"ande" poems
The ties that bind us are the very ones that separate us.
We have shared a lot of things in common;
And yet most of those common things put a barrier between us.
We have laughed at the same jokes,
Danced to the same drums,
Rejoiced to similar songs,
And sang in similar tunes;
The ties that bind us together.
And yet our differences are always ever apparent.
For as I laugh with tears in my eyes,
You laugh with your teeth,
Hiding the very emotion that binds us from the world to see;
As I dance to the budima drums,
You dance to the drum beats of the kuomboka,
Having the sound that binds us, separate us by how its produced.
I dance to ching’ande and you dance to mfukutu,
Excusing the world from seeing our similar steps.
Oh, the ties that bind us.
I sang Jesus loves me when you sang give me the bible;
Spreading your words in Bemba as I spread mine in Tonga.
How the ties that bind us are so quick to separate us.
Wow, I say to myself as I look at you standing right in front of me.
The bonds of our ties grow stronger as we grow older,
And yet weaker with the passage of time;
We share from the same vein, bound by blood forever;
And yet the differences in the ******* that provided for us separate us.
We come from the same womb,
And yet the little differences in the arrangement of our protein molecules make us different.
Indeed the ties that bind us.
Our mother rejoices in calling us all her children;
And yet the men that take pride in us differ.
Our father sings songs of the products of his manhood;
And yet the women that sing along with him sing differently.
He is the tie that binds;
And he the one that separates us.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
"granday"
its not a *******
twang,
like a rubber band loosened up,
you're like a white sheet
with absolutely no
wrinkles no
lint no
culture.
its not a droop of letters,
like the syllables are carrying old bathwater
on hunched spines;
you sound like dusty paper
left on the shelf too long.
its
"grande"
poner un verano en tus palabras.
put some summer into your words.
fill your mouth with mid-august sweat
and belt it out like a pistol,
bullets ripping the fabric of blue
sky.
you are a flame in snow,
your tongue is supposed to be dancing on the top of your mouth
when you say it,
"grande"
roll your 'r's like you would to tamales in
corn flour,
like you would your body in mud
carpeting every inch of your soul in dark, crusted
veneer,
stuck between your toes.
your tongue is supposed to be ***
exotic chocolate,
french rain.
your tongue is supposed to be like a wild motorboat upon
the raging ocean,
hitting the 'r's with savage animosity
"g-rrrrrrrr-ande"
none of these
"grandays"
words like plummeting wrinkles
under tired eyes, your lips like dead fish floating
shallow and flaccid
in lukewarm
soup.
like rotting fruit left out too long,
squashed, useless, a waste.
do not fill your mouth with
mierda,
****
poner un verano en tus palabras.
put some summer into your words.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 7:44 PM UTC
Aquellas quienes son alguien solo frente a un espejo, quienes sienten lo que son con la camara de su telefono, quienes les importa retocarse por horas para estar minutos en un lugar, son esas personas las que no quiero en mi vida.
Quiero quien se ponga feliz de ver un bosque, que se ria a carcajadas cuando la lluvia las invadio sin aviso, quien disfrute de las luciernagas como de las estrellas, que se descalze a sentir el pasto y juegue con sus dedos en el, que no le importe la gente pero que si le importe el mundo y todo lo que hay en el, que cuando mire sea amor y solo amor, que te acompañe sin invadir, que viva el mundo a contramano y siempre para adelante, que te alimente de felicidad y alegria sin pedir nada a cambio.
Quiero una persona que no ande a las corridas y valore lo que la rodea, que pueda hacer sus cosas con felicidad y no la invadan ni la sofoquen.
Quizas sea utopico pero yo se que esa persona existe, y la quiero conocer, que me invada de amor con una mirada, que nos riamos como locos en una hamaca porque los demas nos estan juzgando.
Quizas este loco, quizas nadie me entienda, pero ya conozco muchos locos, lo que pido no es fuera de lo comun, quiero ver su cara y conocer su nombre porque aunque no la conozca ya estoy enamorado de ella.
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
I
Drag your child dreams across my teeth
and hold your army at the gate.
A thousand pikemen 'neath the flag
Now reign within the court of sleep.
Their hands wrapped round oaken shaft
their mail a-glittered in the sun.
Shields all bared 'gainst mortal pain
To raze and conquer, one by one.
They hung the king and in his place
Poor Yorick sat with crown and mace.
And we vassal's question deep
The choices fools will make and keep.
O sky awash with blinking snow!
O land drowned in golden light!
No force will come and claim the day.
No end to this, O sleepless night.
Drag your child dreams across my teeth
and trace the Ande's over skin.
Release the Marquis from your eyes
to sovereign now my realms of dream.
