Innergiggle's Blog

Full Moon by Robert Hayden

innergiggle — Fri, 27 Aug 2010 00:18:07 +0000

No longer throne of a goddess to whom we pray,
no longer the bubble house of childhood’s
tumbling Mother Goose man,

The emphatic moon ascends–
the brilliant challenger of rocket experts,
the white hope of communications men.

Some I love who are dead
were watchers of the moon and knew its lore;
planted seeds, trimmed their hair,

Pierced their ears for gold hoop earrings
as it waxed or waned.
It shines tonight upon their graves.

And burned in the garden of Gethsemane,
its light made holy by the dazzling tears
with which it mingled.

And spread its radiance on the exile’s path
of Him who was The Glorious One,
its light made holy by His holiness.

Already a mooted goal and tomorrow perhaps
an arms base, a livid sector,
the full moon dominates the dark.

I Like For You To Be Still by Pablo Neruda

innergiggle — Fri, 27 Aug 2010 00:07:30 +0000

I like for you to be still
It is as though you are absent
And you hear me from far away
And my voice does not touch you
It seems as though your eyes had flown away
And it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth
As all things are filled with my soul
You emerge from the things
Filled with my soul
You are like my soul
A butterfly of dream
And you are like the word: Melancholy

I like for you to be still
And you seem far away
It sounds as though you are lamenting
A butterfly cooing like a dove
And you hear me from far away
And my voice does not reach you
Let me come to be still in your silence
And let me talk to you with your silence
That is bright as a lamp
Simple, as a ring
You are like the night
With its stillness and constellations
Your silence is that of a star
As remote and candid

I like for you to be still
It is as though you are absent
Distant and full of sorrow
So you would’ve died
One word then, One smile is enough
And I’m happy;
Happy that it’s not true

Alone – Edgar Allan Poe

innergiggle — Fri, 04 Jun 2010 12:14:08 +0000

Alone – Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood’s hour I have not been

As others were: I have not seen

As others saw: I could not bring

My passions from a common spring.

From the same course I have not taken

My sorrow, I could not awaken

My heart to joy at the same tone

And all I love, I loved alone

Then in my childhood, in the dawn

Of a most stormy life- was drawn

From every depth of good and ill

The mystery which binds me still

From the torrent or the fountain

From the red cliff of the mountain

From the sun that round me rolled

In it’s autumn tint of gold

From the lightning in the sky

As it passed me flying by

From the thunder and the storm

And the could that took the form

When the rest of heaven was blue

Of a demon in my view

You Are the Future -Rainer Maria Rilke

innergiggle — Thu, 15 Apr 2010 18:45:45 +0000

You are the future,
the red sky before sunrise
over the fields of time.

You are the cock’s crow when night is done,
you are the dew and the bells of matins,
maiden, stranger, mother, death.

You create yourself in ever-changing shapes
that rise from the stuff of our days—
unsung, unmourned, undescribed,
like a forest we never knew.

You are the deep innerness of all things,
the last word that can never be spoken.
To each of us you reveal yourself differently:
to the ship as coastline, to the shore as a ship.

Ode to Gaiety – James Broughton

innergiggle — Thu, 15 Apr 2010 18:42:35 +0000

Ode To Gaiety

Go gloom
Begone glum and grim
Off with the drab drear and grumble
It’s time
its pastime
to come undone and come out laughing
time to wrap killjoys in wet blankets
and feed them to the sourpusses

Come frisky pals
Come forth wily wags
Loosen your screws and get off your rocker
Untie the strait lacer
Tie up the smarty pants
Tickle the crosspatch with josh and guffaw
Share quips and pranks with every victim
of grouch pomposity or blah

Woe to the bozo who says No to
tee hee ho ho and ha ha
Boo to the cleancut klutz who
wipes the smile off his face
Without gaiety
freedom is a chastity belt
Without gaiety
life is a wooden kimono

Come cheerful chums
Cut up and carry on
Crack your pots and split your sides
Boggle the bellyacher
Convulse the worrywart
Pratfall the prissy poos and the fuddy duds
Take drollery to heart or end up a deadhead
at the guillotine of the mindless

Be wise and go merry round
whatever you cherish
what you love to enjoy what you live to exert
And when the high spirits
call your number up
count on merriment all the way to the countdown
Long live hilarity euphoria and flumadiddle
Long live gaiety
for all the laity

The Summer Day – Mary Oliver

innergiggle — Thu, 15 Apr 2010 18:39:16 +0000

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

In Silence – Thomas Merton

innergiggle — Thu, 15 Apr 2010 18:31:18 +0000

In Silence

Be still.
Listen to the stones of the wall.
Be silent, they try
To speak your

Name.
Listen
To the living walls.
Who are you?
Who
Are you? Whose
Silence are you?

