Showing posts with label Philosophy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Philosophy. Show all posts
"oh, how i long solace enough to release
all the beauty i know i have to offer. unfortunately it doesn't work that way...
i can only offer fragments at a time. now, consider what i had just said and ask
yourself: do you think you could handle all my inner allurement were i able to
grace it in a single poem? would it be far too overwhelming for you? or for
anyone?"-- Robert Anderson
"the treasure trove of a poet is that we
can easily discover a piece of ourselves in the next bewildering voice."
--Robert Anderson
"the discovery of the truest poet
is...
to sense the convulsions of one's
secret self that may propose unrivaled beauty to its admirers." -- Robert
Anderson
"isn't being able to write poetry divine?
imagine an obsession which can alter into insomnia until the fine line between
sane and insane become utterly blurred. i love being a poet!" -- Robert
Anderson
"for every one of my quiet moments i must
leave no stone unturned to repose my sanity; this is as much for me to wed my
blurry soul with my brawling heart" -- Robert Anderson
"i can never think of poetry along the
lines of "better" or "worse" but rather the word i choose is "different". to say
"different" when discussing how one poet may or may not challenge the next can
only mean one thing: there is variety." -- Robert Anderson
"a poetry critic more often than not
focuses on the attributes of no real distinctive worth while grazing through a
poet's soul. maybe their obligation should be to take focus away from the way a
poem is shaped and immerse themselves into the way it can caress." -- Robert
Anderson
when asked of his method to express
himself:
"it's complicated. i want to compose art
and not just scribble whatever might be on my mind down. that's the key to
writing good poetry, i think. i have to "feel" what i'm thinking or else it
won't work for me and i'll just end up throwing whatever piece of trash i wrote
away." -- Robert Anderson
"for boastful intellect should be foreign
in the art of poetry; why do we feel the need to process thought when we write?
we should feel compelled to have the words process us." -- Robert
Anderson
"i've been told that i should be the most
egotistical person out there for my natural ability to express myself. i see it
more as a gift and you mustn't squander your gifts for the sake of
self-admiration." -- Robert Anderson
"Although unveiled it will never be
perceived in similar light by two different people... my soul is a diverse
nudist." -- Robert Anderson
"we poets are all wingéd creature's
flying blindly to an audience who would love to forage off our souls... like as
a moth to the blistering flame is how it generally goes." -- Robert
Anderson
"you're only as old as you are
in soul." -- Robert Anderson
"i'm like the Rubik's cube. colorful yet
complex" -- Robert Anderson
"i am the breath of
life
proposing love's unrivaled
beauty" -- Robert Anderson
"i don't know what i believe in and
that's the truth. read my poetry... i believe in whatever i write blindly
about." -- Robert Anderson
"...and so, i spend much of my time
dwelling on the most beautiful things to preoccupy my heart. how i often pray i
can scribe them in perfect symmetry." -- Robert Anderson
"in regard to the affectionate thoughts
that drown my soul: this enslavement is beautiful" -- Robert
Anderson
"...and through a curious enchantment,
which in time aroused my secret self, i was at once acquainted with my heart's
eternal dreams" -- Robert Anderson
"i loathe the feeling of being confined.
at intervals it turns into an asylum of the mind." --Robert
Anderson
"i have tragedy in my soul but in my
heart... there's love" -- Robert Anderson
"Somewhere in an alternate universe i'm
crying "what if..." over the life i have today" -- Robert
Anderson
"my mother is my arch demon. she haunts
me and i never knew her." -- Robert Anderson
"and as much again i would like for my
soul to find her own, i would rather unveil the reasons my heart impassively
dotes on her abstracted love" -- Robert Anderson
"yesterday i thought of today as
tomorrow
regardless of the fact that my time is borrowed" -- Robert Anderson
regardless of the fact that my time is borrowed" -- Robert Anderson
"i've recognize jealousy in others who've
crossed my path but paid no regard to them. they always claim my poetry's
pretentious or whatever term their little minds can conjure up in that
instant." -- Robert Anderson
"i'm an old soul and not even this fucked
up exterior could deny me my true self's brio. i shine no matter who i am in
life. i suppose this all comes down to reincarnation. i'm stronger than i
seem." --Robert Anderson
"someone once told me that the way i
write is a bit intimidating. for that i can honestly say that i feel like such a
freak. sometimes this thought haunts me so much so that i fall quietly into
loneliness. see, poetry is my way of gaining peace of mind and if you fear my
peace of mind, you give piece of mind to my fear." -- Robert
Anderson
"while standing at the skirts of all my
sanity i speculate whether or not i should jump. ironically, i'd have to be
insane to do so." -- Robert Anderson
"i consider you in a light that i
secretly hold in my thoughts. when i visit this place i find it to illuminate
with an intensity that only intimacy rules. you're beautiful here." --
Robert Anderson
"my muse has altered her visage... she's
ever enchanting and whispered softly to me as an apparition "i am Moira sweet
poet... you shall be my aftermath" then gently crawled into my soul." --
Robert Anderson
"do you think you're just an average
person? i don't believe in "just an average person". i think everyone is
bequeathed something special before they're born and, whether they know it or
not, use it in their every day lives. consider this the next time you look in
the mirror." -- Robert Anderson
"i always thought myself as the first of
a kind. others may say "one of a kind" but i refuse. one of a kind? no, no, no
it seems too much as though that could be anyone. there have been others who
have walked in your shoes before and you are echoing their very individuality.
