Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Matthew  May 2014
Gift of Gab
Matthew May 2014
She gives the gift of gab!

When her love snapped onto my back, like a rucksack to be worn
The old me died, a rambling man was born.

My words are playing a twisted game of Temple Run
The monkeys are her eyebrows, cocked like pistols, and we're playing Russian Roulette.

My words are emptiness and hot air and imagined shapes, yet not nearly as two-dimensional as constellations.

She's a phrase I just learned, and will incorrectly overuse.
She's a worm in my ear, impossible to lose.

She feels like two cups of tea at three in the morning.
She feels like assembling an RC car without reading the instruction manual.

And by God, those eyebrows.

I need her like rocks need water and snow needs the sun.
I want her like turtles want to fly and eagles want to run.

She's that feeling when rain comes down on an empty highway.
She's half a bottle of Elmer's glue I just dribbled onto my hands.

I miss her like broken bowls miss Cheerios and holey socks miss feet.
I miss her like diarrhea misses constipation.
I miss her like NBC misses viewers who have turned to online news sources.
I miss her like journalists miss exposés.
I miss her like polar bears miss ice caps.
I miss her like avalanches miss snowy peaks.
I miss her like Hiroshima survivors miss World War One.
I miss her like cities miss silence.

Mostly, I just miss the silence.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
where was i? right, anywhere but here,
listening to some medieval music,
i sometimes sit in one place,
fade, and then find myself sitting
in the same place with a question
on the tip of my tongue: where am i?!

hard not to notice:
heaven reigns supreme with
a "st." michael coming down
with the sword...
depiction, please!
where's satan?
  coming from below armed only
with a tongue...
fair fight, by anyone's standard:
i'm dripping sweat from both
ridicule and sarcasm...

st. michael comes down with a sword...
satan rises up with a flaming tongue,
does satan lick michael's sword
to draw the blood required for
running the heart factory?

               medieval people and their
"nuanced" explanation...
so many images contra words
contra literacy of the people outside
the realm of monks...

   satan rises from the depths of
     hell saying: i wish a socratic dialectic
with god...
god replies: michael i will send armed
with swords...
who ever said: the quill is mightier than
than the sword,
implied: when the tongue has
to be necessarily silenced? then!

      das schwart,
          das feder,
    das zunge...

       how many definite articles are
there in deutsche? das, der, die?
too many or too few?

         always with "st." michael armed
with a sword...
and satan... armed with only his tongue!
i guess, the tongue becomes a tank,
while the sword becomes a feather's
tickling effect...

    angehoben das teufel von der
    tiefe: und gab sie namen...

  (raised the devils from the depths:
  and gave them names)...

why is satan only armed with a flaming tongue,
while "st." michael is armed with a sword?
is god, the god-dialectic / theology
so afraid that it has to remain topped
with unchallenged imagery
                         of sword contra tongue?

ich werden anfangen:
   ich werden treffen du hälfteweg...
            im schreiben...

                  satan rose to a depiction
with "st." michael: disarmed...
  tongue in mouth: which should have been
his hand, "st." michael descended with
a sword... come to think of it,
with satan's tongue cut off...
it still spoke to "st." michael within his
hand...
  the sword overcame the medium...
and so writing was born...
once upon a time when satan's tongue
in his hand began licking the sword
of michael...
            and? if the contemporaries
should hope to know:
writing is the res extensa medium
of res cogitans:
            writing is an extension of thinking:
it's not an invitation to speak...

writing cannot be speaking,
however much commentaries you leave
behind...
writing is an extension of thinking:
it's not an invitation to speak...

it's no disguise...
    in terms of the depiction...
enough of Milton and Dante and...
satan came to the summit
  without his armour without his weapons...
the summit of the plateau...
tongue in gob and joke in cheek...
while "st." michael descended
wit a sword and a missing tongue...
it would appear that god cut out
"st." michael's tongue before his descent
while arming him with a sword to
cut the conversation even shorter
than it was supposed to be, to take place...

the aspired to monotheistic monogamy
of king Solomon,
to imitate swans...
    Muhammad's lost enterprise of
the: greatest harem the world has ever
seen... sorry... Muo-Mo-Hammie:
the macedonian alexander beat you to
the count of 365 concubines...
as did genghis khan...
           so many pakistanis with khan
as a surname...
             your failed harem ambition?
compared to the otherwise world "greats"?
with the ******* promise of 72 virgins
post-mortem? that ship is sinking in my head...
muhammad failed in the ambition
of averaging a 100+ concunbine **** fest...
so he promised 72 for those that believed in
him...
   and if he was ever competing with
king solomon? look at solomon...
         he chose monogamy in the end...
i guess it's a noble enterprise to come back
among the lizards...
to spawn from an egg: from an womb
made external by an egg in the form of a bird...
birds: half mammal half lizard...
            muhammad failed at having
an envious harem...
                which makes me a little bit envious
of him... compared to the others...
he's quiet honest...
        but if he was illiterate...
    who the **** wrote the Quran?
    what's that book, in praise of older women?
andrás vajda...
   who would have written the first
verses (if not the last) of the Quran if not
khadijah **** khuwaylid?

i'm sorry to say: the feeling of conversation
soon turns into a feeling of conversion,
me, beer in hand, park, bench,
an old pakistani walks up to me...
flips out a digital Quran,
tries to convert me...
     opens the book on surah al-baqarah...
i point at three words...
what are these, i ask?
he replies: oh... only allah knows...
really?! really?! i ask myself...

    the three words?
   alif. lam. meem.

           allah knows?!
guess i'm allah then...
given alif: أَلِف  (α, א) a-lif
                 lam: لاَم (λ, ל) l-am
   and meem: مِيم (μ, מ) m'eem...

so yeah, "god" knows...
   how was this old pakistani going to convert
me, supposing i was simply some european
"drunk" sitting on a bench, drinking beer,
assuming i was ease target for
isis propaganda?!

