[honeydumplin]

The disciples were absorbed in a discussion of Lao-tzu's dictum:

Those who know do not say;
those who say do not know.

When the Master entered, they asked him what the words meant.

Said the Master, “Which of you knows the fragrance of a rose?”

All of them knew.

Then he said, “Put it into words.”

All of them were silent.

Retold by Anthony de Mello
One Minute Wisdom
copyright 1988
p. 137

This poem is about a couple of people named Bogey, and Bergman
in a movie called Casablanca.

"Facsimile Thereof"

Ab ovo ensconced, behind a guise to dance
With a chance hereby enhanced.
A pearl aloof crowded stares.

A fancied tune titivates a tale scuples entail
By burdens betwixt gaited glares.

Arriving for waters; just a girl in a desert for starters,
About where the despised somehow seem to be trusted,
And a candid kiss is much more, than just a peck
via fore
A rainy iron-kneed gavotte box becomes rusted.

Hiding a hair's breath humming reel--a struggles appeal
By an hour glass configured, 'twas fairly dated.
As can be for soi-distant pari passu of escapes
born anew.
For even the tame, over time, become jaded.

Historic voices of Berlin have now grown grey and few,
While a gal twice man-tranced still likes to wear blue;
And hence the cliché, "Here's looking at you...",
Is far too well--overrated.

Nigh an eve pro prior to a bell of aurora,
Trenchant, and collected by fare,
A slightly-tilted, forward falling firth, from a fedora,
Gently ran on nodded modes near trouvre.

With nare noetic warning, nor doubted disclaimer,
A freedom fan flared, necessitated to namer her,
And flew her to a tour of a dear on a lease;
A pair of visas visa vis, a yon, trained deprivation chamber.

Far from a slave to a diminishing diameter, she sprung
like a rose in iambic pentameter,
Ceded not to the cranks of the grinder,
Whom traveled afar with no hope to find her.

But a coarsely-haired lass lay not in the prose
Of pourboire clubs donning shews of con crows,
Albeit feazed by a break of ties, with evanescent bows.

Strange as though, lured-like liberty,
Proceed through a path of lucidity,
When which enjoined in a tickled purdah
of melody,
Oozed a silent tune ivory.

Pondering the pond of posted proposal in lieu
Of dignity at the disposal,
She returned back to the cringed brede that blew
Winds baroque feminine, chivalry.

Whence feat of the moment pranced it,
She moved to the truce: Exit of transit.

Ventured in a purpose plane tight,
As should a proved deuce tide to delight.