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Man 5d
there's Creeque Ally
and Mama Cass leant against the ground
it's the aftermath
and Brian Jones is smoking a joint
Jim Morrison mid-laugh
it's passed to Marley
Mercury sipping fermented barley
Ray Charles is calling
down to a Cobain
flailing on the floor
with half a brain
listening to sweet sounds
courtesy of Courtney
now the Teenage *****
has a new Hole
cause the angels are calling
Lennon's a lemon
shriveled, sour, and way past ripe
him and god have a gripe
cause there's still no peace on earth
and the war's not over
despite wants
and there's still african children
as fat as you are, gaunt
and the bar sinks lower
as poverty sees no solution, only taunts

only the reaper gets richer
"don't come inside"
usually, in fact, almost always
I would pull out
with a split second to spare
and ******* all over her
turning her navel in to
some sort of overflow ***-gutter
proceed to roll over
panting like an old dog in the sun
roll a cigarette whilst she
wipes us both down with some nearby
toilet roll and suggest
we watch something on her laptop
this time was different though
I pulled out and she lays there
and starts tugging me off
entirely unnecessarily
as though both of our lives
depended on it
and I'm glad she did
I started spraying hot **** everywhere
and I think to myself
"I'm painting the ******* walls!"
it was nothing short of sensational
...
and it all seemed very Bukowskiesque
LaBauve Charles Nov 2020
Doors indulge me in lore for love,
As her beauty varies
thorough lines, fine in design,
She must be perfection,
Nor silk or gold worthy her mystique,
A fool wrenches
dormant by pleasantries,
Dwarf by the loomyist of smiles
I have fallen to depths unreached,
What is time if I don't measured in your favor,
Throughout space
the envy is yours,
Let eternity last,
As I'll revisit this moment
for all of eternity,
And let a fool wrench no more,
Shall randomness inline,
I hope to not be, stubborn like jagged rocks
battling sea's,
I'll rather be captured
by the whimsical of life.
And may you in indulge me,
In lore of love.
LaBauve Charles Nov 2020
I wondered while young
how I'll treat my son
I wont be as cruel of course

His snarling face
an emotionless traits
Evil always lives long.

I try, I try
I've tried I will say
echoing years to dawn
Dare I say
with a grin on his face
father still lives on

I'll play games
and laugh everyday
I won't be as cruel of course

That towering crow
That shivers shadows
Lingers like skin to bone

The deeper I thought
The darker I grew
eclipsing all that I see

I lost my sight of sun
He lost his sight of me

The only warmth I had
The only evil he seen

Do ruins have no end
pain I've absorbed my share.
I lost sight of my son
his grave I couldn't bare.

Of what age have I become
To what love do I belong
lost in my hatred of father
And still I live on.
A damage father
Dealing with the death of his son.
LaBauve Charles Nov 2020
Should I
let summer smiles
invade shades to the window
that shields me from the world.

Laugh with the wind
that tickles tree leaves
giggling with birds
whistling rummers
they heard

And breathe for awhile

Open up i dare say
Let the world illuminate your face
and smile for a little while longer
Go be free I dare say
I should dare myself more today
And giggle with the dares I think of.

And smile for a while
And breathe for a little while longer.
13 Apr 2020
reading his work always puts me in a good mood  

reminds me  
of how simple words  
can bear  
complex meanings  

how insignificant  
ambitions  
in the grand  
yet not  
scheme of things  
mean nothing  

the endless cycle  
repeating  
mistake after mistake  
until the lesson  
eradicates itself  

making excuses  
telling lies  
self medicating  
as though  
vitality depends on it  
/it doesn’t/

leaving
infectious afterthoughts  
before you can draw conclusions  
but not after  
you have already submitted  
to the beautiful mind  
that made you wonder  
why nobody listened  
not enough, anyway.
Posted on April 4, 2020
Poolza Mar 2020
These Hoes be fake

These Hoes be dead
Michael R Burch Feb 2020
Le temps a laissé son manteau ("The season has cast its coat aside")
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

The season has cast its coat aside
of wind and cold and rain,
to dress in embroidered light again:
bright sunlight, fit for a bride!

There isn't a bird or beast astride
that fails to sing this sweet refrain:
"The season has cast its coat aside!"

Now rivers, fountains, springs and tides
dressed in their summer best
with silver beads impressed
in a fine display now glide:
the season has cast its coat aside!



The year lays down his mantle cold
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

The year lays down his mantle cold
of wind, chill rain and bitter air,
and now goes clad in clothes of gold
of smiling suns and seasons fair,
while birds and beasts of wood and fold
now with each cry and song declare:
“The year lays down his mantle cold!”
All brooks, springs, rivers, seaward rolled,
now pleasant summer livery wear
with silver beads embroidered where
the world puts off its raiment old.
The year lays down his mantle cold.



Winter has cast his cloak away
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

Winter has cast his cloak away
of wind and cold and chilling rain
to dress in embroidered light again:
the light of day—bright, festive, gay!
Each bird and beast, without delay,
in its own tongue, sings this refrain:
“Winter has cast his cloak away!”
Brooks, fountains, rivers, streams at play,
wear, with their summer livery,
bright beads of silver jewelry.
All the Earth has a new and fresh display:
Winter has cast his cloak away!

Note: This rondeau was set to music by Debussy in his “Trois chansons de France.”



The original French rondeau:

Le temps a laissé son manteau
De vent, de froidure et de pluie,
Et s’est vêtu de broderie,
De soleil luisant, clair et beau.

Il n’y a bête, ni oiseau
Qu’en son jargon ne chante ou crie :
"Le temps a laissé son manteau."

Rivière, fontaine et ruisseau
Portent en livrée jolie,
Gouttes d’argent d’orfèvrerie,
Chacun s’habille de nouveau :
Le temps a laissé son manteau.



Charles d’Orleans (1394-1465) was a French royal born into an aristocratic family: his grandfather was Charles V of France and his uncle was Charles VI. His father, Louis I, Duke of Orleans, was a patron of poets and artists. The poet Christine de Pizan dedicated poems to his mother, Valentina Visconti. He became the Duke of Orleans at age 13 after his father was murdered by John the Fearless, Duke of Burgundy. He was captured at age 21 in the battle of Agincourt and taken to England, where he remained a prisoner for the next quarter century. While imprisoned there he learned English and wrote poetry of a high order in his second language. A master of poetic forms, he wrote primarily ballades, chansons, complaints and rondeaux. He has been called the “father of French lyric poetry” and has also been credited with writing the first Valentine’s Day poem ...



My Very Gentle Valentine
by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My very gentle Valentine,
Alas, for me you were born too soon,
As I was born too late for you!
May God forgive my jailer
Who has kept me from you this entire year.
I am sick without your love, my dear,
My very gentle Valentine.



Keywords/Tags: France, French, translation, Charles, Orleans, Duke, first Valentine, rondeau, chanson, rondel, roundel, ballade, ballad, lyric, Middle English, Medieval English, rondeaus, rondeaux, rondels, roundels, ballades, ballads, chansons, royal, noble, prisoner, hostage, ransom, season, seasons, winter, cold, snow, rain, summer, light, clothes, embroidered, embroidery, birds, beasts, sing, singing, song, refrain, rivers, springs, brooks, fountains, silver, beads
Michael R Burch Feb 2020
Rondel: Your Smiling Mouth
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

Your smiling mouth and laughing eyes, bright gray,
Your ample ******* and slender arms’ twin chains,
Your hands so smooth, each finger straight and plain,
Your little feet—please, what more can I say?

It is my fetish when you’re far away
To muse on these and thus to soothe my pain—
Your smiling mouth and laughing eyes, bright gray,
Your ample ******* and slender arms’ twin chains.

So would I beg you, if I only may,
To see such sights as I before have seen,
Because my fetish pleases me. Obscene?
I’ll be obsessed until my dying day
By your sweet smiling mouth and eyes, bright gray,
Your ample ******* and slender arms’ twin chains!



The First Valentine Poem

Charles d’Orleans (1394-1465), a French royal, the grandchild of Charles V, and the Duke of Orleans, has been credited with writing the first Valentine card, in the form of a poem for his wife. Charles wrote the poem in 1415 at age 21, in the first year of his captivity while being held prisoner in the Tower of London after having been captured by the British at the Battle of Agincourt.