II
Drag your Child-dreams across my teeth
And run your pistol dry.
Bite into the ears of hope
Now feast upon the flower.
I ran my taste across your lips
and draw a fire with my tongue.
the Y of sin;
Staccatto on your neck
with the silence outside;
Audience to Reverie.
The Verse we sang
With child dreams dragged across monster teeth
hold this holy, once revered hand.
Lay your breath on heaven's gate.
III
...she dragged her child-dreams across my teeth, the edges and tip rubbed me on the range. Her fingers groped for the discarded uniforms of youth, now a size too small.
The white and stark reflections of the passing car-gaze illuminated the comfortable moment for what it really was. She didn't know it yet, she had no idea.
IV
I glanced upon the holy mound
awash in evenings light.
The dew smelt like memories
soaked in pollen.
A black sun yawned between the hills.
Then the earth began to quake
when the river was dammed and its trees deforested.
While all the while
She dragged her child-dreams across my teeth.
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 2:30 AM UTC
Hast thou cometh here cyndelich
ande in beaute with the erli
ande feintest daunen,
whilst the undaunted
niht sky wilt newely
beren the daies spring
once more;
ande dare
I asken if perhaps
I dreem, or if
you trewly do
drape thy leoft hand
gentilly o'er
my right syde,
whilst callening me,
the struggling budde,
to sprightlich
issue forth;
ande morph into a myghty
florishener, then
leoft to beggen most intently
to be swathen in a manere
of soole luve,
all in the mysty morwening liht?
I shall e'er awaiten your andsware,
for now in effect oan,
'till the dai that I
am growen
-perhaps n'er to escapen
for the vine, but
aye in the blest sunne.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 12:36 AM UTC
Áureos buriles en pulido mármol
Graben su nombre; que su busto esplenda
Alto y severo; que su sien decore
Lauro apolíneo.
Musa del bardo que cantó las hondas
Selvas y ríos de la patria... Musa
Libre del Ande, que a su tumba vienes,
¡Pliega las alas!
Ara intocada de su ardiente culto
Fue siempre el Arte; y con unción votiva
Dio, como ofrenda a los eternos Númenes,
Ánforas bellas.
Arcade nuevo, de la selva andina
Hizo, en sus cantos, a los dioses templo;
Y ellos oyeron, de su lira acorde,
Clásicos ritmos
Himnos los suyos armoniosos fueron,
Cantos de hosanna, que cual triunfo vibran
Hoy, cuando extraños ¡Poesía sacra!
Ajan tu veste;
Veste que siempre fulguró distante,
Peplo de diosa en consagrado plinto,
Y hora, arambeles que en el hombro lleva
Vulgo profano.
Frentes se inclinan a su paso. El cielo
Radia en fulgores, y el silencio crece;
Y óyese, lejos, en azul de altura
Vuelo de águilas.
Raudo desfile sobre erial galopa...
¡Potros salvajes que cantó! Las crines
Sueltas al aire... y al tropel de cascos
Tiembla la pampa.
Potros pamperos... ¿Los oís? De polvo
Nubes levantan, y al tocar la cumbre
Rápido el viento, retrasado vuela,
Vuela tras ellos.
Rojas corolas cual la sangre suya,
Ecos de bosques y armonías altas,
Fueron de su alma, segador de ensueños,
Lírica siega.
Frente a sus ojos se extendió anchurosa
Selva de siglos, con inmensas aguas;
Tierra fecunda, y el azul cortando
Fúlgido el Huila.
Toda la tierra tropical; e inmenso
Campo a su vista, con hervir de savia;
Y ávido entonces de laureles, hizo
Suya la selva.
Sueña una garza en su visión de bosque,
Tiende a las ondas el nevado cuello,
Y alza en el pico, destellando en iris,
Vivida escama.
Fue claro río que en radiantes días
Ceibas y palmas contempló en sus ondas,
Y albo de espumas, reflejó de noche
Rubias estrellas.
Diáfano el cielo palpitó en su canto,
Alas de cimas por sus versos se oyen,
Y álzase de ellos, cual de vasos níveos,
Hálito eterno.
Áureos buriles en pulido mármol
Graben su nombre; que su busto esplenda
Alto y severo, y que su sien decore
Lauro apolíneo.
787
Menu supne ande rehnde a
Tere te ode ni
Ohnu bhenchod nu sine te sulawe
Tu har raat hanere ni
Mera chehra nai ghumda
Tere odo chaar chufere?
Une matha chumea pehla?
Ya hath chumme tere?