    "god knows"... when it comes
to old pakistanis trying to
             recruit young europeans...
god knows ****!

if this old pakistani was seeking an easy target
like some paedo, he was much mistaken,
what does a pumpernickle (has) to do with
a windmill?! zilch!
i'm not going to exactly crawl out
of my walther von der vogelweider:
        palästinalied
that much easier...
i won't....
   i just think:
the yids have tight defences
against proselytes... they abhor converts...
islam, welcomes them,
at their own peril...
          and there i was thinking that
urdu was "superior" to sanskrit...
an old pakistani tells me "god knows"
in relation to alif. lam. meem.

             i guess the quran has an inbuilt
proselyte defence mechanism:
in reverse... ask a muslim what alif. lam. meem.
means... if they tell you: only god knows...
ha ha...
              hello stupid...
                            is the islamic world playing
a jewish game of gematria?
are the three letters supposed to represent
some sort of "covert" message?
A.L.M.?
        what, based on the hebrew alphabet
where "a" is not an an A but a consonant(s)
akin to ayin and aleph?!
the gay genesis?
          
                really?
                 we: the europeans were perhaps
the barbarians in the medieval years,
harrowed by the cold...
lucky us: lucky me: we did learn to read...
so ignorant of the pakis to presume
such and such...

             that we are still unable to read
and will fall for the next sort of *******...
look at us! we even began to question
christianity with the unearthing of
the nag hammadi library where
jesus played chinese whispers with
st. thomas!

   next time i'll be listening to a camel jockey
or a magic carpet ride aladdin
i'll ask them: you dehydrated, or something?!
oh forget h'america,
their evangelical ******* is worth
as much as a free microwave or a toaster...

_

hell man...
    i mean my neighbor smokes
16 8ths in a spare of the week...

wha?
    ****...
   i remember i used to smoke
an 8th over the week...

yeah... an 1/8... of an ounce...
he smokes two ounces
in a week,
  
gets the **** on discount...
but still has to cough up
over 100 quid for the stash...

but... but... these organic
cigarettes you're pushing?

ha ha... **** me... holy basil
(tulsi leaves) -
and the peppermint and green
tea leaves?
   in ******, whatever you want
to call it, rolling paper...

i've seen the inner sleeve -
big fan of hunter s. thompson,
i suspect...
   otherwise you wouldn't
have used the second, plastic
filter...
  
   tell you what... don't put
that plastic filter on every cigarette -
halve it...
     or provide two or three...
it's reusable -
        i smoked one of your
placebo marijuana joints...
  and then i'm going to smoke
a red Indian cough-up...

   ah... these blue Indians...
Vishnu centrists -
   beyond blue blooded,
more blue skinned herbalists...

dunno... the effects are subtle...
you can only tell the difference
if you actually smoke tobacco...

but sure as hot **** on a street
in Calcutta -
    it beats the Arabic portable
hookah pipe...
   i.e.?  
         vapping - or vapourißing -

i'd say less a cure for tobacco smokers,
and more a cure for
the dope-heads...
    he (my neighbor) smokes
2 ounces a week,
   and somehow manages to stay
down on a job...

    no ******* way...
    he says it helps him to sleep...
like me...
   a liter of ***** and two
paracetamols,
    or one naproxen (if i'm lucky),
or two paracetamols
  and one amitriptyline (25mg)...

sorry, what? sound of mind?
sound of mind to the point
where i'm mindful of grammar
and spelling?

            **** man...
  the content is transcendent
    of whatever the receiving end deems
it to be...

i might actually buy into
this... placebo marijuana -
given that i am a tobacco smoker...
  ha ha! holy basil:
  like Basil Fawlty...

   as you see...
there are people, and there are "people",
there are neighbors,
    and there are "neighbors",
i don't see how the natives
can dictate universal laws of
     private property ownership...
esp. over such... trivial...
meaningless...
          sitting down on a cactus
****-naked "problems"...

i hate being mean,
   i hate telling someone to *******...
i really do...
    i compromised -
i stopped smoking cigarettes
out of my window...
  but yesterday's confrontation?
over a ******* barbeque...
    oops... the compromise
has just been revoked...
  
   music blasting into my ears
through my earphones...
the next thing my cuntish neighbor
will "hear" is sign language...
  
oh yeah... that primary school
lesson:

(a) WHY     (b) DON'T  
        (c) YOU    (d) ****    (e) OFF

(a) index + middle fingers
    slapped on the left palm knuckles up

(b) index + middle fingers
    slapped on the left palm knuckles down

(c) scissor index + *******
   into the side of the left hand

(d) fist, vertical slam onto the left
  palm

(e) thumb's up moving away from
  the palm of the left hand...

