Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Max Neumann Dec 2019
wieso es nicht gelang
wieso es gelang

als sie mich suchten zum liebemachen
als sie mich fanden zum liebemachen

wer von ihnen sang
wer von ihnen sang

sie kamen in scharen
mit freunden verwandten
all jene damen
all jene herren

ich weiß nicht wann
ich weiß nicht wo

doch ich weiß wie
ich weiß es wie

mir ist bewusst:
dichter und autoren werden
keine liebe füreinander hegen

(poet's note: my opinion on
the last three verses above has
fundamentally changed since i been
publishing here.)

liebe mich freund
liebe mich freundin

gib mir
schenk mir
suche mich
finde mich

ich habe mich auf der suche nämlich
versucht

kennst du, bruder, den weg?
den zugfahrplan?
die bedeutung der stahlstreben?

ich brauche eine antwort von
den damen
den herren

finde mich
suche mich
verschenke mich
vergib mir denn

ich schrieb über zivilisationen
von witterung und gier

witterung und gier
freunde sind zwischen dem glitzern
auf dem fluss versteckt wie perlen

sie aufzuspüren zwischen dem wittern
zwischen dem wittern
während des witterns

ich weiß nicht ob du weißt wovon
ich rede
ich rede

aber das ist in ordnung freund
aber das ist ok freundin

wir müssen bloß bruder
wir müssen bloß schwester
fragen

sie sitzen am gleis bei den zügen
sie sind immer da
wie der

“ICH-BIN-DA” aus der kinderbibel
meines sohnes

verstehst du das?
begreifst du das?
fühlst du mich?

viele afro-amerikaner fragen
“you feel me?” wenn sie
etwas ausdrücken und teilen wollen

ich liebe
diesen ausdruck
er zeugt von
etwas gutem, das manchen
menschen fehlt

auf der brust trage ich das tattoo
welches du abschriebst
in einer stunde aus

schatten
witterung
gier
ich wollte das
ich wollte dass

du zu mir kamst
zwischen den schatten
unter der gier
über der witterung

in einem augenblick des
“you feel me”

wie unsere häute glänzten
wie unsere augen glitzerten
wie unsere hände zitterten

wie wir…

ach komm!
was sage ich dir, freund
was sage ich dir, freundin

du weißt es doch dir
ist es bewusst denn du schriebst
mein tattoo ab in

ein buch mit perlweißen seiten
ein buch mit onyxschwarzen seiten

du bist perlweiß freund
du bist onyxschwarz freundin

du bist perlweiß freundin
du bist onyxschwarz freund

ich liebe habeshas
ich liebe äthiopien
ich liebe meine frau
ich liebe meinen sohn
ich liebe meine tochter

you feel me?
I don't know if I should translate this poem/song of mine into English. Not sure yet.

Check out "distances" which I wrote and translated:

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3404286/distances/

Today is a good day.
Alexander K  Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya ;aopicho@yahoo.com)
Du sie wunderbarkumpel
Ich habe im meine leben
Du habe immer mich beshaftigen
Ich mochte sprachen danken zu du
Du sie fuhrer ; much
Heilig ist die hand welche du geschaffen
Ich liebe  sie mit meine kummerleute

Vergnugen !
A place that has no boundaries
words that have no sound
everybody wants
that perfect person to be around

But people aren't that perfect
they're anything but that
people are themselves
It's nothing else just that

You see, if we were meant to be perfect
It'd be a pretty boring world
people are unique
It's not up to you to control

It's a place that has no boundaries
It's where words have no sounds
It's where you (your person)
can be the only person around

It may look kinda small
but it's anything but that
It's only what's on the inside
that makes it a big surprise

You have them as well
But only you, have your story to tell
think and think in your head
you control what lives and goes dead

If you don't know by now
I'm not going to lead you on
but it is really that easy
just listen and read on

It's a place that has no boundaries
where words have no sound
It's your chains that anchor,
everything to the open ground

What is it? It's your THOUGHTS.