Son nai dinde menu eh khyaal
Sari raat ehi soch ke lang janda
Ki kite pregnent ta nai hongai
Aj eh kita hona
Oh kita hona
Dil te satt lagdi he
Bus hanju nai ande, bcz show nai kr sakda hanju
Udo ronda ha andro andri
Menu apni galti di saz mil rahi he
Nd me kush ha ki menu saza mil rahi he
Saali fat jandi he
Nd daily fatdi he
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 6:40 PM UTC
Oh pastor, no prosigas por ese agrio camino
Los saltos de esa cabra. Déjala. En la ladera
Ande nos da el estío morada placentera,
Tu esperar es inútil al fulgor vespertino.
Quedémonos. Tendremos higos rojos y vino.
Labra de despertamos la aurora en la ribera.
Habla paso. Los Dioses nos hallaran doquiera,
Hécate esta mirándonos con su mirar divino.
En aquel antro oscuro donde el viento se agita,
El Sátiro, demonio de estos sitios, habita;
Salir podría acaso si oye nuestras palabras.
¿No escuchas en sus labios cantar el caramillo?
Es él. Sus dobles cuernos lucen dorado brillo,
Y al claro de la luna danzar hace mis cabras.
492
Menu ta ande hi ande ne
Meri gharwali nu bi tere supne aan lag gaye
Kal
Kendi ik
Gal
Dasa, me keha daso. Kendi gussa na kreo
Me kal sapne wich heena dekhi.
Nd me shocked. Me ki kaha te ki nai.
Usnu bada dar lagda thuhade to. Kai baar roi he oh bi thuhade krke
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 11:02 PM UTC
Do you know what is the biggest poision?
It’s “regret”
Thuhadi yaad khai ja rahi menu andro di
Me wife naal
Hoke bi usde naal nai
Me u bare sochi janda
Ap dowa de moments yaad ande
doaba de moments yaad a jande
Pata nai kiwe sakoon milu menu
U da address pata krna koi waddi gal nai
Bus me pata nai krna chanda
Me nai chanda tuci hor dukh jhalo mere krke
Pehla hi bade made time wicho nikle ** mere krke
Te *** mera time he us time wicho niklan da
Waheguru kre me nikal
Jawa is time wicho
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 11:12 PM UTC
lave bem teus cabelos e encha uma caneca com um excelente pó de café ou em grãos.
selecione um bom hidratante e conheça cada centímetro de pele do teu corpo.
acenda um cigarro, dê um trago e depois jogue-o fora, se assim preferir.
tire uma foto de algo ou alguém que amas muito. depois emoldure e pendure numa parede bonita. talvez em tons de ciano ou magenta.
olhe bem pro céu. se for chuva calce uma bota, se for sol ande descalço. ou vice-versa.
pense no que gostaria de almoçar hoje.
prepare uma refeição com as próprias mãos que supere suas expectativas.
talvez alho e pimenta. ou quem sabe só um pouco de sal.
tente sorrir agora e se não conseguir tudo bem. faça outra tentativa mais tarde.
respire devagarinho.
pense em todas as nuvens do mundo.
diga que se ama apesar de tudo.
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 11:54 PM UTC
La gloria, con arrugas dejó su huella hundida
De ese gran Caballero sobre la faz, severa,
Y fulgor en su frente, que siempre irguió altanera,
Lleva, de las batallas en que jugó la vida.
En Costa-Firme, en valles y cumbres, su aguerrida
Y poderosa mano plantó la cruz doquiera,
Y del Ande condujo su familiar bandera
Hasta el golfo en que blanca se eleva la Florida.
Tu pincel en la tela, para los de su raza
Hace que surja ahora, bajo férrea coraza,
El noble antepasado, con su marcial decoro;
Y parece, anhelante, que su mirada busca,
En un cielo metálico cuyo fulgor ofusca,
El gran deslumbramiento de la Castilla de Oro.
317
Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]
Avon Man and the Mystery of His First-Best Bed
I gyve unto my wief my second best bed…
-Attributed to Shakespeare in his will. Or Churchill. Or
Milton. Or Elvis. Or Some Famous Man. And Shakespeare
was secretly a Catholic. (No, he wasn’t.) (Yes, he was.) (No, he
wasn’t.) (Yes, he was; I read it on the InterGossip.)
That second-best bed doesn’t matter a pop
Those anyones whoever slept in it are deads
Memorialized as dashboard bobbleheads
At Ye Olde Anne Hathawaye gifte shoppe
Kinge Richarde nevere cryede, “mye kyngdome fore ye bedde!”
Yea, goode olde Sirre Erpinghame joked, “Now lye I like a kynge”
So what’s the deale withe the firste-beste bedde thynge?
Thatte seconde bedde is where the Widowe rested hir hedde
Ande thusse ye scholares maken withouten cessatione
Unsupportede argumentes and allegationes
Jan 25, 2024
Jan 25, 2024 at 9:31 PM UTC