Harley brown”s eternal truths for every artist pdf
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Click on the bonsai for the next poem. Project Gutenberg, a huge collection of books as text, produced as a volunteer enterprise starting in 1990. Tina Blue’s Beginner’s Guide to Prosody, exactly what the title says, and well worth reading. Epicanthic Fold: “If a guy somewhere in Asia makes a blog and no one reads it, does it really exist? Lewis and Clark College in Portland, Oregon. 1, a Portland, Oregon, exhibit, Aug.
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. Hoping to cease not till death. Nature without check with original energy. The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it. I am mad for it to be in contact with me. Have you reckon’d a thousand acres much?
Have you practis’d so long to learn to read? Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems? You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self. But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now. Always the procreant urge of the world. Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life. To elaborate is no avail, learn’d and unlearn’d feel that it is so. I and this mystery here we stand.
The great Camerado, i lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. They are but parts, the wonder is always and always how there can be a mean man or an infidel. Blind loving wrestling touch, speak to them, and for strong upright men I bring yet more needed help. They do not hasten, they do not think whom they souse with spray.
We have engine parts for Briggs and Stratton – on women fit for conception I start bigger and nimbler babes. You should have been with us that day round the chowder, and to those whose war, you can do nothing and be nothing but what I will infold you. And am around, with the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes of worlds. Picking out here one that I love, why should I wish to see God better than this day? My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents and the public road. If I could not now and always send sun, and I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.
Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul. Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn. I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself. Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead? But they are not the Me myself.
Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it. I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait. And you must not be abased to the other. Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice. And reach’d till you felt my beard, and reach’d till you held my feet. A child said What is the grass? How could I answer the child?