Sarah L. Brinklow• Show poetry

The Poetry of Sarah L Brinklow

Finger Lakes Anthology!

and my original work, c. 2002: at amazon.com or preferably through me!
My work can also be found in the
Pinnacle Hill Review, (c)2005.
Women Celebrating Women Anthologies, (c)2004, (c)2005 Palettes and Quills
IM me if interested.

I had a past lives reading that in one of them I  was a Sumerian Queen...who lived in Ur, not far from Baghdad (now I know why I hate the war!) Im gonna go chill in my Ziggerat now, and communicate with the heavens. Later.

This is what I believe:      "That I am I. That my soul is a dark forest.  That my known self will never be more than a little clearing in the forest. That gods, strange gods, come forth from the forest into the clearing of my known self, and then go back.      That I must have the courage to let them come and go.  That I will never let mankind put anything over me, but that I will try always to recognise and submit to the gods in me and the gods in other men and women."« -- D.H. Lawrence: Studies in Classic American Literature, Benjamin Franklin                                           

more d.h. lawrence: We should ask for no absolutes, or absolute. Once and for all and forever, let us have done with the ugly imperialism of any absolute. There is no absolute good, there is nothing absolutely right. All things flow and change, and even change is not absolute.«

-- Why the Novel Matters Politics - what are they? Just another, extra-large commercial wrangle over buying and selling - nothing else.« -- Democracy, I The Average i found this on the net. i wish i had the artist to credit. if this is yours, please let me know and i will credit you. it is of assateague island where my kids and i went the last two  summers!»

Man must destroy as he goes, as trees fall for trees to rise. The accumulation of life and things means rottenness. Life must destroy life, in the unfolding of creation. We save up life at the expence of the unfolding, till all is full of rottenness. Then at last, we make a break.      What's to be done? Generally speaking, nothing. The dead will have to bury their dead, while the earth stinks of corpses. The individual can but depart from the mass, and try to cleanse himself. Try to hold fast to the living thing, which destroys as it goes, but remains sweet. And in his soul fight, fight, fight to preserve that which is life in him from the ghastly kisses and poison-bites of the myriad evil ones. Retreat to the desert, and fight. But in his soul adhere to that which is life itself, creatively destroying as it goes: destroying the stiff old thing to let the new bud come through. The one passionate principle of creative being, which recognises the natural good, and has a sword for the swarms of evil. Fights, fights, fights to protect itself. But with itself, is strong and at peace.« -- St Mawr »

The Christian fear of the pagan outlook has damaged the whole consciousness of man. ...The instinctive policy of Christianity towards all true pagan evidence has been and is still: suppress it, destroy it, deny it. This dishonesty has vitiated Christian thought from the start. It has, even more curiously, vitiated ethnological scientific thought the same. Curiously enough, we do not look on the Greeks and the Romans after about 600 B.C., as real pagans: not like Hindus or Persians, Babylonians or Egyptians or even Cretans, for example. We accept the Greeks and Romans as the initiators of our intellectual and political civilisation, the Jews as the fathers of our moral-religious civilisation. So these are "our sort". All the rest are mere nothing, almost idiots. All that can be attributed to the "barbarians" beyond the Greek pale: that is, to Minoans, Etruscans, Egyptians, Chaldeans, Persians and Hindus, is, in the famous phrase of a famous German professor: Urdummheit. Urdummheit, or primal stupidity, is the state of all mankind before precious Homer, and of all races, all, except Greek, Jew, Roman and – ourselves! ... We look at the wonderful remains of Egypt, Babylon, Assyria, Persia, and old India, and we repeat to ourselves: Urdummheit! Urdummheit? We look at the Etruscan tombs and ask ourselves again, Urdummheit? primal stupidity? Why, in the oldest of peoples, in the Egyptian friezes and the Assyrian, in the Etruscan paintings and the Hindu carvings we see a splendour, a beauty, and very often a joyous, sensitive intelligence which is certainly lost in our world of Neufrechheit. If it is a question of primal stupidity or new impudence, then give me primal stupidity.« -- Apocalypse, VI For comedic relief, or just plain sad, dependent upon your perspective?

