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Julian Delia Aug 2018
M’hemm ebda mod ieħor
Li stajt niddivina, biex forsi tisimgħuni –
Bil-Malti issa qlibt, jekk forsi qegħdin tinnutawni.
L-ewwel ħaġa:
Fehmuni għalfejn għadha tezisti d-duttrina.
Akkost li xi ħadd jibgħatni nieħdu jien u nirfes il-bankina,
Ser ngħidha!

Għax ma ngħallmux lit-tfal tagħna
Jifhmu l-imħabba lejn il-proxxmu
Minflok il-liġi inuffiċjali
‘Min mhux magħna kontra tagħna?’  
Għax ma nitgħallmux niddiskutu u niddibattu,
Forsi nċedu ftit, flok dejjem nċaħħdu u nirribattu?
Forsi immexxu bl-eżempju; flok immorru sa’ tempju
Nitpaxxew b’deheb misruq u b’moħħ magħluq,
Nitgħallmu nieqfu niskappaw u nistaħbew,
Wara wiċċ imżejjen falz, jew xi metafora.

It-tieni ħaga, u għalissa nieqaf haw’:
Fehmuni għalfejn lesti li l-futur taghna ninġazzaw?
Nikkompromettu, nidħlu fid-dejn,
Il-valuri tagħna nirremettu, basta fl-aħħar tax-xahar
Jidħlulna imqar dawk l-elfejn.

Qabli hawn oħrajn li dan il-kliem diġà qaluh –
Malta m’hijiex ward u żahar u kollox ifugħ.
Anzi, l-intiena tal-korruzzjoni tqanqallek id-dmugħ.
Jien ma ġejtx hawn biex immaqdar u nitlaq,
Nixtieq li nkunu konxji u nieħdu dak li jixraq.
Jekk inti tixtieq hekk ukoll,
Mela ejja ningħaqdu, għax għandna ħafna xoghol.

__________________

­[in English]

There is no other way I could divine
To make you hopefully listen to me –
You may have noticed I switched to Maltese.
The first thing on the list;
Can someone explain why (religious) doctrine still exists?
Although this may elicit someone’s anger as I step out on the sidewalk,
I shall say it!

Why don’t we teach our children
To understand loving one’s fellow man
Instead of the unofficial law
‘Whoever is not with us, is against us?’
Why don’t we learn to discuss and debate,
Maybe concede a bit, rather than deny and rebate?
Maybe lead by example; instead of going to a temple,
Awed by stolen gold and closed minds,
Learn to stop escaping and hiding
Behind a fake, decorated face, or a metaphor.

The second thing on the list, and I’ll stop ‘ere:
Can someone explain why we’re ready to ruin our future?
Compromising, racking up debt,
Our values we are regurgitating as long as, at the end of the month,
We get a couple thousand (as in, money).

Others before me have already said these words –
Malta isn’t all flowers and roses, and not everything is fragrant.
Actually, the stench of corruption will make you cry.
I am not here to complain and leave,
I just wish we’d be aware so we can get what we deserve.
If you want this as well,
Then let us join together, for we have a lot of work to do.
A poem in my native tongue, Maltese.
Julian Delia Apr 2019
Li kieku jerġa jiġi Kristu,
Lanqas jilħaq jitma ruħ.
Tilħqu taqfluh ġo skola,
Imsallab mill-punt tat-tluq.
Jilħaq jitlef ruħu fi xmara dmugħ,
Hekk kif il-ħajja jduq.
Jerġa jħoss x’jiġifieri in-niket,
Kif jarana naħxu dak li nibet,
L-ambjent tagħna, b’passjoni neqirduh.

Swied il-qalb;
Mument ta’ skiet,
Mument ta’ talb.

Qalb mogħdiet miksija bil-konkrit,
Nesprimi dar-rabja u dan l-inkwiet,
Ngħix il-ħajja mingħajr irbit.
Ngħid dak li nħoss,
Noħroġ dan il-kliem mingħajr intopp,
Nidgħi, meta xi gvern ireddali xi żobb.

Ilni ma nikteb,
Għax b’dan il-kliem ma nafx x’ħa nikseb.
Dil-kuxjenza li xogħla tniggżek,
X’għamilniela biex tfejniha, tgħid?
Għax jien nġibilha skużi, ġieli;
Ġieli, tgħidx kemm nigdeb.

* *

Vera ilni nipprova;
Nipprova naċċetta li nagħmel dak li d-dinja ta’ madwari tapprova,
Sa għamilt kors, ma nafx kif, imma ggradwajt u krejt it-toga.
Tgħallimt, u sirt għalliem,
Ktibt poeżiji li jħalluk bla kliem.
Ippruvajt insib il-paċi u s-sliem,
Qtajt il-pastażati bl-addoċċ,
Iż-żiblata ta’ bla ħsieb.

Xejn ma ħadem;
Xejn, kull ma għamilt inqridt,
Sa ġieli dħalt fid-dejn.
Qisni mort ngħix fi sqaq l-infern.
Donnu, d-destin tiegħi qisu ħaddiem tal-gvern.
Dejjem għajjien u dejjem m’hu sejjer imkien,
Destinat li nolqot in-noti b’mod stunat,
Imwelled f’did-dinja b’ritmu sfrenat.

Min jaf kif jitbellah Kristu,
Jekk jerġa jiġi ħdejna;
Jara kif it-tagħlim insejna,
Kif ngħixu ġo gaġġa mżejna,
Kif mingħalina li sirna s-sidien ta’ dil-gżira ċkejkna.

L-ewwel, inwerwruh bl-injoranza grassa,
Bil-passivita’ ta dil-***** ċassa.
Imbagħad, ngħaxxquh b’kemm hawn minnha jmutu bil-ġuħ,
Biex ma ngħidux *** f’liema direzzjoni sejrin,
Kif ilna għaddejjin; ‘l-aqwa li jien minn ***!’

Ejja ngħidu li ma nsallbuhx, ħa;
Kristu probabbli jtiha għal isfel, li kieku.
Qabel ma jerġa jiġi, jiġġieled ma missieru;
Jgħidlu ‘le, ma rridx ninżel!’

