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silly Apr 2021
i've been asked to be
in fancy anthologies,
be in fancy magazines.

to write freely on the page,
fill it with words,
light it up in flames.

after all,
everything i've learned to love,
vanishes in the end.
this makes no sense
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Meleager translations

Meleager was a Greek poet who lived circa 140-70 BC. Meleager is most famous today for The Garland, an anthology he compiled from epigrammatic poems of his era and earlier. In his preface Meleager assigned each poet the name of a flower, shrub or herb (hence the term "anthology," which means "flower collection"). In his commentary on The Greek Anthology, editor and translator J. H. Merivale said that as a composer of epigrams Meleager was "very far superior" to the authors he included in The Garland.

If I am Syrian, what of it?
Stranger, we all dwell in one world, not its portals.
The same original Chaos gave birth to all mortals.
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Love, how can I call on you;
does Desire dwell next to the dead?
Cupid, that bold boy, never bowed his head to wail.
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Love, I swear,
your quiver holds only empty air,
for all your winged arrows, set free,
are now fixed in me.
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Love, if you incinerate my soul, touché!
For like you she has wings and can fly away!
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

When I see Theron everything’s revealed.
When he’s gone all’s concealed.
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

When I see Theron everything’s defined;
When he’s gone I’m blind.
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

When I see Theron my eyes bug out;
When he’s gone even sight is in doubt.
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Mother-Earth, to all men dear,
Aesigenes was never a burden to you,
thus rest lightly on him here.
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Meleager dedicates this lamp to you, dear Cypris, as a plaything,
since it has been initiated into the mysteries of your nocturnal ceremonies.
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

I know you lied, because these ringlets
still dripping scented essences
betray your wantonness.
These also betray you—
your eyes sagging with the lack of sleep,
stray tendrils of your unchaste hair escaping its garlands,
your limbs uncoordinated by the wine.
Away, trollop, they summon you—
the reveling lyre and the clattering castanets rattled by lewd fingers!
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Moon and Stars,
lighting the way for lovers,
and Night,
and you, my mournful Mandolin, my ***** companion ...
when will we see her, the little wanton one, lying awake and moaning to her lamp?
Or does she embrace some other companion?
Then let me hang conciliatory garlands on her door,
wilted by my tears,
and let me inscribe thereon these words:
"For you, Cypris,
the one to whom you revealed the mysteries of your revels,
offers these spoiled tokens of his love."
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Tears, the last gifts of my love,
I send drenching down to you, Heliodora.
Here on your puddling tomb I pour them out—
soul-wrenching tears
in memory of affliction,
in memory of affection.
Piteously, so piteously Meleager mourns you,
you still so precious, so dear to him in death,
paying vain tributes to Acheron.
Alas! Alas! Where is my beautiful one, my heart's desire?
Death has taken her from me, has robbed me of her,
and the lustrous blossom lies trampled in dust.
But Mother-Earth, nurturer of us all ...
Mother, I beseech you, hold her gently to your *****,
the one we all bewail.
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Love, the cuddly baby
safe in his mother's lap,
chucking the dice one morning,
gambled my soul away.
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

I lie defeated. Set your foot on my neck. Checkmate.
I recognize you by your weight;
Yes, and by the gods, you’re a load to bear.
I am also well aware
of your fiery darts.
But if you seek to ignite human hearts,
******* with your tinders;
mine’s already in cinders.
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

They must have carried her off!
Who could be so barbaric,
to act with such violence,
to wage war against Love himself?
Quick, prepare the torches!
But wait!
A footfall, Heliodora's!
Get back in my *****, heart!
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Keywords/Tags: Meleager, translation, ancient Greek, epigram, Heliodora, garland, flower, anthology, Cupid, Eros
Keiko Tei Sep 2019
His name was Johnny. His close friends and family liked to call him, little johnny.

This story is about little johnny, with his report card nearing, he wanted to throw one last Hail Mary.

He tried his best and paid attention. He did all but one math question.

On the night before the big day, he knew that this was it. He fell asleep from fatigue, before everything he learned could even hit...

Next morning, little johnny feeling proud of his effort, went off to school feeling great from his rest.

Unfortunately for little johnny, the results show...that in the end he still failed his math test.

This is a story of little johnny, and his mediocre report card.

