engram from Bjork's "Pagan Poetry"

[Juan Castrocafe]

(ok, I wrote this one no different than the others..however, I feel it is teetering on being something really good...even profound...even more dealing with the thought and idea in this poem than having to follow form...how might this be literally "rewritten" even "group transformed"?

John M..

I am myself for simplicity,
as that when I am this, what else can it be,
and something written in a time
when the words were the patterns
of two finding their oneness
in the fashioning of me,
by the process as it was and will be,

what I have kept silent, speaks loudly
way before me, before I speak,
the wounded child first gets in the motion
past words in the form which cannot find denial
I am guilty without the trial
for I have hungered for it
like an animal in the wild
and when I find it,
it is the wounded child,
skipping rope in the sunshine that remains,
to speak the words of rain,
then brings the storm and the shadow's pain,
to something once, is called habit to do it again...
today can be new, if you let your blood explain

what I have denied has came before me,
I touch the feathers of time falling at the gate
and look up and wait in hope of something
magnificent flying away or towards me...
those things that call out their love,
this love it does not own me, and words so frail
so bleakly seen like long distant stars,
it shall be only my action that can show me,
reveal me and change me all the same,
not as I am seen, but as I am...
when there are many describing what makes it
most palatable to say that's what is,
what is IS (thanks to Ruddy)
and nothing more but the promise in your hand
is only realized in the movement
with nothing sure, nothing pure...nothing right
nothing wrong...
sometimes, the best lesson, is the hand that held
yours, when you first walked under a darkened sky
and pointed to the stars..
and unlike many sneeches who have since fallen prey
to arrogance and ego, it is neither mine, yours
or thars...
so many times, we write ourselves as things...
adorn ourselves with rings, and take moments
to define the core of some apple we be...
maybe we are just the be, and bumbling around..
into all we can see.
maybe we are more than the protein in the skim
that is the foam at the ocean's shore....
I am myself for simplicity, one thing I can understand
something I can clearly see.

***************************************************
below is an internet copy of Bjork's "Pagan Poetry"

pedalling through
the dark currents
i find an accurate copy
a blueprint
of the pleasure in me

swirling
black lilies
totally ripe

a secret code carved

swirling
black lilies
totally ripe

he offers a handshake
crooked
five fingers
they form a pattern
yet to be matched

swirling
black lilies
totally ripe

on the surface simplicity
but the darkest pit in me
is pagan poetry
pagan poetry

swirling
black lilies
totally ripe

morse coded signals
they pulsate : they wake me up
from my
hibernate

on the surface simplicity
but the darkest pit in me
is pagan poetry
pagan poetry

i love him

this time
i'm gonna keep me to myself
this time
i'm gonna keep my all to myself

she loves him

but he makes me want to hand myself over

she loves him

[shell]

I don't know if this will be of any help but instead of writing a list of things i might change, i am re-copying this delicious poem below, but with a few changes that i feel help the pace a little ... mostly just a tiny bit of pruning ...

these are just my thoughts on first look ... please discard if you wish and certainly if i have misinterpreted something. Others may have ideas to add, then you can stir it all up to make it even more delicious??

The theme and message of integration, soul, psyche and cosmos is enthralling and what we are about. Thought word and deed in unison and honesty ... minus the level of rubbish dolloped on the self to cause distortion *yuk

I am, myself, simplicity,
when I am this, what else can all be?
something written in a time
when words were patterns
two in oneness
fashioning all of me,
by the process as it was and will be,

what I have kept silent, speaks loudly
way before me, before speech
the wounded child first gets in the motion
past words in form cannot find denial
I am guilty without trial
I have hungered for it
animal in the wild
when I find it,
it is a wounded child,
skipping rope in the sunshine that remains,
to speak the words of rain,
then comes the storm and shadow's pain,
(to something once, is called habit to do it again...) – is this line needed?
today can be new, if you let your blood explain

what I have denied has come before me,
feathers of time fall at my gate
look up and wait in hope of something
magnificent flying away or towards me ...
those things that call out love,
this love it does not own me, and words, so frail,
bleakly seen long distant stars,

it shall be only my action that can show me,
reveal me and change me all the same,
not as I am seen, but as I am...
when there are many describing what makes it
most palatable to say that's what is,
what is IS (thanks to Ruddy)
and nothing more, but the promise in your hand
is realized in movement
with nothing sure, nothing pure...nothing right
nothing wrong...
sometimes, the best lesson, is the hand holding yours
when you walked beneath darkened sky
pointing to the stars..

unlike many sneeches who have since fallen prey (speeches?)
to arrogance and ego, it is neither mine,
nor yours
nor thars...

so many times, we write ourselves as things...
adorn ourselves with rings, and take moments
to define the core of some apple we be...
maybe we are just the be, bumbling around.. (lovely word play!)
into all that we can see.
maybe we are more than protein in the skim
that is the foam at ocean's shore....
I am, myself, simplicity, someone I can understand
someone I can clearly see. (having denounced things i thought this maybe more your point?)

