I Search

I search for that something called an Identity I search for the eternally dynamic being called 'me' I search for that ever-elusive ray of Hope That'll steady my walk on life's tightrope I search for that stroke of Brilliance That'll make me stand out among millions I search for that much-needed Common Sense That'll help me to decipher utter nonsense I search for that slippery thing called Fame That'll erase all my past memories of shame I search for that quality called Tenacity That'll help me cope with life's complexity I search for that something called a Carefree Life That'll remove me from worries and Danger's knife I search for something called an Identity And I still search for that being called 'me' Rony Patra

Time Drift (Raven Barnes -Identity)

In empty pickle



And mayonnaise jars,


Then reverently eyed


What we'd got--


Ripe throbbing balls


More head than tail


Some with teeny knobs--


The promise of feet--


Circling in a dizzy


With no way to get out;






We handled the tykes


Gingerly for the most,


But now and then


We'd accidentally


Drop a few


And a small black urge


Would grip our hearts,


Seeing them twitching


And jiggling like fools;


A poke


With a pointed stick--


A test, that was all--


To find the frog


Hidden


Inside the pollywog;






A tiny pop--it was done


Breaking open


The skin


That kept the insides


In


And the outside


Out--


That strange


Dividing


Line--


We already knew--


Once you stepped


Across--


You could never


Ever come back--






Entranced we watched


As a thin


White


Spaghetti string


Uncoiled


And spilled


While the rest


Was still


Squirming and flopping


In the steaming muck--






Strange to say


We felt slightly betrayed--


In that moment


A glimmer of truth,


A wince of disgust,


And turned


Our backs


On the sickening heap


Of gelatinous guck--


Then as quickly


Recovered what we'd lost:


A bigger pool bursting


With even bigger wogs--


*






We slid into summer


Fell with the leaves


Slept through winter


Melted in spring,


The brimming creeks


Waiting there for us;


Yes, in that curve


Of newborn light,


Despite the pulling


Inside our limbs,


We let go as much as we held


In those perfect transparent


Days of forgetting


And finding ourselves.


*






I stood there remembering


The tangle of thistle


The milkweed, the chickory,


The sunny buttercup,


the whirl, the buzzing


The throb,


The eternal leaping frogs--






All chewed up--






All choked under--






Tons of gravel--






A field of asphalt






Now smothered the earth


Where once


Time had filled our lungs.






It wasn't these changes


That were so unsettling


I haggled with myself,






But






The steady unwinding--






The unstoppable






Backward






Drift.

ANDREA GUERRA IDENTITY

Identity and Imagination




Identity and imagination, two faculties engaged in being,

Defined in conflict and shattered in sickness,

The first securing your bearings in the swell of life's being

The latter your navigation in the past and future of seeming

Where you plan your existence and futurity

Making your life irresponsible or a road to maturity;

Both necessary to poise of stability

And reaches deep to the bedrock of stability.

>>> “IDENTITY UNCOVERED” <<< (Ha-ha....! ! !)



You can’t run and hide any more…..,

We’ve got our crosshairs on you….,

Thought you were slick….,

But we’ve foiled your clever trick…..,

Now listen to the clock tick….,

Cause your time is running out….,

And you’re more nervous every minute….,

Because you put your foot in it….,

Now at the precise moment……,

You will be revealed…..,

And everyone will discover…..,

The identity you’ve concealed…….! ! !



…..Trade Martin,2006.



Identity by A. R. Ammons


1) An individual spider web

identifies a species:



an order of instinct prevails

through all accidents of circumstance,

though possibility is

high along the peripheries of

spider

webs:

you can go all

around the fringing attachments



and find

disorder ripe,

entropy rich, high levels of random,

numerous occasions of accident:



2) the possible settings

of a web are infinite:



how does

the spider keep

identity

while creating the web

in a particular place?



how and to what extent

and by what modes of chemistry

and control?



it is

wonderful

how things work: I will tell you

about it

because



it is interesting

and because whatever is

moves in weeds

and stars and spider webs

and known

is loved:

in that love,

each of us knowing it,

I love you,



for it moves within and beyond us,

sizzles in

to winter grasses, darts and hangs with bumblebees

by summer windowsills:



I will show you

the underlying that takes no image to itself,

cannot be shown or said,

but weaves in and out of moons and bladderweeds,

is all and

beyond destruction

because created fully in no

particular form:



if the web were perfectly pre-set,

the spider could

never find

a perfect place to set it in: and



if the web were

perfectly adaptable,

if freedom and possibility were without limit,

the web would

lose its special identity:



the row-strung garden web

keeps order at the center

where space is freest (intersecting that the freest

"medium" should

accept the firmest order)



and that

order

diminishes toward the

periphery

allowing at the points of contact

entropy equal to entropy.

Alone by Edgar Allan Poe

“Alone”by Edgar Allan Poe

Fareez Mamood




Edgar Allan Poe


From childhood’s hour I have not been


As others were—I have not seen


As others saw—I could not bring


My passions from a common spring—


From the same source I have not taken


My sorrow—I could not awaken


My heart to joy at the same tone—


And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—


Then—in my childhood—in the dawn


Of a most stormy life—was drawn


From ev’ry depth of good and ill


The mystery which binds me still—


From the torrent, or the fountain—


From the red cliff of the mountain—


From the sun that ’round me roll’d


In its autumn tint of gold—


From the lightning in the sky


As it pass’d me flying by—


From the thunder, and the storm—


And the cloud that took the form


(When the rest of Heaven was blue)


Of a demon in my view—

An Identity

An Identity by some girl (chevar cummings)

I had one once -


an identity

having one meant

the world to me -

an identity

before it was

taken from me

i knew who i

was and who

i'd become

without it I

was no one -

lost identity

i no longer

understood

understood the

meaning of life

i need it back -

my identity

Alone - Edgar Allan Poe (Jonathan Ceballos)

“Alone”

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

From childhood’s hour I have not been

As others were—I have not seen

As others saw—I could not bring

My passions from a common spring—

From the same source I have not taken

My sorrow—I could not awaken

My heart to joy at the same tone—

And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—

Then—in my childhood—in the dawn

Of a most stormy life—was drawn

From ev’ry depth of good and ill

The mystery which binds me still—

From the torrent, or the fountain—

From the red cliff of the mountain—

From the sun that ’round me roll’d

In its autumn tint of gold—

From the lightning in the sky

As it pass’d me flying by—

From the thunder, and the storm—

And the cloud that took the form

(When the rest of Heaven was blue)

Of a demon in my view—

"When I was one-and-twenty..." by A. E. Housman

"When I was one-and-twenty..." by A. E. Housman
-posting by Cristina V.-

When I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
'Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies
But keep your fancy free.'
But I was one-and-twenty,
No use to talk to me.

When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
'The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
'Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue.'
And I am two-and-twenty,
And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true

What Do I Want?

 By: Kara Douglas (Gilbert Noel)

I want to be a mystery, yet be known
I want to be together, yet alone
Is it too much to ask, To be famous yet unknown?
To be a wanderer, yet have a home?
My insecurity makes me sick,
Yet my confidence makes me thick
Can I be harmless, yet grip the stick,
Be completely smooth yet have a nick?
Can I live in a lie, yet be true
Can I be unique, yet so like you?
Have no control, yet know what to do?
Can I be ugly, yet beautiful too?
Answer me, I need your help,
Can you help me or someone else?
I need your help, can't you see,
Are you even listening to me?