Who (be quiet)
Are you (as these stones
Are quiet). Do not
Think of what you are
Still less of
What you may one day be.
Rather
Be what you are (but who?) be
The unthinkable one
You do not know.

O be still, while
You are still alive,
And all things live around you
Speaking (I do not hear)
To your own being,
Speaking by the Unknown
That is in you and in themselves.

“I will try, like them
To be my own silence:
And this is difficult. The whole
World is secretly on fire. The stones
Burn, even the stones
They burn me. How can a man be still or
Listen to all things burning? How can he dare
To sit with them
When all their silence
Is on fire?”

Love after Love – Derek Walcott

innergiggle — Thu, 15 Apr 2010 18:28:41 +0000

Love After Love

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

Velvet Ribbon- Christianna Garrett-Martin

innergiggle — Thu, 15 Apr 2010 18:20:53 +0000

Velvet Ribbon
I would take my love, fragile and tender
and wrap it up in a velvet ribbon
And present it to you on a silver salver.

I will tread softly beneath the descending shadows
And gaze at your soul as you lay sleeping.

Open your eyes to me, see this passion boiling over
As clouds disrupt the ever moving sky.

I drag my skirts along the winding hallway
Rustling through the menacing shadows.

I find myself in a solitary tower, I lay my hair
Upon the ground.
I will place my beauty before you, laid wide open.

Take heed of my smile, it masks deep feelings.
Look behind my eyes, they are pools of
disappointment in a tragedy of errors.

Can you handle my pain of miserable madness?
Are you man enough for me? -

As I whisper to you, “can you make me happy?”

But you don’t pass your gaze my way.
I am invisible to you.
You do not hear my words of confession.
I have presented my feelings, on a plate.
Given you the prize.

Take my love wrapped up in a velvet ribbon
Do with it as you please.

I climb a sturdy oak, but each branch snaps
As I ascend.
Leaving me high with no way down.

I gaze through the clouds at the deep red sky.
It reminds me of my journey.

Unrequited love, oh what a lament.
Unfulfilled feelings, destinies child.

So I take my love fragile and tender
Carrying my salver with a velvet ribbon
Crushed upon the plate.

Head hung low, shoulders stooping
Dragging my feet along the corridors of fate.

A sharp ray of light prisms through the stain glass window
It hits the floor at acute angles, vibrantly bright.
I shield my eyes from the rays shards

I drop the salver it clanks and rattles
Spinning around.

Stooping to pick up the velvet ribbon
I clutch it to my heart.

Scurrying off down the spiral staircase
Skirts tripping me as I go
I crack my head on the concrete floorway
Spilling my grief, expelling my fears.

I wake to behold a vision of perfection
A face of kindness stood before me
“Give to me your velvet ribbon and
All that it hold dear”.

I submit to this higher plain
I let go of my wretched history.

I am at one with myself.
Looking towards my palms
There is blood trickling down
But I don’t feel any pain.

Gazing up at the perfect stranger
He holds out his hand, and I take it.
As he leads me towards the ultimate journey.

Carl Sagan Quotes

innergiggle — Thu, 01 Apr 2010 02:20:15 +0000

For the first time, we have the power to decide the fate of our planet and ourselves. This is a time of great danger, but our species is young, and curious, and brave. It shows much promise.

We wish to pursue the truth no matter where it leads. But to find the truth, we need imagination and skepticism both. We will not be afraid to speculate, but we will be careful to distinguish speculation from fact. The cosmos is full beyond measure of elegant truths; of exquisite interrelationships; of the awesome machinery of nature.

Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.”

You see, the religious people — most of them — really think this planet is an experiment. That’s what their beliefs come down to. Some god or other is always fixing and poking, messing around with tradesmen’s wives, giving tablets on mountains, commanding you to mutilate your children, telling people what words they can say and what words they can’t say, making people feel guilty about enjoying themselves, and like that. Why can’t the gods leave well enough alone? All this intervention speaks of incompetence. If God didn’t want Lot’s wife to look back, why didn’t he make her obedient, so she’d do what her husband told her? Or if he hadn’t made Lot such a shithead, maybe she would’ve listened to him more. If God is omnipotent and omniscient, why didn’t he start the universe out in the first place so it would come out the way he wants? Why’s he constantly repairing and complaining? No, there’s one thing the Bible makes clear: The biblical God is a sloppy manufacturer. He’s not good at design, he’s not good at execution. He’d be out of business if there was any competition.

The sky calls to us. If we do not destroy ourselves, we will one day venture