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    Thread: Poet's dream worlds

    1. #1
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      Poet's dream worlds

      Poet's dream worlds

      Some poets built solid dream worlds, then, shared them In print. Here is an example

      Reedy River by Henry Lawson

      Notice how you spontaneously see and feel what the poet sees and feels

      Press the ➨

      And let the him buitl the Dream world for you

      ♥★

      An Australian Folk Song A Day: Reedy River

      ★♥

      Here are the [b] magical/[b] words

      ☆☆☆

      Ten miles down Reedy River, a pool of water lies
      And all the year it mirrors the changes in the skies
      And in that pool's broad bosom is room for all the stars
      Its bed of sand has drifted, o'er countless rocky bars

      Around the lower edges, there waves a bed of reeds*
      Where water rats are hidden and where the wild duck breeds
      And grassy slopes rise gently to ridges long and low*
      Where groves of wattle flourish, and native bluebells grow

      Beneath the granite ridges, the eye may just discern*
      Where Rocky Creek emerges from deep green banks of fern
      And standing tall between them, the grassy sheoaks cool*
      The hard, blue-tinted waters, before they reach the pool

      Ten miles down Reedy River one Sunday afternoon*
      I rode with Mary Campbell to that broad, bright lagoon*
      We left our horses grazing till shadows climbed the peak*
      And strolled beneath the sheoaks on the banks of Rocky Creek

      Then home along the river, that night we rode a race*
      And the moonlight lent a glory to Mary Campbell's face*
      I pleaded for our future all through that moonlight ride*
      Until our weary horses drew closer side by side

      Ten miles from Ryan's Crossing and five below the peak*
      I built a little homestead on the banks of Rocky Creek*
      I cleared the land and fenced it, and ploughed the rich, red loam*
      And my first crop was golden when I brought my Mary home

      Now still down Reedy River, the grassy sheoaks sigh*
      The water-holes still mirror the pictures in the sky
      The golden sand is drifting across the rocky bars*
      And over all for ever go sun and moon and stars

      But of the hut I builded, there are no traces now*
      And many rains have levelled the furrows of my plough*
      The glad, bright days have vanished, for sombre branches wave*
      Their wattle blossom golden above my Mary's grave

      ☆☆☆

      Remember

      Waking reality (the outer-world) dies
      Dream reality (the inner-world) lives
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    2. #2
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      In 1970 a little 10 year old girl recited a poem at a talent quest and won first prize. Guess Who? (heeheehee). Learning a ballad to the point where you can render it smoothly from the heart, not needing to look at the words, takes you rite into the dream world of the poem (ecstasy!!!)

      You have to use a beat to get the rhythm and learn to commit the verses to memory. A beat like ...

      da d-da d-da
      da d-da d-da

      But once you've got it down verbatim (doing it daily with the script for weeks) then the magic starts ... and then you begin to go into "Reverie" and begin to render the poem with all your personal emotions, (without music). In "Reverie" you enter the inner-world, (the dream world), while awake.

      Here is the poem my mum helped me learn for a 1970 country talant contest.

      ○○○
      Click video number 3 for the best rendition of the entire Man from Snowy River poem,

      Scroll down to

      3. The man from Snowy River, 1890

      It used to be on Youtube but maybe these people bought it. It took me ages to find

      So Enjoy

      ○○○




      iconic Banjo Paterson bush ballads - Australian Geographic



      ☆☆☆

      THE MAN FROM SNOWY RIVER
      by A.B. "Banjo" Paterson (published 1890).


      There was movement at the station,
      for the word had passed around
      That the colt from old Regret had got away,
      And had joined the wild bush horses -
      he was worth a thousand pound,
      So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.


      All the tried and noted riders
      from the stations near and far
      Had mustered at the homestead overnight,
      For the bushmen love hard riding
      where the wild bush horses are,
      And the stockhorse snuffs the battle
      with delight.


      There was Harrison,
      who made his pile
      when Pardon won the cup,
      The old man with his hair as white as snow;
      But few could ride beside him
      when his blood was fairly up -
      He would go wherever horse and man could go.


      And Clancy of the Overflow
      came down to lend a hand,
      No better horseman ever held the reins;
      For never horse could throw him
      while the saddle girths would stand,
      He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.


      And one was there,
      a stripling
      on a small and weedy beast,
      He was something like a racehorse
      undersized,
      With a touch of Timor pony -
      three parts thoroughbred at least -
      And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.


      He was hard and tough and wiry -
      just the sort that won't say die -
      There was courage
      in his quick impatient tread;
      And he bore the badge of gameness
      in his bright and fiery eye,
      And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.


      But still
      so slight and weedy,
      one would doubt his power to stay,
      And the old man said,
      "That horse will never do
      For a long a tiring gallop - lad,
      you'd better stop away,
      Those hills are far too rough
      for such as you."

      So he waited
      sad and wistful -
      only Clancy stood his friend -
      "I think we ought to let him come," he said;
      "I warrant he'll be with us
      when he's wanted at the end,
      For both his horse and he are mountain bred.


      "He hails from Snowy River,
      up by Kosciusko's side,
      Where the hills are twice as steep and
      twice as rough,
      Where a horse's hoofs strike firelight
      from the flint stones every stride,
      The man that holds his own
      is good enough.

      And the Snowy River riders
      on the mountains make their home,
      Where the river runs
      those giant hills between;
      I have seen full many horsemen
      since I first commenced to roam,
      But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen."


