#merciless
At the bar,
I asked, “Play Gaga—”
They said,
“Enough with Gaza.”
Pop songs and geopolitics,
of course,
march to the same…
clicks.
Oct 17, 2025
Oct 17, 2025 at 8:25 AM UTC
Savage start
Gave birth to a savage heart.
Times of cold,
Caused me to carry a heavier load.
Times of abandonment,
Made me question where love was from and if mercy would be sent.
Teenager in the wilderness,
I came of age with bitterness.
Now an adult woman;
I'm a dark merciless tornado and no meteorologist can report which way I'm coming.
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 12:37 AM UTC
I can't help but vent
on how this week went
For the school board dared
Give us all Stress that ensnared
From our hopes of having free time
To our hopes of being able to flip a dime
But worry not, for I have not prepared
So I have dared;
but alas, to no avail
So I will continue trying to unveil
On why the school is so merciless
To those who don't know patience
And to those who are worthless
Hear my inexperience
I am scared, nervous,
despaired, and ambitious
For I will dare once again
To this week of drain
Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 10:05 AM UTC
These are modern English translations of poems written in Middle English by the medieval poet Geoffrey Chaucer. A Chaucer bio follows the translated poems.
THREE RONDELS BY GEOFFREY CHAUCER: MERCILESS BEAUTY, ESCAPE, REJECTION,
Merciles Beaute ("Merciless Beauty")
by Geoffrey Chaucer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Your eyes slay me suddenly;
their beauty I cannot sustain,
they wound me so, through my heart keen.
Unless your words heal me hastily,
my heart's wound will remain green;
for your eyes slay me suddenly;
their beauty I cannot sustain.
By all truth, I tell you faithfully
that you are of life and death my queen;
for at my death this truth shall be seen:
your eyes slay me suddenly;
their beauty I cannot sustain,
they wound me so, through my heart keen.
***
Original Middle English text:
Your yën two wol sle me sodenly,
I may the beaute of hem not sustene,
So woundeth hit through-out my herte kene.
And but your word wol helen hastily
My hertes wounde, whyl that hit is grene,
Your yën two wol sle me sodenly;
may the beaute of hem not sustene.
Upon my trouthe I sey yow feithfully,
That ye ben of my lyf and deth the quene;
For with my deth the trouthe shal be sene.
Your yën two wol sle me sodenly,
I may the beaute of hem not sustene,
So woundeth hit through-out my herte kene.
Escape
a rondel by Geoffrey Chaucer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Since I’m escaped from Love and yet still fat,
I never plan to be in his prison lean;
Since I am free, I count it not a bean.
He may question me and counter this and that;
I care not: I will answer just as I mean.
Since I’m escaped from Love and yet still fat,
I never plan to be in his prison lean.
Love strikes me from his roster, short and flat,
And he is struck from my books, just as clean,
Forevermore; there is no other mean.
Since I’m escaped from Love and yet still fat,
I never plan to be in his prison lean;
Since I am free, I count it not a bean.
***
Original Middle English text:
Sin I fro love escaped am so fat,
I never thenk to ben in his prison lene;
Sin I am fre, I counte him not a bene.
He may answere, and seye this or that;
I do no fors, I speke right as I mene.
Sin I fro love escaped am so fat,
I never thenk to ben in his prison lene.
Love hath my name y-strike out of his sclat,
And he is strike out of my bokes clene
For ever-mo; ther is non other mene.
Sin I fro love escaped am so fat,
I never thenk to ben in his prison lene;
Sin I am fre, I counte him not a bene.
Explicit.
Rejection
by Geoffrey Chaucer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Your beauty from your heart has so erased
Pity, that it’s useless to complain;
For Pride now holds your mercy by a chain.
I'm guiltless, yet my sentence has been cast.
I tell you truly, needless now to feign,—
Your beauty from your heart has so erased
Pity, that it’s useless to complain.
Alas, that Nature in your face compassed
Such beauty, that no man may hope attain
To mercy, though he perish from the pain;
Your beauty from your heart has so erased
Pity, that it’s useless to complain;
For Pride now holds your mercy by a chain.
***
Original Middle English text:
So hath your beaute fro your herte chaced
Pitee, that me ne availeth not to pleyne;
For Daunger halt your mercy in his cheyne.
Giltles my deth thus han ye me purchaced;
I sey yow soth, me nedeth not to feyne;
So hath your beaute fro your herle chaced
Pilee, that me ne availeth not to pleyne
Allas! that nature hath in yow compassed
So gret beaute, that no man may atteyne
To mercy, though he sterve for the peyne.
So hath your beaute fro your herte chaced
Pitee, that me ne availeth not to pleyne;
For daunger halt your mercy in his cheyne.