A place that has no boundaries
where words don't make a sound
It's where you, you the only person
can be open and astound.
Schreib dein buch.
Wait for nothing, tremble before your Magnum Opus
Stretch wearily into
the  b l a c k  night
Scratch the face of the universe, gleam the reflecting gem of god onto blank slides
of  b l a c k  holes
Mutilate anything but your own being, nurture versus nature converges into
the  b l a c k  oblivion
Open fire on the dead tissue of existence
Set fire to the dry hillsides of though and realize that nothing can be distilled.
Coerce the power that be, storm the castles and crush yourself under the weight
You are not Atlas
**** everything in the ocean-blue eyes of perfection, give all enigmas of dubious insurrection a second round of scrutiny.
Grow old with burning hate, reverse with a searing despise for nothing, die with
a  b l a c k  heart
Annihilate everything external, revive everything internal with the remaining energy of
your  b l a c k  mind
Absorb everything, throw every single solitary unified force into the sand and let it drown into 
       the  b l a c k tide.
Werfen Ihr Buch.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
too soon the khaki before the noir
and too soon  dei buch dieb - alter buch, dei leben!
marschieren marschieren vergleichen ****** zu
Napoleon - un das ende! geschichte wiederholen;
some might say a nation is a history
but some might say that both are equal.
so few are made to testify a market allowance
with due compliance of a tact -
and such the lack a covert necessity of applause,
hats off to the warring tribes under guise
of Hiroshima and the lost wars of perfumed
Magdalenes of pearl harbour -
but in terms of war tactic at least the Japanese
attacked the warring populace,
the Japanese soldiers attacked American soldiers,
yet the noble hirohito said:
ignoble soldiers of the west attacked cobblers
and blacksmiths! american soldiers attacked
the populace of non-soldiery!
whom to fake their prowess and safeguard of heroism?
if warring was to be faked it was faked at pearl
harbour - when warring encompassed civil victims
and out double measure on lives lost at pearl
harbour to react with hydrogen bombs!
August Mar 2013
The world is lonely while they cry for help and
                    they reach their hands up.
In words, in books, in paintings,
                    they portray their loneliness hidden or blatant.
But even that isn't enough to highlight
                    the lowlights of our lives
It's in our blood, it's in our veins, our bones,
                    it's in the cigarettes that we smoke.
Which fills the air and wails out loud,
                    screaming a symphony of isolation.
It's hidden in the corners of the cities,
                     hidden in the tall green grass of the countryside
It's everywhere you look, in famous words,
                     in ancient books.
It fills your mind, it takes you hold, it's in the tiniest key hole,
                     but enough.
It's enough to spark a burning fire, to long for another's touch,
                     to feel desire
From another human being,
                     to share in what is the only thing worth keeping
Human company. We long, we dream, we scream for it,
                     and we hope it favors us too.
It's overwhelming, it makes me, it makes me long
                     like so many others
We are not alone in our loneliness
                     and what a queer thought that is

*“Wir können uns einreden, dass wir mit einem Buch nicht allein sind, wie wir uns einreden können, dass wir mit einem Menschen nicht allein sind.”
© Amara Pendergraft 2013
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2018
you've never experienced hell,
if you haven't sat through it,
unless standing,
        muddied foot,
            soaking rifle,
              all because some serb
shot, the franz, the ferdinand,
the kneeling austro-hungarian
alliance...
                tod hat ein atem...
           name me the three
witches of Hamlet...
                  i can name you one
i can name one for you...
                   horpyna...
                a dog barks,
a son falls to his death in
a bike accident...
                  one now prays
for a worthwhile attendence
to encompass mourners...
                  circling,
            *****-pyna..
           or -pýna(h)
                          otherwise...
are we all actually
                              literate?
         are you sure?
i'm not so sure...
                   but i find the ones
who are not so literate
to be soft cuddly avatars of
   panda...
                    dried out U
in the centaur vision of bow,
and arrow: V...
                    death doesn't hunt,
death, stalks...
          tod tut nicht jagd,
                    tod stengel...
            otherwise known as:
                             schnüffelngriff...
mein schnout...
                      brigadier hooond over 'ere
made a perfect
                      Peckham accent...
      hiding the H
    really allowed the yew...
to sprout...
               tender living beast,
what will you do without
this ukrainian witch
           believed to be a 6ft man?
               point being...
how do you actually hollow out
the Y in hush on a leash,
                          beginning with eng-?
surf the big or little dipper
sort of phrase...
                             how?!
not once did, hail zeus!
         mention this tetragrammaton
construct!
                   je sui(s),
                            hail zeus!
and the son of?
                    thitch quang duke?
you know, that burning monk...
           no point mentioning
anyone post-script
               malcolm browne...
now...
     smoking pieces of salmon flesh
is fine by me,
        but doing
the same to, whiskey?!
                shim-shimeney
shim-shim: **** surreal...
                        mary *******
poppins dropped in on this antic
and, herself asked,
       stop this ****** perfume
crafting;
              well, that really wasn't
a question,
      but neither was 1950s
experiment with cinematic
    application
of technicolour,
      notably: ooh...
           glocke, buch und kerze
      (bell, book and candle)
       nineteen... fifty... eight...
    or as otherwise stated:
           god, hates, the lords, of salem...
   never spent an hour
with a bulgarian ******* then,
i gather?
                then you probably don't
know,
               what the madonna-*****
complex is...
             point being:
     i know what a flacid,
           compared to an ***** phallus is.
Jonas Feb 2021
Aufstehen, von der Sonne geweckt

