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Matt Jan 2015
Experience Chan! It's not mysterious.
As I see it, it boils down to cause and effect.
Outside the mind there is no Dharma
So how can anybody speak of a heaven beyond?

2. Experience Chan! It's not a field of learning.
Learning adds things that can be researched and discussed.
The feel of impressions can't be communicated.
Enlightenment is the only medium of transmission.

3. Experience Chan! It's not a lot of questions.
Too many questions is the Chan disease.
The best way is just to observe the noise of the world.
The answer to your questions?
Ask your own heart.

4. Experience Chan! It's not the teachings of disciples.
Such speakers are guests from outside the gate.
The Chan which you are hankering to speak about
Only talks about turtles turning into fish.

5. Experience Chan! It can't be described.
When you describe it you miss the point.
When you discover that your proofs are without substance
You'll realize that words are nothing but dust.

6. Experience Chan! It's experiencing your own nature!
Going with the flow everywhere and always.
When you don't fake it and waste time trying to rub and polish it,
Your Original Self will always shine through brighter than bright.

7. Experience Chan! It's like harvesting treasures.
But donate them to others.
You won't need them.
Suddenly everything will appear before you,
Altogether complete and altogether done.

8. Experience Chan! Become a follower who when accepted
Learns how to give up his life and his death.
Grasping this carefully he comes to see clearly.
And then he laughs till he topples the Cold Mountain ascetics.

9. Experience Chan! It'll require great skepticism;
But great skepticism blocks those detours on the road.
Jump off the lofty peaks of mystery.
Turn your heaven and earth inside out.

10. Experience Chan! Ignore that superstitious nonsense
That makes some claim that they've attained Chan.
Foolish beliefs are those of the not-yet-awakened.
And they're the ones who most need the experience of Chan!

11. Experience Chan! There's neither distance nor intimacy.
Observation is like a family treasure.
Whether with eyes, ears, body, nose, or tongue -
It's hard to say which is the most amazing to use.

12. Experience Chan! There's no class distinction.
The one who bows and the one who is bowed to are a Buddha unit.
The yoke and its lash are tied to each other.
Isn't this our first principle... the one we should most observe?
By: Master Xu Yun
Born Aug 2017
Poem. Call me poetry
Debbie Jean Embrey  ***! how those words spoke to me! Very well done! I love the part about calling you 'Messenger.' Keep inking! :)

Poem. She's said II
Terry Jordan  Amazing piece, esp. "It is for us to wash away our painful confusion with tears...." I'm sending a sympathy card today to the mother of a former student of mine, so this really speaks to that most terrible loss that we have no word for it. TFS, Born

Poem. I won't forget that you liked my poetry
Mary-Elizabeth Cotton  Beautiful write! I especially love the lines "When I could barely form words,/that would impress my shadow."


Poem. I'm Born
Pradip Chattopadhyay  your words are fabulous

Poem. Hi(gh)
Kim Johanna  Baker  Great write Born...I must say, you are a great writer and enjoy very much your pieces...this is raw and gets the message across.. tyfs... kimx

Poem. If I told you my story
Law lith iminika Reading this was like observing a preview to a movie, but I didn't pay for it, instead showed up willingly. And I'm hungry for knowledge and inspiration because I was refused popcorn

Poem. Thank you Pamela Rae
Pamela Rae  Please know that you have such talent and your words not only touch me, but so many here--keep writing, expressing and touching our souls, dear Born. You are a gift to this world and deserve to find your way, to embrace peace and tranquility and it will come. Will be sending along good vibes, thoughts for peace and happiness and Room to breathe with ease... (((hugs)))

Poem. Hello poetry
Wolf spirit Wow ..is this a poem . Because Id rather read this than delve on eloquent flattery of wistful words . Honesty expressed with such brevity is still the best policy .


Poem. When my heart pounds a little bit more
Modern Serenity  very well executed! truly deserves to be the poem for atleast a week. freaking fantastic poem. well done. honestly totally jealous of your poem its truly amazing and well said.


Poem. Shantel
---  Superbly penned, echoes of the great Pablo Neruda

Poem. Here we are
K Balachandran  so peaceful and meditative
yet passion filled love and life
chiseled and beautiful...without hiding truth
you have eyes full of love and light
exquisite..
Bala

Poem. Virgo 
Star BG  And..... open gateway to healing the soul.you are such a master with words. Thank you

Poem. Dusty coin
Pax  there will always be hope, even just a spark, or one candle, it can do many things in the dark..

Poem. My deepest sympathies
South by Southwest  There are answers to every question you pose . Only by a lifetime of searching will you find them .

Poem. Muse dear daughter
Sylvia Frances Chan  A most divine poem, loving and caring words. I have enjoyed this poem very much. God's Blessings be upon thee. Thank you for sharing this divine piece.

Poem. Leonard Cohen
Lazhar Bouazzi  Ah! Wonderful poem about one of my favorite poets/composers/singers of all time! Thank you for sharing

Poem. This poem III
Wyatt  Such a harsh, blunt piece. It hit me right in the gut! Congrats on the daily!