I plan to write one for every time I am reminded that it's just as important to acknowledge your existence as "normal" and "mediocre" as it is to believe that you are "special" and "unique".

The truth is that no one has read stories about people who fail, fail, and fail again, without really obtaining success in the end.
Yue Wang Yitkbel Sep 2019
How much poetry live within me

Or am I merely a vessel

That has to be loaded and unloaded

To not waste away under the calm wind

And sink to a weighted depth of silent

And unfulfilled dreams

Yet what is the use

Carrying a soul from an unwritten land

To an unread land

Both dotted with footprints of past voyageurs

But no path or end in sight

Perhaps I am destined to be an unnamed pilgrim

That treads upon and whose marks will be tread upon

The wasteland of hapless ambitions

Transforming it into a garden of everlasting

Love, freedom, and hope


You may find me one day

Though you will not know it

Nor will I

Within a petal of the rose

A dust in the dew

The wings of a honeybee

And if you look closely,

Listen closely

Within the laughing wind

As the gale brings all of us

Across the sea

Carrying vessels after vessels

From dream to dream
Sentient Dreams: My Poetry Anthology

This is the manuscript to my amazon vanity press poetry anthology: "Sentient Dreams" that I have now decided to just share it here digitally. All of the poems have been published here on HP at certain points of time anyway.

Almost all of the poems are from October 2017-July 2019.
Please feel free to share! :)

I don't think I will be adding to this specific anthology in the future. (Except three more poems that will be updated later.)

Vessels from Dream to Dream
By: Yitkbel
June 25, 2018
Mystic Ink Plus Jun 2019
The next
Will be dedicated to
No one

Some how
The concerned knows
No one is
Genre: Abstract
Theme: In silence
Mystic Ink Plus Dec 2018
Why can’t I write anything?
Why I need to write something?

Between those two questions, I found my way to ink my thoughts being fascinated with words addressing a soul inside the human body. Being a part-time dreamer, full-time realist I tried to reflect human psyche, social-issues, clinical journey, and so forth with an interdisciplinary approach. White Words invariably explores the hidden depths of a human, set free by either circumstance or the truth. With every new day I felt writing is not just an art, It’s a social engineering with thought exploring the boundaries of our mind. Words could be a medium to achieve inner peace, sometime embraced with an autobiographic element. Nevertheless it needs to be visualized with holistic lens, being near and far off from the distance with curiosities to get the true meaning of it.

All forms of arts are work in progress, where artist tries to reflect the craftsman’s imaginations and emotions, other time control it with an armor and conceals things using words easy to say in the comfort of expressive outlet. Honestly, I never cared about getting it right, now the same thing is inspiring me in the form of catharsis to make a free verse of a poetic trail.

I feel blessed to be around the people I've come to admire.  I remember mom for providing much needed optimism and endless devotion. There is always something new to learn and there is a constant effort to evolve with a better reflection. I want to thank all those who enjoy my writing, and open enough to hone honest  criticism. I  am  accountable for all the errors in bringing this up.

Let the White Words be the life to live by. Until we are blind to foreseeable future, live until we die, laugh until we cry and write what can’t be said. Lastly for a moment just imagine, how good it is to have a voice and being heard, and heeded.
Genre: Experimental
Theme: 2nd Anthology Press Ready, Blue Canvas White Words
dmperez Oct 2018
white world in wild winds
the one fair sun repelling
when Persephone rose

Published in Four Hundred and Two Snails, HSA's member anthology 2018. All rights reserved.
Blade Maiden Sep 2018

found a hope that prevails
reaching for me under a starlit tent
built a boat that sails
across all oceans as they bend
filled my book with tales
an anthology of moments I didn't attend

what a terrible word
holding such a stinging truth
felt like it's all worth the hurt
while wasting years of restless youth
called out and haven't been unheard
found something I couldn't lose

thought any path would get me there
where wholesomeness is not just hearsay
kept a fire in sight that brought me to where
I would find the light of day
made them proud of me, made them care
made them listen to what I had to say

And now
from where I stand
a lyrical sadness
paper in my hand
I know this is true
                                                            ­             I can almost see you
sunprincess Jun 2018
Anthology, yes, someday
positivity, trying to keep afloat
sometimes life feels just like
a sinking boat
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