der erste Kaffe steht bereit
Katzen die sich in Gärten strecken
du liest ein Buch, das tu ich auch
die Hängematte, schwingt zwischen den Tannen
Tauben zirpen, Zickarden gurren
dein Eis schmilzt und tropft
sonnengebleichte Haare steht in die Richtung des Windes
braungebrannte Haut schwitzig, später salzverkrustet
Sonnencremduft, an uns
Pommes rotweiß an den Fingern, klebrig
die Sonne blendet, ist  schon okay
Wellenrauschen, tobende Kinder kreischen
Sand zwischen den Zehen
du neben mir auf dem Handtuch
gemeinsam dösen
gehen wir nochmal rein?
Gösser, der letzte Schluck
ein bisschien zu warm
Dämmerung Barfuß auf dem Fahrrad
Lagerfeuerrauch in Augen und Nase,
blaue Flamme Knack zisch
weinrotgefärbte Lippen, Zungen so schwer wie der Kopf
Zeitlos

Bis morgen!
Jonas Sep 2023
Die Straßen ziehen vorbei
Licht an Licht wie fallende Sternschnuppen vorm Fenster.
Bei Tageslicht, Abenddämmerung, Sonnenaufgang
ein neuer Tag.
Bäume, Häuser, Felder,
Wälder

Die Materie meines Landes wiegt mich in die Schläfrigkeit,
geborgen
Das Buch in meiner Hand fällt in meinen Schoß
Immer noch dieselbe Seite,
bin immer noch nicht weiter.
Der Inhalt unverändert unbegreiflich
Mein Atem geht zum Rhythmus der Schienen unter uns.
Wir fliegen zusammen und doch bleibe ich allein.

Augen zu, Augen auf
du hast geblinzelt.
Ankunft, Abfahrt
du hast geblinzelt.
Auf ins Neue, ins Unbekannte
oder doch zurück zu alten Gegenden?
Durch die Entfernung wieder neu erlebt.

Kommst du jetzt wieder zurück?
Hast du genug bekommen,
Antworten gefunden auf die Fragen die du nicht fandest?
Die du nicht zu stellen wagtest?
Die dich trotzdem quälten?

Du warst zu lange fort,
deine Heimat ist noch hier,
aber Hier ist nicht mehr dein Hier,
längst ein anderer Ort.

Du wolltest alles hinter dir lassen,
gingest
trotz der Angst dann zu viel zu verpassen,
Hauptsache weg, weg von hier
dachtest du hättest nicht viel zu verlieren.
Allem entfliehen, Pause, Neuanfang
Ohne genau zu wissen was dieses Alles überhaupt war.

Hast du es nicht ausgehalten letztendlich
so ohne sie, die Anderen?
Im Nichts, im Nirgendwo auf eigenen Wegen zu wandern?
Einsam im Herzen hast du dich wieder verrannt
Im Herzen stumpf, die Seele verbrannt.

Nun kommst du wieder,
zurück,
um zu sehen was  noch übrig ist
Zurück zum Alten, Vertrauten, Selben
Wir sind aber nicht mehr die Selben
Du ja auch nicht.

Alles wieder etwas anders, verschoben
Wieder ein bisschen auseinander gelebt,
voneinander entfernt,
weitergemacht, natürlich, nur halt ohne dich.
Schade eigentlich.

Doch nun schließ die Augen, schlaf
Gestern war auch ein neuer Tag,
verronnen,
Morgen wird noch kommen.
Wer nie ankommt der reist für immer,
umher.

Naja, wenigstens auf Schienen,
und noch nicht entgleist.
Ken Pepiton Aug 1
Suppose, Cain, the first born son,
came after at least one sister, real world.

Pretend the Torah narrative is useful knowing,
if the story version we have is the public
version of the mysteries involved in why
Adam, ee-shee one, could not find a mate.
- How could God have imagined Adam
- could find a way to procreate, sans Eve?

{as a reader, with live edit privileges, I find
the idea that spiritual enlightenment can be
made up, faked entirely, and has been, often.

Each fruit from the Scribes and Pharisees,
who devised the canon after prophets,
that select kind of prayed for offering,
suffer little children to come unto me.
Such prophets, after Constantine,
all who knew the lie told it.
Business is busyness,
we pay attention,
prophecy vows
all went into
commercial exchange and property law.
Most specialized
in making time interesting,
quantifiable for accountibility to the instant…

walk away from the ideas Catholics hold sacred,
walk into the wilderness to be tested, not tempted,

how would you handle a real powerful accusing
spirit? Eh,

same form as G_D, who must be worshipped
in spirit, in deed, using mind as mind is now

known to be more filled with mere ideas
from all the collected works of all mankind,

representative ensamples, we live
in a treehouse, that my father built,

and once he built one with tumble weeds,
and I crawled in and was delighted,

then we burned those tumble weeds,
and danced like Indians in Peter Pan.