Qalbna, il-qofol mikul bin-nekrożi, tinten,
Bil-mewt madwarna, tittanta u tiżfen.
X’saltna t’Alla; mhux li kien,
Mhux li kien nerġgħu niksbuha maż-żmien.

____________________________________________

‘If­ Christ Came Back’

If Christ came back, he wouldn’t even have the time to feed a single soul. You’d lock him up in a school, crucified from the get-go. He would drown in a river of his own tears, as soon as he tastes life. He would experience sorrow anew, witnessing us destroying that which has blossomed, the very environment which we passionately eradicate.

Blackened, sorrowful heart; a moment of silence, a moment of prayer.

Among pathways covered in concrete, I express this rage and this anxiety, living life with no attachments. I say what I feel, pulling out these words without any resistance, swearing whenever some government shoves its **** down my throat.

I haven’t written in a while, because I don’t really know what I’m going to achieve with these words. This conscience, whose job is to sting, what have we done to it to switch off? I give it excuses, mostly; sometimes, I really do lie to it, a lot.

* *

I’ve really been trying; trying to accept doing what the world around me approves of, I even finished a degree, I don’t know how, but I graduated and rented a toga. I learned, and I became a teacher, too; I wrote poems that leave you speechless. I tried to find peace and serenity, I cut out senseless debauchery, the mindless ******.

Nothing worked; nothing, all I did was destroy myself, going into debt, even. It’s like I started to live in hell’s alley. It seems my destiny is like a government employee; always tired and going nowhere. Destined to hit notes off-key, born in a world with a relentless rhythm.

Who knows how shocked Christ would be, if he ever came back. He’d see how we forgot all his teachings, how we live in decorated cages, how we think we’ve become the lords of this tiny island.

First, we’d terrify him with our crass ignorance, with the passivity of the dazed masses. Then, we’ll make him feel worse when he sees how many of us are starving to death, not to mention the direction we’ve taken, how long we’ve been going: ‘as long as I come out on top, eh!’

Let’s say we wouldn’t crucify him, maybe; Christ would probably jump off a cliff, if anything. Before coming back, he’d argued with his father, ‘no, I don’t want to go back there again!’ Our hearts are rotting in their core, necrotic, with death dancing around us, taunting us. God’s glory? Yeah, right; if only, if only we could find that again, in due time.
Happy Easter, a*sholes.
Phil Lindsey Mar 2015
“Will you please leave the light on?”
Said the young Boy to his Dad.
“I’m kinda scared at night time, but
I hope that you’re not mad ‘cuz when
I am grown up big like you, I won’t be afraid no more
Then you can turn the light off and even shut the door.”

“It’s not the dark that scares me.”
Said the Father to his Son.
“It’s the early hours of morning
When the light has just begun
To creep in through the window,
Push the darkness from the room and
Sweep away the shadows like an
Illuminating broom.”

“So why’s the morning scare you, Dad?”
“I really like the day.  I get dressed and Mom makes breakfast,
I get to watch TV and play.
Sometimes we go out shopping and buy groceries and stuff,
She might buy me an ice cream cone – if I’m good enough.”

The Father laughed, sat on the bed, and held his small Son’s hand.
“I wish I could explain it, Son, in a way you’d understand.
At night the dark can hide the truth, I dream and make big plans.
Then morning brings reality to my castles built in sand.
While you and Mom have breakfast, I have to go to work.
I have RE-SPON-SI-BIL’-ITY and duties I can’t shirk.
People there DEPEND-ON-ME.  I don’t want to LET-THEM-DOWN.”
Dad suddenly stopped talking when he saw his young Boy frown.

“It sounds like you don’t like your work.”
“You should stay home with Mom and me!
Then you can help make breakfast, and it’ll be us three.
We’ll have a really good time - you won’t be afraid of day.
We’ll help Mom do the dishes, then we’ll go out and play.
Maybe you can pitch some ***** and I can learn to bat?
‘Cuz please don’t tell her, but you know - Mom isn’t good at that.
But she can go out shopping, and we’ll stay home alone,
And, DAD, if you are REALLY good, I’ll make YOU an ice cream cone!”

Dad leaned over, kissed his Son, and said, “I think I might.”
“You said some things that I forgot, and I think you got it right.
I know you and Mom DEPEND-ON-ME, and
I have RE-SPON-SI-BIL’-ITY
To help her make the breakfast and to help you learn to bat,
And maybe I’m afraid of day ‘cuz I’ve been forgetting that.
So tonight I’ll leave my light on
And I’ll leave your light on, too.
And tomorrow morning, when it’s light, I’ll stay home with you!
PwL 1990 to 2015
Started this when my son was a young boy.  Finished it tonight, about a week after his 27th birthday.
Julian Delia Sep 2018
Mingħajr flus,
La tgħannaq u lanqas tbus –
Hekk qalulna l-imgħallma tal-passat.
Nesew javżawna *** is-serq sfaċċat;
Lanqas ħasbu *** kif il-moralita’ ta’ pajjiżna spiċċat.

Qawl li jiżvela realta’ kerha;
Messaġġ li tassew iġegħlek tħares lejn il-mera.
Mingħajr flus, aqbad u insa’ d-drittijiet!
Dak li qiegħed ngħid m’huwiex sigriet;
Għall-liberta’ tal-pajjiż,
Bkew l-ommijiet, u mietu l-missirijiet.

Issa, minflok, il-liberta’ tmur għand l-ogħla negozjant.
Sadanittant, tefawha ghal bejgħ, u gidbulek;
Qalulek li għal ġid tiegħek,
Huma u jidħku bik u jdeffsu idejhom ġo butek.

Bil-flus, mela, tagħmel triq fil-baħar!
Bil-flus, ibni torri ħalli jkollok biex tiftaħar!
Mingħajr il-flus, insa’ s-saqaf *** rasek,
Ara taħseb li xi ħadd ħa jagħti kasek!
Mingħajr il-flus, ara minn fejn ha ġġib l-ikel,
Kif ħa titma lill-uliedek mingħajr ma jkollok tfittex fiż-żibel.

Bil-flus, pero’, tħabbilx moħħok;
Mill-maġġoranza tal-poplu,
Tistħix tigi alabibżobbok.
Mistoqsija waħda għad fadalli:
Gheżież antenati li ġew qabilna, li messew xtutna –
Hawn x’għamilna lilna nfusna?