Poem. I won't forget that you liked my poem
patty m  Comments are a wonderful gift. I love your poem and the emotions that surface you are truly gifted.
hugs

Sally A Bayan  So much truth in your wondeful, touching words, Born..
I keep coming back to this poem...just had to repost.
Thank you for sharing

Poem. Juliet
Jamie King  I like the flow here the transition from one imagery to the imagery while maintaining the same flow requires a certain degree of finesse. Excellently executed piece

Poem. Un(real) istic
Botan  A high tech emotional intelegence will take over while humans express thier feelings by emoji. good writing
Poem. Poetic flavor
SøułSurvivør An awesome tribute! You're one of the poets I would elect for showing the most growth of any on this site. My heart twinkle with happiness, TOO! Thanks for your heart, Born! ☆♡☆

Lori Jones McCaffery  You make exquisite use of the words you have captured, Born. Keep thirsting. Love

SøułSurvivør Awe! I'm so glad to encourage you... you have such a powerful way with words. An innate talent. I count you as one of my best friends here. Be blessed!

Poem. 5 million am not just a number
Corvus  Wonderfully compassionate. It's so easy to be kind and sympathetic to those on your doorstep. Those further away but in even greater need are often ignored. Brilliant write.
The most important part of posting a poem is the response you get, I'd love to appreciate every single one of  you for the words you offered. For those who didn't make the list, I still appreciate you.

This poem is coming from an emotional place, for the longest time I never believed in myself. But now I do, thanks a lot
Earl Jane Jul 2015


I've known an extraordinary lady,



                'Cause I wrote poems in HP,

                                                        Well, I thank HP a lot,
                                                That I have the opportunity,
                                       To know a person like her!

                And found out  we have the same nationality,

Not only that, she write these exceptional and amazing poems!!

          I was overwhelmed!

                And blithesomely chatted her,
                            She replied,

We have a good talk,
                 I was so broken into splinters those times,
             I could hardly remember the throe,
        But her words glare brightest in my heart,



She inspired me,
         With the hurting truth,
                   Well, I knew truth hurts,

Then we always chat,

    We exchange phone numbers,

                 And texting even not in HP,
'Cause I knew she is so much busy,

But I'm still texting her telling,
                     "I'M SO GLAD TO BE Your FRIEND."
And that,
"Ohayou Gozaimasu, konnichiwa & konnbanwa"
             "Kiotsukete kudasai Roan-chan!"

Oh yeah!
           We love Japan, and their language,
                 That made me love her even more.
                       (Love as friend okay?!)


    We exchange google+ & fb,
        And saw her angelic face,
            Scattering over her timeline,
                 I saw a beautiful soul,
                       Dancing and gleaming inside of her,


      She's indeed a very good friend,

                             When I have heartaches and tribulations,

                                     I share her my pain and sorrows,

She's like the sun in the noon time,
                  Heating me up with her love and care,


                    But even though I have not met her personally,
                I knew for sure that I'm so much blessed,
            To know such a golden spirit,
                              Such rare being in the amidst,


And I do knew,
                             That God will lead us together,
                         To spend time personally as friends,


Together with Ma'am Sally,

                        As what she told me,
          "We should have this ~poetess date~ "


How I long for that day!



I really pray to God,

                      That He will give you,
                         The best of the life,



   Give you good health,
          To continue enjoying life to it's fullest,



To have many more birthdays to come,
                 For you to see more,
      Of the beauty of God's creation,



                            And to find,
                     That very right man,
            That your heart longs to find,
                For quiet elongated time.



I pray also,
          That you will remain,
                 To be light to all people,



            And be that very good friend,
Everyone longs for,




In this beautiful day,
                   I pray you will be the happiest person alive,
                            And celebrate this marvelous day,
                                          God had given you.

      "Maligayang Kaarawan Aking Kaibigan."




                          © Earl Jane
                            ♥ E.J.C.S.
'In China there lived a little man,
His name was Chingery Wangery Chan.'

'His legs were short, his feet were small,
And this little man could not walk at all.'

'Chingery changery ri co day,
Ekel tekel happy man;
Uron odesko canty oh, oh,
Gallopy wallopy China go.'


'Miss Ki Hi was short and squat,
She had money and he had not
So off to her he resolved to go,
And play her a tune on his little banjo.'


'Whang fun li,
Tang hua ki,
Hong Kong do ra me!
Ah sin lo,
Pan to fo,
Tsing up chin leute!'

'Miss Ki Hi heard his notes of love,
And held her wash-bowl up above
It fell upon the little man,
And this was the end of Chingery Chan,'
Emily K Okita Oct 2010
August Sixth
Emily Okita

I.
Little Boy
Fat Man fell into red ocean
Walking ghosts
Where’s mother?
Grave of Fireflies
Tiny flames consume everything
Infrastructure destroyed
Infernal windows
to the end of the line
Burning, Screaming, Lights out


II.
Keiko-chan
City of Death
Miles from Ground Zero
The River
A baby nursing in a blistered mother’s arms
A man cradling his eye in one hand
A friend trapped under her home
A mother, her headless child on her back
A neighbor, belly open, intestines spilling


III.
Keiko-chan, I ran away from my sisters as they called out for help
Keiko-chan, disease X
Specimen ABC
Study for long-term effects of radiation disease
120,000
One day a year
Doctor would inspect me
It changed after my twelfth birthday
Keiko-chan, stand up on stage and take off your gown
Wide room with bright lights
Doctors, different languages
A doctors’ meeting
“You’re turning into a woman, Keiko-chan.”
Why am I naked?
Why do I have to show myself in front of these doctors?
Purple spots, hair loss, bruises, swelling
I cannot tell my mother, my father
No one. I’m alone.

