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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: a prioridots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: nansofast
    Elite Ratio:    5.7 - 2351/2103/268
    Words: 156
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 1296
    Average Vote:    5.0000
    Bytes: 1136



    Description:
       a priori refers to knowledge we know is true
    and is often debated in philosophy, a place where
    mental fencing is used to wear out the mind of an opponent, another place where ego might find a home, and still prove nothing..

    how to scrub between the puzzle pieces and leave the structure somewhat intact?

    thanks for sending your love..


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsa prioridots
    -------------------------------------------


    believing
    in life's ribbons
    like human lives,
    stretched across time
    parallel and silent in waves
    humming, translucent discernments
    of hues whose choices are always ours
    the broken ones, the Weaver can't fix
    without our consent

    and the gods, if they choose
    strike the ribbons from small to large
    harp, vagrant tremor of chaotic
    existence, like a piano dropped
    from seven stories up.
    Crashed

    Why are you here? the nurse in the day room asked.
    Because I am made of strings that extend all around
    to my family, my friends, they've been plucked too hard-
    many are broken. I've come to have them mended.


    there is nothing left to play
    life lives on its simplest level
    the judge dismisses all pending cases
    you might have won or lost.

    your father is leaving soon
    and has asked you to walk him home
    he believes you know the way




    Submitted on 2006-10-31 13:40:00     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

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    ||| Comments |||
      Herein may be seen a primary difference between the feminine and masculine mindsets. The feminine revolves around family and relationships. The masculine is focused on the "hunt". You write that which I cannot and so I believe that completeness is found in the union of both types of mind.

    "the judge dismisses all pending cases" I reached a point like that, at which point I then had a full appreciation of my own reality.
    | Posted on 2010-08-10 00:00:00 | by Blue Monk | [ Reply to This ]
      Here's a place we all come to sooner or later, often or not.
    | Posted on 2008-01-21 00:00:00 | by Blue Monk | [ Reply to This ]
      This is a priori Nan!
    I really enjoyed and felt the strong emotion in this piece - when someone is passing on we tend to evaluate the whys and what fors and what is our place in the world.

    I had a vision one day where I could see web-like silvery strings extending from everything and how things were really swaying in all directions. It's hard to explain but this piece made me think of that.

    I really admire your work and expression Nan!

    love,peace,joy&smiles to share

    tif
    | Posted on 2007-05-31 00:00:00 | by Epiphany | [ Reply to This ]
      believing
    in life's ribbons
    like human lives,
    stretched across time
    parallel and silent in waves
    humming, translucent discernments
    of hues whose choices are always ours
    the broken ones, the Weaver can't fix
    without our consent


    A sweeping, celestial intro... "life's ribbons" conjures DNA helixes floating through a galaxy, reminding me of Anne McCaffrey's Dragonbook series when I was a lot younger--the "humming, translucent...hues" bringing me to this imagery-filled conclusion. And like Sally said, the Weaver personifies so much as one of the Fates. For this is all about fate and destiny and us as shards of bright-balled consciousness... to me.

    and the gods, if they choose
    strike the ribbons from small to large
    harp, vagrant tremor of chaotic
    existence, like a piano dropped
    from seven stories up. Crashed


    A spiritual crisis, a palpitation in the Thread, discordant harps signalling this--I can imagine a piano being dropped from seven stories up and that would just... well, shock me. A cinematic touch.

    Why are you here? the nurse in the day room asked.
    Because I am made of strings that extend all around
    to my family, my friends, they've been plucked too hard-
    many are broken. I've come to have them mended.


    And now, this, the hospital. Always a place of anxiety and foreboding. But one where there is compassion and understanding.

    there is nothing left to play
    life lives on its simplest level
    the judge dismisses all pending cases
    you might have won or lost.


    A final decision by the judge. This is it. It is done and nothing more can be said.

    your father is leaving reality soon
    and has asked you to walk him home
    he believes you know the way


    I'm sorry about your father Nan, and hugs to you from the other side of the world. Such loss... but with loss comes beauty... in remembrance of all that mattered the most.