because?
      i just can't be bothered trying
to reason with some people...
     they might as well be put in zoological
confinement, and put under observation...
but i'd feel sorry for the chimps
and other animals, have to share a close
proximity.
raquezha Nov 2017
Sa irarum ku kanimong
matam-is na pagrukot
naintindihan ko
kung uno ibig sabihon
ku pagkapot mo
ku kanakong kamot,
ku mga text ****
malang siram
ulit-ulitong basahon,
ku magrani ka
mga labi mo
sa labi ko,

guru-gab-i ko
nababayad a magayon
**** mga mata,
maganting talaga a mga bituon,
pigdara ko kanimo
ku panahon na nauuda ako,
diri kabisado a lugar nag tangad
sana ako tapos tig sundan paiyan kanimo.

Kaiba ko ika sa irarum ko mga bituon,
nakatangad sana kita tapos
pigsisilngan su bulan na malakabilog,
nag ayat sa pabor
na sana...
sana...
bayaan na su nangyari ku kadto,
mig puon sa panibago,
gibohon na sanang ekpersyensya
su dating nangyari
ku kanatong mga deperensya.

Utro, puon sa uno,
nguwan diri ko na tutugotan
na mabayad ta ulit su puro.
Isi mo dawa kadakol na buwan
su naglipas diri nagbago
su tiwala ko kanimo.

Lang siram na payabaon ka,
Ika sana, uda na iba.
Kanakong Prinsesa
na diri mig uban magiging Reyna.
Du gabst ihr dein Herz, doch sie gab dir Ihres nicht. Also gab ich dir meins, doch du hattest keins für mich. Jetzt hast du mein Herz und in mir ist ein dunkles klaffendes Loch.
I'm still not over you.
I am in search
In search of eureka
In search of satisfaction and joy
In search of wisdom and knowledge
That I joined the caravan to the Ireland
To behold the oracular throne of the Irish kings
To have a taste of their satiating dishes
And kiss the Blarney stone
And receive the gift of the gab
And also “The gift of the magi”
As received by James and Della
And make meaning out of the voyage
Contributing to the welfare of my nation
My people: their quests and aspirations
And represent them in the orifice affairs  
And put the gift of the gab in good use
Briano Alliano performing at Saturn cub rings


Hi dudes and welcome to Saturn club rings and this is where
You go and really party, my first song is, from the poor man to the ****

Gabba Gabba Gabba gab from the poor man to the ****
You see I want your money, baby from the poor man to the ****
Gabba Gabba Gabba gab I want to rob you dry
Cause your got money and opportunities and I have got nothing oh no
I wish I wish I wish wish I had money from a well-paid job
Because I am poor I am stuck trying to struggle to find my path in life
I don't really like  disability work they treat you like such ****
Sitting in their big jobs not giving a **** of what I need to say
Gabba Gabba Gabba Gabba Gabba Gabba gab says the poor man to the ****
I want Heaps of your money says the poor man to the ****
Please gimme all of your cash, said the poor man to the ****
And if you try and be a young dude, the other young dudes call you a Woosey or a ****
I want the ****** rich ***** to fucken gimme a go
Instead of just using me as a target to a tease
I don't want to be yelled at just because I am from a rich family
I prefer to be left alone to do my art in peace
Gabba Gabba Gabba Gabba says the poor man to the ****
I wish you would give your loot, says the poor man to the ****
You see as I watched the footy last night, they told me Sydney were the worst
But at least they won in 2005 and 2012, they are best team in the land
Go the mighty Sydney swans said the poor man to the ****
So, the mighty team, they lost last night, fro, the poor man to the ****

Ok dudes I have told you, how much I want to help the poor, I am a cool dude
Who wants to party, here is a song called, hey mr cocky man

Hey mr cocky man what are you going to give me today
I can tell you I would like $1-000-000, yeah that will make me glad
I have more good ideas of helping the poor than you will ever had
Because I know what they want, because I look past the Yelling
Thinking there must be a reason why they are getting cranky, dude
Because I want to help them, and not get fought by them
So I will offer them a little bit of my cash, and then
Say, I will give them a homeless man's hotel
Where they can round the clock care and room service, mate
And a bar to get ****** in,and before you ask me,do they deserve it
I will say,yeah they do, they deserve it more than the rich
Because the rich go to the hotels every weekend
And poor young dudes like me have only got to do that once or twice
You see, I don't wanna be Called a ****, I am not a kid
I am a man who has reasons to help the poor, because they are really suffering, man
They feel need to yell at people who Are here to help them oh yeah
Because the big fat rich ***** doesn't fucken well give a toss
So, hey mr cocky,man, when are you going to give us money
You see if I was in that same situation I would give it to them
I would give them a million, if I had a million to spare that is
That Tony Abbott doesn't care no way
You see, I am an adult who loves to give the poor people a go
Better than those rich conservative stock market junkies
I know, it's good to invest in money, but there are too many poor people around
Suffering like they shall, nobody understands how
Except for me the Poor people are under a spell to the rich