IV.
August 6, 1945
A war I did not start
Mushroom clouds, shock waves stabbed me
A Beautiful Invention
Genocidal Physics
RAJ NANDY Jul 2016
Dear friends , this is an old poem of mine which was composed after I learnt that one of my favourite Hollywood actor Richard Gere had become a Buddhist and believed in Zen Philosophy. So having read about Zen, I composed in a simple format about the same. Hope you like it. Thanks, - Raj.


                    ZEN PHILOSOPHY
With roots buried deep in soils of Ancient India,
And watered by the exotic blend of three different
cultures;
Reflecting the mysticism of India, the pragmatism
of the Confucian mind, and the Taoist’s love of
naturalness and spontaneity,
Buddhism bloomed and blossomed into an exotic
flower called 'Zen Philosophy'!

In 475 AD a pupil of Buddha called Bodhidharma
went to China.
There the Mahayana School of Buddhism mingled
with Chinese Taoism, which evolved into Chan
Philosophy!
'Chan ' derived from the Sanskrit  word 'dhyana',
which meant 'silent meditation',  -
Through which the Buddha attained enlightenment
and salvation!
Later, in 1200 AD this Chan philosophy travelled to
the shores of Japan,
Where 'Chan' got translated to 'Zen' by its many
followers and fans!
ZEN is the art of meditation to achieve inner awakening,
To gain intuitive knowledge, highlighting the inadequacy
of logical reasoning!
It therefore advocates the practice of 'zazen' or 'sitting
meditation',
For acquiring inner awakening through silent
contemplation!

ZEN could be practised in our daily life,
Without entering a hermitage, leaving behind your
family or wife!
'Gain the naturalness of your original true nature',
-  preaches the Zen Teacher through meditation,
'Rather than through mere faith and devotion,
which is contrary to Zen notion.'
'One must awaken to this present moment to feel
this life,
And not waste time in speculations of an Elusive
After-Life’!
The 'Enso' or the ‘circle’, is the Zen symbol which is
often deployed,
Symbolising Enlightenment, Strength, the Universe,
and the Void!
With this 'expression of the moment ' the Zen Philosophy
starts,
And today the ‘Enso’ is also the symbol of Expressionist
Art!
Never ask the Zen Master 'What is Zen, when, or how? ',
For he will always tell you, - 'Zen Is The Instant Now'!
                                                      - Raj Nandy, New Delhi.
Mahayana in Sanskrit means 'Great Vehicle', and is the largest major tradition of Buddhism existing today. The other branch is called Hinayana meaning the 'Lesser vehicle'.
judy smith Jul 2016
The 9.6 million followers who tune in to watch Miranda Kerr having her hair done on Instagram — for this is how models spend most of their time — were treated to a rather more interesting sight last Thursday: a black and white photograph of a whacking great diamond ring.

Across it was the caption “Marry me!” and a twee animation of the tech mogul Evan Spiegel on bended knee. Underneath Kerr had typed “I said yes!!!” and an explosion of heart emojis.

A spokesman for Spiegel, founder of the Snapchat mobile app, who is 26 to Kerr’s 33 and worth $US 2.1 billion to her $US 42.5 million , revealed “they are very happy”.

At first, the marriage seems an unlikely combination: a man so bright he founded Snapchat while still at Stanford University, becoming one of the world’s youngest self-made billionaires by 22, and a Victoria’s Secret model who was previously married to the Pirates of the Caribbean star Orlando Bloom (she allegedly had a fling with pop brat Justin Bieber, leading Bloom to punch Beebs in a posh Ibiza restaurant).

Perhaps the union indicates that there is more to Kerr than we thought. More likely, it reveals something about Spiegel — and the way the social status of “geeks” has changed.

Since Steve Jobs made computers cool and Millennials started living online, nerds are king. Even coding is **** enough for the model Karlie Kloss, singer will.i.am and actor Ashton Kutcher to learn it. Silicon Valley has become the new Hollywood, as moguls and social media barons take over from film stars and sportsmen not just on rich lists, but as alpha men.

Being a co-founder of a company is this decade’s equivalent to being a rock star or a chef. And, if their attractiveness to models and actresses proves anything, then being a Twag — tech wife or girlfriend — is a “thing”. Sources tell me Twags are also known as “founder-hounders” because they like to date the creators of start-up companies.