__________

(in English)

Without money,
You shall receive neither hugs, nor kisses -
That's what the wise men of old said.
They forgot to warn us about shameless theft;
They didn't think about our country's morality,
In decline.

A proverb that reveals an ugly truth;
A message that forces you to really look at a mirror.
Without money, forget your rights!
What I am now saying is no secret;
For this country's liberty,
Mothers have cried, fathers have died.

Nowadays, liberty goes to the highest bidder;
In the mean time, they put it up for sale, lying to you;
They told you it's for your own good,
As they laugh and dip their hands in your pockets.

With money, then, build a road in the sea!
With money, build a tower so you'll have plenty to boast about!
Without money, forget a roof over your head;
Don't even think someone will pay attention!
Without money, figure out where food is coming from,
How you're gonna feed your kids without dipping your hands in trash.

With money, however, don't fret;
As for the rest of the population,
Do not be embarrassed to admit you don't give a ****.
I only have one question left:
Dear ancestors who came before us, who touched our shores -
What have we done to ourselves?
'Minghajr flus la tghannaq u lanqas tbus' is an ancient pearl of Maltese 'wisdom' that inspired the words you see here.
Tivonna Apr 2016
Oh, those dubious hill climbs*

Mani's full glow . . .
          emanates from the heavens,
          penetrating atmosphere's layers
          to those child-wondered hills.

Filled with his love . . .
          endless in time,
          watching his frolicking children
          in attempts to fetch life's waters.

Always shining with love . . .
          in their attempts,
          to climb that well-trodden path,
          yet they always seemed to tumble.

Helplessly watching . . .
          their trek uphill,
          he continued to light the way,
          knowing they missed that well again.

To intercede became his plan . . .
          to prevent further injuries,
          that earthly crown could take so much,
          along with multiple bruising.

Wisking them away . . .
          to fly in the heaven's with him,
          bringing them home again,
          and to find their life's water.

Tivonna
NaPoWriMO-21 to write a poem in the voice of minor character from a fairy tale or myth.

Jack and Jill has many interpretations—lovers, 2 male priests, beheadings, royal taxes, siblings, pint of ale and brew, to the Norse myth Hjuki and Bil.  Mani is the moon (their father) and my altered approach to the singing rhyme Jack and Jill.
bluevelvet Jul 2017
She's like a drug,
The kind that's bad
For the body and lungs
But she's also like the kind
That makes a presence
Come to life and blind
The poor excuse of her

She makes mistakes,
Causes a big disgrace
And tries to make it right
But ends up losing every fight
And dims her very own light
Each and every time

She feels like a burden,
Something stale and harden
And easily is pardoned
Of feeling close to belonging
Looked over while dying

And she has trust issues,
Problems balled up in tissue
Akin to the disgusting flu
And bitter on so much too
But now she only has the ghost of you

She'd never use a hand to hold her head up,
Everything you'd say is enough
Look at you with childlike wide eyes
And believe it was no lies
Every word you'd say,
Another star in her universe
And your eyes are the moon
And your soul, the setting sun
All meshed together to form
Her favorite part of the day,
The time to take a favorite picture

She would break things,
Try to pick them up on her own
But you'd bend down and
Let the pieces cut your fingers too
And she'd kiss yours better,
You'd rap hers up in loves bandage leather
And she'd delicately dance around
Every single one of those things,
Learn 'cause you'd complete her

She'd work hard to be the perfect form
Of everything you'd adore,
Worthy enough to straddle your lap,
Devour your holy lips while you grab her ***
And bump noses to only end up in fits of laughs
And she'd only have thoughts of you,
You'd have only eyes for her
And she'd do the things even the purest of pure
Could never manage to do

She'd build flowers and paint pictures
To remind you that she's still there,
Deep inside where you both reside now
She'd punch through all your walls
Until her skin was gone and the meat
Was tethered to show the blinding white
Of her still trying bones
She'd take her eyes out so you could see
Just how far you've made her go to remember how to breathe
And how important and the center you've become
And when she'd sweat and curse,
Feel like she isn't worth your love,
You'd dab the sweat off her forehead
And hold her tight to soak up the pain
That would shake into your vertebrate
That's made out of armor and would end their life
Because you'd never want her to spend another sleepless night

But this is all she feels now,
And she feels alone now
Every song and every memory
Is about you somehow
Every movement and every plan
Revolve around you like she still has a chance
But it's all in her head,
She comes back to reality where she
Is really all alone
Opens her eyes and she's dancing with your phantom
Because she is a
li·a·bil·i·ty,
She's sometimes too much for even me
But she loves you and we wonder if you'll ever know that
Julian Delia Jul 2019
Ġrieħi miftuħin,
Xejn ma jrid jingħalaq.
Suppost, il-ġnus maqgħuda,
Iżda lkoll qegħdin mifruxin,
Donnu, xejn ma jrid jiċċaqlaq.

Feriti ifferoċjati bil-melħ,
Kruċjati, bla ebda sens ta’ ferħ.
U l-imħabba għal proxxmu -
Dik x’sar minnha?
Issa sibna x-xoqqa f’moxta;
Ħlifna, bit-tarf ta’ din il-pinna,
Naslu għal verità, naraw x’insarrfu minnha.

Allura, x’inhi din il-verità?
Qiegħed nassumi li hekk qegħdin tistaqsu.
M’hemmx dibattitu, ir-realtà turik,
Kollox f’ħinu, kollox f’waqtu.
Ir-risposta tiegħi hija din;
Tlifna kull sens ta’ valur,
Tlifna kull sens ta’ twemmin.

M’għadniex nemmu fil-valur tal-ħajja ta’ kullħadd.
M’għadniex nemmnu li kull azzjoni għanda impatt.
Nemmu li aħna progressivi, u Ewropej;
Jekk vera nemmnu hekk,
Lesti nħallsu għall-eċċessi u d-dejn?
Mhux dejn fiskali, iżda dejn immortali,
Id-dejn tad-demm li xxerred,
Dejn is-sudditti, dejn l-iskjavi.