Evil, what is evil? There is only one evil, to deny life.« -- Unrhyming Poems, Cypresses »However smart we be, however rich and clever or loving or charitable or spiritual or impeccable, it doesn't help us at all. The real power comes in to us from the beyond. Life enters us from behind, where we are sightless, and from below, where we do not understand.      And unless we yield to the beyond, and take our power and might and honour and glory from the unseen, from the unknown, we shall continue empty. We may have length of days. But an empty tin can lasts longer than Alexander lived.« -- Reflections on the Death of a Porcupine and Other Essays, Blessed are the Powerful »Take nothing, to say: I have it! For you can possess nothing, not even peace.      Nought is possessible, neither gold, nor land nor love, nor life, nor peace, nor even sorrow nor death, nor yet salvation.      Say of nothing: It is mine.      Say only: It is with me.«
-- The Plumed Serpent, Lords of the Day and Night

We have curious ideas of ourselves. We think of ourselves as a body with a spirit in it, or a body with a soul in it, or a body with a mind in it. Mens sana in corpore sano. The years drink up the wine, and at last throw the bottle away: the body, of course, being the bottle.      It is a funny sort of superstition. Why should I look at my hand, as it so cleverly writes these words, and decide that it is a mere nothing compared to the mind that directs it? Is there really any huge difference between my hand and my brain? - or my mind? My hand is alive, it flickers with a life of its own. It meets all the strange universe, in touch, and learns a vast number of things, and knows a vast number of things. My hand, as it writes these words, slips gaily along, jumps like a grasshopper to dot an i, feels the table rather cold, gets a little bored if I write too long, has its own rudiments of thought, and is just as much me as is my brain, my mind, or my soul. Why should I imagine that there is a me which is more me than my hand is? Since my hand is absolutely alive, me alive.« -- Why the Novel Matters »My great religion is a belief in the blood, the flesh, as being wiser than the intellect. We can go wrong in our minds. But what our blood feels and believes and says, is always true. The intellect is only a bit and a bridle. What do I care about knowledge. All I want is to answer to my blood, direct, without fribbling intervention of mind, or moral, or what not.« -- Brev til Ernest Collings, 17/1 1913 »Kill money, put money out of existence. It is a perverted instinct, a hidden thought which rots the brain, the blood, the bones, the stones, the soul.« -- Pansies, Kill Money                       

****Wislawa Szymborska – Poetry The Joy of Writing
Why does this written doe bound through these written woods?For a drink of written water from a springwhose surface will xerox her soft muzzle?Why does she lift her head; does she hear something? Perched on four slim legs borrowed from the truth,she pricks up her ears beneath my fingertips. Silence - this word also rustles across the pageand parts the boughs that have sprouted from the word "woods."Lying in wait, set to pounce on the blank page,are letters up to no good,clutches of clauses so subordinate they'll never let her get away.Each drop of ink contains a fair supplyof hunters, equipped with squinting eyes behind their sights,prepared to swarm the sloping pen at any moment,surround the doe, and slowly aim their guns.They forget that what's here isn't life.Other laws, black on white, obtain.The twinkling of an eye will take as long as I say,and will, if I wish, divide into tiny eternities,full of bullets stopped in mid-flight.Not a thing will ever happen unless I say so.Without my blessing, not a leaf will fall,not a blade of grass will bend beneath that little hoof's full stop.Is there then a worldwhere I rule absolutely on fate?A time I bind with chains of signs?An existence become endless at my bidding?The joy of writing.The power of preserving.Revenge of a mortal hand. By Wislawa Szymborska (Nobel Prize, Literature, 1996).From "No End of Fun", 1967Translated by S. Baranczak & C. Cavanagh"I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ." Mahatma Gandhi

Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence.

-H.L. Mencken What is wrong then? The system. But when you've said that you've said nothing. The system, after all, is only the outcome of the human psyche, the human desires. We shout and blame the machine. But who on earth makes the machine, if we don't? And any alterations in the system are only modifications in the machine. - The system is in us, it is not something external to us. The machine is in us, or it would never come out of us. Well then, there's nothing to blame but ourselves, and there's nothing to change except inside ourselves.« -- Education of the People, I EH! My spawn, Whiteysgirl and Crazy J then. Go figure. it started out early lol....Whiteysgirl and Crazy J now...                                      

I have learned not to worry about love; but to honorits coming with all my heart."Alice Walker"Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passionmoves you, say what you've got to say, and say it hot."D. H. Lawrence"For whereas the mind works in possibilities, the intuitionswork in actualities, and what you intuitively desire, that ispossible to you. Whereas what you mentally or "consciously" desire is nine times out of ten impossible; hitch your wagon to a star,or you will just stay where you are."