    Peace,

    Jase
    | Posted on 2006-11-09 00:00:00 | by alteredlife | [ Reply to This ]
      I sure picked a good time to return to ES, I am having such a great time catching up with all my fave people here. Unfortunately most of them are so prolific in output that i cannever comment on all they wrote, but "A Priori" struck such a deep chord with me that I just had to linger a while and say what I felt as it read it several times these past 2 days.

    believing
    in life's ribbons
    like human lives,
    stretched across time
    parallel and silent in waves
    humming, translucent discernments
    of hues whose choices are always ours
    the broken ones, the Weaver can't fix
    without our consent


    This first strophe is so strong yet deceptively simple in wording, creating a surreal feeling that fades deliberately in the next stanzas but still lingers , like a haunting apparition to evoke an overall feeling of the celebration of life and the endurance of the spirit through infinity.
    I liked the allusion to the Weaver, one of the Three Fates Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos.The myth tells that human fate was spun around a person at birth by divine Spinners .Your word choices, "stretched, parallel, humming, ribbons--" all lend to the overall image of a loom and the weaving of a fabric.

    Each individual life is a small part of a larger tapestry and is intimately connected by these threads to the fabric of family and friends surrounding them, and ultimately to all other llife and spirit in the universe.And that while we have little or no control of some aspects of lives--there are some things we can, we have "hues whose choices are always ours". -
    I liked that because to me that says that we can "color our world" no matter what physical or material limitations may be imposed on it.

    Furthermore you allow that even if we break ties [with those around us], the damage is not irreparable,--the "Weaver" can mend -- if we consent
    "and that the Weaver can't fix [our circumstances] without our consent."

    Nan , there is just so much going on here--you have laid the groundwork (warped the loom--) for a dozen or or poems. I liked that the threads --
    "stretched across time
    parallel and silent in waves
    "

    This is also reminiscent of Indra's Net where the horizontal threads are in space and vertical threads stretch through time and every crossing of threads there is an individual who is a multifacted bead or gem that reflects every other bead on the net.

    and the gods, if they choose
    strike the ribbons from small to large
    harp, vagrant tremor of chaotic
    existence, like a piano dropped
    from seven stories up. Crashed


    Here the threads, ribbons become the strings of harps (symbolic of divine instruments) and the metaphor transcends the physical tangible realm of threads and cloth to the more abstract plane of music and spirit.This strophe then evokes the feeling that human life (each ribbon) has some purpose to the gods, --but that during an individual's life he may often wonder how that can be true . If harmony and serenity are fundamental aspects of the divine, what god would use base, materialistic, warring mankind as the material with which to create a celestial tranquil eternity ?

    Here the silent question is "What can one insignificant mortal do when clearly the gods have predetermined our destiny and we seem individually to have little or no control over our lives

    I liked the single word "Crashed" and would even suggest it be on its' own, rather than tacked on to the last line. It has the effect of a hard slap and effectively leads us back to Earth, to the clinical ,physical reality of the day room.

    Why are you here? the nurse in the day room asked.
    Because I am made of strings that extend all around
    to my family, my friends, they've been plucked too hard-
    many are broken. I've come to have them mended.


    Here is where you link to the first strophe, the idea that all are connected, like a net--and that for the frayed or severed strings it is up to the individual to decide whether to --and when to mend them or not. This strophe to me was extremely poignant. It evokes a feeling of helplessness with the understated plaintiveness of a child, subtle images of a broken toy (like Pinnochio needing mending from Geppeto). I take "I've come to have them mended"--as meaning that the poet has come to make peace, to heal to forgive or to ask for forgiveness, to patch a weakened or damaged relationship so that the "Tapestry" may be made whole and strong again.

    I was reminded of times in my own life when I have sought to re-establish bonds with family or friends, bonds severed through reasons that now seem trivial and insignificant in the light of preserving love and peace. Mending also necessitates the binding of two separate strands--so you show us that it takes two to make one.

    there is nothing left to play
    life lives on its simplest level
    the judge dismisses all pending cases
    you might have won or lost.


    This strophe has a sobering cold tone to it , a third person speaking in a hushed aside on a nearly dark stage---this the stage of reality, of night and day, of seasons, and of life and death.