Hi and now we have a song called I would love to give money to Duncan

I would love to give money to Duncan
I would love to give money to Dunc
I would make sure he has what he wants
Like clothes and food, yeah maybe a beer to get drunk
You see poor people really suffer
So what we need to do is this
Is giving money to to Duncan
Cause he is our friend
I would love to give money to Patrick
I would love to give money to him
If I had a million to spare, but if he was suffering
I would drop a $2 coin in the tin
Yeah that'll make him happy
And everyone will be happy yeah
I would love to give money to Patrick cause he wants a beer
I would love to give money to Harry
Yeah he needs it yessiree
You see I feel very sorry for him
Because day in and day out, he is suffering
We really need to help Harry
To make the atmosphere so great
We need to give money to Harry
Cause he is a good mate

Ok dudes, now we will tip methane on everyone who doesn't give a rats ***


Sent from my iPad
Àŧùl Jan 2015
Lady,
Only if you can guarantee that you would let me be,
Accept my love for you unbridled and be patient,
I want to hear your gab daily,
Not just for an hour or a day,
But for life - I would dare to say,
And you will be my pretty princess.
My HP Poem #731
©Atul Kaushal
A Tale

“Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this Buke.”
                              —Gawin Douglas.

When chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neebors neebors meet,
As market-days are wearing late,
An’ folk begin to tak’ the gate;
While we sit bousing at the *****,
An’ getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

This truth fand honest Tam o’Shanter,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter,
(Auld Ayr, wham ne’er a town surpasses,
For honest men and bonie lasses).

O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise,
As ta’en thy ain wife Kate’s advice!
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum,
That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was nae sober;
That ilka melder, wi’ the miller,
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
That ev’ry naig was ca’d a shoe on,
The smith and thee gat roarin fou on;
That at the Lord’s house, ev’n on Sunday,
Thou drank wi’ Kirkton Jean till Monday.
She prophesied that, late or soon,
Thou would be found deep drowned in Doon;
Or catched wi’ warlocks in the mirk,
By Alloway’s auld haunted kirk.

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,
To think how mony counsels sweet,
How mony lengthened sage advices,
The husband frae the wife despises!

But to our tale: Ae market-night,
Tam had got planted unco right;
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,
Wi’ reaming swats, that drank divinely;
And at his elbow, Souter Johnny,
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;
Tam lo’ed him like a vera brither;
They had been fou for weeks thegither.
The night drave on wi’ sangs an’ clatter;
And aye the ale was growing better:
The landlady and Tam grew gracious,
Wi’ favours, secret, sweet, and precious:
The Souter tauld his queerest stories;
The landlord’s laugh was ready chorus:
The storm without might rair and rustle,
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.

Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E’en drowned himself amang the *****;
As bees flee hame wi’ lades o’ treasure,
The minutes winged their way wi’ pleasure:
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,
O’er a’ the ills o’ life victorious!

But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flow’r, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river,
A moment white—then melts for ever;
Or like the borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow’s lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm.—
Nae man can tether time or tide;
The hour approaches Tam maun ride;
That hour, o’ night’s black arch the key-stane,
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;
And sic a night he tak’s the road in,
As ne’er poor sinner was abroad in.

The wind blew as ‘twad blawn its last;
The rattling showers rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed;
Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed:
That night, a child might understand,
The De’il had business on his hand.

Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg,
A better never lifted leg,
Tam skelpit on thro’ dub and mire,
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;
Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet;
Whiles crooning o’er some auld Scots sonnet;
Whiles glow’rin round wi’ prudent cares,
Lest bogles catch him unawares;
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.

By this time he was cross the ford,
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoored;
And past the birks and meikle stane,
Whare drunken Charlie brak’s neck-bane;
And thro’ the whins, and by the cairn,
Whare hunters fand the murdered bairn;
And near the thorn, aboon the well,
Whare Mungo’s mither hanged hersel’.
Before him Doon pours all his floods;
The doubling storm roars thro’ the woods;
The lightnings flash from pole to pole;
Near and more near the thunders roll;
When, glimmering thro’ the groaning trees,
Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze;
Thro’ ilka bore the beams were glancing;
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou canst mak’ us scorn!
Wi’ tippenny, we fear nae evil;
Wi’ usquabae, we’ll face the devil!
The swats sae reamed in Tammie’s noddle,
Fair play, he cared na deils a boddle.
But Maggie stood right sair astonished,
Till, by the heel and hand admonished,
She ventured forward on the light;
And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!
Warlocks and witches in a dance;
Nae cotillion, brent new frae France,
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,
Put life and mettle in their heels.
A winnock-bunker in the east,
There sat auld Nick, in shape o’ beast;
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large,
To gie them music was his charge:
He ******* the pipes and gart them skirl,
Till roof and rafters a’ did dirl.—
Coffins stood round, like open presses,
That shawed the Dead in their last dresses;
And by some devilish cantraip sleight
Each in its cauld hand held a light,
By which heroic Tam was able
To note upon the haly table,
A murderer’s banes in gibbet-airns;
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns;
A thief, new-cutted frae a ****,
Wi’ his last gasp his gab did gape;
Five tomahawks, wi’ blude red-rusted;
Five scimitars, wi’ ****** crusted;
A garter, which a babe had strangled;
A knife, a father’s throat had mangled,
Whom his ain son o’ life bereft,
The grey hairs yet stack to the heft;
Wi’ mair of horrible and awfu’,
Which even to name *** be unlawfu’.

