# Samson:



## dannyboy (May 1, 2016)

"The sun is within me and so is the moon"
Author: Kabir

Your hands
still embedded, minutely,
with fragments of bone
from the jaw of the jackass – how clearly 
you should have seen then,
the warning implicit in your weapon –
 and the flesh that covers your fingers, 
warm even now, ridiculed as your are,
chained and kept far from the sun,
flesh that has touched lips and breast and liquid essence, touch now
what your eyes can no longer see - and your mind explains to itself,
as only a mind can - how your eyes
have led you to this place; 
for in the dark
you have forsaken yourself, followed instead
the fallacy of the moon
whose weight is nothing
compared to yours and whose light
is but a reflection, like the lake that reveals
but has no reality, yet
you gave the moon all your secrets,
allowed the moon to remove your strength
and now
your two hands, hands that once held, caressed and fought,
rest upon the pillars of the temple
as you strive to bring everything down…

yourself

the moon



and the shame of being blind when the sun
gave you all the light you ever needed.


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## PrinzeCharming (May 1, 2016)

Hey, I'll offer my suggestions. Take these with an open mind. 



dannyboy said:


> Your hands
> still embedded, minutely,*[1]*
> with fragments of bone
> from the jaw of the jackass – a how clear ly  *[2]*
> ...




*[1]* I feel as if '*minutely*' takes away from, "*Your hands still embedded with fragments of bone*," which by itself is great imagery.  
*[2 - 2b] *The flow is more effective given you omit the extra words. My suggestion will create the revised, "_*a clear warning implicit in your weapon.*_" 
*[3]* Omit '*that*' as it's not needed. 
*[4] *'*Even now*' doesn't add anything, especially if it's in present perfect continuous, i.e. "has been". Omit extra letter, 'r' in *"you(r) are"*
*[5]* I really love the imagery here. This provides me a sense of limitation and boundary. 
*[6] *Omit the extra words to flow better. What's _'liquid essence'_? 
*[7] *Tighten this up with a simple change in word choice. 
*[8] *This isn't needed. It's already implied in the previous line. 
*[9]* No need for a preposition. 
*[10 - 10a]* Change 'whose' to 'its' as the sun isn't a _son_. 
*[11] *Omit and iron out. 
*[12 - 12b]* The last lines aren't needed. Yes, it feels like a nice philosophical touch, but the effect isn't as strong.

The rest is great!


*Revised Suggested Version: 

*Your hands
still embedded
with fragments of bone
from the jaw of the jackass – a clear 
warning implicit in your weapon 
and the flesh covers your fingers
warm, ridiculed as you are
chained and kept far from the sun
flesh has touched lips, 
breast and liquid essence touch  
blind to your eyes - and your mind explains to itself
- how your eyes
have led you to this place;
in the dark 
you have forsaken yourself, followed instead
the fallacy of the moon
its weight is nothing
compared to yours and its light 
is a reflection, like a lake
but has no reality, yet
you gave the moon all your secrets,
allowed the moon to remove your strength
and now
your two hands, hands that once held
 caressed and fought
rest upon the pillars of the temple
as you strive to bring everything down…

yourself. 


Let me know how you feel! I really enjoyed this! 

Thanks for sharing!


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## SilverMoon (May 1, 2016)

danny, you've turned the Biblical account of Samson's supernatural strengths to the demise of his own making into a lyrical, metaphorical lesson regarding Humility. All in all this poem is breathtaking.  A few notes:




dannyboy said:


> "The sun is within me and so is the moon"
> Author: Kabir
> 
> Your hands
> ...




What a treat as I'm interested in Mythology - how can one better make the mystical more mystical! Thank you, Laurie


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## dannyboy (May 1, 2016)

Thank you both for the work and  kind words. I'll be editing this soon.


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## dannyboy (May 1, 2016)

Samson: (edit 1)

"The sun is within me and so is the moon"
Author: Kabir

Your hands
are embedded with minute
fragments of bone, a tribute
to the jaw of the jackass—how clearly 
you should have seen then,
the warning implicit in your weapon.

The flesh that covers them—warm 
even now, (the ridicule you have become)
chained and kept far from the sun—flesh 
that has touched lips and breast and blood, 
touch now what your eyes can no longer see—
and your mind expounds, as only a mind can, 
how your eyes, lured by lunacy, have led you to this place; 
for in the dark
you have forsaken yourself, followed instead
the fallacy of the moon
whose weight is nothing
compared to yours and whose light
is but a reflection—a lake that reveals
but has no reality—yet
you gave the moon all your secrets,
allowed the sickle to shear your strands
and remove your strength; now
your hands, hands that once held, caressed and fought,
rest upon the two pillars of the temple
as you strive to bring everything down…

yourself

the moon

and the shame of being blind when the sun
gave you all the light you ever needed.


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## ned (May 2, 2016)

hello - like the edit 1, but is still too wordy, for me.

cut the little prose words and mess with the line-breaks to, perhaps, make this poem even more engaging.

Your hands embedded ....(get the reader's curiosity from the start)
with minute fragments ...(keep the mystery going) (minute= opportunity for a meaningful adjective)
of bone, pay tribute 
to the jackass jaw. ...(resolution, and a new aspect)
 Clearly, you should have seen ...(nice analogy here)
the warning implicit in your weapon ...(needs better phrasing here, I feel)

just a personal preference....to maybe dwell on
Ned


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## dannyboy (May 2, 2016)

Hi ned, 
thanks for the thoughts, my mind works differently to yours, I lead the audience differently,
as to the wordiness...yes well...an old habit...
Danny


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## dannyboy (May 18, 2016)

Samson: another edit (and a warning to ned - its even wordier).

