Jessica Bibbee

Posts Tagged ‘call’

20120516

In aphorism, proverb, rumination on 20120516 at 23:59

Without an outrage, a wrong is not a scandal.

Impatience is the supernatural disappointment of mortal expectations.

Rome wasn’t built in a day, but Earth… was?

Who imagine forgiveness, realize peace. Who imagine revenge, realize war.

Imagine a society that accepts its responsibility to support each person as equally as it expects each person to respect its rule. Imagine if just one person supported a single other person, regardless of their imperfect past, embracing them for who they have the potential to be. Imagine a society that can forgive each other, that we may realize a future together.

To become independent is to be freed.

Independence is a form of freedom. Dependence is a form of captivity.

The independent must collaborate, the dependent must delegate.

The guilty act defensively, the guiltless need not act -they are defenseless.

Who is without guilt is without need for defense.

The fool argue a truth with a falsity.

Calling a piece of shit “a piece of shit” is not to be negative, it is to acknowledge truth, to refuse judgment.

To compliment where an insult is due is to refuse the truth.

Who deny the truth fool themselves.

Being me is the greatest challenge I could ever face -when I do that, everything else is a cinch. When I don’t, everything is a task.

The greatest deception, the greatest revelation -is of the self.

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20120504

In aphorism, proverb on 20120504 at 12:28

The fool call it a ‘mid-life crisis’; the wise call it a ‘near-death awakening’.

There is no greater death than that which is lived.

The fool live without breathing, the wise without expiring.

Ride out the storm; get your spurs on!

When at last the fool can hide no longer from the light of day, a hole is dug.

20101203

In aphorism, chinese, idiom, proverb, rumination on 20101203 at 12:59

Diversity is a reality, not a verb; the challenge is to embrace and nurture it.

The fool that listens not, will hear not when deafness calls.

A false accuser trammels with threat, shackles with blame, condemns with guilt.

Tis easier for the fool to exit, than for the wise to enter. 出门容得,入门难得。

20100928

In haiku, rumination on 20100928 at 17:36

《climb》
success you call it
the social ladder, you are
but one step ahead.

20100811

In aphorism, bon mot, proverb on 20100812 at 02:23

What do you call a young female horse whisperer? A linguafilly, of course! [see linguaphile]

A fool deserves neither respect nor disrespect.

The grass that freely grows is not begging to be mowed.

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.