Jessica Bibbee

Posts Tagged ‘until’

20150815

In aphorism, proverb on 20150815 at 23:55

A bat will never see the light.

The fool has much desire to speak and offers little to say.

Until we make efforts for peace, we will make excuses for war. 

The fool argue sides, the wise argue issues.

Who explains without end has yet begun to understand. 

Who points a finger in blame has nary another point to offer. 

Advertisements

20150629

In aphorism, poetry, proverb on 20150630 at 23:55

Green, is grass, until it is brown.

A single chain is more worthy than many a link. 

20150517

In aphorism, poetry on 20150517 at 23:21
The peaceful road is a lonesome road, and the lonesome road is a peaceful road. 


In the desert, a drought is, until the first drop of rain. 

20131009

In poetry, rumination on 20131009 at 21:03

《the way》
dear little one,
the world is yours.
the world was yours
even before you belonged
to it.
it was, is, and will be
your redemption as often
as it will be your nemesis.
do not be afraid, for fear
will not carry your burdens
nor will it shelter you
from the elements.
have hope as much as will
allow triumph
over the ills of present,
but none so much that
you deceive yourself
of the realities of the future
or the consequences of the past.
days of sorrow will weave
a tight knit alongside joy,
neither with warning
nor with limitation.
you shall persist because
you know of nothing else,
not only because you will it.
for as a mortal, possibility
is as finite only as is time.
what tomorrow will bring you,
yesterday has already taken
away, with a fluidity that
surprises with subtlety.
you will love and hurt,
feel pain and transfer pain.
you will always forgive
because the alternative
is no alternative.
fairness and justice
will oft be at odds
with one another and for you.
you will not always deserve
your destiny, but you will
decide not to deny it.
for tonight, the sun sets low,
but tomorrow, high,
high shall the sun rise up.
oh, little one, until tomorrow,
good night.

20110706

In aphorism, proverb on 20110707 at 01:39

Save a few that go dormant, plants continue to grow until there is no more life left -sometimes in visible spurts of vertical growth, other times in invisible hardiness.

Sometimes it takes a storm to quench a flower’s thirst.

The physical blossoms when the emotional is nourished, not diseased.

Time has the patience of infinity.

20080908

In aphorism, proverb on 20080908 at 01:03

Laugh first and you shall laugh last.

Don’t wait until you go someplace. You are someplace.

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.