BasilLvoff Aug 19
Share with me, o my prodigal son,
of this world all the sadness and grief,
follow suit, wear my shoes, roam the un-
peopled rooms, subway trains, and the whif-
fy old platforms. My boy, do I grieve
that my son’s got to stray one-on-one
with himself, just like anyone reel-
l-ing in autumn, past gray shops, forlorn,
with a stomach of poignant thrill,
breathing dampness or hearing the gong
of old rails remembering times gone,
when, like milk from a ***** in a ***,
flowed our youth when each one was allot-
t-ed for wisdom and aching his heart,
to feel cold and so never to part.
Share with me, o my prodigal son,
of this world all the sadness and grief,
rove about, but the moment you shiv-
v-er, you’ll know: you and I, we are one.
blessing, benediction, son, prodigal, prodigalson, roam, rove, stray, wander, meander, childhood, youth, past, bygone, sadness, grief, rails, railway, railroad, station, train, cold, autumn, fall, milk
BasilLvoff Aug 19
Marrona, ibaldo an dar abalierra!
Taranti censone in pretria merra!
Creisanto in vido da pietro umore
E trendici splico in questa favore.

Marrona, l’undina che leta, fesanti!
Da chienda, partienda, d’azzuro cencanti!
Creisanto in vido da pietro umore
E mille specetto in mala fuore!
sea, parting, farewell, storm, lass, beloved, mistress, sailor, love
BasilLvoff Aug 18
In Ireland, the rooks do not obtain:
They are of her existence unaware;
Fenced by the ursine paw of the Great Wain,
They never shall fly from the snowbound lair.

Meanwhile, the horses flock, migrating southward
From snowfalls, snowstorms, snow-slides, snow-disasters,
To play backgammon, ever overbored
By that strange land which harbors poetasters.

The Roman bumblebee jumped ****** ******
Over the moon and then spooned out a riddle:
A Viking asked a Greek who lost his buttons,
"Good sir, how to return to our muttons?"

And that is all that I have to bequeath
Before we plunge for good into the Lethe.
Motherland, homesickness, Ireland, rooks, Russia, muttons, horses, migrations, nomads, snow, bear
BasilLvoff Aug 10
Are you alone? Plain solitary? Oh!
It must be really dull and scary! No?
But how’d I know? It’s loud and very—
It’s very busy inside.

A monastery?
Should be swell!
The sanctuary of an all-private cell!
But it would get packed just as well—
More like a special-offer road motel!

Bizarre and strange—
Beyond belief!
Diverse—unchanged,
The crew—the chief!
Three is no charm,
And two’s a crowd—
Extremely close,
Incredibly loud!

Changing like weather,
We stand together
Through sun, rain, heat, and gloom.
Birds of a feather,
We need no tether—
We scatter, but we gather.

Lemon or cherry—
Not necessary
Between them to decide!
Why build a barrier?
The more the merrier!
When it is so very
Busy
Inside!
BasilLvoff Aug 10
[Link to the music below]
Never mind
The rainy weather
Have gratitude
For the kind-
Ness of the Heaven
And this peaceful solitude


Years
Will quickly tick
And tears~
Will be shed
And you
Will be too weak
Tired to seek
Your years will be gone
And you will be so weak,
You’ll be meek enough to cease
To seek


So
Rise and look around
Behold the overarching beauty
Of the forever-lasting sound
Behold the beauty
Of the forever-lasting sound
Behold the beauty of the omnipresent ***


Death
Is but a breath
It’s the inverse of inspiration
Life is breath
So life is death
Death is the end of our days’ tuneful music—it is the result of our breath
Death is a part of our breathing
Long live vivifying death


Never mind
The rainy weather
The cloudy weather
Beatitude
Is the variety of years, of our weather and its mood
Of our music and its mood
Without a difference there is nothing bad or good
Have gratitude
For this mood
And
And imbibe the music
Of these drops
Till it stops one day
Until it stops raining
The rain
Will end soon
Make it understood
Chorus (for instruments): Breathe till it stops
Raining

Words to Concerto V in F minor, BWV 1056
2. Largo [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NLrNhMGPQtk]
BasilLvoff Aug 10
In bird conversant,
Of sloth freed,
I wake with verse and
I'm Siegfried.
BasilLvoff Aug 10
The melancholy poetry of spring
Austere December upside-down has turned.
A lilac bush has blown with many sparrows
And snow-white moon is shining like an iceberg.

Clouds in the sky are speeding chased by wind:
They are of blue silk sewn by caring Nature;
The streams are running fast both here and there,
And one can smell the melting snow of winter.
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