|
Thursday, March 11, 2010
In the swamplands long ago, Where the weeds and mudglumps grow, A Yipiyuk bit on my toe ... Exactly why I do not know. I kicked and cried and hollered "Oh!" The Yipiyuk would not let go. I whispered to him soft and low. The Yipiyuk would not let go. Yes, that was sixteen years ago, And the Yipiyuk still won't let go. The snow may fall, the winds may blow. The Yipiyuk will not let go. I drag him 'round each place I go, And now my child at last you know exactly why I walk so slow. - Shel Silverstein Labels: Poetry, Shel Silverstein
Tuesday, March 09, 2010 Eight Balloons Eight balloons no one was buyin' All broke loose one afternoon. Eight balloons with strings a-flyin' Free to do what they wanted to. One flew up to touch the sun -- POP! One thought highways might be fun -- POP! One took a nap in a cactus pile -- POP! One stayed to play with a careless child -- POP! One tried to taste some bacon fryin' -- POP! One fell in love with a porcupine -- POP! One looked close in a crocodile's mouth -- POP! One sat around til his air ran out -- Whoosh! Eight balloons no one was buyin' -- They broke loose and away they flew, Free to float and free to fly And free to pop where they wanted to. - Shel Silverstein Labels: Poetry, Shel Silverstein
Tuesday, January 26, 2010 The One Who Stayed You should have heard the old men cry, You should have heard the biddies When that sad stranger raised his flute And piped away the kiddies. Katy, Tommy, Meg and Bob Followed, skipping gaily, Red-haried Ruth, my brother Rob, And little crippled Bailey, John and Nils and Cousin Claire, Dancin', spinnin', turnin' 'Cross the hills to God knows where -- They never came returnin'. 'Cross the hills to God knows where The piper pranced, a leadin' Each child in Hamlin Town but me, And I stayed home unheedin'. My papa says that I was blest For if that music found me, I'd be witch-cast like all the rest. This town grows old around me. I cannot say I did not hear That sound so haunting hollow -- I heard, I heard, I heard it clear... I was afraid to follow. - Shel Silverstein Labels: Poetry, Shel Silverstein
Thursday, November 19, 2009
به سر جام جم آن گه نظر توانی کرد که خاک میکده کحل بصر توانی کرد
مباش بی می و مطرب که زیر طاق سپهر بدین ترانه غم از دل به در توانی کرد گل مراد تو آن گه نقاب بگشاید که خدمتش چو نسیم سحر توانی کرد گدایی در میخانه طرفه اکسیریست گر این عمل بکنی خاک زر توانی کرد به عزم مرحله عشق پیش نه قدمی که سودها کنی ار این سفر توانی کرد تو کز سرای طبیعت نمیروی بیرون کجا به کوی طریقت گذر توانی کرد جمال یار ندارد نقاب و پرده ولی غبار ره بنشان تا نظر توانی کرد بیا که چاره ذوق حضور و نظم امور به فیض بخشی اهل نظر توانی کرد ولی تو تا لب معشوق و جام می خواهی طمع مدار که کار دگر توانی کرد دلا ز نور هدایت گر آگهی یابی چو شمع خنده زنان ترک سر توانی کرد گر این نصیحت شاهانه بشنوی حافظ به شاهراه حقیقت گذر توانی کرد
Sunday, October 25, 2009 Best Mask They just had a contest for scariest mask, And I was the wild and daring one Who won the contest for scariest mask- And (sob) I'm not even wearing one. Labels: Poetry, Shel Silverstein
Friday, October 16, 2009
عشق اندر فضل و علم و دفتر و اوراق نیست هر چه گفت و گوی خلق آن ره ره عشاق نیست
شاخ عشق اندر ازل دان بیخ عشق اندر ابد این شجر را تکیه بر عرش و ثری و ساق نیست عقل را معزول کردیم و هوا را حد زدیم کاین جلالت لایق این عقل و این اخلاق نیست تا تو مشتاقی بدان کاین اشتیاق تو بتی است چون شدی معشوق از آن پس هستیی مشتاق نیست مرد بحری دایما بر تخته خوف و رجا است چونک تخت و مرد فانی شد جز استغراق نیست شمس تبریزی تویی دریا و هم گوهر تویی زانک بود تو سراسر جز سر خلاق نیست
Friday, September 04, 2009 The Invitation It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing. It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love for your dream for the adventure of being alive. It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon... I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain mine or your own without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy mine or your own if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful to be realistic to remember the limitations of being human. It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence. I want to know if you can live with failure yours and mine and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes.” It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children. It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back. It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments. - Oriah Labels: Poetry
Friday, August 14, 2009
ز دست دیده و دل هر دو فریاد
که هرچه دیده وینه دل کنه یاد بسازم خنجری نیشش ز پولاد زنم بردیده تا دل گرده آزاد Labels: Baba Taher, Poetry, شعر، بابا طاهر
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||