In fatti, is-superjorità materjali ġejja minn hekk;
Mill-gwerer tas-slaten, u l-gideb ta’ dawn tal-ġlekk.
Daħħalna xafra disa’ pulzieri ‘il ġewwa,
Biex imbagħad ħriġniha sitta ‘il barra;
Ta’ parsi għandna l-ugwaljanza,
Għax issa jsawtuk xorta, iżda b’aktar ħlewwa.

Qabel, kellna l-ktajjen u l-forza brutali.
Issa, għandna l-kuntratti, u l-kodiċi penali,
Bil-banek jirrenjaw,
Bil-gvernijiet korporazzjonijiet statali.
Mhux ha nitlobkom temmnuni -
Nitlobkom biss teżaminaw il-fatti.
M’għandix spag x’jiġbduli;
Il-kuxjenza nadifa,
U m’għandix gideb x’ngħatti.

_______

’Open wounds’

Open wounds;
They aren’t closing.
Nations should be united,
But we are far apart,
Seems like nothing wants to budge.

Wounds, seasoned with salt,
Crucibles, with no sense of joy.
And, about that love for one’s fellow man -
What happened to that?
Now, we’ve found the perfect moment;
We’ve sworn, with the tip of this pen,
(that) We’ll get to the truth,
See what we can make of it.

So; what is the truth?
I am assuming that’s what you’re asking.
There’s no debate, reality shows you,
In due time and place, in the right moment.
My answer is this -
We’ve lost all our sense of valour,
We’ve lost all our sense of belief.

We no longer believe in the value of everyone’s life.
We no longer believe every action impacts others.
We believe that we are progressive, and European;
If we do believe that,
Are we ready to pay back our excesses and debts?
This is not fiscal debt, but rather an immortal one,
The debt of the blood that has been shed,
The debt of subjects and slaves.

In fact, material superiority stems from this;
From the wars of lords and the lies of the suits.
We’ve pushed a blade nine inches inward,
And pushed it six inches outward;
Pretending we have equality,
Just because now, they’ll still beat you, but more sweetly, more subtly.

Before, we had chains and brute force.
Now, we have contracts, and the penal code,
With banks reigning supreme,
With governments who are now state corporations.
I am not asking you to believe me -
I am asking you to examine the facts.
I have no strings, none that can be pulled;
My conscience is clean,
And I have no lies to cover up.
Dedicated to a nation full of crooks and *******.
Ingen ****** med mig, en københavner
For jeg er immun over røgen fra de
Gule og blå kameler - selv når
Du presser dem ned med din tunge,
Og du fortæller mig hvor skøn du
Synes min kolde krop er.
Du euforiserer dig selv
med Hash fra Christiania.
Og lidt *** fra Vesterbro

Ingen ****** med mig, en københavner
Imens jeg dækker øjnene til, og
Svinger ud foran en bil på Blegdamsvej
Når jeg bander og svovler, over idioterne i
Deres benzinslugende miljøforurenende biler
Jeg cykler, hvor jeg vil - for cykelister
Har da førsteret, selv på Lyngbyvejen
En fredag aften.

Ingen ****** med mig, en københavner
Når jeg tager et sip af min lunkne Latte
Og læser min egen halvkvalmende poesi
Om mit efterårskolde kærlighedsliv
På en lille kaffebar uden WIFI på Nørrebro
For jeg er langt foran, på farten og lidt sejere end
De andre poetiske narcisister
Fra Nordjylland

Ingen ****** med mig, en københavner
For jeg har skandinavisk gennemsigtig hud
Sjasket lyst hår, og fregner så mange at du
Bliver grøn af misundelse
For jeg er storbyens dronning
Så kan du bare fucke hjem til
Dit provinshul.
Robert Clapham Sep 2010
Mirrored thought full breach horizon
Yearning drawing bridging cry
Intimate complete attraction
Now the moment true imply
Cast aside mendacious forethought
Resolute round purpose fly
Epiphanic thought emerging
Doubts foul gibbous banish say ....
Insp’ration resolute within here
Bursting forth bright intellect
Loosing dogs full purpose forward
Encroaching far reach treaded path
Resolute’ness biting grasping
Endless boundless seeming lost
Blazing purposeful grasp grimly
Energise strong inner soul
Capa’bil’ity strong purpose
Clear thought con’quering foul
Abandon dissolute mist darkness
Intersperse directive steer
Levelling where once lay mountains
Onward pushing prancing laugh
Voices raised fair joyous chorus
Ethereal reaching hands entwine
Yearning warmth transcending distance
Over hill and Moorland track
Understand where strength in thought lay
Accomplishment find perfect peace
©2010 Robert Clapham

Written at a time when I doubted my abilities
ROBERT W KODAMA Mar 2018
dear sir,
this was my jacket, a fine coat it is.
it held me tight an kept me from fright.
in the wind we would go, bright sun would shine down as I'd
cruise all over town.
I'm gone now, the coat hangs limp.
a constant reminder to my wife so fine of the life I left behind.
I plead with thee,
do not tread my path.
not a poem, just a open letter to the unknown other
Marolle Oct 2015
biler kører stærkt forbi ude på Ringvejen
barn cykler rundt og råber på et fremmed sprog
flere biler kører forbi
computertasterne siger de velkendte klik’s, når jeg skriver dette
barnet cykler frem og tilbage
jeg kan høre cykelhjulets tikken
der bremses hård op på cyklen
en motorcykel i det fjerne gasser op
og en bil kører forbi ude ved blokkens gade
et andet barn i det fjerne råber: ”Papa, papa…”
der er fuglesang af fuglearter jeg ikke kender
og efterårsvinden suser i de gule trækroner
der er fodtrin nedenfor mit vindue
tunge skridt der bliver slæbt hen ad jorden
trafikken står aldrig stille
der vil altid være lyde at høre

