Silicon Investor (SI) -- The First Internet Community

STOCKTALK

We've detected that you're using an ad content blocking browser plug-in or feature. Ads provide a critical source of revenue to the continued operation of Silicon Investor. We ask that you disable ad blocking while on Silicon Investor in the best interests of our community. If you are not using an ad blocker but are still receiving this message, make sure your browser's tracking protection is set to the 'standard' level.

Pastimes : Favorite Quotes -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Volsi Mimir who wrote (10009)	12/21/2002 11:43:14 AM
From: HG	Respond to of 13018

Break Me to Prove I Am Unbroken You say you will come Again; this time I will wait through The extra burning, the vicinity of your Tongue making a slow way toward beginning and this Then becomes the argument, the only one In the collar of moonlight as finally I cause you To answer your several names. It is all About return, enough faith to live On whatever remains. While your hand looks For the broken glass of what has not Happened yet, it breaks everything Along the way. The old vines tighten Around the untended kingdom while some still sleep And the long approach Of no footfall becomes the road I hurry home on To a place where I learned to leave the body Not so much in safety but with the best intentions, And into the smallest space I crawl, a taste of mud, An edge of light into the room so each morning the world Can solve itself against our abandoned stones. –Sophie Cabot Black *Happy holidays to you too.

To: Volsi Mimir who wrote (10009)	12/22/2002 3:21:29 AM
From: HG	Respond to of 13018

Crows love midwinter mornings as I do staggering, black and shiny--out of their asylum. Mornings so cold the air is seized in the impasse of its bitterness, a white, violet mist hovering in the absence. They drop from the naked trees for what remains. Suet that hangs in a cage, tethered to a limb. Too bright, like lacquered boxes. Too bright the shine on them. Not yet defined from darkness. We hope for what we understand, pain that comes and goes and comes like winter, in welcomed revelations. A cardinal blooming on some January thorn. Doves weeping, eating seeds that rained through cracks. Sparrows purchased for pennies in Jerusalem and eaten by the poor. It's what we learned by repetition, first having, then not having. Seeing and not seeing. Not a force of darkness spinning on beyond our reach. Jesus says to live like crows. It's remembering the sermon as one of them jabs its black beak in the suet. Don't worry a minute of your life. Don't gather stores for winter. Don't plant or harvest. But the other birds are worried. A blue jay swoops under a nearby pine shrill with jealousy. And a sparrow in a leafless redbud is occupied by a mute terror. In another account by the French explorer, de Creve Coeur, crows leave a man hanging in a cage with his eyes picked out, staring out of nothing at the empty horizon. I'm outside. I'm shivering. I begin to not understand the need I have to gather details. That rabbis, for example, forbid mentioning of crows in prayer. Or Pliny thinking crows were absent-minded and couldn't find their ways back home. I can't stop shivering. The search for paradise, for the pain that goes away, was not a search but a wandering. Haphazard. And the black roots so deep in me. The bitterness. It's staggering. --Marlon Ohnesorge-Fick <Crows>

To: Volsi Mimir who wrote (10009)	1/7/2003 1:25:59 AM
From: HG	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 13018

She woke covered in emerald dreams. They drank their tea in wavering mist, and then dressed in fallen leaves. All this silence with its mouth half open. The day rolled by in a little wagon made of gold. By noon she was ready for bed again. They swam to an island made of butterflies and loved while the wind sang a song about fire and the soul and long journeys with no end and no begining. They voted for a giraffe to represent them and were arrested and fell asleep again. - James Tate <The Second Mrs Tyler>