      So he went -
      they found the horses by
      the big mimosa clump -
      They raced away towards the mountain's brow,
      And the old man gave his orders,
      "Boys, go at them from the jump,
      No use to try for fancy riding now.
      And, Clancy,
      you must wheel them,
      try and wheel them to the right.
      Ride boldly, lad,
      and never fear the spills,
      For never yet was rider
      that could keep the mob in sight,
      If once they gain the shelter of those hills."


      So Clancy rode to wheel them -
      he was racing on the wing
      Where the best and
      boldest riders take their place,
      And he raced his stockhorse past them,
      and he made the ranges ring
      With the stockwhip,
      as he met them face to face.

      Then
      they halted for a moment,
      while he swung the dreaded lash,
      But
      they saw their well-loved mountain full in view,

      And they
      charged beneath the stockwhip
      with a sharp and sudden dash,
      And off into the mountain scrub they flew.


      Then fast the horsemen followed,
      where the gorges deep and black
      Resounded to the thunder of their tread,
      And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and
      they fiercely answered back
      From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead.

      And upward, ever upward,
      the wild horses held their way,
      Where mountain ash
      and kurrajong grew wide;
      And the old man muttered fiercely,
      "We may bid the mob good day,
      No man can hold them down the other side."


      When they reached the mountain's summit,
      even Clancy took a pull,
      It well might make the boldest
      hold their breath,
      The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and
      the hidden ground was full
      Of wombat holes,
      and any slip was death.

      But
      the man from Snowy River
      let the pony have his head,
      And he swung his stockwhip round
      and gave a cheer,
      And
      he raced him down the mountain
      like a torrent down its bed,
      While the others stood and watched
      in very fear.


      He sent the flint stones flying,
      but
      the pony kept his feet,
      He cleared the fallen timber
      in his stride,
      And the man from Snowy River
      never shifted in his seat -
      It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride.


      Through the stringybarks and saplings,
      on the rough and broken ground,
      Down the hillside
      at a racing pace he went;
      And he never drew the bridle
      till he landed safe and sound,
      At the bottom of that terrible descent.


      He was right among the horses
      as they climbed the further hill,
      And the watchers on the mountain
      standing mute,
      Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely,
      he was right among them still,
      As he raced across the clearing in pursuit.

      Then they lost him for a moment,
      where two mountain gullies met
      In the ranges,
      but a final glimpse reveals
      On a dim and distant hillside
      the wild horses racing yet,
      With the man from Snowy River
      at their heels.


      And he ran them single-handed
      till their sides were white with foam.
      He followed like a bloodhound on their track,


      Till they halted
      cowed and beaten,
      then he turned their heads for home,
      And
      alone and unassisted
      brought them back.

      But his hardy mountain pony
      he could scarcely raise a trot,
      He was blood
      from hip to shoulder from the spur;
      But his pluck was still undaunted,
      and his courage fiery hot,
      For never yet
      was mountain horse a cur. (a Curse)


      And down by Kosciusko,
      where the pine-clad ridges raise
      Their torn and rugged battlements on high,
      Where the air is clear as crystal,
      and the white stars fairly blaze
      At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,

      And where around The Overflow
      the reed beds sweep and sway
      To the breezes,
      and the rolling plains are wide,
      The man from Snowy River
      is a household word today,
      And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.

      The Bulletin, 26 April 1890.

      ☆☆☆

      0 replies | 39 view(s)@ 9pm Wed 2-Sept-15
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    3. #3
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      (1/172) I ♡ this thread started by DreamLord1in Lucid Dreaming ⇨ Dream Control ⇨ Created a persistent dream realm;

      Replied too by (Melatonin, Mzzkc, LLucido, Sageous, Sensei, sisyphus, Kaan, Patience108, JoshMcNaught, cooleymd and DreamCafe11).

      OpheliaBlue and gab had to pop-in to keep things coooool hahaha.

      It is a great argument.

      Here is the link. There are 57 replies and 1,473 views at this time:



      http://www.dreamviews.com/dream-cont...eam-realm.html



      This man

      Forum code:*

      The late, Beloved, Dr Robert Van De Castle was helping me build a Persistant Dream Realm through this Mandala

      Forum code:*

      onto this real geological location, Henley Beach Jetty:

      Forum code:*

      For mutual dreaming, entangled dreams and waking-life synchronicities.

      The main thing about creating this me and rvdc Persistant Dream Realm is to make so there is nothing that would frighten an infant incorporated into the gentle realm.

      To this end, the mandala IS the infamous Expecto Patronum Spell)



      https://youtu.be/iiWRoMOeoLo

      ♥(1:58) 242,811 views since Sept 27, 2008


      The**(Expecto Patronum) is the most famous and one of the most powerful defensive charms known to wizardkind.[4]*It's an immensely complicated, very difficult*spell*that evokes a partially-tangible positive energy force known as a**(pl.[5]) or*.[3]*It is the primary protection againstDementors*and*Lethifolds, to which there is no other protection.

      From here

      Patronus Charm - Harry Potter Wiki

      Henry Reed's April 15, 2008 daily mandala IS the Patronum (me thinks). Scroll down to it on this page

      The Daily Mandala: April 2008

      Here it is

      Forum code:*


      My and rvdc's persistent dream realm is accessible through the mandala AND protected by the mandala.

      Amedee likes this.
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