Poem

I've heard a story,
about a man and his thoughts,
of what lies beneath the ivy,
about a tale of tragedy.

I thought things were going really, really well between us, we’d been together almost 3 months. We had talked about our wants/needs/goals/life plans. We agreed that our lives meshed well and we were excited about the future. She showed me off to all her friends and coworkers, posted sweet things on social media. Always made me feel loved and cared for. For the first time in my life I felt secure in a relationship, like not afraid of the person leaving or cheating on me. Last week she bought a book for us to fill out that has like couples milestones in it and cute little relationship things. But then Monday abruptly she texted me that she didn’t see us working out long term because we are too different and she wanted to end things. I just feel so blindsided. We spent the weekend together and it was great, like it always had been. I asked her if we could try to work it out and she just said it just wouldn’t work. She also just texted me all this, which in hindsight is kind of shitty.
I’m on my period so i’m probably taking this harder than usual. I just don’t get what went so wrong. I’m afraid like maybe I did or said something and she is using this as an excuse to break up? i’m almost afraid to ask for more details because I don’t want to seem desperate, like I can’t let it go. She has been stressed about work lately and she does have bpd, but I am not sure if this is related? I wished her well and it was amicable, no drama. But I’m just now starting to really feel the pain.
I just really thought things were great. She wrote a poem for me just a few days ago and it was so sweet. Now I’m sitting here wondering if anything she said was real. Am I actually any of the nice things she said? It gave me so much confidence and now i’m just broken.
Advice?

I live near Thane, Maharashtra, India.
I work as an assistant professor of English. I enjoy reading, writing, singing, and hate wasting time on my phone (but guess which one I do the most). Not my fault really, things are pretty lonely and this stupid screen keeps me from being miserable (not really, the hatred I have for it does the job instead).
Anyway, I would love to have a bestie. We'll talk about everything under the sun, and roast each other, and we'd play badminton, and sing songs, and I'll show you my poems, and I'll write you poems!
And all ice-cream treats on me, forever!
If you're interested, DM me!

I work as an assistant professor of English. I enjoy reading, writing, singing, and hate wasting time on my phone (but guess which one I do the most). Not my fault really, things are pretty lonely and this stupid screen keeps me from being miserable (not really, the hatred I have for it does the job instead).
Anyway, I would love to have a bestie. We'll talk about everything under the sun, and roast each other, and we'd play badminton, and sing songs, and I'll show you my poems, and I'll write you poems!
And all ice-cream treats on me, forever!
If you're interested, introduce yourselves in my DM! ❤️

My bf behaved unfaithfully a couple years ago and it’s been an ongoing issue since. He didn’t cheat physically, but he did flirt and entertain other women we knew (both hidden from me and literally in front of me). Then he tried to pin blame on me (for calling it out) and didn’t apologize or admit wrongdoing for a long time. It absolutely destroyed my trust, I hadn’t had any issues with him having women friends and also thought he could handle a coworker hitting on him himself, but he betrayed my trust on both fronts.
I used to be the kind of woman who was just so in love. I wrote poems to him, painted art on a whim for him. I would drop racks on gifts. I loved him so much even when I had my suspicions about his infidelity. I apologized and took the blame when he told me I was the problem for calling him out.
I’ve tried very hard to get over it, especially his behavior towards one of his woman friends, but instead I find myself being a less loving partner and being venomously jealous towards this other woman. It’s not even about our relationship anymore, my jealousy has evolved beyond that. It’s obsessive and creepy and it makes me hate myself and hate her, when she doesn’t deserve that. I’ve only ever been kind to this woman face to face, but I am two-faced. I hate seeing her and I hate hearing her name (my bf used to bring her up nearly everytime we hung out, and even now people who know her almost constantly bring her up, she is a likeable person, especially for men). And it’s brought up complicated feelings about my ethnicity too.
I know I need to find the right therapist for this, but is there hope? Or will it always be this way? Have any of you recovered from toxic jealousy?

