Bit of this and a bit of that

AND FINALLY, SOME INSPIRATION.
From an old hero, whom I still read with great joy. Today, the English variants. Slightly reminiscent of a certain couple I...ship. A lot. Just capturing the tone and feel between them, and so wonderfully accurate too. Touching. Of course, the writer wouldn't have known. He won't ever know. But it amazes me, and delights me, to read such fabulous poetry that suits such poetic dynamic. It proves, once more, how everything and everyone are connected. Bits of this and that mould and tie up, continuously, and the links subsequently discovered are surprising and hilarious and - sometimes sad. I still find it extremely fascinating, though. Along with the number of other strange facts originated from our old planet earth. Here are some excerpts:

First, from the epic "One of a million midnights" by Gunnar Alme. Breathtakingly beautiful. Basically brilliant. Me love and adore. © 1950, all rights served.

"Him
do I meet
here in the shadow of you,
and I follow his fottprints
from nowhere
to nowhere.

I can see him grow old
although he is ever young.
I can see him grow young
although he shall always be old.

It is all the same
with the things that were
and the things that are
and the things that are yet to be - "

From "A dream" by Gunnar Alme, who remains the po(t)et's poet idol. Like picturing the places they went. And the places they'll both dream of going. Together. Again. © 1950, all rights served.

"The city of crystallized smiles
and the tower of frozen tears.

The ruins of burned wishes
and the forest of faded aspirations.

The caves of petrified kisses
and te meadwo of stolen adventures.

And last
the pond of forgotten beauty."

From - oh, heck, I couldn't resist this time either. This is me, mine, mimicry. "Unmerited/Theft". By Scaramouche, the po(t)et. Stealing sensory material and mood skills. Yay. © 2007, all rights served.

"I was empty
like a water bucket, once a drained
tomorrow morning
Fed on grass
I could not generate a single drop
of common poision
As the rifer sand
spilled through the hands of mighty
souls who profess
Fallacy indictment
whilst they bear the bundled keys
to concave vision
Slaughter much;
admittance to, unlimited, totality
they eschew nothing
Whilst, I cannot spare
I don't excell, I have been tugged
too scanty on their scale
They named profiency
of what was brimming, fringeless
never unfamiliar but rapt
And I was formed
not fabricated, maladjusted, yet upright
some sort of token
Too opalescent for them;
although in lack of water to be mirrored in;
I'll shun the ordained masses
Ceased to consumate
what I must not embrace, but rather stole
I seek no more"