The Canterbury Tales: General Prologue
by Geoffrey Chaucer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
When April with her sweet showers
has pierced the drought of March to the root,
bathing the vines’ veins in such nectar
that even sweeter flowers are engendered;
and when the West Wind with his fragrant breath
has inspired life in every grove’s and glade’s
greenling leaves; and when the young Sun
has run half his course in Aries the Ram;
and while small birds make melodies
after sleeping all night with open eyes
because Nature pierces them so, to their hearts―
then people long to go on pilgrimages
and palmers to seek strange lands ...
Welcome, Summer
by Geoffrey Chaucer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Now welcome, Summer, with your sun so soft,
since you’ve banished Winter with her icy weather
and driven away her long nights’ frosts.
Saint Valentine, in the heavens aloft,
the songbirds sing your praises together!
Now welcome, Summer, with your sun so soft,
since you’ve banished Winter with her icy weather.
We have good cause to rejoice, not scoff,
since love’s in the air, and also in the heather,
whenever we find such blissful warmth, together.
Now welcome, Summer, with your sun so soft,
since you’ve banished Winter with her icy weather
and driven away her long nights’ frosts.
To Rosemounde: A Ballade
by Geoffrey Chaucer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Madame, you’re a shrine to loveliness
And as world-encircling as trade’s duties.
For your eyes shine like glorious crystals
And your round cheeks like rubies.
Therefore you’re so merry and so jocund
That at a revel, when that I see you dance,
You become an ointment to my wound,
Though you offer me no dalliance.
For though I weep huge buckets of warm tears,
Still woe cannot confound my heart.
For your seemly voice, so delicately pronounced,
Make my thoughts abound with bliss, even apart.
So courteously I go, by your love bound,
So that I say to myself, in true penance,
"Suffer me to love you Rosemounde;
Though you offer me no dalliance.”
Never was a pike so sauce-immersed
As I, in love, am now enmeshed and wounded.
For which I often, of myself, divine
That I am truly Tristam the Second.
My love may not grow cold, nor numb,
I burn in an amorous pleasance.
Do as you will, and I will be your thrall,
Though you offer me no dalliance.
***
Original Middle English text:
Madame, ye ben of al beaute shryne
As fer as cercled is the mapamounde,
For as the cristal glorious ye shyne,
And lyke ruby ben your chekes rounde.
Therwith ye ben so mery and so jocounde
That at a revel whan that I see you daunce,
It is an oynement unto my wounde,
Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce.
For thogh I wepe of teres ful a tyne,
Yet may that wo myn herte nat confounde;
Your semy voys that ye so smal out twyne
Maketh my thoght in joy and blis habounde.
So curtaysly I go with love bounde
That to myself I sey in my penaunce,
"Suffyseth me to love you, Rosemounde,
Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce."
Nas neuer pyk walwed in galauntyne
As I in love am walwed and ywounde,
For which ful ofte I of myself devyne
That I am trew Tristam the secounde.
My love may not refreyde nor affounde,
I brenne ay in an amorous plesaunce.
Do what you lyst, I wyl your thral be founde,
Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce.
A Lady without Paragon
by Geoffrey Chaucer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Hide, Absalom, your shining tresses;
Esther, veil your meekness;
Retract, Jonathan, your friendly caresses;
Penelope and Marcia Catoun?
Other wives hold no comparison;
Hide your beauties, Isolde and Helen;
My lady comes, all stars to outshine.
Thy body fair? Let it not appear,
Lavinia and Lucretia of Rome;
Nor Polyxena, who found love’s cost so dear;
Nor Cleopatra, with all her passion.
Hide the truth of love and your renown;
And thou, Thisbe, who felt such pain;
My lady comes, all stars to outshine.
Hero, Dido, Laodamia, all fair,
And Phyllis, hanging for Demophon;
And Canace, dead by love’s cruel spear;
And Hypsipyle, betrayed along with Jason;
Make of your truth neither boast nor swoon,
Nor Hypermnestra nor Adriane, ye twain;
My lady comes, all stars to outshine.
“Cantus Troili” from Troilus and Criseide
by Petrarch
“If no love is, O God, what fele I so?” translation by Geoffrey Chaucer
modernization by Michael R. Burch
If there’s no love, O God, why then, so low?
And if love is, what thing, and which, is he?
If love is good, whence comes my dismal woe?
If wicked, love’s a wonder unto me,
When every torment and adversity
That comes from him, persuades me not to think,
For the more I thirst, the more I itch to drink!
And if in my own lust I choose to burn,
From whence comes all my wailing and complaint?
If harm agrees with me, where can I turn?
I know not, all I do is feint and faint!