*(Marolle)
L S Tesler Oct 2014
"man kan, hvad man vil"
det sagde du selv
da du tog mit hjerte i dine lune hænder
efter 6 måneder i den evige
kulde
du og jeg
dig og mig
vi er så meget
men lige nu, er vi ingenting
længsel er vores drivkraft
kærligheden er skrøbelig
og vi skal passe på
så vi ikke knuser den
igen
lad os prøve igen
lad os elske igen
det føles som gamle dage
når dine øjne smiler til mig
og minder mig om
hvorfor jeg hoppede i det blå hav
de består af
til at starte med
lygtepælens skær krammer
din mørkegrønne bil
med duggede ruder
fordi vi trækker vejret istedet for at
snakke
jeg forsvinder i
lyserøde skyer
når du fortæller mig
at du har savnet mig
inden du trækker i mit halstørklæde
for at lade vores læber mødes
jeg ser ikke andet
end hvad vi kunne blive
du og jeg
dig og mig
igen
Et-eller-andet Apr 2015
I skolen skriver jeg sagprosa,
og rækker flittigt hånden op i dansktimerne.
Jeg smiler til lærerne på gangen
og kommer med åndssvage sarkastiske kommentarer,
som de alligevel i et-eller-andet omfang,
finder humoritiske.
Jeg løber ture ad hovedvejen,
og løber mod bilerne,
i håbet om,
at en-eller-anden vil lægge mærke til den tåre,
der løber ned af min højre kind.
Når jeg kommer til den sidevej,
hvor min dansklærer bor,
vender jeg hovedet,
kigger,
og efterfølgende leder jeg i mængden,
efter en sort bil, der kunne være hendes.
Når jeg kommer til stranden,
standser jeg brat op.
Tager musikken ud af ørene og prøver at få tiden til at stå stille.
Når jeg kommer hjem skriver jeg digte.
pap
mennesker lukket grundet konstruktionsomstændigheder
som telefoner med 50% strøm
en tom bil i landevejsgrøften med ødelagte vinduer og
alle ens værste forestillinger pakket nydeligt sammen og
tapet inde i en
våd flyttepapkasse
omme på bagsæde;
kompakt og støvet og angstprovokerende
venter på at blive åbnet på den værst tænkelige dag
fotografier printet på bølgepap
garnnøgle-følelser, sammenrullet
den forskudte personlige relation
øjeblikket
John H Dillinger Apr 2020
But it's all crazy, all this neo-fascist **** lately.
I guess populism's got a catchy rhythm,
if your lazy,
then it's so much harder to love me or debate me
than hate me.
Now, let's dispose of this safely: you're racist

because, either your daddy was too,
or, you're manipulated by falsehoods masquerading as news
but it's true, now, even I'm getting confused,
but ask, who the **** wins? because you AND the immigrant lose.

This ****'s got polemic, pulled by extremist views,
taking the meanest cues,
we contravene abuse, on the daily.
It's all so ****** up lately.
I guess it's so much harder to love me than hate me.


But the day will come, I'll be classed as crazy, man,
already feeling like I'm William Blake's Grain of Sand,
Eternity in an hour, in the palm of my hand,
I see the white ******* walls in the back of the van.

Because they'll nab you from the streets, it's the master's plan,
until all that's left is sheep, the rest bottled and canned,
then, they'll sit inside their keep, every gun-post manned,
their delight, so sweet, but never to understand:

Heaven in a wildflower or the Endless Night,
a reason to die or a reason to fight.
In their sweet delight, they won't see the light,
But from the Endless Night, you & me just might

because each glimmer shines out in the darkest depth,
as Blake writes revenge from the realms of Death,
those protected on high, Nations that sell & buy,
can all be blown out by a baby's breath.


'Cause only the blood in a diamond means it's not worthless,
the value we imprint are just absurd curses.
We all know what's hidden there, under the surface,
so, who teaches us acceptance and what's it's purpose?

We're all in it together, we're all complicit,
our lives connected by this something illicit.
Adopted by the collective notion, we choose to forgive it
and perpetuate it's frameworks, instead of letting them diminish.

Alright, let's have a break. Drink some response a bil i tea,
marinate in what's around us and all the things we neglect to see.
Where have we been looking and why do we think we're free?
Calm down and carry on? **** na, that aint me!

But in revolution, don't we just come back to the beginning?
Spinnin' round and round, in a ******' hellfire rythmn;
it's enough to leave you questioning each and all decisions,
or, just **** it all, sit back and watch the visions.


Like a pig to thunder: all big eyes and wonder -
As our world comes crashing down, ripped and torn asunder -
we won't get very far with all our property and plunder,
what would William say then, I wonder?

Some are born to Endless Night, but then, it all flies apart,
leaving my rhyming heart to aim and find it's mark.
It's my one sight of light in the deepest dark,
so, if you hold to me now, we just need a spark.
reboot of my last poem, nearly there with just a little more editing, I think.

would love any advice, comments or help with it. what are communities for?
SimpleWritings Dec 2018
Kemm hu b’ saħħtu l-baħar
Qatt ma jaqta nifsu
Bil-mewġ dejjem jiżfen
Mar-ritmu tal-kurrenti

Kemm hu b’ saħħtu l-baħar
Qatt ma jieqaf jikkumbatti
Ħadd u xejn ma jwaqqfu
Jew jibdilu d-direzzjoni

“Kemm hu b’ saħħtu l-baħar”
Ma nista naħseb xejn għajr hekk
Kemm ngħir għalih
Kemm nixtieq inkun bħalu

08/02/2016
This poem is written in Maltese.
og så lever vi ufornægteligt videre i vores bizarre eksistenser
uden retning
i en fremmed bil på en ukendt vej med 93 km/h
motorvejs-lampelys under himmelen, under skæbnen
skabelse, mørkegrøn, eventyr, sump, nysgerrighed, oprigtighed, damp,
fornyelse
med tårer i øjnene hiver jeg luft ned i mine ekspansive lunger, husker
husker: det er bare nu'et. det er blot en brøkdel.
og en dag vil jeg have glemt dette øjeblik, dette blink med øjnene, forbipasseret fortvivlelse og forvildelse og utilpashed
og en dag vil jeg have varme, gyldne minder lokaliseret bag øjenhulen, bag drømmene
og jeg vil have hængt hvidt vasketøj op, jeg vil have talt med en vred bille, kørt i en lyseblå bil og købt mine egne øko-appelsiner.
jeg vil have klippet mit hår mindst ti gange, foldet fingrene om en andens krop, om en andens ømheder, en andens tanker, jeg vil have haft et hundrede forskellige par sko på mine to fødder, set nye vidundere og nye lavpunkter
og det smelter sammen og alt det ubehagelige fylder mindst
men lige nu kaster ubehag lange skygger
God
oh liberty,! oh freedom , let me be at your expense, I am dying to get to know you, I am only getting started, I am only getting comfortable, not even the age of the **** of the joke on friends, not even there yet, not even there, still young, still full of life, still full of whatever I need to be!  still full of pos a bil a ty, separated out and its a hopscotch word, a bit up surd, lovers met around the chocolate fountain possessing their fate, and I possess my fate with a keyboard, keys and musical keys, working with the fingers, a knack for songs, good memory