    What colors and textures our lives, what dresses that stage, are the relationships that transcend the physical and the material, --our connection to the spirit through empathy, compassion, and love and through art, --love for all living things , love of nature and inter-weaving our own alotted ribbons, however long, however humble, through those of family, community, and binding ourselves in this manner to the universe.

    your father is leaving reality soon
    and has asked you to walk him home
    he believes you know the way


    The father "believes you know the way"-- to me the word believes is crucial here. The path home could be just that of course, but we know HOME is a space deep in the heart , and that it transcends time, place and even death. There is a sense of peace and happiness here, that after all the snags and rents inflicted by fate and by our own human ego,that mending is not only possible but that we each contain within heart and soul, the miniscule tools and materials necssary for that task.But we have to Believe that first. Here your father believes--that you know the way---what more comforting salve could there be for you the child?

    [Here perhaps I might omit the word "reality"-- it tells something that you already led up to so delicately and effectively, that it doesn't need underscoring.]

    I loved this poem Nan and am faving it --at least until you take it down.
    I drafted a story this summer that had a similar theme, but was more of a fable or fantasy , where a tapestry divided the rooms of a humble shoemaker on the wordly plane,--but in fact was a thin wall between worlds, --the tapestry was woven along the threads of time and space and the shuttles wove little lives into it,----so each life had two sides --I think I am goig to dig out that manuscript right now--

    Love

    Sally
    | Posted on 2006-11-07 00:00:00 | by Silverdog | [ Reply to This ]
      I am a fan. This was something that made me jealous. One Helll of a write! Without writing your whole poem back to you I do have to point out my favorite part.

    "your father is leaving reality soon
    and has asked you to walk him home
    he believes you know the way"

    That was an excellent conclusion. This is going in my fav list.

    Tke care,
    Mike
    | Posted on 2006-11-07 00:00:00 | by fryte | [ Reply to This ]
      believing
    in life's ribbons
    like human lives,
    stretched across time
    parallel and silent in waves
    humming, translucent discernments
    of hues whose choices are always ours
    the broken ones, the Weaver can't fix
    without our consent

    and the gods, if they choose
    strike the ribbons from small to large
    harp, vagrant tremor of chaotic
    existence, like a piano dropped
    from seven stories up. Crashed

    Why are you here? the nurse in the day room asked.
    Because I am made of strings that extend all around
    to my family, my friends, they've been plucked too hard-
    many are broken. I've come to have them mended.



    Why are you here, Nan? To be mended or to mend? I'm leaning heavily on the latter, because the ties exist from your end of the string regardless of how thoroughly others have cut the knot from theirs. And as a good spiritual minimalist, what you are is what you live. Faith is always that simple...if we grasp it.

    Still in semi-retirement.
    Take care Nan o'the wisp.
    Bill.
    | Posted on 2006-11-02 00:00:00 | by rws | [ Reply to This ]
      Wow, nan, this was amazing. I truly love this piece, and it hit me sort of hard. It's a very hard thing to comfront, mortality, which is what this time of year is all about, more or less, for me. I'm glad that you were able to capture your emotions, and be able to shape it into a work of beauty. Thank the Gods for an outlet, because there are some people who don;t have that. Amazing work.
    As always, brightest blessings, Goddess
    ~Azura*
    | Posted on 2006-11-01 00:00:00 | by EmpathicAya | [ Reply to This ]
      Okay. While reading this poem, hum 'Close Every Door to Me' from Jospeh and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.
    It fits so awesomely.
    This is very sad, and sweet, in a very The Notebook way.
    Sorry to namedrop, lol- but they both fit so perfectly I had to.
    One correction: 'plucked to hard' needs to be 'plucked toO hard.' and there it is. Magnifique.
    ~Syn
    | Posted on 2006-10-31 00:00:00 | by Syn | [ Reply to This ]
      Wow! The lady is back in stride! Let's get the nit suggestions out of the way:
    S1: "transparent" to "translucent"; "hues in which choices" to "hues whose choices".
    S2: "small" to "little".
    S3: "plucked to hard" to "plucked too hard" (I assume that was your intent); "fixed" to "mended"
    S4: There is nothing" to "Nothing is".
    "The weaver can't fix / without our consent" feels alliterative even though it isn't. Very strange, but nice strange. This is sooo good! The imagery moves from the most abstract to the least, with the last 3 lines a simple expression of loss and love - the same way a philosophy argument moves from premises to conclusions, to their summings up. The voice change turns a corner gradually, yet is definitely marked by the 3rd stanza, mimicking going through a doorway. Easily a fave rave.
    fred
    | Posted on 2006-10-31 00:00:00 | by fredmelden | [ Reply to This ]


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