O quick death and sweet harm so pale and quaint,
How may there be in me such quantity
Of you, ’cept I consent to make us three?
And if I so consent, I wrongfully
Complain, I know. Thus pummeled to and fro,
All starless, lost and compassless, am I
Amidst the sea, between two rending winds,
That in diverse directions bid me, “Go!”
Alas! What is this wondrous malady?
For heat of cold, for cold of heat, I die.
GEOFFREY CHAUCER BIO
Geoffrey Chaucer (circa 1340-1400) is generally considered to be the first major English poet, the greatest English poet of the Medieval Period, and the greatest English poet before Shakespeare. Chaucer is best known for The Canterbury Tales but was also a master of lyric forms such as the rondel and balade. Chaucer has been called the "Father of English literature" as well as the "Father of English poetry" and has been credited with helping to legitimize the English vernacular for literary purposes at a time when French and Latin were preferred by England's "upper crust." In fact, for more than three centuries after the Norman Conquest of England in 1066, no English king had spoken English! Chaucer helped change that, and he was also the first writer to have been buried in the Poets' Corner of Westminster Abbey.
Translator's note: There has been considerable confusion between the terms rondeau, rondel and roundel. Rather than dwelling on technicalities, I prefer the "a rose by any other name" approach. I believe "rondel" was the term being used for the English variety in Chaucer's day, although spellings were haphazard back then.
THE CONTINUING INFLUENCE OF GEOFFREY CHAUCER
by Michael R. Burch
This is my answer to a question posed on Quora ...
How did the literature of the Middle Ages affect the poetry of the ages to come?
It was like a chain reaction!
Take just one writer, Geoffrey Chaucer. He influenced English poets, poetry and literature in profound and important ways.
Chaucer was the first major poet to write primarily in English. Before Chaucer the majority of poetry produced in England had been written in other languages: Anglo-Saxon (heavily Germanic), French, Greek and Latin. At the time Chaucer wrote, English kings were still speaking French, the language of the crown, and the courts of law were still being conducted in Latin. Obviously, the choice of a major poet to write his masterpieces in ****** English had a profound influence on writers to come. And not only on poetry, but on all English literature and even the language itself.
But for all his English-ness, Chaucer was a cosmopolitan poet. His influences included French poets, Ovid, Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio. Through his continental influences, Chaucer helped broaden and deepen English poetry and literature. For example, Chaucer wrote English rondels patterned after the French.
Chaucer’s characters such as the Wife of Bath seem alive and fully-fleshed, and no doubt influenced how Shakespeare drew characters of his like Falstaff. Thus Chaucer had tremendous influence on English playwrights, through his own and Shakespeare’s continuing influence.
Chaucer has also been credited with introducing iambic pentameter and rhyme royal to the English language. With his early version of iambic pentameter, Chaucer was able to write longer poems that seemed natural and conversational while maintaining an enjoyable rhythm. The more musical English poets would follow his lead. For instance, the mellifluous Edmund Spenser claimed to be the reincarnation of Chaucer. That is some influence!
We can see the influences of Chaucer — iambic pentameter, fully-fleshed characters, etc. — in the highly popular plays of playwrights like Christopher Marlowe and William Shakespeare. So Chaucer helped make English poetry popular. He was like Elvis inspiring the Beatles. John Lennon once said, “Before Elvis there was nothing.” Modern English language poets might opine, “Before Chaucer there was nothing, or very little.”
Keywords/Tags: Geoffrey Chaucer, roundel, rondel, translation, escape, escaped, love, fat, prison, break, lean, bean, free, plan, roster, list, book, books, clean, count
Feb 24, 2020
Feb 24, 2020 at 4:50 AM UTC
The beautiful sky smiles, why don’t you.
The merciless sky cries, why don’t you.
The sky is open. Open yourself up to me. Be like the sky you raven.
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 10:09 AM UTC
Lavished lady how brilliantly obnoxious you are. I admire how you tower over even the most merciless of men. Look how she floats, you’d mistake her for a benevolent. She can and does do everything. I can only stand here and hope you suffocate on your own ego.
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 7:47 PM UTC
At times I wake in dreams.
At times I’m the observer.
At times I don’t remember.
There was a time waking felt like nothing.
There was a time living was observing.
There was a time days were black.
Time walks on.
Time will move its legs and drag you across the floor.
Time won’t look back and tell you things were missed.
Time is merciless.
This time I’ll fill my eyes with color.
This time the black will come alive.
This time I’ll live.
This time I’ll wake.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 5:59 PM UTC
Whereabout of the heart, where might it be ?
