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William Rapp Dec 2019
The language that connects all of us
It’s complex grammar cases difficult
The linguistic struggles cause a big fuss
Rules are held firmly in place by a bolt

Spelling difficulties are not the worst,
As they can be quiet, different, and new
Gosh, this makes me want a good Currywurst
That along with some tasty ethnic brew

Deutsch macht nicht alles einfach, stimmt es so
Aber Deutsch bring uns alle zusammen
Wir haben “Wer? Was? Wann? Warum? Wie? Wo?”
Also ich finde das ich bin verschwa’mn

Maybe it’s for the best, that I don’t learn
For the memories, each does badly burn
Now on a silent summer night
Caught me the melancholy.

I was walking, wandering,
Wondering 'where am I going'
On an empty dusty road
That my legs solidly followed.

Through the shaky street lamps' light,
Just one single word was brought out
By the blackguard of an endless see
Intruded from the deepest embassy.

'Élet', that was the foreign word,
Whose meaning ensnared the world:
La vie, Leben or any Life or birth,
Still just concepts holding little worth.

'Élet' I echoed by laughing,
And passed the road embarrassing
Myself by thinking of that notion
Which had never given me emotion.

A word which filled me with filthy void,
And made me unable to avoid
Falling into a senseless sorrow,
Lowering me lower and more low.

I got to be hardly stressed;
Why this mysterious word pressed
On me so cruelly the wrong,
Making me depressed a life time along.

Even if I should have cried for resort,
I was still walking sine a sort
In my mind that's not a garden of Eden,
Or just I was, by myself, mistaken.

In some or other fairy way,
My road was riding further away;
Just as in Don Quixote's battle of glory,
I was walking against Melancholy.
My very first English poem, written in 2013, Algeria.
Not a phrase you will ever know
A phrase from a language too unknown to show

I speak many languages
From Chinese to French
Not one fluently but more than the last

I could tell you in many languages
From Chinese to Hungarian
Not one fluently would help more than the last

I could answer in many languges
From Chinese to Spanish
Not one could help answer your question more that the last

I could lie in many languages
From Chinese to Filipino Tagalog
Not one should mean anything more than the last

Not a phrase you will ever know
A phrase from a language too unknown to show
But since you asked, I am;
Shāngxīn, triste, szomorú, trastornado
jonchius Sep 2015
resuming vogon poetry
altering website logos
pretending everyone cares
playing "east hastings"
asphyxiating well-nigh denouement
depicting twitter status
obfuscating coincident deletions

translating from Sḵwx̱wú7mesh
assuring Sḵwx̱wú7mesh exists
painting skwiḵw's mother?
decrying micropolitical maelstrom
imbibing fireball fountain
inundating lexical foofaraw

crafting poetic wonders
desiring other mediums
remaining practically invisible
ending internet-only depression

drafting noetic blunders
requesting astute clique
blazing perilous trail
aging ominous grisaille

depicting kmart realism
seeking darker groups
increasing pre-weekend laughter
appropriating communist symbols

making lone chuckle
offending worldwide communists
colonizing hello poetry
colonizing parallel universe

relaxing e-migration policies
пить чистую водку
photographing abduction scene
¿losing consistent format?

increasing bluebird insignia
avoiding frivolous legalities
striking astraphobic comments
assuming near-universal automation

lowering latent inhibition
traversing oneiric plane
laxwadding afebrile loodies
wallscaping pitchsourced chthonicities
closing one-star conveniences
sharing alien-looking alphabet
writing system downtimes
first week of September 2015
Dreams of Sepia Jun 2015

Ich gehe durch die jardin des oiseaux
ya i ti v kopkane no tyebe vsye ravno
how do these things rhyme, I ask in awe

( I walk through the bird garden
  you and I are in a trap but you don't care
  how do these things rhyme, I ask in awe)


Ne pas les choses
die sind dies das
are long,long gone
kogda mi smotrim
v dal and pick and choose
another muse to fall.

( these aren't the things that are those that are long, long gone
when we look into the distance and pick and choose another muse to fall)


Ni kliuch
non, non
die sind nur Traume
that we don
over and over

(no key, no, no these are but dreams that we don over and over.)
Mike Jewett Feb 2015
I love you the way the sun rises every day, without fail. I love you like the night loves the moonlight, covering the darkness with her glow. I love you the way the universe expands into infinity. I love you for each star in existence and that ever will exist. I love you like seeing a streaking comet that comes around earth once every 80,000 years. I love you the way the soil huddles and heaves in winter. I love you for every grain of sand, and I love you the way sand becomes glass, solid and liquid, when put to heat. I love you for the lovebirds in your eyes. I love you as silkworms spin fine reflective threads. I love you past galaxies and superclusters when seen at the speed of light. I love you at the speed of love. I love you with the wild abandon of migrating butterflies being taken by summer’s wind. I love you for each tear that’s ever washed your face. I love you for every smile anyone has had the fortune of witnessing. I love you like a sunset’s last rays of the day, turning everything pink and fiery. I love you as a boulevard winds between houses with closed blinds and closed minds but the road ahead is open. I love you as words meet paper and poetry is created. I love you for every ant that ever worked to make a home in dirt mazes. I love you like the snowflake, vast in number and each unique. I love you the way bullets explode from chambers stopping at nothing but nothing. I love you like jellyfish sting, unforgettably. I love you the way a lioness defends her cubs unflinchingly. I love you the way fog slinks in, engulfing and blinding and in love with the moonlight. I love you like time heading forward and backward and all that is is now. I love you for every ‘I love you’ ever spoken, written, and thought. I love you like sage growing in a sidewalk crack. I love you as hieroglyphs carved within Egypt's tombs, for the way glyphs of people all face towards goddesses and gods. Je t’aime, je t’aime, mon petit rouge.

— The End —