"The sun is within me and so is the moon" 
Author: Kabir

Samson, 
your hands, once famed across the Land,
and still now these centuries later, 
though more for the final act performed in darkness,
than anything you ever carried out in the light…

Samson, 
your hands are embedded with minute
fragments of splintered bone, a tribute
to the jaw of the jackass—the rest of that body, 
its flesh having long since rotted away,
the rib cage exposed as if grinning, daring Fate,
and losing the dare, obviously, rests in the desert, 
a signpost to all life’s direction.

Samson,
how clearly you should have seen then, 
when you still had eyes to see,
the warning implicit in your weapon, 
but as you swung that beleaguered bone 
and crunched the helmeted heads of the harassing 
Philistine soldiers, who swung their iron swords 
and dared attack you in the narrow pass, 
you gave little thought to irony, I suppose. 

Samson,
the flesh that covers your renowned fingers, 
warm even now, ridiculed as you are,
chained and kept far from the yellow ball—
the shadows capturing your shadowed thoughts,
your memories of the light; the burnished sun,
the fire in your muscles, the firm earth beneath your feet,
not this place of darkness, of dead soil and lost eyes,
Delilah’s hands, a fever coursing still regardless 
of her betrayal—flesh that has touched lips and breast, 
flicked nipple, drawn blood, crushed a hand, 
fired a crop, caressed a cheek, touch now
what your eyes can no longer see though you can still recall;
the images mere echoes, images that flash passed 
as if flicked by a god’s nimble fingers,
and your ravaged mind, more rat now than human, 
repeatedly explains to itself, as only a ravaged mind can, 
how your hazel eyes, while they were still yours to admire,
have led you to this place; for in the dark, lost and mired,
you understand you forsook yourself, followed 
instead the fallacy of the moon whose weight is nothing
compared to yours and whose light
is but a reflection, like the lake that reveals 
but has no reality. 

Yet Samson,
despite the sun and the strength it gave,
willingly, you gave the moon all your secrets,
allowed the sickle to shear your strands
as you stood proud in the darkened room, the candle dancing 
in the evening breeze, and allowed the moon 
to remove your strength and now
your two hands, hands that once held, caressed and fought,
rest upon the pillars of the temple
as you strive to bring everything down…

yourself, the moon
Delilah’s lingering scent and
most of all 

Samson,
you seek to bury beneath the building’s rubble,
the shame of being blind when 
the sun gave you all the light you ever needed.


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## Ariel (May 18, 2016)

I prefer the original edit.  The second edit is too prose-like for a poem and loses the lyrical and mythical feel of the original and first edits.  Further, by not naming Samson and Delilah it gains a universal-ness that means it could apply to more people.


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## apple (May 18, 2016)

I like the original.  The words flow and wind.  The feel for me is surreal and creates the sense of deep loss and sadness
.


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## dannyboy (May 18, 2016)

thanks for the feedback guys, will keep working on it.


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## dannyboy (May 20, 2016)

thank you both.

latest edit

Samson:

"The sun is within me and so is the moon" 
Author: Kabir


Hands, famed across the lands,
centuries later still—
though more for the final act performed in darkness,
than anything ever carried out in the light—
are embedded with minute
fragments of splintered bone,
a tribute
to the jaw of the jackass—
should have seen, 
when eyes could still see,
the warning implicit in that weapon.

Hands swung 
that beleaguered bone, 
crunched the helmeted heads 
of harassing Philistine soldiers, 
who swung their iron swords 
and dared attack in the narrow pass;
giving little thought to irony, I suppose,
as death greeted them in that dead bone. 

Hands with flesh 
that covers the renowned fingers, 
warm even now, ridiculed as you are,
chained and kept far below, severed from
the yellow ball. The shadows capture 
your shadowed thoughts,
memories of the light; burnished sun,
fire in muscles, firm earth beneath feet,
trapped in this place of darkness, 
of dead soil and lost eyes; her hands, 
the fever coursing regardless of betrayal. 

Hands that have touched 
spear and breast, 
flicked nipple, drawn blood, crushed a hand, 
fired a crop, caressed a cheek, 
touch now
what eyes can no longer; in the trappings of the mind 
images, mere echoes, flash, flicked by a god’s nimble fingers,
the ravaged mind, more rat than human, 
repeatedly explains to itself, 
as only a ravaged mind can, 
how hazel eyes, while still able to be admired,
have led you to this place; in the dark, lost and mired.

Do you understand you forsook yourself, 
followed the fallacy of the moon 
whose weight is nothing
compared to the suns and whose light
is but a reflection, like the lake 
that reveals 
but has no reality?

Despite the sun 
and the strength it willingly bestowed,
you gave the moon all your secrets,
standing proud in the swaying-curtained room, 
the candle and the moon 
dancing in the evening breeze, 
allowing the blood-fed sickle 
to shear your strands
and remove your strength 

and now…

two hands, that once held, caressed and fought,
rest upon the pillars of the temple
and strive to bring everything down—

yourself 
the persistent scent of the moon
duplicity—

seek to bury beneath the building’s rubble,
the shame of being blind when 
the sun gave your eyes 
all the light they ever required.


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