As Tammie glowered, amazed and curious,
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious:
The Piper loud and louder blew;
The dancers quick and quicker flew;
They reeled, they set, they crossed, they cleekit,
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,
And coost her duddies to the wark,
And linket at it in her sark!

Now Tam, O Tam! had they been queans,
A’ plump and strapping in their teens;
Their sarks, instead o’ creeshie flainen,
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen!—
Thir breeks o’ mine, my only pair,
That ance were plush, o’ gude blue hair,
I *** hae gi’en them off my hurdies,
For ae blink o’ the bonie burdies!

But withered beldams, auld and droll,
Rigwoodie hags *** spean a foal,
Lowping and flinging on a crummock,
I wonder didna turn thy stomach.

But Tam kenned what was what fu’ brawlie:
‘There was ae winsome ***** and waulie’,
That night enlisted in the core
(Lang after kenned on Carrick shore;
For mony a beast to dead she shot,
And perished mony a bonie boat,
And shook baith meikle corn and bear,
And kept the country-side in fear);
Her cutty sark, o’ Paisley harn,
That while a lassie she had worn,
In longitude tho’ sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vauntie.
Ah! little kenned thy reverend grannie,
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,
Wi’ twa pund Scots (’twas a’ her riches),
*** ever graced a dance of witches!

But here my Muse her wing maun cour,
Sic flights are far beyond her power;
To sing how Nannie lap and flang,
(A souple jade she was and strang),
And how Tam stood, like ane bewitched,
And thought his very een enriched;
Even Satan glowered, and fidged fu’ fain,
And hotched and blew wi’ might and main:
Till first ae caper, syne anither,
Tam tint his reason a’ thegither,
And roars out, “Weel done, Cutty-sark!”
And in an instant all was dark:
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,
When out the hellish legion sallied.

As bees bizz out wi’ angry fyke,
When plundering herds assail their byke;
As open pussie’s mortal foes,
When, pop! she starts before their nose;
As eager runs the market-crowd,
When “Catch the thief!” resounds aloud;
So Maggie runs, the witches follow,
Wi’ mony an eldritch screech and hollow.

Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou’ll get thy fairin!
In hell they’ll roast thee like a herrin!
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin!
Kate soon will be a woefu’ woman!
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
And win the key-stane of the brig;
There at them thou thy tail may toss,
A running stream they dare na cross.
But ere the key-stane she could make,
The fient a tail she had to shake!
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi’ furious ettle;
But little wist she Maggie’s mettle—
Ae spring brought off her master hale,
But left behind her ain grey tail:
The carlin claught her by the ****,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

Now, wha this tale o’ truth shall read,
Ilk man and mother’s son, take heed:
Whene’er to drink you are inclined,
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,
Think, ye may buy the joys o’er dear,
Remember Tam o’Shanter’s mare.
Caryl Maluping  Aug 2021
MAMINGAW
Caryl Maluping Aug 2021
Nagpabilin nga mamingaw an mga kagab-ihon
Madampog an langit ngan waray bisan usa nga bituon
Maalinsuog an hangin nga nadukot ha akon panit
Pero ano man nga tigda nala tumaghom han nawara ka na ha akon sapit?

Hain ka na? Pakiana nga baga’t ruba nga plaka
An imo ngaran an akon inuguman tikang hiton gab-i kutob ngadto’t aga
An akon pagkakaturog in pirme man gud masaklap
Kay baga ako hin nahigda ha salog nga waray balon nga taklap.

Aadi pa ha akon mga kamot inin mga panyo nga minad-an
Han mga luha nga nagpapas nala tungod han kagul-anan
Gin mimingaw na gad ako han imo matam-is nga tingog
Sige man iton akon guliat pero dire ka man nakakdungog.

Hain ka na? mamingaw na an aton mga sonata
Hain na? hain na an aton gin-uungara nga istorya?
Waray naman gud rumabong an aton natindog nga relasyon
Waray kadiligi hin maupay asya tigda napuo an pundasyon.

Yana an huring nala han hangin an akon nababatian
Waray na bisan guliat o kurahab man la nga nadudunggan
Waray na gihap wantas inin uran, waray na ada plano pag-huraw
Sugad han aton gugma, nagpapabilin nga mamingaw.

- Caryl
florence  Sep 2012
Untitled
florence Sep 2012
Its the words that we hear, the life that we seek that makes us impeckable.
 
I listen deeply to your soothing voice, cherishing each word you tell me.
 
You used me.
Broke my heart.
Than dated my best friend.
 
You made us fall into a gab, made us hold on to the past for dear life. Things will never be the same all because of you.
 
She said she was sorry, but sorry doesn't mean anything when you can't accept it. I lost you. Than I lost her. The two most important people in my life.
 
I lost hope. I tried to converse with my peers but all I ended up doing was bashing her. The one you stole from me. They got tired and stopped trying to make me happy like I once was. Like I was when I was with you.
 