My Very Gentle Valentine
by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My very gentle Valentine,
Alas, for me you were born too soon,
As I was born too late for you!
May God forgive my jailer
Who has kept me from you this entire year.
I am sick without your love, my dear,
My very gentle Valentine.



Charles d’Orleans (1394-1465) was a French royal born into an aristocratic family: his grandfather was Charles V of France and his uncle was Charles VI. His father, Louis I, Duke of Orleans, was a patron of poets and artists. The poet Christine de Pizan dedicated poems to his mother, Valentina Visconti. He became the Duke of Orleans at age 13 after his father was murdered by John the Fearless, Duke of Burgundy. He was captured at age 21 in the battle of Agincourt and taken to England, where he remained a prisoner for the next quarter century. While imprisoned there he learned English and wrote poetry of a high order in his second language. A master of poetic forms, he wrote primarily ballades, chansons, complaints and rondeaux. He has been called the “father of French lyric poetry” and has also been credited with writing the first Valentine’s Day poem.

Keywords/Tags: France, French, translation, Charles, Orleans, Duke, first Valentine, rondeau, chanson, rondel, roundel, ballade, ballad, lyric, Middle English, Medieval English, rondeaus, rondeaux, rondels, roundels, ballades, ballads, chansons, royal, noble, prisoner, hostage, ransom, mouth, eyes, arms, *******, hands, feet, foot, fetish, obscene, ***, desire, lust, Valentine
Michael R Burch Feb 2020
Oft in My Thought
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

So often in my busy mind I sought,
    Around the advent of the fledgling year,
For something pretty that I really ought
    To give my lady dear;
    But that sweet thought's been wrested from me, clear,
        Since death, alas, has sealed her under clay
    And robbed the world of all that's precious here—
        God keep her soul, I can no better say.

For me to keep my manner and my thought
    Acceptable, as suits my age's hour?
While proving that I never once forgot
    Her worth? It tests my power!
    I serve her now with masses and with prayer;
        For it would be a shame for me to stray
    Far from my faith, when my time's drawing near—
        God keep her soul, I can no better say.

Now earthly profits fail, since all is lost
and the cost of everything became so dear;
Therefore, O Lord, who rules the higher host,
    Take my good deeds, as many as there are,
    And crown her, Lord, above in your bright sphere,
        As heaven's truest maid! And may I say:
    Most good, most fair, most likely to bring cheer—
        God keep her soul, I can no better say.

When I praise her, or hear her praises raised,
I recall how recently she brought me pleasure;
    Then my heart floods like an overflowing bay
And makes me wish to dress for my own bier—
    God keep her soul, I can no better say.



The First Valentine Poem

Charles d’Orleans (1394-1465), a French royal, the grandchild of Charles V, and the Duke of Orleans, has been credited with writing the first Valentine card, in the form of a poem for his wife. Charles wrote the poem in 1415 at age 21, in the first year of his captivity while being held prisoner in the Tower of London after having been captured by the British at the Battle of Agincourt.

My Very Gentle Valentine
by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My very gentle Valentine,
Alas, for me you were born too soon,
As I was born too late for you!
May God forgive my jailer
Who has kept me from you this entire year.
I am sick without your love, my dear,
My very gentle Valentine.



Charles d’Orleans (1394-1465) was a French royal born into an aristocratic family: his grandfather was Charles V of France and his uncle was Charles VI. His father, Louis I, Duke of Orleans, was a patron of poets and artists. The poet Christine de Pizan dedicated poems to his mother, Valentina Visconti. He became the Duke of Orleans at age 13 after his father was murdered by John the Fearless, Duke of Burgundy. He was captured at age 21 in the battle of Agincourt and taken to England, where he remained a prisoner for the next quarter century. While imprisoned there he learned English and wrote poetry of a high order in his second language. A master of poetic forms, he wrote primarily ballades, chansons, complaints and rondeaux. He has been called the “father of French lyric poetry” and has also been credited with writing the first Valentine’s Day poem.

Keywords/Tags: France, French, translation, Charles, Orleans, Duke, first Valentine, rondeau, chanson, rondel, roundel, ballade, ballad, lyric, Middle English, Medieval English, rondeaus, rondeaux, rondels, roundels, ballades, ballads, chansons, royal, noble, prisoner, hostage, ransom
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