Her majesty truly a blessing yet a curse Symbolizing both heaven and hell Her beauty sweeter than nectar Cruelty darker than tar Sweet melody from her lips Creating widows over the globe A slave to her highness The blind can even feel her gaze Without eye is needed to recognize elegance Eyes gleaming all that fall beneath her Insects crawl towards her charming appearance The filth wanting nothing but lust Suffer internally for they can never obtain A treasure out of their grimey hands Selective few get a glimpse of her love Sweeter than honey satisfying all for how pleasing it is Even maggots awake to realization The garage they consume became bitter
Cruel yet so magnificent

Hey! Springtime is here and it always brings out my spontaneous side. But this time I'd like to share it with someone.
I'm into arts a lot (writing, drawing, playing musical instruments), gaming (on my RPG era, love a good read) and swimming is my favorite sport in order to keep fit.
I'm looking for someone open minded, with whom I can discuss different topics. If we get along well I'd like to meet up someday, as I can pretty much go anywhere on the world. I'm a very calm and non judgemental person, so I believe I can create a safe space for you to be you.
If this meant anything to you, feel free to dm me! I might even share a poem or two with you :)

Thanks to Scott Burke for pointing out this Doka ("poem/song of the way") by Morihei Ueshiba that appeared in "Aikibudo o Kiku", from Shin Budo Magazine, October 1941.
Aikibudo o Kiku - 1941
”惟神光と熱の合気道, 世をば清めん八紘の玉”
Kannagara hikari to netsu no Aikidō, Yo wo ba kiyomen, Hakkō no tama
Aikido,
The Light and Heat of Kannagara,
Jewel of the Eight Directions,
Purifies the World.
Briefly, "Kannagara" refers to the "Way of the Gods", a metaphorical reference Morihei Ueshiba often used to refer to the interaction of Yin and Yang.
The interaction of Yin and Yang creates heat and light - a reference to the creation of internal power - martial power.
The "jewel" is a term that Morihei Ueshiba often used to refer to the Dantian - so, the interaction of Yin and Yang here creates internal power, martial, physical power through the Dantian.
What about the last section about the eight directions? Well, here we see, once again, Morihei Ueshiba's fondness for multiple layers of meaning.
In one layer we see that he is saying that the interaction of Yin and Yang creates internal power, martial power, physical power, through the Dantian, expressed in all directions through the body.
But that's not all! Yin/Yang and Heaven-Earth-Man cosmologies in China and Japan were commonly seen as kind of "universal field theories" that explained physical theories of martial body usage, mental theories of psychological balance, health oriented theories, and socio-politically oriented theories.
Here Morihei Ueshiba uses the Kanji for "Eight Cords", in reference to "Hakko Ichiu", the Japanese political slogan meaning the divine right of the Empire of Japan to "unify the eight corners of the world.", a slogan that formed the basis of the empire's ideology. It was popularized in a speech by Prime Minister Fumimaro Konoe, Morihei Ueshiba's patron and student, on January 8, 1940. Konoe was also on the board of directors of Morihei Ueshiba's Kobukai organization, the predecessor for the modern Aikikai.
In other words, there was another layer of meaning, in which Aikido was meant to be a process through which one worked to purify the world in order to unite it in a ultra-nationalist right wing Empire under the aegis of Japan and the Japanese imperial family.
Ellis Amdur referred to this concept in "Hidden in Plain Sight":
"Ueshiba saw himself as a kind of avatar, instrumental in ushering in a golden age of redemption, the unification of Heaven, Earth, and Man. To a considerable degree, he was unconcerned about whether others became avatars like himself. He regarded aikidō practitioners as living out their fate as appointed by their ‘chief guardian deity,’ doing the work of the ‘spiritual proletariat,’ accumulating merit and energy through aikidō practice, just as the followers of the Byakkokai did by prayer, while Goi, another avatar, did the hard work."
Morihei Ueshiba restated this basic idea in 1960:
合気道は宇宙万世一系の大いなる道なり。
"Aikido is the Great Way of the Universal Bansei Ikkei."