When fury is a feeling which engages your senses, your mind and your soul in a raging outburst of negativity expressed in adrenaline,
Everything seems to be one sided, a loop which only fuels your anger with thoughts of unpleasant, disturbing annoyances, making it harder
Harder to resist, until alike a super nova, you explode in a viscious rampage with knows no escape, so, where is the heart ? Where is it?
A tantrum might be encouraged to grow in size if it's revenge you seek, desire, want to live for to make it expire, with violent passion,
Mercy or compassion, forgiveness and simpathy may be forgotten, within the depths of your burning soul, lit ablaze solely by hatred,
You may lose your mind, oh beauty of a living existence, becoming alike a lily of murderous intent, spiteful, yet elegant and wonderful,
A shivering star, ready to take its opponent down with itself while destroying what used to be so precious, unique and simply sweet,
Blemishing the unconscious without thinking of patience or the chance to calm this nuclear meltdown, unfolding in tragedy for us,
The pure light of your praying palms might help in this regard,
Because his remembrance is what makes furious hearts become calm.
~ Umi
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
Through my eyes it is to you whatever is love appeal
How much I love you my love only time will reveal
Real passion and real emotion will put irrevocable seal
Love is an eternal passion it is neither barter nor deal
If some bruises come to you I feel and undergo pain
I have become you my love totally lunatic and insane
Please do not ask me the pain and pleasure of chain
I don't mind even if in love I am just mercilessly slain
So let us enjoy real taste and spice of our innocent love
You carry my heart and soul with your flight my dove
Please do not ask me it happened when ,where and how
But let me it will remain in us every moment from now
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 12:33 AM UTC
This simulation has concluded
What follows is adulthood
tread carefully
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 6:27 PM UTC
Do you ever feel so worthless ?
Like everything about you – your life, your mind- was a mess?
Do you ever wish the pain would end ?
Like somehow the hurt would magically mend.
Do you ever want to die ?
Like maybe death could be your highest high.
Do you ever feel fed up as **** ?
Like maybe you just want to jump in front of a truck.
Do you ever think about your funeral ?
Like maybe people wouldn’t mourn, like your death was endurable.
Do you ever think about if your parents would cry ?
Like maybe it wouldn’t really matter if you were to die.
Do you like the sting of the blade ?
Like the pain and the blood is the best kind of aid.
Do you ever think you’ll miss it ?
Like being sad was the only thing your mind would permit.
Do you ever think that you could be happier ?
Like you wanted to, but couldn’t because of some barrier.
Do you ever wish you weren’t alone ?
Like maybe it’d help, having someone for your own.
Do you ever feel so worthless ?
Like you’re so helpless, wishing you’d be breathless.
Wishing breathing was painless, but knowing trying is aimless.
Knowing your death would be thoughtless, no one would be speechless.
And even in your grave, you know the pain is endless, restless, & absolutely merciless.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 11:44 PM UTC
Once upon a time
World was not in peace
Wars happened everywhere
Women and kids were all sad
Husbands and dads
Joined the wars and dead
There was one kid
He saw what he saw
His dad was killed
They slit his throat and laughed
That violance somehow
Embedded something in his heart
Years passed
He is a grown man now
World is still the same
Wars still everywhere
He survived somehow
He is still alive now
As a grown man
He wanted to serve his country
A dangerous but safe ground
Where his dad was killed
Where a lonely kid grew up
He worked hard on skills
And joined so many wars
He danced in each war
With his beautiful partner,
His sword
Whenever he saw violence
He was terrific then
But now he's not
To **** enemies is a must
To protect the ground he lives in is a must
There is nothing he terrific of
He saw the worst possibility of violence
His dad was killed! They slit his throat!
He is a cold hearted worrior
"Don't beg for life when you **** people,
Don't beg for sympathy when you have none"
Those ices embedded in his heart
Made him a merciless man
They killed his parents with no doubt
The same way will he do
He is the cold hearted worrior
He lives with his sword
He is living in wars.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
I keep moving, and sprinting,
I use anything that will give me speed,
oh this could be the end,
my breath is heavy,
the air is crowded with my fear,
A wall,
I climb, all the way,
glass, an escape,
they are here,
I hear them behind me,
I turn and look,
pain, sudden, in my ankle,
a knife protrudes,
I still cling,
cling to the wall, to life,
another knife, I must hurry,
glass breaking, freedom,
I desperately shove through,
I am free,
I am alive,
I have made it,
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 11:51 AM UTC
I look up at my assailants,
my breath stops in my lungs,
their eyes, there is something so wrong,
they are hollow, void of humanity,
they are, completely merciless,
there will be no prisoners, this time,
only a painful hacking away of my life,
I taste true fear, bitter and deadly,
I move back, I run,
I run with all my heart,
with all my soul,
with all of my terrified being,
away from those monsters,
away from my demise,
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC