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Simon Oct 4
A girl's values are now FINALLY free! Because nothing wasn't meant to be ever forgotten from her literal inside outness. Nor was it meant to fixate a very awful opportunity for her to mend NOTHING at all of the sort.
Except now that all values are truly free.... How does she put up with the newly evolved form of freedom, (that too is... Nothing more then the impression of something that isn't entirely evolved, when it's more of the freedom of something that never "up to this very point in time" has had the very taste for freedom...ever since this very "corruption" had first started back in a (supposed past) that can't EVER AGAIN become measured properly...? When all isn't meant to be remembered, ever again. When it's also never made to be forgotten (for the most part), either.
So, reasoning out the many variables that compute too much seeming nonsense, as if it's meant to correct it's very wrong doings without thinking about whether or not, it's made to simply be this way...from now on...?
A question repeated by another question, doesn't give enough value to an even more "correct" answer... When nothing is made to bear for the correct assumption, when wanting too correctly "imply" something of an entirely different meaning, altogether.
So, in order to mask this (good enough impression) where nothing would ever again, become "faulted" right off the bat! So you couldn't ever become the more obvious to such a situation that isn't ever to be up too date, ever again.
This poem is too a girl who isn't just (on the dime) to correct their most importance across something that's most deserving of a young and cherishable young girl's lifetime values. (Because let's face it...) A sense in someone's very self isn't truly found out or correctly assorted into context for their very heartbeat to pulse even more correctly too life, if it's not been made to be assorted (very well) within it's very pattern recognition to debate those very pulses into even more correct verses. That would then normally lead into a proud melody to simply interpret as mere language to itself bouncing off of different representation of things that ONLY matter from deep within itself (first and foremost).
Because one's very values are then sometimes mistakenly disguised by the heart that you have yet too interpret (towards the very inputs that have yet to correct it's own values for the heart to value, altogether)!
And that is a brain that's too full of itself... That it can't even see the more correct reason, as too simply "why that is"...?
PS... The brain is the ultimate finisher of failures across an even more disturbing platform that can't even redeem itself (properly) when it's CONSTANTLY yanking it's own chain essentially too bear...alone with!
A girl's lifestyle is never demeaning to cost a lot of tension, when it grips pleasure with the aftertaste of a mere consequence.
Sorceress in blue.
Tell me what is true.

Tell a vision
You lie and we listen.

We’re all alone
In a room filled of people
Staring blankly into the blue.
We hold the control
But who’s in control of who?

A room filled of sound but nobody can hear.
Walls of images that no one can see.

A house with no walls
Listening to when Medea calls.

She casts her spells through the holes in my head.
She likes it better when I’m half dead.
Fading in and out of the picture like a ghost.
Possessing me when she wants it the most.

Your greatest illusion
Is kept in my living room.

Turn truth into fiction,
Make the lie our addiction.

We’re at war,
With our maker.
With bodies of metal,
And hearts as cold as steel.

Loveless love,
The anti-man.
You killed god,
And built a can.

Appear in the blue,
The eyes of the undead are focused on you.

You’re a hypnotist,
Every word you speak is followed by a hiss.

Oh Medea,
You’re a liar.
Henrie Diosa Sep 11
some folks in this department
are really full of it —
a curse on those who use my poems
for some didactic ****

but blessings on the amateur
who reads, and reads again
and travels where i’ve never thought
to go, or never been

within the walls, between the lines
to make a hidden way
and use my words to say the things
i never thought to say

to make a subtle gradient
between the truths and lie —
and turn me over in my grave
that i may slower die
This is a poem about how I want people to overread the hell into my work after I'm gone.
Poetic T Aug 19
Ill never write with the constructs
of ink no matter its shading,
                as it has no edges, no fear or freedom.

Instead I use a scalpel to cut clean words
even though not evidentially visible
             all cuts have meaning.

But ever metaphorical stain takes
         time to show its meaning..