God, I live in a palace!  God, he is not dead, he is relocated, he's weaving through the music, satanitc verses are met with heavenly melodies and hes meant for it, cherish it, whose got the better of me?  

no no  no, you’re up for surrender to his power, you’ve fathomed it, talked about it, debated it in your silly little politics course, you’re meant for this discussion, it is what you were born for, out of the foul mouthed, out of the obscene, the gestures are hidden, their in between every phrase, uttered out at a key, uttered out over a particular suit and tie and way of being

Surge surge surge!  its meant for it!!!
SimpleWritings Dec 2018
Żmien ta’ ferħ w ’nnoċenza
ta’ sempliċita u purezza
Żmien ħieles mill-inkwiet
u mżejjen bil-paċi fis-skiet

Dak li dejjem smajt
u dak li dejjem tgħallimt
Pero m’ huwiex dak li esperjenzajt
m’ huwiex dak li ngħatajt

Mingħalihom li tawni kollox
Mingħalihom li ma naqsuni f’xejn
Mur għidilhom kemm battejt
Kemm minħabba fihom soffrejt

Noħlom bi tfulija
sempliċi u pura
Nixtieq li ġejt mogħtija
bidu ta’ ħajja sura

16/04/2009
This poem is written in Maltese
Delton Peele Dec 2021
The midnight
Hung quiet and tensions rising .......
eery, slithering an
Crawling .....
Through the thickets ..... So slow ..... So
Very very slow
.......
Feel the tickling from the sweat ...
Trepidation sets in.....
Only  I mean only .........
When noise is being made by them ....
Shall I move
Then
×{[STOP]}×
.....
When the crickets stop.
Fickle.
F-N
Snitches
.....
C.I.'s
You loose sight
Hearing
..Intensifies..
Fear when it's used right
Will help you ...survive ...
If you're being hunted
Eye see by .hearing .
And not
.

. Hearing .
I see what I'm hunting
And when I give my word
And I put it on my skin
Look you in the eye.
It's no longer a promise ring my friend
It's backed by blood love .
There is no fear on this earth
That I have ever seen
That disturbs
....
Which is  
The predator
I become
When
I'm called
On it .

Flip the switch I'm gone
I
Animal
Eyes black
Hackle
Up
Hind legs twitch
I can taste the air.
And when I savour the piquant
Salty flavour of twilight glistened
Terrified
Sweat....
I'm close enough
Feal the pink
Heat signature of your breath.
And when I slowly lower my head while opening my eyes and they have a far off
Sleepy
..
..Glassy  gaze..
Grinch like smirk
One tear escapes
From  the empathy
Part
Of me
Petitioning
The executioner
Because the
Governor stepped down
One tear
Breaches
Then hesitates
As if to look back and say
C'mon it's ok  ,
Let's go ....
As it travels past the cheek
Gets
hooked and pulled past the nose like a venturi
Stops confused on the upper lip .
And defuses into nothing
Changed
Nothing
.
I hide further back into
Happy places in my mind
Because
That  streak of
Saline
Left sparkling in the twilight is sadly evaporating
....
The natural order of things
Steps in
Removing
It
To see this through
That one tear
One tear ....
From the heart and backed by a sea...
Was your last advocate
And the last
Lost trace
Of my humanity
One
Just one
Just.....
.....
WAIT
.....
.....
..
.
.

.



.




HE
HhhhhhhhhH
.



Had one word for me......
No.....
Wait
What happend

Owe wow
This started with an analogy
Like poetry
Or my stupid attempt at it..
I got too  into it and although it ends like a confession

It's not.

K.


YOU HAVE MY WORD ON IT.


Ok I am sorry...
I'm off on
Side bar your....
  Now on with the memory ......
Er .....
Um

Poetry?

So those stupid little
Simple fickle
Insects
On your side
There to help  
keep  your word
Then turn coat and
Turn into rats
And tryin  flush you out...

Those creepy things all over me
In my hair
So so so
Very difficult...
On the cusp of
im·pos·si·bil·i·ty
Staying quiet in the blackberry's bleeding
Cuts and puncture marks leaking
CCHHHSSST
YA WE THINK HES UP IN THE BOULDER FIELD ....
OVERCCCCHHHST
K
DEADLY FORCE IS AUTHOURISED...CCCCHHHST
...........
...I ..KNOW .....
I * CCHHHHST*

FLOOD lights being all chauvanistic
Accosting
The night
Ogling her privates
The sweats stinging blood drying .
Bugs down  my pluggers creepily up my inner thigh ...
...
Some one with a really nice ****** rifle acting all "eyes on me "sayin  loudly
Hey cap cmere I think we found something
!!!!!
This is the needle hole
I need !!
These rookies think there in a movie

..mabe they'll make one out of me...
Kidding ...
Kinda
Anyway ...
Focus I gotta move quickly and silently  
One chance ....
One

Just
...
The commotion  
Bristling
Is ........ like the comforting sounds that loom from the kitchen on through the living room .
Sizzling bacon
And Saturday morning cartoons.
The noise they make is my cover
To escape..
Ants...
I think
Atleast I hop
...
keep going in my ear and up my nostrils
I turn quickly.
20 maybe 30 feet  
Across a  half light opening
And there's the sorta slow part of the river .....
The.............
Ice melt ....
And 1/4 mile the **** ...
An  

Turbines....
And the ****   lights ... An  
The 300 foot drop .


An ..
Giant maelstrom's .