Each day, I would walk the halls to see her with you. My anger would boil in my vains, and all the memories between us would hit me like bullets. All the times you told me you loved me. All the times you held me close, when you never let me go. All the times you wishpered in my ear how much I changed you. All those times were gone, forgotten, like a gust of wind, you forgot about us. But I could never forget, even the countless times I tried its too hard. You left a whole in my heart, one that can never be perpared.
 
Than I see you. See you with her. I feel the pain once more. The urgeing sensation to graspe you from her grip and make you mine once more. To be able to call you mine once more.
 
But that can never happen. Or so I thought.
 
The days pass by that your with her. That you are caught up in every aspect of the one I used to call best friend. Now I only call her words that are beyond my reach, ones that I regret the moment they leave the tip of my lips. But I stay loyal, I never spread her secrets. Nor do I hope she will fail. Instead, I wish her luck with you; the guy who made my heart bleed with hate, you changed me. Some might say its for the better but all I can say is you changed me in a way that I can never be pepared again.
 
The sun sets, the moon rises and the stars are twinkling in the dark sky, when my phone rings. I see your name. The name I spit on with hate. I let it go to voicemail not wanting to hear your voice, scared that if I do the tears will start again. I wonder how that's possible, since I wasted all my tears on you but yet I'm proven wrong its possible.
 
Your voicemail is cut short. I hear your voice, its strange at first but then I fall deeply in love once more with the way you pronouce my name. Full with love and admiration. I'm falling for you once more. Falling slowly, and slowly. But when the end is near I think of you and her. The pair who made me suffer all those nights, the ones who made me cry myself to sleep.
 
Then I fall full speed into the whole, the rocks crashing on top of me. I scream, and scream untill I realize I am stuck. How much I try to push my way through there is no use.
I am stuck in your wrath forever.
5  years. 
 
5 long years filled with related concepts always bringing my thoughts back to you. 
 
I tried to forget. Belive me. But somehow its like you are carved into me like wood. I could never forget you. 
 
Its been 5 years since I last saw you. I wonder each morning when I wake up if you changed. Or if you still have that charming smile, and that flirty personallity But the thought that comes across me the most is if everyone falls for you as hard as I did or it was only me. 
 
You made my heart bleed that senoir year. You made me fill endless emotions towards you, and all I got in return was a wink and a "hey baby we didn't say we were exclusive" 
 
Those words burned through me. Leaving me with only hate to deal with. I made a vow with myself I would forget you. But it was impossible. Every where I turned I saw your flawless face within my reach. Your pulmp lips wishpering my name soothingly making me fall only deeper in love with the fake you. I made a character out of you. One which loved me with all its heart and cared for me endlessly. 
 
I tried to believe it was true. That there was such a thing but once again its only a fantasie. Soon I will be brought into reality to see you with her. She who shall not be named. 
 
Its the day that changed me once again. A day which you made me choke and feel the emotions you cast on me once again. My phone vibrates, for a moment I belive its a dream as your name blinks on the small screen. I feel the anticipation arising throughout me. Why would he be calling? I thought while picking on my nails. My hands shaky, I picked up the phone. And once again I fell beneath your spell. 
 
"Florence..." I heard your voice say. The world spinning around me I was almost lost in your voice. Snapping back into reality I prayed my voice wouldn't brake, that it would be stable but once again life is against me. 
 
I cleared my thraot, the curses I was getting ready to say formng in my mind. All the things I wanted to remind you of ready to come bursting out of me. But at that moment only one thing came out. One word. "Jake....." I heard myself say it. The way my voice said it, it was as there hadn't been 5 years between us. And we were just back on that night, in senior year, when you held me close and wishpered to me. 
 
I didn't realize it was quiet untill I heard ask me if I wanted to delete this message. I saw I had a miss call from you. You of all people. I was gettng ready to blast you but all I could think was if I should call you back. But then my phone rang, and I saw your name once more. 
 
One voicemail. That's all it took for me to rush to the phone and want to hear your voice again. I picked it up, feeling the nerves arising beneath me, the goosebumps starting to form on my arms. "Hello." I breathed into the reciever. 
 
"Florence?" I heard your voice ask. The same voice that I heard on the voicemail, the same voice that you had over me the years before. 
 
I tried to compose my voice, trying to make it like I forgot you. But in reality it was the exact oppisite. 
 
"Yeah, its me." I said in a strained voice. 
 
Suddenly slience struck upon us. None of us said a word. Just the dead selience between us. The tension high. 
 
But I didn't mind it. 
For what was there to say to the man who destroyed any ounce of belief I had in me? 
To the man who left me when everything was wrong. 
Now he calls me, I know what I must do. 
But in the end love does a funny thing to you; no matter how much you try to lock someone out, deep beneath the depths the right guy always finds the key. 
 
You foiund the key, opening the door slightly I heard your voice. Looking around me horror crept into my whole body, making me frozen in place. "......I was a **** and idiot...." You trailed off on the reciever. Barely listening to your words I was too caught up on the way you made me feell, the way you made everything appear perfect.
That night, the night you barged in and put me under your spell once more. Compelled by you I acted like your puppet, mimicking your every movement, following your every order. The distance between us fulled with tension. The anxiety of seeing your face again, uprising beneath me, while I took each step cautously to the Diner.
 
