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Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 10/30/2019

There, in my country, in a faraway land
a hundred dimmed stars shine in a crown,
one hundred extinguished stars above the field stand,
like a hundred knights in an iron armor clad.

There, in my country, in a faraway land
one hundred red-hot hearts with longing burn,
one hundred red-hot hearts pound in the chest
like a ghost into armor iron plates.

There, in my country, in a faraway land
one hundred winds are galloping through fallow lands,
one hundred winds are galloping through the steppe trail
like one hundred steeds' golden horseshoes beating the ground.

And when one hundred days, one hundred nights shall pass,
with hearts full of power knights will rise,
knights will rise, horses will mount,
and they'll light up stars in the golden crown.

Maria Konopnicka (1842-1910)
Maria Konopnicka's funeral was attended by almost 50,000 people, and to this day this great poet has her special place in the hearts of ordinary Polish people.

Konopnicka's poetry has a pinch of Hans Christian Andersen's warmth and magic to it, and this warmth and magic is not lost in free-verse translation.

ConnectHook Aug 2019
I glimpsed the Grail
Removed her mail:
And there beheld an epic tale:

Chivalric odes
With knightly codes
And brave Arthurian episodes . . .

Revealing there
Her essence bare
I touched on divers themes most fair.

The gauntlet flung,
My canto sung,
I read her poem—with my tongue.

My lady-squire
Upon her sire
Now reaped her harvest of desire.

My milk-white steed
Traversed her mead
And she dismounted, free indeed.

Fresh love consumed,
Our quest resumed;
Ideals of chivalry entombed.
Apologies to the Round Table for this allegory of the Spiritual Quest.
the competitors
shall be mounted on something high
and that something
stands on four speeding legs of ply

this particular sport
is presently staging a revival
as there are enthusiasts  
who want to see its survival

the outfits the rivals
wear are really heavy of weight
they must feel like
they're carrying a large freight

let us now hark back
to those days of yore
when the knights would
make a galore score

if you guess the
name of the sport
Sir Lancelot will be
your tournament escort
Alex Evans Mar 2019
christianized, zealous warmongers with ****** stains on stainless steel blades
hauling with them the great flapping insignias of royalty, emblems of their special heritage
disregarding the fact blood flows warm and fast all the same, nobody spared
familiar ties shattered over petty disputes of land and territory in the name of a great purpose
a great purpose disguising glory-seekers and painters whose favorite color is red
led by a massive snowy warhorse with crimson hooves and jet black beady eyes
old, worn, and of a raggedy golden mane forever worshipped
it is my fate to follow
(that’s what they tell me)

biblical storytales springing to life as they gallivant across the country singing do-goods
while their actions connotate some great demon lurking about behind their holy words
valiant warriors in service to a mighty omnipresent deity watching woefully from above
as they unnecessarily **** innocents that they knew it was wrong to ******
blind belief is as alive as bloodlust to them, screaming their lungs out for the almighty
they are the salvation and the scourge, leeches of the land and lordly leaders for long
fearful eyes of aliens stare to the sky and grovel in a piteous attempt for mercy
he cannot condone this
(and that’s what they don’t)

knights of cardboard armor and ironclad skulls falling by the thousands
yet they relentlessly hunt the enemy like predatory raptors of the past, voracious
not yet declawed or defanged as they are before the plastic wisdom of man claiming to be
the god of glory, gold, and gore; suddenly he is a savage ravager and avenger of the undead
men swear themselves to a cloaked idol in order to become accusers of the guilty
when the openness of perception may be all that is truly necessary
even kings are defenseless against the all-consuming force of religious blessing
how is it just?

god’s greatest success
god’s greatest regret
(am i both or neither?)
I'm needing to leave,
But because of you,
I'm glued to my feet.
Unable to walk away.
Stuck in my tracks.
The sight of you was unbearable to breathe.
I once shared another life with you.
An intuition of recognition is what I perceive.
I'm missing your skin,
like a feather misses the wind.
Carrying my soul from place to place
all in a spin,
without destination or control never to waste again.
Everything came so naturally,
Wild and free.
There isn't one thing that I'll miss
but of everything.
Remember when I once said this,
followed by a kiss.
Forever yours I intend,
but that's when the storms rolled in.
Just like that,
the start was an end.
Without no inbetween.
Short time, losted friend.
Missing you over and over,
again and again
Druzzayne Rika Oct 2018
I'll **** my own pride
to go on this fairytale ride
to become a distressed damsel
to live a life stable

There are no fancy knights alive
no one teaches them what's right
we'll be waiting half our life
then proceed ahead on our right

Little late on this race
there is not enough space
running knowing no better
getting a place whenever

The world not shy to show the unfairness
same status, more the less
crowning someone else the royal prince
it has this same ending long since.
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