• Morihei Ueshiba in the "Takemusu Aiki" lectures, 1958~1961

"Bansei Ikkei" is the "unbroken Japanese Imperial line", and here Morihei Ueshiba again refers to one of his primary goals for Aikido, expressed both before and after the war, as a way towards establishing a "paradise on Earth" - in other words (as he would say elsewhere in the same post-war lectures), a right-wing ultra-nationalist religious utopia under the aegis of the Japanese empire.
One last thing - notice the interesting use of the word "Aikido"? The Aikikai states that the name "Aikido" was adopted in 1942. Minoru Hirai, who often claims credit for the implementation of the name through his work with Dai Nippon Butokukai, also stated that this occurred in 1942. But here we see that the phrase was actually in use somewhat earlier, concurrent with "Aiki Budo" (as in the title of the article).
This persisted after the war, as recounted by Hiroshi Tada:
"GuillaumeErard.com: When you started, was it already called "Aikido"?
Tada Hiroshi: When I was admitted it was not called that yet, it was called “Aiki-Budo”. There was no official name. "
Morihei Ueshiba himself stated in a post-war interview that the name "Aikido" was adopted some time after the war, at the suggestion of an official from the Ministry of Education, which throws another issue on the pile.
What does the naming mean? Likely, much less than many people think. It's common to read significant meaning into name changes, but the name of Morihei Ueshiba's art changed many times over the years, primarily, it seems, due to the influence of parties...other than Morihei Ueshiba, who was, as far as I can tell, massively disinterested in what the art was actually called.