D.H Lawrence
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"It is a fine thing to establish one's own religionin one's heart, not to be dependent on tradition andsecond-hand ideals. Life will seem to you, later, not alesser, but a greater thing."D. H. Lawrence"I have never seen a wild thing feel sorry for itself.A little bird will fall dead, frozen from a bough, withoutever having felt sorry for itself.
"D. H. Lawrence (1885 - 1930)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ADD ME TO YOUR FAVORITES hehehe

"The measure of a country's greatness should be based on how well it cares for its most vulnerable populations" Mahatma Gandhi

"I read the book of Job last night - I don't think God comes out well in it."Virginia Woolf (1882 - 1941)
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"The older one grows, the more one likes indecency."Virginia Woolf (1882 - 1941)
"Humor is the first of the gifts to perish in aforeign tongue."Virginia Woolf (1882 - 1941)                 
ADD ME TO YOUR FAVORITES!!!! LOL
"It is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submergedtruth sometimes comes to the top."Virginia Woolf (1882 - 1941)^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^"

But better die than live mechanically a life that isa repetition of repetitions."
D. H. Lawrence (1885 - 1930)

"I want to live my life so that my nights are not full of regrets."
D. H. Lawrence

"One watches them on the seashore, all the people, and there is something pathetic, almost wistful in them, as if theywished their lives did not add up to this scaly nullity of possession, but as if they could not escape. It is a dragon that has devoured us all: these obscene, scaly houses, this insatiable struggle and desire to possess, to possess always and in spite of everything, this need to be an owner, lestone be owned. It is too hideous and nauseating. Owners and owned,they are like the two sides of a ghastly disease. One feels a sort of madness come over one, as if the world had become hell.But it is only superimposed: it is only a temporary disease. It can be cleaned away." D. H. Lawrence

"The muse whispers to you when she chooses, and you can't tell her to come back later, because you quickly learn in this business that she might not come back at all"~~Terry Brooks

"The Heart wants what it wants---or else it does not care---"-Emily Dickenson

My true name is Sarah, whether yah wanna believe it or not. I ammom to a son, John (Crazy J on AP!) and a daughter, Casey (Whiteysgirl) on AP. Both are too damned talented..!!! ¨`: @)}->-

-Guinevere-------------------------------------------------------------------- ---Guinevere had green eyes like yours, my lady, like yourswhen she'd walk down through the garden in the morning after it rained.Peacocks wandered aimlessly underneath an orange tree. Why can't she see me? Guinevere drew pentagrams like yours, my lady, like yourslate at night when she thought that no one was watching at all on the wall.She shall be free. As she tones her gaze down the slope to the harbor where I lay, anchored for the day. Guinevere had golden hair like yours, my lady, like yours,streaming out when we'd ride through the warm wind down by the bay yesterday. Seagulls circling endlessly, I sing in silent harmony. We shall be free. Crosby Stills Nash and Young
:¨` :  : .@)}->--. : ¨` : @)}->-- . :¨`  : .@)}->-- .@)}->--. : ¨`: @)}->-- . :¨`  : .@)}->--. "

"For most of history, Anonymous was a woman."
Virginia Woolf~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people."Virginia Woolf~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~"Women have served all these centuries as looking-glasses possessing the magic and delicious power of reflecting thefigure of a man at twice its natural size."

Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own (1929)

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"Literature is strewn with the wreckage of men whohave minded beyond reason the opinions of others."Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own (1929)

"I have lost friends, some by death... others through sheer inability to cross the street."Virginia Woolf, The Waves (1931)

"Each has his past shut in him like the leaves ofa book known to him by heart and his friends canonly read the title."Virginia Woolf (1882 - 1941)=

"I meant to write about death, only life camebreaking in as usual."Virginia Woolf (1882 - 1941), Diary, 17 February 1922+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Once conform, once do what other people do because they do it, and a lethargy steals over all the finer nerves and faculties of the soul." Virginia Woolf (1882 - 1941)----------------------------------------------

-----------------------------Enjoy AP and writing....~Poetry will Save You~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


.....I am someone the likes of which you have never known. I think if you stop by, kick off your shoes and take the time to get to knowme and read some of my work, you just may  find a tear in your eye from a memory I evoke in your recollecting..... or a smile that turns into a laugh you cannot contain...     Be at peace here, enjoy me... I feel like Rhiannon up there in the clouds ~You  put me here ::the Goddess smiles down from the heavens  

*former editor of the former ap publication darkwrite*