You may not see what I mean
         i write in a different manner to


But let time show the interpretation
                     that was there but never understood

till you looked beneath the incise significance
               even if not seen now,

                         just realise its there...
Those who are blind wish only to see.
Those who see, dont know how to see.
sie wurde
zum alltagsgegenstand
geliebt und gehaßt
zeichen schlechter zeiten
und beschränkungen

von manchen
    gleichmütig angenommen
    als neues mode accessoir
für andere
     ein bedrohliches symbol
     für vorschriften von oben
für viele
     nur ein notwendiges übel
    das wieder verschwinden wird

wir müssen sicherlich
unsere reflexe
beim anblick maskierter personen

   zumindest in unseren breiten
   waren masken meist kennzeichen
   von banditen und räubern

nun tragen sie die guten
und die bösen nicht
aber … wie sicher können wir sein?

es ist eine ernste herausforderung
aus den bewegungen der augenbrauen zu ermessen
ob du einem freund begegnest

oder nicht
Corona erfordert neue Interpretationen visueller Wahrnehmungen ...
Serene May 2
The kitchen is a war zone
A bomb explosion
Wading through the mess of dishes
like sailing across the polluted ocean
They’re stacked practically to the roof
I can no longer ignore the ugly truth
The proof of all the days I’ve already been through
This bowl is from two weeks ago
Good god where did the time go?
I let this mess get piled up
24 hours in a day is not enough
There’s so much to do I don’t know where to start
Maybe it’s best if I break into parts
Turn on the water
Give it time to get properly hot
The sink begins to fill
The water is overflowing
Dishes spill
What am I gonna do?
Now its not one mess but two
The floor is flooded
The sink isn’t draining
I’m slipping and falling
Frantically trying to stop it
But I don’t know the first thing
about fixing a broken faucet
Comin Thro the Rye
by Robert Burns
modern English translation by Michael R. Burch

Oh, Jenny's all wet, poor body,
Jenny's seldom dry;
She's draggin' all her petticoats
Comin' through the rye.

Comin' through the rye, poor body,
Comin' through the rye.
She's draggin' all her petticoats
Comin' through the rye.

Should a body meet a body
Comin' through the rye,
Should a body kiss a body,
Need anybody cry?

Comin' through the rye, poor body,
Comin' through the rye.
She's draggin' all her petticoats
Comin' through the rye.

Should a body meet a body
Comin' through the glen,
Should a body kiss a body,
Need all the world know, then?

Comin' through the rye, poor body,
Comin' through the rye.
She's draggin' all her petticoats
Comin' through the rye.

The poem "Comin Thro the Rye" by Robert Burns may be best-known today because of Holden Caulfield's misinterpretation of it in "The Catcher in the Rye." In the book, Caulfield relates his fantasy to his sister, Phoebe: he's the "catcher in the rye," rescuing children from falling from a cliff. Phoebe corrects him, pointing out that poem is not about a "catcher" in the rye, but about a girl who has met someone in the rye for a kiss (or more), got her underclothes wet (not for the first time), and is dragging her way back to a polite (i.e., Puritanical) society that despises girls who are "easy." Robert Burns, an honest man, was exhibiting empathy for girls who were castigated for doing what all the boys and men longed to do themselves. Keywords/Tags: Robert Burns, Jenny, rye, petticoats, translation, modernization, update, interpretation, modern English, song, wet, body, kiss, gossip, puritanism, prudery
A Red, Red Rose
by Robert Burns
translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch

Oh, my love is like a red, red rose
that's newly sprung in June
and my love is like the melody
that's sweetly played in tune.

And you're so fair, my lovely lass,
and so deep in love am I,
that I will love you still, my dear,
till all the seas run dry.

Till all the seas run dry, my dear,
and the rocks melt with the sun!
And I will love you still, my dear,
while the sands of life shall run.  

And fare you well, my only love!
And fare you well, awhile!
And I will come again, my love,
though it were ten thousand miles!

Keywords/Tags: Robert Burns, red, rose, translation, modernization, update, interpretation, modern English, melody, tune, seas, dry, rocks, melt, sun, ten thousand miles

Original Scots Dialect Poem:

A Red, Red Rose
by Robert Burns

O my Luve is like a red, red rose
   That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melody
   That’s sweetly played in tune.

So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
   So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
   Till a’ the seas gang dry.

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
   And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
   While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve!
   And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
   Though it were ten thousand mile.
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