[anirbas]

speeches...sneetches...snitches, I think you meant, John...yes? as in turncoats; or those whom lie and tell tales? nir.

[Juan Castrocafe]

no, it is an alliteration to Dr. Suess' Sneetches..the ones on the beaches some with stars upon thars...
jm

[Juan Castrocafe]

shell..that line can come out..perhaps, I am curious how to make it a wee bit more concise like a bullet between the eyes rather than a gentle feather rubbing across the face..more teeth and in one or two really chunk taking bites...

jm

[shell]

jm - ok, dear soul, i'll have another look though i am by no means an expert ... so i'll apologise now if i get it hopelessly wrong for you! lol ... but i think you know me well enough now to know that you can safely ignore anything i say *rofl ... i stayed with the feathers but will see if bullets and fangs reveal themselves *grin

[shell]

*takes deep breath* ... *you should too* ... lol

i think i have been pretty wild with the blade here and as a result some of the core concepts may seem to have been removed but i hope they are still implicit (let the reader work to find them)...

please .. treat this as you wish and if it only shows how else to go at making the poem more concise then it may have helped.

btw i don't do rhyme and have NO idea how it got there in verse 2 lol ~ this is YOUR poem so if you want to take what i have done and add stuff back in (or not) then do so freely ~

I am simplicity, hand-written time,
words are failing patterns.
Oneness fell to pain but will be again.

What I keep silent, speaks loud
before me, before speech
I hunger for it now in this wild
where flesh adorns a pretty void, betrays
our nature, tricks us into playing dead
in the storm of shadow's pain;
Wounded children cry to play alive instead.
Today is new, let blood explain.

Stars shed feathers of bleak distance,
echo love in frail words
i am - you are –
their only chance of blaze in darkened skies.
Hold my hand and walk – we are – simply
as we are - not as we seem.

[Juan Castrocafe]

I liked that...I actually like hip hop music sometimes because they do take old songs, gut them and make something new out of them and in some instances..there is this really cool synergy that comes from both old and new in this new creation that like gives new life and appreciation for both works...

John Moseley

[Sam]

Longwalk!!!

I hope you do not mind if I mess around with your work. This is truly magnificient!!!! I really, really like it!!! I have to go, but have saved it hopefully, so I can come back in to it. I just basically shorted your lines a little to make a bigger punch hit!
It is brilliant work, as usual!!!!



I am simplicity.
What else can it be?
Something written
in a time when words
were the patterns of two
finding their oneness
in the fashioning of me,
by the process,
as it was, and will be.

What I kept silent,
speaks loudly;
way before I speak.

The wounded child
first gets in the motion,
past words in the form
which cannot find denial.

I am guilty without the trial.

I have hungered for it
like an animal in the wild.
And, when I find it,
it is the wounded child,
skipping rope
in the sunshine that remains,
to speak the words of rain,
then brings the storm
and the shadow's pain,
to something
once called habit, to do it again...

Today can be new,
if you let your blood explain.

What I have denied...
has come before me.
I touch the feathers of time,
falling at the gate
and look up,
waiting in hope
of something magnificent
flying away or towards me...

Those things that call out their love
do not own me,
and the words so frail,
so bleak,
seem like long distant stars...

It shall be only my action
that can show me,
reveal me,
and change me...
all the same;
not as I am seen,
but as I am...

Many describe
what makes it
most palatable to say...
that's what it is.

What is IS,
and nothing more.

But the promise in your hand
is only realized in the movement
with nothing sure,
nothing pure...nothing right,
nothing wrong...

Sometimes, the best lesson,
is the hand that held yours,
when you first walked
under a darkened sky
and pointed to the stars..

And, unlike many sneeches
who have since fallen prey
to arrogance and ego,
it is neither mine, yours
or thars...

So many times,
we write ourselves as things...
adorn ourselves with rings,
and take moments to define
the core of some apple we want to be...
when maybe we are just the be,
and bumbling around..
into all we can see.

Maybe we are more
than the protein in the skim
that is the foam
at the ocean's shore....

I am myself for simplicity.

One thing I can understand,
something I can clearly see.

[Sam]

Too simple? ha

Sam

[Juan Castrocafe]

boy I liked that one...cool..
john