Actress Talulah Riley was an early adopter. She started dating the PayPal founder Elon Musk in 2008. Riley, then fresh from starring in the St Trinian’s film, met Musk in London’s Whisky Mist nightclub after he had delivered a lecture at the Royal Aeronautical Society. I interviewed her shortly afterwards and she told me they had spent the evening talking about “quantum physics”. A month later they were engaged. Their on-again-off-again marriage lasted six years before she filed for divorce again in March. Currently Musk, worth an estimated $US 12.7 billion and focused on Tesla cars, is said to be “spending a lot of time” with Johnny Depp’s estranged wife, Amber Heard.

Model Lily Cole dated the Twitter founder Jack Dorsey in 2013. Later she had a son with Kwame Ferreira, founder of the digital innovation agency Kwamecorp. Actress Emma Watson is going out with William Knight, an “adventurer” who has an incredibly boringly sounding job as a senior manager at Medallia, a software company. Allison Williams, Marnie in the HBO television show Girls, is married to Ricky Van Veen, co-founder of College Humor website.

Could it be that these women are onto something? Dating a bro certainly has its appeal. They are innovative: how else would they invent apps that deliver cheese toasties or match singles based on their haircuts? They are risk-takers who must be charismatic enough to inspire investors and attract crowd-funding. They may not be gym-fit, but they are mathletes who can do your tax bill. They are animal lovers: every start-up is dog friendly. And they are fun: who would not want to date somebody with a ball pool in their office?

There is a saying about dating in Silicon Valley: the odds are good but the goods are odd. Nerds are notorious for peculiar chat-up lines and normcore clothes. Still, if geeks can be awkward, that is part of their charm. Keira Knightley, complaining that Silicon Valley was all men in hoodies and Crocs, described how one gave her his card, saying she should get in touch if she wanted to see a spaceship.

One Vogue writer recalled a Silicon Valley man messaging her via a dating app, in which he noted: “In 50 per cent of your photos you’re holding an iPhone. It may interest you to find out that I invented the iPhone. More accurately I was an engineer on the original iPhone . . .”

Most promisingly, some guys are astoundingly rich. It is suggested Kerr’s engagement ring is a 2.5-carat diamond worth around dollars 55,000. She has already moved into Spiegel’s dollars 12m LA pad. Between his money and her Victoria’s Secrets bridesmaids, no wonder sources claim they are planning an “extravagant wedding”.

It might rival even the Napster founder Sean Parker’s $US10m performance-art bash. He married songwriter Alexandra Lenas in a canopy among Big Sur’s redwoods decorated to look like an enchanted forest. Some 350 guests wore Tolkienesque costumes created by The Lord of the Rings costume designer Ngila Dickson. They sat on white fur rugs and were given bunnies to pet. Presumably rabbit babysitters were on hand when the disco started.

If such fantasies inspire you to become a Twag, the great news is you do not have to be a supermodel to be in with a chance. Such is the dearth of single women in Silicon Valley that one dating site, Dating Ring, crowdfunded a plane to fly single women to Palo Alto from New York.

Be warned, though: guys are single because they are married to the job.

No wonder most meet their partners at college or work — the Facebook chief executive Mark Zuckerberg met his wife, Priscilla Chan, at Harvard.

The Instagram co-founder Kevin Systrom met girlfriend Nicole Schuetz at Stanford. Melinda met Bill Gates when, in 1987, they sat next to each other at an Expo trade-fair dinner. “He was funnier than I expected him to be,” she said.

Kerr began dating Spiegel in 2014 after meeting him at a Louis Vuitton dinner in New York. You can bet he was networking. Shortly after Louis Vuitton showcased their cruise collection in a Snapchat story. Last season Snapchat went on to become the biggest new name at NY fashion week.

If you want to meet tech guys, you might catch them at Silicon Valley parties, which is how the Uber chief executive Travis Kalanick met his partner, Gabi Holzwarth, a violinist hired to play. Or they might be schmoozing clients downtown in a swanky Noe Valley club in San Francisco or a boring Union Square hotel in New York. In London you find them around Old Street, aka Silicon Roundabout, in bars, at hackathons, or start-up meet-ups. In the day they are coding at Google Campus or practising their pitching in a co-working space.

Some tech boys date the old-fashioned way: on Tinder. Airbnb founder Brian Chesky met his girlfriend of three years, Elissa Patel, through the app. When I interviewed Instagram co-founder Systrom he admitted that when he had been single he had signed up.

Dating agency Linx — presumably a play on operating system Linux — is dedicated to making Silicon Valley matches. Amy Andersen set it up in 2003 after moving to Palo Alto and being “flabbergasted” by the number of eligible men. She claims her clients are “extremely dynamic and successful individuals’’: tech founders, tech chief executives, financier founding partners of large institutions and “tons of entrepreneurs”.

Andersen says tech guys make “fabulous partners”. Romantic and chivalrous, they write love letters, plan dates, “even proposing on Snapchat!” If you want to marry a tech billionaire, she says, “you need to bring your A game.” Her clients look “for women who are equally, if not more, dynamic and interesting than he is!”

There are drawbacks to dating tech guys. Before Google buys your amore’s business, he will be living on *** Noodles waiting for the next round of funding — and workaholics are dull.

