you will land on
something
good
lovely. clap it reminds me of a story i wrote a few years ago, called "Let's." less concise, but a similar sentiment. it goes like this:
libertygrl
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Posted 11/15/06 - 12:25 AM:

“Let’s play a game,” she said.

“There should be none more entertaining than the game in which we are already engaged,” I replied after a long enough pause to signify that consent was granted begrudgingly. But she understood well my inability to resist her playful mood, which resonated within me a beautiful tone so infrequent as to compel me to comply.

She smiled with her eyes. “Naturally, you expect me to indulge you with questions about to which game you refer,” she said. “But I have no choice but to offend you by expressing no interest in your philosophical ponderings tonight.”

“Then, according to the rules, I must pretend to be disappointed.”

“You are silly,” she said, “for disappointment requires no pretense. But... should there truly be no chance of entertaining you further, I will let you alone, as it seems to be your preference.”

“It is unlikely that I will be entertained,” I said, “but I am happy enough to entertain you, if you desire to tell me how this game is played and what its objective should be.”

“Just like a man,” she chided, “always thinking that games must have objectives. But I shall appeal to the poet in you, and give you an objective that ensures your cooperation.”

Little did she realize that I could already object no longer, although several contrary responses had leaped readily to mind. I said nothing, as I felt I had betrayed enough for one evening.

“The object of the game is to reveal the true nature of your self,” she said with obstinate irony. “You must be honest and sincere, and unafraid.”

“You are clearly veering into philosophical terrain, my dear,” I said. “As you know, one cannot make an objective out of being sincere, because it only results in coerced pretension.”

“Well, then,” she said, “allow me to rephrase. The object of the game is to answer this question with as little effort as possible, and when you are done, I shall do the same.”

“In order for the game to be fair,” I said, chiding her in turn, “I should be allowed to select a question of my own for you to answer, because if you should desire to answer the exact same question you would propose to me, which seems undeniably to be the case, then I will have the disadvantage of not having had the same amount of time that you have had in order to prepare an answer.”

Her smiling eyes were intruded upon by her disapproving eyebrows, and with a short breath of annoyance, she conceded.

“Are we playing or not playing?” I asked, with a portrayal of ignorance regarding her intentions that was convincing enough to cause agitation.

“We are definitely playing,” she said, communicating neither patience nor frustration. “Are you ready for your question?”

“No,” I said. “Let me clean out my brain, free myself of those naughty pretensions, and answer this inquiry with all of the sincerity to be found within me.” I closed my eyes and smiled.

The silence which ensued lasted long enough to make me wonder if her frustration had graduated to anger. My smile melted away, but my eyes remained closed, awaiting an audible reaction.

“Imagine that you are attending your own funeral,” she said softly. “Look around at everyone who has attended. Take a good look at their faces, even at the people you thought would never be there. Now your eyes move to the podium, and there you see the person you love most in the world, delivering your eulogy. Think about what words could best express what you hope will be remembered of you, and then tell me, what would those words be?”

I cleared my throat. The thought overwhelmed me. I hesitated for what felt like a second too long, and then said, “He never reveled in honesty, but he cared. And it was enough. He was eager to leave this world behind, but it misses him now and he misses it. He found virtue in his own pain, but vice in all that caused pain... I loved him because he knew what love was, and he loved me because I knew who he was. And I know all of this... because he told me once, long ago, when we were playing a game, and I know it was true because his eyes were closed.”

I paused dramatically, and opened my eyes. She neither smiled nor frowned. “Ask me a question,” she said.

“Very well,” I said. Certainly she could not top my performance, but in all fairness I knew I must ask a question which provided the same opportunity to disclose. She closed her eyes, as though it were now naturally required. After much contemplation, I said finally, “What is it that you find least resistible in this world?”

“A game,” she said.

And in the paradoxical fashion of which she was most capable, she surrendered defeat with a victorious smile.
Yogi Bear
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Posted 11/15/06 - 12:42 AM:

Nice. I liked it very much towards the end. The eulogy part. Nice. Is this from a story you did in school or writing just for fun?

You make a great audience because you are receptive, not unlike, someone loving you because you recieve who they are.

I have a few more poems.

Will make you glow-

my wonder becomes a net
to wisdom's fireflies

i store them in the
vision of my heart

close you eyes
open your mind

can't you see?

i'm glowing
libertygrl
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Posted 11/15/06 - 12:51 PM:

Yogi Bear wrote:
Nice. I liked it very much towards the end. The eulogy part. Nice.
thank you.

Yogi Bear wrote:
Is this from a story you did in school or writing just for fun?
just for fun. haven't done any creative writing in school.

Yogi Bear wrote:

my wonder becomes a net
to wisdom's fireflies

i store them in the
vision of my heart

close you eyes
open your mind

can't you see?

i'm glowing

beautiful. it makes me glow. smiling face
Yogi Bear
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Posted 11/15/06 - 6:23 PM:

I will post a few that are near and dear to me. I have a poem I wrote that could come right out of the book forbidden rumi. It seems racy, but it is absolutely beautiful. For now, though...

Sad-

Sometimes I am saddened
by the state of the world
and at that point
I have become the world

Then I go into myself
and become the yet
undiscovered country
and what I find is
the world becomes me

Morgena
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Avatar Morgena
Posted 11/16/06 - 3:28 PM:

A Love without hope



I though I could love you forever

Now while you are unmasked

My answer is Never ever.


You have played your game and lost it
Without regret.

It’s too late to be sad, I am glad I haven’t paid
The highest prise jet.


Yogi Bear
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#10 - Quote - Permalink
Posted 11/16/06 - 3:35 PM:

A love without hope
sounds like heaven

a love without hope
without a need for change
sounds like heaven

a love without hope
sounds like a love
without a death sentence

expectation leads to
dissappointment

my first mask is armor
my second mask is disposition
my third mask is desperation
under it all
is me, the inner child
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