The Cenacle 124 April 2024 29^th Anniversary Issue
https://scriptorpress.com/cenacle/124
[Size = 13.6 MB]
Hello everyone,
Here comes the just-released Cenacle 124 April 2024. Returning to the desired quarterly issue cadence that has been missing for the past couple of years. It was hard doing this issue without the usual many years’ involvement of my dear poet friend, the late Judih Weinstein Haggai, but her poetry features in this issue nonetheless, & will remain so in each issue ever on.
Thus far, 2024 for the human world has been a fairly dark one. The global Pandemic has not ended, though millions risk sickness & death for themselves & others by choosing to join in a kind of mass amnesia about the crisis. Meanwhile, the climate crisis continues to get the same kind of hostile indifference. The genocide in Gaza goes on unabated by any of the many powerful & supposedly democratic nations of the world. And a likely felon has jazzed the US electoral process, its weaknesses & flaws among its many strengths, to be within reach of again taking over &, as he has vowed, taking revenge.
I can’t tell you that this literary journal operates toe to toe on the global scale to oppose these various human catastrophes, but I can say that if we don’t seek Beauty, & Nature, & look beyond the petty fuckeries of the current day, we are much more likely to be lost than if we find a way to do this.
This fine anniversary issue features new poetry by Tamara Miles, Martina Reisz Newberry, Colin James, Sam Knot, Jimmy Heffernan, Judih Weinstein Haggai, & myself.
Also new fiction by Timothy Vilgiate, Algernon Beagle, & myself. And classic fiction from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
And new prose pieces by Nathan D. Horowitz, Charlie Beyer, & myself.
There is also new graphic artwork by AbandonView, Epi Rogan, Louis Staeble, Kassandra Soulard, Sam Knot, Tamara Miles, & Nathan D. Horowitz.
Contents of this new issue include:
From Soulard’s Notebooks [Excerpt]
I find myself leaning back often into 3 questions that I believe most influence human psychology & human culture:
1) Why are we here?
2) Where are we from?
3) What are we supposed to be doing?
* * * * * *
Feedback on Cenacle 123 [Excerpt]
I made it to the first poem by Judih Weinstein Haggai, sank into it, breathed it, needed it, and couldn’t go further into the issue yet. But it’s beautiful. And Kassandra Soulard’s cover photo: wow.
(Tamara Miles)
* * * * * *
From the ElectroLounge Forums:
Selections from Unknot 24, Part 1[Excerpt]
A project that I expect to work on for the rest of my life and never finish is a kind of art project playing with meaning making and the first few layers of knots, so this is all part of that really. I suppose it is a way to give a kind of focus or even kind of “abstract grounding” to some other kind of activity which isn’t necessarily even directly related to or about it.
(Sam Knot)
* * * * * *
Haiku from a Silent Retreat (7/31/2021) [Excerpt]
by Judih Weinstein Haggai
Everybody!
Are you everybody?
I’m not either
* * * * * *
Notes from New England:
Dream Raps, Volume Thirteen [Excerpt]
by Raymond Soulard, Jr.
Now that my friends are gone, the very shy Creatures who sometimes visit my hovel begin to come out, sniffing friendly their hellos. Accept my offer to cluster with me under the blankets, them being cold as ever when outside of the White Woods. White Bunny, Hedgedyhog, Peppermint Bears, Kittees & their Friend Fish. Alvinarah Poesy, & his dear friend Naria Narwhal. Even that cackling little Imp is under there somewhere. They never stay long, but I love them passing through. They’re excited about the Rutabaga Festival & Fleastock in the White Woods, I’m guessing.
* * * * * *
Becoming Archaeology: A Eulogy for Living Moor. (Part Two) [Excerpt]
by Sam Knot
It moves me more than any painting
or poem, seems to encode more meaning,
personal & planetary, than any other art,
this simple offering. This intricate gift.
* * * * * *
Notes Toward Many Musics [Excerpt]
by Raymond Soulard, Jr.
I believe a Narrative should always lead with the best it has, its most potent moment or image or the like. And let this lead set its standard. When I think of the Narrative options for these poems, I come back every time to starting from the start. These poems build on years & years of the work it took to get the six Brother-Heroes reunited rightly, after telling their unique stories as rightly as possible too. I did the best thinking & writing that I could.
* * * * * *
Poetry by Martina Newberry [Excerpt]
Tall on the dirty stage,
from my notebook I conferred
my poems. No time limit,
no faces, noises of shifting
dust and cars out there somewhere,
I read for many minutes,
emoting here and there,
hands rising and falling,
singing through some.
* * * * * *
Rivers of the Mind (A Novel) [Excerpt]
by Timothy Vilgiate
I could not help but fear that he’d attack me as I laid there; I lost count of how many times I got up to check my locks or to peek underneath the bed. I turned over and over, rocking the mattress like an unsteady boat, straining to keep my eyes shut. It was no use. Midnight came, and I was still awake; my hair matted over my irritated face, my blanket clutched in between my hands over my mouth as I tried to stop myself from sobbing. But I couldn’t let it see me cry. I couldn’t let it even see me blink.
* * * * * *
Poetry by Tamara Miles [Excerpt]
A lion’s music—a carnival of sound, beyond the roar of reserve, park, zoo, circus, and
safari, the wild kingdom beyond the definition of safe and unsafe, cruel or kind, in
sub-Saharan Africa, or in India, Gir forest, where the heart beat and drum beat and
incense are heavy.
* * * * * *
The Lagoon of the Air Goblins (Travel Journal) [Excerpt]
by Nathan D. Horowitz
I’m dehydrated from the sun today. I haven’t rehydrated. My hydration’s out of wack. It seems an eternity, maybe two, since I ordered a glass of papaya juice. Inside the café, mysterious café things may be happening, involving blenders and workforce and fruit and power. Time’s ticking by and it sounds like trees falling into a river. I glance at the red and white checkered tablecloth and remember I’ve always hated red and white checkered patterns. Serafín the educator said he would meet me here to tell me about the Secoya cosmovision, and he isn’t showing up.
* * * * * *
Poetry by Colin James [Excerpt]
Episodically craved by adolescents,
Prometheus displays his tats
behind The Dollar Store in Bonita.
The one with the plastic pillars.
* * * * * *
Mad Jack (Prose) [Excerpt]
by Charlie Beyer
We were longhaired teenage criminals. I looked like Jesus and my best buddy had flaming red shoulder-length hair, the devil to rival my divine look. Scott the Red. We were all hair, except Mad Jack (or Bob, as I knew him), who was as shaved as a plastic bag. We all sat in the car outside the 7-11 in the night rain. Blue smoke trickled out of the cracked window. Inside was a haze of marijuana smoke tainted with opium. We were high and crazed.
* * * * * *
Poetry by Jimmy Heffernan [Excerpt]
The moment to which we have access
So Nature can “see” through time
And what is this but awareness?
A tunneling from the immediate future
Back into the present
* * * * * *
Bags End Book #21: What is the Creature Carnival? Part 3 (Fiction) [Excerpt]
by Algernon Beagle
It makes me remember how our teacher Mister Owl in Bags End teached how different places have their different ways of thinking & telling. So if you’re gonna watch a Creature production, whether it’s the Carnival, or a Grand Production, or this time both, you’re gonna be in 4or a good crazy ride.
* * * * * *
The Hound of the Baskervilles (Classic Fiction) [Excerpt]
by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings, save upon those not infrequent occasions when he was up all night, was seated at the breakfast table. I stood upon the hearth-rug and picked up the stick which our visitor had left behind him the night before. It was a fine, thick piece of wood, bulbous-headed, of the sort which is known as a “Penang lawyer.” Just under the head was a broad silver band nearly an inch across. “To James Mortimer, M.R.C.S., from his friends of the C.C.H.,” was engraved upon it, with the date “1884.” It was just such a stick as the oldfashioned family practitioner used to carry—dignified, solid, and reassuring.
* * * * * *
Labyrinthine [A New Fixtion] [Excerpt]
by Raymond Soulard, Jr.
I’m distracted just as this strange fellow appears on stage with some kind of tool in his hand. He is very fancily dressed, some kind of home-made tuxedo? Or one sewn from many scraps? And he starts to recite a poem, I think, in a tongue I don’t know, when something distracts me.
Peace,
Raymond Soulard, Jr.
Scriptor Press New England
scriptorpress.com
[editor@scriptorpress.com](mailto:editor@scriptorpress.com)