Kerr says Spiegel is “25, but he acts like he’s 50. He’s not out partying. He goes to work in Venice [Beach], he comes home. We don’t go out. We’d rather be at home and have dinner, go to bed early.” Which might suit Kerr, but is not my idea of a fun.

You had also better be prepared to share your life. When Priscilla Chan miscarried three times, Mark Zuckerberg wrote about it on Facebook, while Chesky used a romantic trip with his girlfriend to promote Airbnb - uploading a picture of her in bed, with a note saying “f* hotels”. Besides all of which is the notorious issue of Silicon Valley sexism.

It has a chief exec-bro culture that puts pick-up artist/comedian Dapper Laughs to shame. Ninety per cent of women working in the Valley say they have witnessed sexist behaviour, 60 per cent have experienced unwanted ****** advances at work, two thirds of them from their boss. Whitney Wolfe, a co-founder of Tinder, took Justin Mateen to court for ****** harassment. Her lawsuit against the company alleged that Mateen, her former partner, sent text messages calling her a “*****”.

Spiegel has tech bro form. He apologised after emails from his days at Stanford emerged: missives about stripper poles, getting black-out drunk, shooting lasers at “fat chicks”, and promising to “roll a blunt for whoever sees the most **** tonight (Sunday)”. After one fraternity Hawaiian luau party, he signed off emails “f*
bitchesgetleid”.

No wonder some women are not inspired to become Twags. Especially when you could be a tech billionaire yourself. Would you not rather be Sheryl Sandberg, chief operating officer of Facebook, than married to the boss?Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/black-formal-dresses
RAJ NANDY Nov 2017
Dear Friends , this is an old poem of mine which was composed after I learnt that Richard Gere, one of my favourite Hollywood actors had become a Buddhist and believed in Zen Philosophy. So having read about Zen I composed this simple verse. Hope you like it. If you like it kindly re-post this poem. Thanks, - Raj.

                      ZEN PHILOSOPHY
With roots buried deep in soils of Ancient India,
And watered by the exotic blend of three different
cultures;
Reflecting the mysticism of India, the pragmatism
of the Confucian mind, and the Taoist’s love of
naturalness and spontaneity,
Buddhism bloomed and blossomed into an exotic
flower called 'Zen Philosophy'!

In 475 AD a pupil of Buddha called Bodhidharma
went to China.
There the Mahayana School of Buddhism mingled
with Chinese Taoism, which evolved into Chan
Philosophy!
'Chan ' derived from the Sanskrit  word 'dhyana',
which meant 'silent meditation',  -
Through which the Buddha attained enlightenment
and salvation!
Later, in 1200 AD this Chan philosophy travelled to
the shores of Japan,
Where 'Chan' got translated to 'Zen' by its many
followers and fans!
ZEN is the art of meditation to achieve inner awakening,
To gain intuitive knowledge, highlighting the inadequacy
of logical reasoning!
It therefore advocates the practice of 'Zazen' or 'sitting
meditation',
For acquiring inner awakening through silent
contemplation!

ZEN could be practiced in our daily life,
Without entering a hermitage, leaving behind your
family or wife!
'Gain the naturalness of your original true nature',
-  preaches the Zen Teacher through meditation,
'Rather than through mere faith and devotion,
which is contrary to Zen notion.'
'One must awaken to this present moment to feel
this life,
And not waste time in speculations of an ‘elusive
After-Life’.
The 'Enso' or the ‘circle’, is the Zen symbol which is
often deployed,
Symbolizing Enlightenment, Strength, the Universe,
and the Void!
With this 'expression of the moment ' the Zen Philosophy
starts,
And today the ‘Enso’ is also the symbol of Expressionist
Art!
Never ask the Zen Master 'What is Zen, When, or How? ' ,
For he will always tell you, - 'Zen Is The Instant Now'!
                                                      - Raj Nandy, New Delhi.

Mahayana in Sanskrit means 'Great Vehicle', and is the largest major tradition of Buddhism existing today. The other branch is called Hinayana, meaning the ‘Lesser Vehicle’.
is Corrie ten Boom´s Favorite Quote.


The Master Weaver’s Plan

My life is but a weaving
Between the Lord and me;
I may not choose the colors–
He knows what they should be.

For He can view the pattern
Upon the upper side
While I can see it only
On this, the underside.

Sometimes He weaves in sorrow,
Which seems so strange to me;
But I will trust His judgment
And work on faithfully.

‘Tis He who fills the shuttle,
And He knows what is best;
So I shall weave in earnest,
And leave to Him the rest.

Not ’til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.