As I turned to take of my shirt and slither out the blackberry patch
A large overly crusted with stickers
CANE.
grabbed my cheek poked my ...Eye. .
My body. Has no plans on being shot and cares not for accessories
I can live with the loss of an eye or scar's
Keep moving
Me on the other hand I'm still trying.......
Owe my head tilting tryin to get out the way..
Owwwwe....
Bit..
Get out the way ......
Owee wait I got a big one sinking into my lip..
Wooooe slow the role one second

Got one in my throat .
Then snap crackle ....snap
Like having 35 fish hooks in ya..trying to run and be quiet at the same time ....
I hit the river
And
O m G
I'm a pink quivering quiet crock ...
No body heard

No body saw ..
...I'm ...just....
SSSSKKKRRRT
baby Huey
The  assault rifle guy .
In the river puts a warm Glock against my ear ...
Kinda felt good actually ..
I put my hands and back feet down into the river bed .
Stop floating...
Wrapped my hand around a big rock ...
And slowly reached for my knife.....
He motioned me with ******* pointing to his eyes then to mine then back and forth as if saying I caught you.. .
I am predator
You prey
I got you
You submit
You understand
You see me
I see you  see me
You understand this is it ......
And motioned me to stand an turn around.
I complied  when I locked my fingers behind my neck .
He hit me in the kidney
Put his knife to my throat ....and quietly I felt my legs warming ....and I shivers
Allot a things
He said to me
One thing
Just one word

Just one

Just


. .

.

He said ....


Goodby
.....

And loosed his grip
Watch me float
Crying
.....
....


Wana know why ......


Maybe.


Some day

Maybe
Don't be like
Delton Peele Dec 2021
The midnight
Hung quiet and tensions rising .......
eery, slithering an
Crawling .....
Through the thickets ..... So slow ..... So
Very very slow
.......
Feel the tickling from the sweat ...
Trepidation sets in.....
Only  I mean only .........
When noise is being made by them ....
Shall I move
Then
×{[STOP]}×
.....
When the crickets stop.
Fickle.
F-N
Snitches
.....
C.I.'s
You loose sight
Hearing
..Intensifies..
Fear when it's used right
Will help you ...survive ...
If you're being hunted
Eye see by .hearing .
And not
.

. Hearing .
I see what I'm hunting
And when I give my word
And I put it on my skin
Look you in the eye.
It's no longer a promise ring my friend
It's backed by blood love .
There is no fear on this earth
That I have ever seen
That disturbs
....
Which is  
The predator
I become
When
I'm called
On it .

Flip the switch I'm gone
I
Animal
Eyes black
Hackle
Up
Hind legs twitch
I can taste the air.
And when I savour the piquant
Salty flavour of twilight glistened
Terrified
Sweat....
I'm close enough
Feal the pink
Heat signature of your breath.
And when I slowly lower my head in you general direction
My lips pursed and nose sneared  .....
Picking up  aromatics like
A dog picking up pheremone
Messages from the
***** in heat opening my eyes and they have a far off
Sleepy
..
..Glassy  gaze..
Grinch like smirk
One tear
On the front of the well over taken by the swell
Accidently
escapes
From  the empathy
Part
Of me
Petitioning
The executioner
( The inner me that governs
The right or wrong)
((In the event the circumstances
Prevent
Clemency
And stay of execution
Withdrawn ..
The inner me has the ultimate
Group
Of professional
Psychologist,
A "ta die for"
Debrief sanctuary
And a team of
Rational ends to meet the needs
And justifiers
To make things
Be
Just as if I never committed my....
Er things  
I mean never done a thing !

Because the
Governor stepped down
( Again the inner me)
LET THE GAME
CONTINUE
.....
:
One tear
Breaches
Then hesitates
As if to look back and say
C'mon it's ok  ,
Let's go ....
As it travels past the cheek
Gets
hooked and pulled past the nose like a venturi
Stops confused on the upper lip .
And defuses into nothing
Changed
Nothing
.
I hide further back into
Happy places in my mind
Because
That  streak of
Saline
Left sparkling in the twilight is sadly evaporating
....
The natural order of things
Steps in
Removing
It
To see this through
That one tear
One tear ....
From the heart and backed by a sea...
Was your last advocate
And the last
Lost trace
Of my humanity
One
Just one
Just.....
.....
WAIT
.....
.....
..
.
.

.



.




HE
HhhhhhhhhH
.



Had one word for me......
No.....
Wait
What happend

Owe wow
This started with an analogy
Like poetry
Or my stupid attempt at it..
I got too  into it and although it ends like a confession

It's not.

K.


YOU HAVE MY WORD ON IT.


Ok I am sorry...
I'm off on
Side bar your....
  Now on with the memory ......
Er .....
Um

Poetry?

So those stupid little
Simple fickle
Insects
On your side
There to help  
keep  your word
Then turn coat and
Turn into rats
And tryin  flush you out...

Those creepy things all over me
In my hair
So so so
Very difficult...
On the cusp of
im·pos·si·bil·i·ty
Staying quiet in the blackberry's bleeding
Cuts and puncture marks leaking
CCHHHSSST
YA WE THINK HES UP IN THE BOULDER FIELD ....
OVERCCCCHHHST
K
DEADLY FORCE IS AUTHOURISED...CCCCHHHST
...........
...I ..KNOW .....
I * CCHHHHST*

FLOOD lights being all chauvanistic
Accosting
The night
Ogling her privates
The sweats stinging blood drying .
Bugs down  my pluggers creepily up my inner thigh ...
...
Some one with a really nice ****** rifle acting all "eyes on me "sayin  loudly
Hey cap cmere I think we found something
!!!!!
This is the needle hole
I need !!
These rookies think there in a movie

..mabe they'll make one out of me...
Kidding ...
Kinda
Anyway ...
Focus I gotta move quickly and silently  
One chance ....
One

Just
...
The commotion  
Bristling
Is ........ like the comforting sounds that loom from the kitchen on through the living room .
Sizzling bacon
And Saturday morning cartoons.
The noise they make is my cover
To escape..
Ants...
I think
Atleast I hope these are ants and ......
Not .. spiders
No theyr not
They can't be.
I

Would

Freak

The

F..k
    

Out
!
K
...
keep going in my ear and up my nostrils
I turn quickly.
20 maybe 30 feet  
Across a  half light opening
And there's the sorta slow part of the river .....
The.............
Ice melt ....
And 1/4 mile the **** ...
An  

Turbines....
And the ****   lights ... An  
The 300 foot drop .


An ..
Giant maelstrom's .