Hi. Good evening. Boring night? Let's talk about life and shits.
About me:

• 23 yrs old -curvy/chubby -5'0 (sakto sa forehead kisses mo)
• you can talk to me about life, issue ng pinas na hindi matapos, work, study, and shit.
• can handle a conversation
• virgo
• loves reading and writing (books and poems)
• rider (I know how to drive motorcycle)
• from rizal

About you: -tao -may cellphone -nakakausap - taller and older than me - working
Hmu! ❤️

Its Yabushiges:
My dead body
Don't burn it, don't bury it
Just leave in the field
And with it, fill the belly of some hungry dog
This goes so hard. Such a raw, honest, and cynical piece of poetry, and yet peacefully resigned with the idea of death. I love Marikos and Toranagas works as well, but coming from a dude like Yabushige it just hits way harder. The man who did everything he could to escape his ultimate fate, and yet was always strangely fascinated by it. I feel like there's a recognition of kinship with the hungry dog - an opportunist, in the right place at the right time. I don't know if he feels unworthy of the rituals or just doesn't care for them. Either way, the cherry on top of a fantastic character arc.

First thought were these songs:
The Lakes: “Take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die, I don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you”
Ivy: “Your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand”
Coney Island: “And do you miss the rogue who coaxed you into paradise and left you there? Will you forgive my soul when you’re too wise to trust me and too old to care?

I recently wrote an IGCSE Literature Unseen paper, in which we got the poem "Just by Chance" we do not get the name of the poet, nor any details about its provenance. I've been trying to find this poem but neither google nor any AI searching tools are giving me any results, perhaps it's a very unknown poem published in a book or so, maybe one of you might be able to help me out. I do not remember the exact words but it had references to the city of Limerick, Russet Hair, River Shannon, and the general theme was about the speaker wanting to kiss their lover.

I don’t remember having surgery they tell me I did my tongue was clipped my tonsils ripped I didn’t feel it I didnt feel it My mom was scared, she was blue I assume She thought I was going to die the white guardian angel was gonna fill the room It would’ve been fine if I did die no angels needed nothing for me here Im alright I swear I’m alright but my tongue was clipped yes maybe Im in bedsheets I’m making time I’m thinking of things I shouldn’t be Im upset at the TV I bark to the wood floor my mom was frightened and sad I say . It shares no response it stares at me instead a cold gaze It delivers my tonsils are gone my tongue is clipped my exasperation is getting bigger
I have questions . I can’t help it . how much of myself was in those tonsils if maybe I still had them would I be wittier or wiser . I think about what was left in my tongue could I taste things that could make me famous? or maybe they’d lock me away for differnt reasons this time I’ll never know I guess if I bled from it if I felt it If im witty enough or if ill ever feel small enough If maybe things would be different if maybe things would’ve been different

I have recently found a book full of them and they made me laugh. My parents and teachers always encouraged me and said I had a real talent, but reading over them they were awful! Full of unnecessary and flowery words I’d found in a thesaurus and forced awkward lines to make the poems rhyme… One stood out though, the earliest one I’d found written when I was ~7yrs old. I thought I’d share it here:
How to catch a star
I thought I might go to sea And pretend I was drowning and call for help; But the star ignored me; And floated higher in the sky. Perhaps I might ask my friend, If I can borrow his bird and ride up to it. But once the bird was high it stopped there for a day And then drifted to the ground

Big head, small frame, a mind that soars,
Struggles to walk and fight for what's right.
Small head, broad build, a body of might,
Yearns for a brain to set things right.
Both sides of life, a lopsided game,
Can they find balance, can they be the same?