The dark threads are as needed
In the Weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern, He has planned.

by AUTHOR UNKNOWN

Based upon research, have discovered that more than one person has been credited with authorship of this poem. For now, have decided to list it as “author unknown” until there is further clarification. Corrie ten Boom.
These words said Corrie ten Boom, the author of many many books. I feel honored and humbled that I may show you this poem she constantly presented in her life as a token of love to God and let you know about her. As Corrie ten Boom said the true author of this poem is still unknown. I am only the one who gives through.

with love, Sylvia Frances Chan
Wednesday, 20 December 2017
CORRIE ten BOOM is a Dutch Evangelist who rescued many Jews from ******'s hands during WW II. She had traveled around the world to tell about the many Wonders she got from God during her life, especially during those war times.
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2016
"We can't afford to be wrong on this issue."  
~ Francis Chan

With holy anguish hearts are crying
through feeble language urgently trying
to summon the sleeping now to wake
for souls' eternities are at stake
PLEASE, FRIENDS, WATCH THIS VIDEO:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qnrJVTSYLr8


~~~
Brittany Hesse Mar 2015
With the wind under my wings I soar
I see the west Canadian shore
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
Nuu-chan-nulth – A caring and nurturing people are thee
Small families among the mountains, rivers, and sea
Vancouver Island’s west coast is where you reside
Awaiting your canoes on evenings incoming tide

Your men are fishing in the ocean’s secret places
Worry and hope etched in their weathered faces
Each man knowing the days hunting success must provide
For many wives, children, and elders the spoils they must divide

Your rhythm and harmony with the ocean is strong
Whale hunts and oceans spirits intertwined through your song
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
I hear the east call, and open my wings to take flight
The distant drum’s heartbeat calls from the suns rising light
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
Coast Salish – You know how the sea dances and quivers
As you watch the expanse from your inlets, and rivers
Vigilance is needed in case a Storm approaches
To mount a defence if an enemy encroaches.

Your wise headmen lead with such divine humility
Your family life embodies true equality
Your features are defined by a broad face and flat brow
Your girls with plucked brows, braided hair prepare for their vow

You seasonally harvest your rivers resources
Spawning Eulachon and sturgeon complete their courses
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
As I leave your forests of tall cedars and aged fir
The drumming beckons me up the wild Fraser River
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war


Okanagan – You survive in the Valley and slopes
In a legend of a coyote you set your hopes
He educated you how to live off the hard land
Your very own lives you bestowed in his paw like hand

Your offspring, your joy, your future you know must be taught
So at an early age, to the elders they were brought
Your youths are handpicked and taught the roll they shall assume
If a warrior shall fall another shall resume

Your seasonal harvest of forest meadows and marsh
Will insure you survival when the winters are harsh
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
With the updrafts I glide over the dry desert plains
I hear the drum call from a land where it hardly rains
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
Secwépemc – your men come out through the eastern sunrise’s door
Your women’s entrance faces the stream to ease her chore
In seasonal cozy houses built into the ground
In a secret place your spoils and possessions are found

Your request for spawning salmon grows louder each day
The messenger crickets announce salmons on their way
You hunt with arrows and spears you crafted from strong stone
Needles and jewelry you made from animal bone

You patiently, wait in the winter’s silent brisk eve  
For the deer’s stealthy approach from the snow covered trees  
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
The drum it beckons from the land of river crossroads
The land where men come to bring and trade their canoes loads
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war


Dakelh – You are the people who learned how to barter
You are known as the people who travel on water
With gathered roots you weave fish weirs in the evening air
And you set your high hopes in the chanted salmon prayer

Your children learn from the oral traditions you tell
Chinlac massacres, caves where dwarves shooting arrows dwell
Your widows carry ashes of the husband they held dear
Their Mourning and sadness that will last over a year

The respect for the land for everything you have gain
Though much, and bountiful your harvest some shall remain
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoess, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
A plume of smoke and drum beat come from the distant Northwest
Echoing from the place where the Skeena River rests
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war

Gitxsan –Your Home is surrounded by snow tipped glaciers
Forests of spruce, hemlock, cedars, and subalpine firs
Your chieftain name and duties you hold for a short time
Other Wilp members are only ‘children’ in their prime

Like the rivers your families closely intertwine
Each account told is a lesson that is sublime
Each Wilp has your story told by a tall totem pole
Your History affects and moves you deep in your soul

Deer, Moose, and small mammal in the wild woodlands you stalk
You pursue the Mountain goat through rugged peaks of rock
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
The drums incessantly pounds as I take to the sky
Urgently calling from remote islands of Haida Gwaii
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war

Haida - You live in the pacific northern islands
Your fam’lies Belong to the eagle or raven clans