The Diner.
The place were everything had once been perfect between us. You would play with a stroke of my hair, I would giiggle in apparation as your gaze would be locked on mine.
Everything completely perfect.
 
Now, as I step foot into the diner, the goshtly images of us by our daily table, the one in the back corner. For a moment I could swear I saw us giggling and smiling at eachother. But as I look back the figures are gone and all that's there is an empty chair.
 
I walk in, immidently I am greeted by a middle aged waitress. Awe shown on her wrinkled face. "You here again?" She squels in delight. I looked at her puzzled.
 
"Your a legend here." She said, her eyes gleaming. "You don't remember I had been your waitress everyday when you guys would come. Your love so pure and magical it made me believe."
 
Suddenly the images were flooding back into my head. The ones of the giddy waitress we used to make fun of. The one we thought had a crush on you. We had laughed it off, you would remind me how I was your only one. But now it all fit into place. She hadn't been watching you, she had been watching us., mesmerized by our love that's what she had been doing.
If only she knew.
If only she knew that our love had failed, that you had cheated.
 
Our love had once been a blossoming flower, now all it was was a distant memory.
 
A gust of wind pulled me out of my daze. I noticed the waitress had been stareing at me all along with questioning eyes. I knew I should have been nicer, more apealing but this went along with all of the things I wish I was.
 
The sound of an schreeching door being opended caught my senses, everything hapend so quickly. I saw his face. That face which had haunted me all these years. The one which appeared in my dreams, day after day, I would wake up sweating, screaming his name for help. The hysterical cry I wouild scream, but he would never come. Nor would he answer my calls.
 
The anger boiling up in me once more, I swiftly forgot the love I had felt for him earlier this day. I wanted to remind him of everything. All the hurt he caused me, the tears shed on his behalf. I hated him for everything.
For the way he made me blush when he would wink at me.
For the way he caused me to act in sivere ways.
And for the way he made me love him so deeply that I had to make myself angry at him.
 
You were a few feet away from me, enough for me to reach out my hand and touch you. Everything around us was silent. It seemed as though all eyes were on us. I could hear the distant sounds of a cricket and I was definite you could hear my loud breathing or the accleration of my beating heart. Pounding against my chest, it acclerated with each cautous step you took.
 
I could smel your chlonage, your famillar smell rininging up the senses which have been held hostage for so long. Your aroma taking up the air, ******* out all the oxygen making it hard for me to breathe. Taking deep breathes, I couldn't help but feel compelled for a moment. I would have done anything you wished.
 
The awkwardness hit upon us. All we did was stare at eachother. Unable to speak I was hoping you would start. My mind blank, full-speed I tried to skim my brain for a word, anythjing. Everything seemed forgien to me. I felt useless. Parralyzed.
But I couldn't help but realize you were stareing at me with the same baffled expression as I was to you.
 
A word escaped your mouth. Your voice sounding like bells, having a musical ring to it. It caught me off gaurd, causing my heart to skip a beat. Just like the old days.
 
Looking around me I noticed the cracked wholes in the wooden walls, the hardwood floor beneath us, dusty with names carved into it. While you stared at me waiting for a response, my eyes skimmed over the floor beneath us, desperatly searching for it. That one thing that would remind me of what you did. So that I wouldn't fall for you once more.
There it was::
'Jake&Florence-F;&A.;' But starein
g at it closely, I noticed the one thjing I had been looking for. The word 'Florence' had been crossed out and replaced with 'Nicole'.
 
My best friend which you stole for me.
Bringing my attention back up to you I fought back the tears which had been trying to force there way out.
 
"Save it." I spat, not before letting the heel of my shoe dig into the wood earasing our names from the hardwood floor. Forever.
Caryl Maluping Aug 2021
Huna ko ba nga may ada mo iyayakan?
Ano man nga bagat na dire ka nga akon iton masabtan?
Waray ka na gad pag-tapod ha akon?
Pirmi naman la masulub-on iton imo bayhon.

Kumusta ka na? Bangin amo la gihap
An aton kahimtang sugad hin lasaw nga dire mo matarap
Kay kuno nalikay ka na ha akon
Ano ba itun basehan nga imo man ako pagbabasulon?

Mamingaw naman an mga gab-i nga marisaw
Napuno na hin kahagkot, kasakit ngan kahidlaw
Hain na an mga pahaliday nga imo ginhatag
Adton gugma nga waray mo ginsandag.

Madagmit man gud la an karida han panahon
Nga ha akon paghimangno dire ka na ngay-an akon
Aadto ka na man liwat ha iba
Aadto ka kay durudamo man it iya kwarta.

Waray ko na kababatii an imo tingog
Asya nga an akon adlaw pirmi nala maluntog
Pero aadi la gihapon ha akon huna-huna inin pakiana
Paglaom nga usa ka adlaw mabalik ka pa.

