Jessica Bibbee

Posts Tagged ‘deep’

20140225

In aphorism, tale on 20140226 at 11:06

《What Is, What Wills》

Once upon the deep, dwelled two pairs of seafaring lovers.

Both lived rather normal lives aboard their ships on the sea, full of ups and downs, as anyone would expect to see upon the sea.

On calm seas, both pairs made love with the illimitable passion of lovers held at bay.

But the sky does what a sky wills, and so oft brewed blackened clouds with the inevitable unknown beyond. It was in these times that the difference between the lovemakers was never more lucid.

For when the storms blew in, as only a fool could deny the inevitability of, the seasoned couple ceased their lovemaking, wisely understanding their lovemaking to be powerless against warding off the mighty storm. To them, worry was a more worthy and more rewarding charm.

The other couple continued to make love like only reckless lovers knew, much to the chagrin of the other lovers. And it was true that the lovers’ lovemaking did nary a thing to make the storm go away, to shorten the waves, or to lessen the impact.

Also true was it, that the cessation of the other lovers’ lovemaking neither did anything to encourage the passing of the storm.

For a truth is a truth as is a sail a sail. Wisdom lies in wielding a truth, not simply holding a truth.

For in the end, to the common eye, it was plain to see that lovemaking -and its lack thereof- had absolutely nary a thing to do with the coming of the storm, the size of the storm, nor the passing of the storm.

With the passing of a storm, what remained for the eye to see was but two sets of lovers at sea and two kinds of love as they so fit to see.

One, a weakened bond of fair weather lovers, who made love only when the sea was calm, losing only the opportunity to love each other through and so weather a storm together.

The other, a strengthened bond between the lovers, who made love without regard to a storm (or was it very much with regard to the storm?), losing only themselves in each other whether or not came the weather.

For a storm is what only a storm wills, and love is only what love wills.

20081011

In aphorism, proverb on 20081011 at 19:43

Dig deeply to get a bit of dirt on another and get even more dirt on yourself.

What is not forgiven is for suffering.

Who does not forgive is given to suffering.

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.