God did not imagine Adam could find a wife,
but for a ritually told story,
details fall to teachers
- who travel and return,

Why not, well, says the competent old teller
the story of all people, begins from our people
surviving as a people, since the most recent
effective winnowing of the gene pool used
to form the biological processes active
in our bubble of life, in said to be unlikely
conditions just… just right, adjustable
to practically perfect. Eh,
to American Standard averages and distribution.

Stacking order,
marching order, sowing order, reaping order,

thing use knowing, hurt pain knowing,
why hurt pain making hurts have use,
a whip for the creature pulling the load,

how long did it take to feel the weight
of knowing all the seeds, and which were best
for what use, nettles for thread for holes,

Needles, little needs, I need, to hold, this to that,
Ah,
remember those thorns, needless to say.

Thorns serve me, the mind with the will
to correct a misconception that has formed a lie,
that is my point.
I am a burr in your sock. A seeded idea.


Cain had sisters, likely older than he;
therefore, he was likely doted on, if he
is ever a living part of living story truth told.

A culture formed atop the scripturalized myth,

and myth it is, amigo. We really do know,
the reason for the book compiled as Tanach:
Together Torah, Nevi’im (Prophets) and Ketuvim (Writings)
comprise what is known as the Tanach.
This name for the Hebrew Bible is made up
of the first letter sound
of each
of the three sections
of the Bible.
Das Buch.
The Book, then spends centuries as stories, before
the first book intended to function as a binding story,

offering freedom from fear of death.
For obediance fed to children daily.
By rote. Written authority, right, power.
Some wombed man, in UR, what was her name?
Ai know, in my extra long term memory, she called her-
holy self,  Enheduana, and claimed authorship,
in writing, I, Enheduana,

- hours and hours
- days and days
you see the pattern taking times
shape from when we guessed, it,

this it, we inhabit the planet in one
of these possible solution situ-thingies
a cusp at the edge of next,
applied Christianity, of the merest sort,
sieved and dried,
ground to finest dust,
viral original intention proof
**** into the wind, looping reality
at this scale, human scale, stretching

as when a black hole ***** reality,
as witnessed by

many, who saw it on TV.
Magic acts, tricks of the trade,

attention merchants,
lend me you ears,
can you hear me now?

right up there with
wheres the beef?

Mikey likes it.
Life. Good ad.
But I skipped the 70s.
Got no TV generation inoculations.

M'using, musing,
thinking, denken,

spacing, zoning

Worthy sacred making time
deemed worth the effort to explain.

There is an after story after
the story told for four thousand years,

The bible, Tanach and the 27 pieces
after Jesus,
done what he done…

Billions of people learned to read,

trillions of worth units were created
to pay the price
to teach the last lie necessary,
for the republic, you know, perfect
form for a society powered by slaves,
and the spirit of inventiveness.

Guardians, yes, those must believe
the call of duty from a story's
teller's testimony is true, and to
those who hear the call, as truth,
the loyalty oath is mere insurance,
break the oath Christ told you not to swear,
now,
that you recall the pledge, American, vet.
Semper fi.
Yet, we release you from all debt.

Feel free to assume final form.
Inherit the wind.
Novel forms of muses used since ever had solidstate RAM
Ken Pepiton Jun 2020
Ravens' swirl higher, riding wings silver in the sun.

These are Castenedas's silver birds,
or just as good as, to my mind,
held in animated state,
waiting,
still, conceiving the next frame,
in the film of this bitschen
auf
Das wahre Buch des Lebens,
unser eigenes, wo

Wir immer
slipping and falling in the confusion of tongue
authorized in truth exsousiated
by godly exercise, we
shift to a higher mind,
keep the slowandsteadywinstherace pace
then only be as if good, redeemed, as aword
good is god, or good as, right,
sword sworn to show off
phuckyew no longer tastes as foul,
taste the son,
kiss, not taste, yes, yes, all the yeses.. a flood

wisdom is first gentle,
persuasive in the gentle manly way, saying
you are beautiful,
inside out.

We seem to have ventured into further alone,
entertaining our selves into nevermind,
just in time to see the celebration.
A musical diversion... I intended to rant about how much I disliked Da 5 Bloods, but the timing is hard to miss, my art is making peace or I've been made a fool, foist on me own petard.

— The End —