- Caryl
landskaber af følelser
bakker fulde af modvind, dale af nedture, søer af tårer

implicit diminutiv: årh, du er bare så sød (så naiv, så idealistisk, så stresset og letpåvirkelig)
årh, vi skal passe på dig (du kan ikke håndtere det, du er så følsom, du kan ikke lade være med at bryde sammen)
du er ikke modig, du er ikke impulsiv - disciplineret, intetsigende
gråzoner gennemploves, vi forveksles og sammenflettes i alles opfattelser

"du tænker for meget" "rolig nu" "årh, du kan jo aldrig tale en beslutning"

    al oprør virker formålsløst, ufrugtbart

JERES ORD ER VIRKELIGHEDSSKABENDE OG JEG SKRUMPER OG SKRUMPER OG SKRUMPER TIL JEG IKKE ER MERE END EN SOK OG ET GAB
moncler herren jacken frauen und Uhren als Statussymbol für Rolex Oyster Perpetual Frauen kamen Anzeichen von Moncler Jacke Luxus in einer Vielzahl von Formen Moncler Jacken YSL Handtaschen Hermes Schals Jimmy Choos oder Manolo Blahniks im Gange ein Tiffany Armband oder Diamant-Halskette Anzeichen billig Moncler Status und Macht. Nicht nur sie sind geeignet für die Chefetage Moncler Zürich sind sie weniger auffällig als viele Stücke von Moncler Outlet Schmuck und vielleicht mehr Rolex Oyster Perpetual passend in diesen wirtschaftlichen Zeiten in denen Uhren sind nicht nur ein Zeichen von Moncler Luxus sondern ein funktionales Werkzeug sowie . Hat die Preise auf außergewöhnliche Ebenen angetrieben..

 http://www.joannaknowsomething.com/moncler-damen/moncler-damen-jacken.html sagte Reis. Durchgemacht acht oder neun Operationen jetzt. Er hat von Moncler jacketsf worden kritische [Bedingung] und wurde heruntergefahren damit ernsthafte Erkrankung verschoben. Dann legen Sie das Leder Moncler Frauen Jacke auf das Bügelbrett dafür dass die Falten nach oben zeigen. Die feuchten Tuch sollte oben auf moncler Verkauf die Falten gelegt werden. Dieses Tuch schützt Ihre Moncler Damenjacke so dass es nicht durch das heiße Eisen versengt.

Ich war 12 Jahre Coaching Basketball im ganzen Land bis ich die Gelegenheit meine erste Kopf Varsity Trainerjob bei Tamarac ohne jemals einen großen Stammbaum wie einige andere bekommen gegeben wurde. Am Eröffnungsabend von Moncler Herren meinen ersten Varsity Spiel werde ich nie vergessen die Elektrizität in der Harry Tucker Gym wie wir Chatham verärgert auf George Mardigan Court dank einer Karriere hoch 37 Punkte von Ethan Estabrooks und 27 von Ben Cuprill die das Spiel gespielt mit einem gebrochenen Fuß. Unser Rückraum erzielte 64 von Moncler Daunenjacken unsere 72 Punkte in dieser Nacht und dabei gab mir meinen ersten Sieg.

Die Aufgabe: Erstellen Sie einen originellen Stil von Moncler Jacke Kleidung für die Kombination von Technologie und Mode für tragbare Technologie gadgetfriendly Kleidung. Gab jedem Team ein $ 5.000 Kreditkarte um die Gadgets kaufen. Das Siegerteam würde derjenige der die meisten überzeugende Präsentation erstellt wie durch zwei American Eagle executives.Magna gewann erneut mit tollen Ideen und einem wellexecuted Präsentation beurteilt werden.

Die Pulver die ich aufgeführt sind leicht zugänglich so dass ich sie verwendet. Es gibt auch andere feine Pulver von Accurate Arms and Norma. Lädt Techniken sind ziemlich Standard aber wenn Sie zu Fall Leben Kopfraum es auf die Schulter zu maximieren um das Band im Gegensatz wollen. Die klassischen Tweed und Flanell sind Wollstoffe aber sie sind in der Regel schwerer als viele moncler die italienischen und anderen europäischen Kammgarne die im Allgemeinen von den meisten Herren Moncler Frauen Mode werden bevorzugt. Generell kann die Stoff-Konten für onethird zu OneHalf von Moncler Frauen die Herstellungskosten und in den Kauf einer Klage ist es so wichtig auf die Qualität der billig Moncler das Gewebe aus als es das Label oder Modedesign ist. Ein guter Stoff sieht *****.

Die Produkte die gemacht worden sind können von Moncler Mantel guter Qualität sein und Ihre Marke ist zusätzlich seriös. Diese Uhren können auf der ganzen Welt verschickt werden und Sie don brauchen um über die Zufriedenheit immer verringert stören. Reputation ist von Moncler jacketten eine große Sache in Bezug auf ein Unternehmen. Der beste Rat Die Homepagehier den ich an die Eltern die erwägen die Einschreibung sind ihre Kinder in eine der Moncler Daunenjacken diese Programme geben kann ist treten Sie zurück und machen Sie einen distanzierten Blick von Moncler Daunenjacke was los ist. Stellen Sie sich vor dass anstelle von Moncler menschliche Kinder sah man Welpen und Kätzchen an ähnlichen Behandlung unterzogen. Würden Sie sofort die Tierschutzverein?.
read more:
http://www.voucasar.info/conversa/2013/12/fut-coins-online-already-we-see-his-possible/
http://ameblo.jp/jaredbarnes/entry-11730221906.html
http://hernashville.com/
http://bhealthy.bkhush.com/dev1/content/moncler-damen-sale-am-morgen-des

— The End —