Jessica Bibbee

Posts Tagged ‘back’

20120129

In aphorism, poetry, proverb, tale on 20120129 at 19:09

It took more than the kiss of a princess to turn a frog into a prince. It took a fairy tale.

Be who you want to be -not only for that it might make a difference to others, but for that it will make a difference in you.

One can live a fairy tale, but never shall one die in the same fairy tale.

《if you will》
from life, is derived experience.
from experience, is derived wisdom.
from wisdom, is derived life.

The only thing worse than being shat on is realizing that it’s of your own doing.

Relationships are like energy: once established, they cannot disappear, only change form.

Methinks myself exempt / methinks myself a fool.

Life is too short to be held back by: others, fear, fear of others, others’ fear.

One of the best rewards of teaching is learning.

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20110719

In aphorism, proverb on 20110719 at 10:14

The desert dweller prays for rain, but is prepared not for the storm.

The fool waits for the rains to sow his seeds.

The fool tames a beast he cannot feed.

Fantasy is the reality of the fool.

To judge another’s rationale is simply to impose one’s own motive upon another’s actions.

Climax not without the crescendo; lo, the fool is clueless, the wise is cognizant of.

Life, ’tis a puzzle.

Cast a worm, catch a fish.
[Other times, cast a worm, drown a worm.]

The fool act without understanding.
The lay do not act, understanding only of consequence.
The dilettante do not act, understanding not of impact.
The wise act with understanding of impact.

Consequence impels the fool; impact propels the wise.

Hold experience dearly, opinions loosely.

Project that which is beneficial to others;
Retain that which is worthy of possession;
Relinquish all else.

The wise balance output with input, teaching with learning, giving with receiving, apology with forgiveness.

Prudence in opinion, abundance in perception.

Share candid opinions as you would fresh onions -sparingly and with consideration.

From the valley, espy the peak.

Cash not backed by gold is but pretty paper.

20100128

In aphorism, proverb, rumination on 20100128 at 13:32

Tho’ another’s burden we might carry on our back, with clenched hands do we carry our own.

Every person holds a different memory; every nation writes a different history.

20090914

In aphorism, proverb on 20090914 at 07:14

If you find it easy to count all of your misfortunes, it may be because it is too hard to tally all of your fortunes.

A fool, lacking virtue, seeks violence.

A burdened back is a broken back to the fool and a bettered back to the wise.

A truth exists, no matter how it is phrased or who ignores it.

The sun is set upon the horizon.

Virtue is like the horizon, always in sight, though less often reached.

20090719

In rumination on 20090719 at 09:34

[on Progress]

Where the way is not lucid, only forward is there to go, for a step backwards, no matter which direction we may face, is against all that speaks of progress. When only the future is to be seen, with a forward step and equal progress, shall we greet it.

20090617

In aphorism, proverb on 20090617 at 02:08

Any successful relationship must be shared as do two sides share a single piece of a paper, flexing front and back, and never like the two halves of a paper, top and bottom prone to tear.

20060131

In poetry on 20060131 at 23:10

《the sex of poets》

The sex of poets emanates –
flowing as without edges,
contagious as without knowing;
words play
back and forth –
a rhythm, ever changing,
follows whereby one leads
until the pull of the next.
One moment
as without definition,
nor clearly sided with neighbors –
rolling one to the next.
Beckoned without call,
it is from a distance that
one sees deep into the heart
where life seems both
to stop and start, again –
without pause and
with the haste of lovers
kept at bay, unwilled.
The words sear clear,
sharp and pure.
They exist alone,
and yet are fed
by the hunger of ideas
yet tossed,
yet exposed –
as if the virgin ever lived
within the eyes of the soul;
forever waiting,
forever with hunger –
fresh as the moment to follow.

The sex of poets lingers
past the setting sun
into the morning dew,
where one knows not for sure
if the climax be truer
at the final release of
thoughts never felt, – or
perhaps at the time
of response; the
lover’s words, a compliment,
meshing with, as if one.
Almost beyond a reality,
the words live on
to dance without end,
to breed a careful song –
as if in tales of lore,
existence never certain.
Fleeting, though strong;
Skirting, though present –
The moment speaks not
of tangible truths
that speak of tomorrows,
but rather the window
rarely looked into –
it is there
it is waiting,
but cannot be taken with you,
nor fed to the mortal –
only to continue
in the souls of lovers –
perhaps truer than
the love of lovers itself.

The sex of poets preys
upon the passion saved
over years and decades
desires of the flesh
never satisfy the wound
of ages past
of pains neglected
merely masking in mum
the yearning ever mounting
to release with a single
sound
The silence is broken,
fears relinquished;
the rebirth of hopes
fills the air –
thick with the essence of now
and hint of next,
never to be sure.
The bliss lies within,
ever longing.
Separate worlds entwined –
an affair of the id
within…
Never lucid to the searching,
but in control.
When no longer logic bids you
surrender, at last call
with bursting souls;
hungrier still, the eve –
power of the word
has finally come, the time.