You watch the tide rise and fall over the rocks and sand
Great mighty sculptures you have created with your hand

With strong healthy cedar trees you made your long dwellings
The entrance way totem your history is telling
Your warrior canoes glide through the rolling waves
Through victories and battles you have prisoner slaves


The sound of the drum beat is mixed in saltwater spray
To Vancouver Island’s west shore I must fine my way
The drum it echo, echo, echo’s, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
As I leave your vast, and memorable territory
In the soft twilight air I watch the sunset’s glory
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war

Kwakwakawakw- So proud you are of your mother tongue
Born in this beautiful land your ancestors came from
Noblemen, Aristocrats, commoners and your slaves
Your narrative exists among your forefathers graves

Your canoes bow is carved into animal features
The whale, otter, salmon and other sea creatures
You hunt with such heroic assurance all year round
In the shapes of well carved masks their likeness will abound

Your long homes are protected by the oceans embrace
First nations, my people, you are a amazing race
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
I leave your land of legends in a misty gray veil
And on the horizons comes change’s white sail
The drum it echoes, echoes, echoes, the drum it echoes through my core
Whispering a haunting rhythm of time, change, and war
The Europeans came into your isolated lands
Dividing your people into tribes, reserves, and bands
Before their arrival you lived mighty, strong, and free
Now your children fight to reclaim their identity

The drum will echo, echo, echo through time’s core
It will whisper a rhythm of time, change, and war
The drum will echo, echo, echo through your core
It will whisper a rhythm of time, change, and war
Antino Art Aug 2019
I am the only Asian in this bar right now.
Be my friend!
I will check the box of your social diversity quota.
Granted, I only speak a mispronounced fraction of
my immigrant parents' native tongue.
Ala Jackie Chan, I do not understand the words coming out the mouths of anyone on that massive continent (Russia included) that I appear to be more or less from.
But, I do eat spaghetti with chopsticks.
I am mystical as
fox, or Kitsune, in Japanese folklore.
I can hit you with wisdom worthy of a fortune cookie as fast as Google can tell you that the Philippines is nearly 2000 miles away from China. I want to say I'm from an exotic island where they play basketball in sandals and drink soda from plastic bags- like, A-level material you could make a movie out of in Slumdog Millionaire fashion and get awarded for your romantic portrayal of poverty you think is three worlds away from home. But nah, I'm just a kid from South Florida. Paved driveways and cul de sacs. But I do pump both fists in the air watching Manny Pacquio PPV fights on a bootleg stream. Beyond that, I'm probably the worst Asian there is. Not the crazy rich kind with a PHd. I dropped out of engineering after one semester and cannot solve a rubix cube. I never learned kung fu. Though I'm learning to face the adversity of becoming a single parent after my daughter's home broke in two. I write marketing proposals to pay the rent and poetry to fight without fighting in the spirit of Sun Tzu. My eyes do not slant in the direction of your narrative. I once ran in a pick up game where I caught the nickname of Yao Ming. Yao, I am 5 foot 8. Though I fall short of expectation, I can still check your diversity box on the way down and do a cool pen spin after to punctuate my intellectual prowess. I also happen to own an assortment of Japanese swords made in China, which I intend to use as heirlooms. This is what cultural colonization looks like: me, in a bar, the last samurai standing confused in an age of melting pots, Korean tacos and Asian slaw made by corporate imposters with names like PF Chang. What in the slaw is Asian? I wish I knew!  I wish I knew the true value of my heritage to be worthy of carrying it forward. Like how my grandfather planted a Malonggay tree in our backyard whose leaves my mother would pick and boil to make tinolang manok -the Filipino version of chicken soup- as a weeknight staple on our dinner table. I can barely soft boil an egg for instant ramen. Or how my motherland's socioeconomic gap tooth smile is so wide that it drove over 10 million of its native sons and daughters off its shores to find work overseas as servants on cruise ships and hospitals to feed the families they barely get to see. To follow their trail blazing footsteps, let me be the second generation tipping point where some form of cyclical tradition breaks. That way, I can raise my daughter free of predetermined scripts. So as the worst Asian in this or any bar, cheers:
to being the first of a new kind.
Congratulations for you, my dear nephew
as you have become today two, so very few
years still, but your future is growing now
can only tell you, you'll be greatest, don't know how
but in some way you manage your life brilliantly
I can see at your eyes, your love and life be fantastically
I'll pray and ask the Lord to bless you immensely
dear Hudson, my happiest wishes for Mum and Daddy
be happy at heart and be wise from the start
God has blessed you with brains that smart

P.F. 2 July 2014,
your auntie Sylvia


© Sylvia Frances Chan
Hudson lives in the USA and has become two years today,
Written especially for him.
This Letter Poem WM is dedicated to Mr. Williamsji Maveli, our Masterpoet.
Why a dedication to him? These initials WM are his names.
Accidentally also the initials of the first name of our Dutch Crown prince Willem-Alexander.
The second initial is of his wife's first name: Máxima.

I want to write also about our Royal Family, since our Queen of the Netherlands Beatrix will abdicate next 30 April 2013 and at the same time Willem-Alexander and his wife will be crowned as King and Queen of the Nederlanden.

Now you know a bit about the Dutch Royal family.
Today Her Majesty Queen Beatrix is still Queen of de Nederlanden till next 30 April 2013.
These humble verse is for you, Williamsji. Please, enjoy!
