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I'm not all that good,
I'm not all that bad,
Maybe one day,
I'm as bad as a person can be,
Maybe on another day,
I'm one of the best you can meet,

Raised in a small town,
Where people gossip
from sun up to sun down,
Brought up poor in a broken
family, only added more,

When I'm out and about,
I get those judgemental stares,
with whispers of, "she's hopeless,
she's beyond repair,

I get worked up so
I purposely give them a reason to
gasp for air,

Of course they all claim to be Christians,
The type that choose clean blue water
to be baptised in,
But I was baptised in muddy water
and I'm glad to say," hey listen up,
I was baptised in muddy water so
I guess that makes me too ***** for
your kind?"

Then I smile to myself because
I know  something they must not,
WATERS, as well.
I imagine it kind of went like this:
Upon meeting Jesus, John said: "I have need to be baptized of thee, and comest thou to me? I imagine Jesus told John it was only right to do so, I can imagine John trying to convince Jesus to at least let him find cleaner waters but Jesus knew so He refused.

You see in the time of Jesus’s baptism, the Jordan river and surrounding areas was no less than now, a river full of muck, *****, muddy, and gross looking, you can’t see two inches into it today nor could you then.

These very people called Christians are the same people who judge so harshly, through the centuries they've compared Jesus's baptism to our own,  with an understandable preference for the clear waters of a Blue Hole over the muddy waters of the Jordan and beyond,

So yeah, I'm all messed up in the head,
Better the head than the heart,
But you've already judged my part.

So if you ever run out stuff to gossip about, just think back and remember,
the small town girl that was baptised in muddy water.
- Author Ven J Arnold / SacredInkedBlood
The word Christian is so diluted that I refuse to be labeled as one. Christianity was a new religion started by Paul. Honestly, I know many and they do gossip, intentionally hurt others and think they're way is the only right way. Look at all the wrongs done in the name of Christianity. However I do believe that there are some genuine people who label themselves as a Christian and proudly.
Filomena Feb 2022
He said,
Now please attend
My praying class,
But don't offend
By playing crass!

I heard
A Crashing Cymbal,
Sounding Brass,
A Blasting Wind,
A Braying ***.

In the end,
Despite the way
The teacher tried,
I still remain
A Pauline reference.
Written Feb. 26, 2022.
Augmented and edited the following day.
Michael R Burch Jan 2022
This is my modern English translation of Paul Valéry's poem “Le cimetière marin” (“The graveyard by the sea”). Valéry was buried in the seaside cemetery evoked in his best-known poem. From the vantage of the cemetery, the tombs seemed to “support” a sea-ceiling dotted with white sails. Valéry begins and ends his poem with this image ...

Excerpts from “Le cimetière marin” (“The graveyard by the sea”)
from Charmes ou poèmes (1922)
by Paul Valéry
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Do not, O my soul, aspire to immortal life, but exhaust what is possible.
—Pindar, Pythian Ode 3

This tranquil ceiling, where white doves are sailing,
stands propped between tall pines and foundational tombs,
as the noonday sun composes, with its flames,
sea-waves forever forming and reforming ...
O, what a boon, when some lapsed thought expires,
to reflect on the placid face of Eternity!

As a pear dissolves in the act of being eaten,
transformed, through sudden absence, to delight
relinquishing its shape within our mouths,
even so, I breathe in vapors I’ll become,
as the sea rejoices and its shores enlarge,
fed by lost souls devoured; more are rumored.

Beautiful sky, my true-blue sky, ’tis I
who alters! Pride and indolence possessed me,
yet, somehow, I possessed real potency ...
But now I yield to your ephemeral vapors
as my shadow steals through stations of the dead;
its delicate silhouette crook-*******, “Forward!”

... My soul still awaits reports of its nothingness ...

... What corpse compels me forward, to no end?
What empty skull commends these strange bone-heaps?
A star broods over everything I lost ...

... Here where so much antique marble
shudders over so many shadows,
the faithful sea slumbers ...

... Watchful dog ...
Keep far from these peaceful tombs
the prudent doves, all impossible dreams,
the angels’ curious eyes ...

... The brittle insect scratches out existence ...
... Life is enlarged by its lust for absence ...
... The bitterness of death is sweet and the mind clarified.

... The dead do well here, secured here in this earth ...
... I am what mutates secretly in you ...

I alone can express your apprehensions!
My penitence, my doubts, my limitations,
are fatal flaws in your exquisite diamond ...
But here in their marble-encumbered infinite night
a formless people sleeping at the roots of trees
have slowly adopted your cause ...

... Where, now, are the kindly words of the loving dead? ...
... Now grubs consume, where tears were once composed ...

... Everything dies, returns to earth, gets recycled ...

And what of you, great Soul, do you still dream
there’s something truer than these deceitful colors:
each flash of golden surf on eyes of flesh?
Will you still sing, when you’re as light as air?
Everything perishes and has no presence!
I am not immune; Divine Impatience dies!

Emaciate consolation, Immortality,
grotesquely clothed in your black and gold habit,
transfiguring death into some Madonna’s breast,
your pious ruse and cultivated lie:
who does not know and who does not reject
your empty skull and pandemonic laughter?

The wind is rising! ... We must yet strive to live!
The immense sky opens and closes my book!
Waves surge through shell-shocked rocks, reeking spray!
O, fly, fly away, my sun-bedazzled pages!
Break, breakers! Break joyfully as you threaten to shatter
this tranquil ceiling where white doves are sailing!


“Le vent se lève! . . . il faut tenter de vivre!
L'air immense ouvre et referme mon livre,
La vague en poudre ose jaillir des rocs!
Envolez-vous, pages tout éblouies!
Rompez, vagues! Rompez d'eaux réjouies
Ce toit tranquille où picoraient des focs!”


“Secret Ode” is a poem by the French poet Paul Valéry about collapsing after a vigorous dance, watching the sun set, and seeing the immensity of the night sky as the stars begin to appear.

Ode secrète (“Secret Ode”)
by Paul Valéry
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The fall so exquisite, the ending so soft,
the struggle’s abandonment so delightful:
depositing the glistening body
on a bed of moss, after the dance!

Who has ever seen such a glow
illuminate a triumph
as these sun-brightened beads
crowning a sweat-drenched forehead!

Here, touched by the dusk's last light,
this body that achieved so much
by dancing and outdoing Hercules
now mimics the drooping rose-clumps!

Sleep then, our all-conquering hero,
come so soon to this tragic end,
for now the many-headed Hydra
reveals its Infiniteness …

Behold what Bull, what Bear, what Hound,
what Visions of limitless Conquests
beyond the boundaries of Time
the soul imposes on formless Space!

This is the supreme end, this glittering Light
beyond the control of mere monsters and gods,
as it gloriously reveals
the matchless immensity of the heavens!

This is Paul Valery’s bio from the Academy of American Poets:

Paul Valéry

Poet, essayist, and thinker Paul Ambroise Valéry was born in the Mediterranean town of Séte, France, on October 30, 1871. He attended the lycée at Montpellier and studied law at the University of Montpellier. Valéry left school early to move to Paris and pursue a life as a poet. In Paris, he was a regular member of Stéphane Mallarmé's Tuesday evening salons. It was at this time that he began to publish poems in avant-garde journals.

In 1892, while visiting relatives in Genoa, Valéry underwent a stark personal transformation. During a violent thunderstorm, he determined that he must free himself "at no matter what cost, from those falsehoods: literature and sentiment." He devoted the next twenty years to studying mathematics, philosophy, and language. From 1892 until 1912, he wrote no poetry. He did begin, however, to keep his ideas and notes in a series of journals, which were published in twenty-nine volumes in 1945. He also wrote essays and the book "La Soirée avec M. *****" ("The Evening with Monsieur *****," 1896).

Valéry supported himself during this period first with a job in the War Department, and then as a secretary at the Havas newspaper agency. This job required him to work only a few hours per day, and he spent the rest of his time pursuing his own ideas. He married Jeannie Gobillard in 1900, and they had one son and one daughter. In 1912 Andre Gide persuaded Valéry to collect and revise his earlier poems. In 1917 Valéry published "La Jeune Parque" ("The Young Fate"), a dramatic monologue of over five-hundred lines, and in 1920 he published "Album de vers anciens," 1890-1920 ("Album of Old Verses"). His second collection of poetry, "Charmes" ("Charms") appeared in 1922. Despite tremendous critical and popular acclaim, Valéry again put aside writing poetry. In 1925 he was elected to the Académe Francaise. He spent the remaining twenty years of his life on frequent lecture tours in and out of France, and he wrote numerous essays on poetry, painting, and dance. Paul Valéry died in Paris in July of 1945 and was given a state funeral.
Along with Paul Verlaine and Stéphane Mallarmé, Valéry is considered one the most important Symbolist writers. His highly self-conscious and philosophical style can also been seen to influence later English-language writers such T. S. Eliot and John Ashbery . His work as a critic and theorist of language was important to many of the structuralist critics of the 1960s and 1970s.


Keywords/Tags: Paul Valery, French poem, English translation, sea, seaside, cemetery, grave, graves, graveyard, death, sail, sails, doves, ceiling, soul, souls, dance, sun, sunset, dusk, night, stars, infinity
irinia Nov 2021
There was earth inside them, and
they dug.

They dug and they dug, so their day
went by for them, their night. And they did not praise
who, so they heard, wanted all this,
who, so they heard, knew all this.

They dug and heard nothing more;
they did not grow wise, invented no song,
thought up for themselves no language,
They dug.

There came a stillness, and there came a storm,
and all the oceans came.
I dig, you dig, and the worm digs too,
and that singing out there says: They dig.

O one, o none, o no one, o you:
Where did the way lead when it led nowhere?
O you dig and I dig, and I dig towards you,
and on our finger the ring awakes.

by Paul Celan, translated by Michael Hamburger
irinia Nov 2021
Speak, you also,
speak as the last,
have your say.

Speak -
But keep yes and no unsplit,
And give your say this meaning:
give it the shade.

Give it shade enough,
give it as much
as you know has been dealt out between
midday and midday and midnight,

Look around:
look how it all leaps alive -
where death is! Alive!
He speaks truly who speaks the shade.

But now shrinks the place where you stand:
Where now, stripped by shade, will you go?
Upward. ***** your way up.
Thinner you grow, less knowable, finer.
Finer: a thread by which
it wants to be lowered, the star:
to float further down, down below
where it sees itself glitter:
on sand dunes of wandering words.

by Paul Celan, translated by Michael Hamburger
Paul NP Feb 2021
Deep sleeping delta breathing
Breath of subtle water air
Salivating in mid summer airs-
Night view on the dark pavement.
Hands on it feeling upward rising
Warmth. Gazing up at the sun
Red, Pink, Orange and Blue coalescing infinitely.
The Sky Earth Action in my memories
m e m o r i e s
Amanda Kay Burke Nov 2020
Trying is a lot harder than the first time we were pressed with overwhelming night
Through dark you stay despite the fact neither can see light
Oxygen inside lungs feels stuck
Tried again alright
Zero luck
Everything falling apart
Can't control a single part
When you are near find new strength
For you I'd go any length
I cannot help it
Head over heels
I watch you smile
Can't explain how it feels
You carried many loads for others with grace
You never had the time for your own goals to chase
Instead drew the conclusion way too early on
That you were meant to be a doormat for feet to walk upon
I have seen those who loved you for possessions you owned
When you had nothing they left you alone
Truly feel like you don't see your worth
Purpose of each breath you take on this earth
Everything should be easier
Than it is now
These obstacles are issues we allow
But possible as that may be
No simpler does get
Problem I see
I am not afraid you'll leave me anymore
Afraid I'll leave your heart sore
People like us hard to find
Not afraid cause our hands are intertwined
Since we created beautiful connection
Senselessly lived with no direction
The idea of without you is crazy
Future lacking your embrace at best hazy
We have confrontation but we always work it out
Headstones will be together no doubt
Painful or not
Til death do part
Closer ghosts than we are with beating hearts
Human or undead
Always be my best friend
Until very existence of Earth comes to an end
I am not ever letting you go
I'm attatched like a yo-yo
If you push down
Spring right back up
Forgetting mistakes at bottom of a cup
Why am I quick to forgive?
I get an apology AFTER forgiveness I give
But this is the way things are
Causes me to keep trust far
But what if you were given a legitimate chance?
Instead of the runaround you gave me real romance?
Just every now and then I'd like to see you put forth your all
Have to believe that if you could choose it'd still be me for whom you'd fall
When it comes to you kinda forget other guys even exist
I can't name a single thing better than the second my lips are kissed
So have to show my love for you in any way I can
Just don't know how to make you see for me you are the perfect man
Written 3-4-19 for my soulmate to explain exactly how I feel about him
Amanda Kay Burke Nov 2020
Until the day I die swear I will never stop loving you
Until you prove you mean it what am I supposed to do?
You did things to display to everyone
Proud you were of me
Those days are done
Apart from Instagram posts teeming with corny lines
Rarely make the effort I need to see you remain mine
Start following through plans you make
Try to be extra nice when I first wake
Do not throw away the cards I construct
For birthday or Christmas no matter how ******
They may be unpleasantly messy
They are created with love
It hurts when to the side you crudely shove
Distressing seeing how little I mean
All that we hoped you no longer dream
Of lost joy and the friends who used to care
No longer expecting me to be there
I am sorry for being part of the reason why
No longer carry the spark in your eye
It was not my intention to cause you pain
Now your suffering is my greatest shame
All I wanted was for us to both become something more
Now I'm wistfully wondering what I did that for
This was so long I decided to split it into two parts
Amanda Kay Burke Nov 2020
Do not wanna scream at you every day
I don't want to fight or make you hurt
More and more I say words that cause you pain
Is it so hard to make this work?
Would need you if you didn't need me
To face that realization is hard
Sleep off doubts hoping you won't see
Return cause they never go far
Why are you what I fear the most?
Dreaming open eyes
Fantasies we hope to come true that we used to host
Never will if you keep giving lies
There will come a day everything changes
Nothing will stay the same
Left picking up pieces while reality rearranges
Both will end up with cuts of shame
Love with an intensity so great
When saying your name it rattles doors
Mind might belong to me
My heart is all yours
For my best friend and lover Paul
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