As I turned to take of my shirt and slither out the blackberry patch
A large overly crusted with stickers
CANE.
grabbed my cheek poked my ...Eye. .
My body. Has no plans on being shot and cares not for accessories
I can live with the loss of an eye or scar's
Keep moving
Me on the other hand I'm still trying.......
Owe my head tilting tryin to get out the way..
Owwwwe....
Bit..
Get out the way ......
Owee wait I got a big one sinking into my lip..
Wooooe slow the role one second

Got one in my throat .
Then snap crackle ....snap
Like having 35 fish hooks in ya..trying to run and be quiet at the same time ....
I hit the river
And
O m G
I'm a pink quivering quiet crock ...
No body heard

No body saw ..
...I'm ...just....
SSSSKKKRRRT
baby Huey
The  assault rifle guy .
In the river puts a warm Glock against my ear ...
Kinda felt good actually ..
I put my hands and back feet down into the river bed .
Stop floating...
Wrapped my hand around a big rock ...
And slowly reached for my knife.....
He motioned me with ******* pointing to his eyes then to mine then back and forth as if saying I caught you.. .
I am predator
You prey
I got you
You submit
You understand
You see me
I see you  see me
You understand this is it ......
And motioned me to stand an turn around.
I complied  when I locked my fingers behind my neck .
He hit me in the kidney
Put his knife to my throat ....and quietly I felt my legs warming ....and I shivers
Allot a things
He said to me
One thing
Just one word

Just one

Just


. .

.

He said ....


Goodby
.....

And loosed his grip
Watch me float
Crying
.....
....


Wana know why ......


Maybe.


Some day

Maybe
Don't be like
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
to my detriment...
      
    (i) wouldn't have thought the concept
of orthography was alive and well
in the Victorian episode of
english history...

    but who can blame me...
after all... orthography simply became
a concern for "spelling mistakes"...
never mind the fact that...
   translating english into h'americana
can find yourself

obliterated - or rather: dumb-founded
at some examples of "unnecessary" letters...
e.g. colo(u)r...
             and i always thought that...
diacritical markers of distinction
were the prerequisites of claiming
orthography...

   i was wrong... so wrong in fact...

                                  +
                       B   I   L   S   T
                              U   M
                          P   S   H   I
                              S.   M.
                           A    R    K

i really didn't take more concern than
is usually necessary...
    Mr. Blotton...
                 said it was only...
   a failed sudoku crossword / pseudo-anagram...
neither: i hope...
              Mr. Stumps: the rock-"owner"
of Cobham...

              'bill stumps, his mark'...
ah yes... the orthography of a "missing" lambda...
but i would have to imagine...
as is the case:
sometimes the u precedes the o...
or the plague... or not really bothered but:
there is a clear difference
when the sound is the same...
can i infer a variation of meaning
from a "missing" L?
   bill... bill... there's the lesser william:
i.e. *****... and so **' come
the w mutated into a b?
lesser still: but of concern nonetheless:

how was **** arrived at from richard?
orthography...
when... all it takes is bil(l)?
                      a mammoth task...
esp. should there be a "missing" mam(m)oth
to begin with...
    it sounds as it reads but...
there's no "higher" reason to infer...
that a mamoth is not a mammoth...
unless: m'ah-moth...
                    but if it's orthographic:
it's also aesthetic to boot!
        a mamoth is not a mammoth because...
an ardvark is not an aardvark...
   and Aaron... and Aaron...
stutter? ah'aron...
                        stutter and a gem of timidity
when it comes to clicking: cccccook...
             bounce a riddle: not so... quick...
bry-dle...
                       the ridler & co. is not:
the riddler & co.
                                 but the added: D and so too:
added and not: ad(d)ed...
                      ad hoc...
                                       it was the year...
oh... i'm guessing 1997...
           the prodigy had released:
   more music for the jilted generation...
an event at the Victoria train station... terminal...
when OurPrice was still the sort of
tesco-metro of ****** megastores...

did i buy it? no no... i was still a "kid who'd
most probably **** their bed" when
en vouge came out with a single...
don't let go...                                 sold!

notion of orthography: furthered...
    pół - half...
           half of what?
   poow...
   literally... / missing from the L and...
' missing from the o...
               otherwise... pociecha: comforting...
punkt: point...
                     ah... this obscure of the most
obscure... under a russian umbrella...
  loitering blister of former life...

to boost concerns...
how am i to be sure that... e.e. cummings
was not... a welshman?
a cornwellian?
                  when reading:

       ygUDuh
             ydoan
                     yunnuhstan
          lidl yelluh bas

we could try... i'm pwetty pwetty     'ssured
that welsh is a protected language:
a u.n.e.s.c.o. heritage sight of: wriggles and lapping...
tongue: mind you...

hellish punctuation...
one of those: lesser arts...
          and all the space in the world:
escape from Alcatraz / the paragraph...

in velsh then!
       basic things: i eat coal...
                                   eh bwyta glo...
       roses are disgusting
              when rhymed:
           rhosod mae hatgasaf
                            pryd odli (fioledau)...
         come tomorrow:
   time will become the wind...
                       dewch yfory,
    amser ewyllys dod yn y gwynt...

gwynt - wind...
   ddaear - earth...
      dwr - water...
                tân - fire!

          that whole hazelnut of:
too many consonants from eastern europe...
yes: and so little in wales:
that Y had to, "sort of"... take on functions
of: why i... a llafariad?
         i.e. a voul... a vool...
                    an owl... a vowel...

Shakespeare? not now... not now...
  by the looks of it: no theatre... not ever...
thea-ter... you'd say: thea-ter...
but you'd write: thea-tre...
and then say: properly: anything
thea-trical...

               this of course is not...
something concerned with:    naws... nuance...
i must most certainly bring in some
welsh... to... for lack of a better... want...
that part of language most alive:
slang...
                      well... welsh for me will
have to... become a "sort of"... new shlang...

   it's wet it's gloomy... but to me it will be:
   gwlyb... otherwise: glib... and of course
cousin glum...
                    
   such is... what itself has allowed...
       and i: the hands that became a treason
to the body and the mind...
ventured to... satisfy...
                        these words... of origins
unknown...
               idle hands: hardly anything more
than idle words...
               how nature abhors a vacuum.

— The End —