originality is breathing its last. when an infrequent life is noticed too many
feel they MUST destroy him or her and haters flock. yes, we creative spirits are
hated." -- Robert Anderson
"i watch the night sky while standing
before the ocean. have you ever thought what they both see? while gazing upward
the ocean has a perfect view of all of heaven. and heaven? well, when you
consider what she sees it's like she staring into a mirror. both attuned to each
other only not... heaven is all they both really see." -- Robert
Anderson
of the bone which came to a man
from a lynx that captured a goose
to find it was of great power
but denounced all the things he knew
that had laced a life alone
into whatever it was that came
and for every time he tied
his foolishness deep in shame
my elders told me of these things
the history that they knew
to pave them into forever
across the teachings they've imbued
and how I've not forgotten,
as a young boy I've listened so
to these tales that they had told me
so my own embrace their echo
from a lynx that captured a goose
to find it was of great power
but denounced all the things he knew
that had laced a life alone
into whatever it was that came
and for every time he tied
his foolishness deep in shame
my elders told me of these things
the history that they knew
to pave them into forever
across the teachings they've imbued
and how I've not forgotten,
as a young boy I've listened so
to these tales that they had told me
so my own embrace their echo
______________________________________________________________________________
"One spring, near Lake Winnipeg, a single snow goose appeared high in the air. It glided down on a smaller lake and swam to shore. Nearby and quietly, a lynx crouched as the wind shifted on the goose's scent into his nose. For a brief moment, the goose lifted his head, listening. But before it could rise again safely, the lynx had it in his teeth. The lynx feasted down to bones and feathers. Then, just as he began to crack a bone for marrow, a man called out and the lynx was quick into the trees. Only artifacts of the goose remained, but among them, the man found a bone said to protect the heart--a "wishing bone." He examined it slowly. Later, he found that the bone was a tool of metamorphosis, which allowed him to become a "trickster" capable of wishing things into existence, and himself into various situations." -- A Swampy Cree tale as told by Jacob Nibenegenesabe and Samuel Makidemewabe.
as tongues place themselvesin positions to create
awkward silences
that refuse to break
and all the things
that conjure
endeavors in the air
serve a bitter notion
simplicity is rare
complication is question
of reason to pursue
answers that
make no sense
and die untrue
throughout the ripples
of longing for the universe
to measure us by
the cup we thirst
'til time ticks away
and turns us to dust
unto our final hours
into the earth's crust
and stars carry away
our memory in time
to deem all the ways
we'd be immortalized
'cause things like that
are in the nature of humans
unless we are but
creatures unproven
to worthiness
destined to lose throughout
the cost of things
we are without
and a poet's mark is
justified deep in
the thoughts that make
him passionate
same as a thousand
painters who
build like bricks
things to be expressed
beyond any word
for we long to be measured
by the cup we thirst
oh me, what brilliance you intend
to bestow of impressionable thought
by that sheer fire that stirs within the soul
with a passion from where your surge had sought
by that sheer fire that stirs within the soul
with a passion from where your surge had sought
life alters in verse your highest wonder
between the lines of its philosophy
though indeed how you move your host to crown
an esteem so you may echo softly
while so genuine no word unravels
it conceives solitarily in birth
to what beauty does derive from your breath
dear poetry how you honor my worth
it conceives solitarily in birth
to what beauty does derive from your breath
dear poetry how you honor my worth
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