Thank you for your attention. 

Sincerely,
Sylvia Frances Chan.
******************­************

This letter W stands for WILLIAMSJI
and the next letter, an M for MAVELI

This W par accidence is also the first letter
of our Crown prince WILLEM-ALEXANDER
on next 30 April WILLEM and his époussée, his wife MAXIMA
will be crowned King and Queen of Neerlandica

Usually our country is called Nederland
the foreigners call it mostly the Netherlands
the tourists a many of them prefer to say Holland
with your permission, this dedication, if I may
can also be used as introduction, what do you say?

WILLIAMSJI is the first name of our masterpoet
he creates poems mostly about sensuality
entwined in beauty, eroticism and love
when you'll read his poetry
you wouldn't see all those I've written about him above

Instead you must use your rational ability
in the lines throughout his verse
you won't find, of course not, all that worse
instead, you will enjoy all the beauty
of his master's talent writing about sensuality

His family name is also beautiful, MAVELI
well known as the masterpoet Williamsji Maveli
both are his true names belonging to Mr. Maveli
this M reminds me of MáXIMA,
Crown prince Willem-Alexander's wife in optima

Now you know why I dedicate this poem to you
your initials are quite the same as Willem and Máxima
WM is Williamsji Maveli the famous poet
WM is also Crown prince Willem-Alexander
and his wife Princess Máxima

Still one thing hasn't been told
today the 27th April is Willem-Alexander's birthday
he has become forty six years old
a good father of three daughters,
all their first names begin with an A
princess Amalia, Alexia and Ariane
their grandma is Her Majesty Queen Beatrix
she will abdicate after three and thirty years of reign

Dear Mr. Williamsji Maheli, our masterpoet
your initials WM are exactly the same as
our Crown prince Willem-Alexander
and his beloved wife Máxima

that's why I present this humble dedication
to you today as a small Dutch presentation


© Sylvia Frances Chan
27th April 1967-2013
Crown prince Willem-Alexander's 46th Birthday
Since 30th April 2013 has he become
the King of The Netherlands,
a small lowland at the Northsea
In Westeurope
C H Watson Dec 2014
Yellow-haired shinobi
    Hokage of our hearts
Teach us all of bravery
    With your deadly ninja arts!

How sharper than a kunai
    And mightiest by far
Uzumaki Naruto
    Konoha's brightest star!

When you're starving for some ramen
    And your chakra needs a fill
Have a bowl with Naruto-chan
    Jiraiya's got the bill!

And when old Madara's cracking wise
    And Susano'o fills the darkened skies
Remember where your true strength lies!
    With good friends like Naruto!


    Dattebayo!
© Copyright 2014 C. H. Watson. All rights reserved.
Jasmine Flower Oct 2014
The already preset disposition of being Asian.
I must've been accidentally mixed in the wrong laundry basket,
because they tell me I'm white-washed.
Born with foreign looks but a native tongue
my birth certificate calls me *****
I would be the blonde-hair-blue-eyes of a country on the other side of the world
but here,
I'm still considered an immigrant
in my own home.

When you are Asian-American,
you are also the stereotypes that trail your title.
You are sushi
You are jackie-chan
You are karate
You are good grades
You are the slant-eyed pignose supporting character
WELCOME TO THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
LAND OF THE FREE, HOME OF THE BRAVE
WHERE UNITED IS TRANSLATED AS DISCRIMINATED!
BUT DON'T GET IT TWISTED, ASIANS ARE PRETTY COOL!

Excuse me straight misogynist white male,
your Godzilla type of Asian,
or my culture?
When have I
as an individual
played a character in these quote on quote American movies?
Hmm oh yeah, that's right!
I was in Fast and Furious!
Didn't I also make an appearance in Harry Potter as the cute innocent
Cho Chang?
If this also applies to you can I please have your autograph
because I'm pretty sure I've seen you star in every movie
I've ever seen.
Or at least your people, right?

Don't try to tone down the damage
I already know I'm categorized in this Asian fetish
that all you'll ever see in me is rice and anime,
nothing more, nothing less.
And if I were to become an author instead of a doctor,
I'd be considered as a social unnorm
a disgrace
but isn't it already disgraceful that in this bleached-colors world
I have lost touch of my heritage,
my roots replaced with a skeleton idea of who I'm supposed to be
I wear a mask.

My friends speak to my mom in their native language.
Sitting there,
disoriented,
lost in pronunciation
I ask my mother why she did not teach me her natural tongue.

She says,
"because you are American."
And I still do not believe her.
regarding stereotypes thanks
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
poets were forever deemed the Peter Pans
of the adult world -
where once the sonnet reigned,
was sooner replaced succumbing to
gangrene by a Ferrari, or another polished diamond
of more diadem count in Pythagorean -
they really looked at poets like they murdered
the profession of accounting or plumbing...
god bless the poets, god bless the poet who
made it to a brothel... the only poets that escaped with Cain
and the murderers and the thieves, and the ******..
i forgave my enemy to escape... let him earn
fireplace respect and custody of children should things
take a sour turn... only poets are welcome...
Jackie Chan, Billy the Kid and Dante...
******* worship bound knights of auto-suggested
failures selling turnips and charcoal
writing poems like writing a signature in digital
imprint; they called us the children of
fervent art expressed -
a matchbox filled with huff-heaving-******* that was snarled-at
scratching the effortless geography of hind and
itch of the tabernacle to gallop toward a bloodless
Crusade - as Papa Urban promised unreal -
welcome the cocktail shakers of the crushed craniums
of Jerusalem's innocents - we come in
peace, come in the name of the un-spiced potato
gulags of the supposed stews of the many promises
the Pope twerked for granted in the raised *****
of the Ancient Mosque - **** praise be to Allah -
god / dog - but faithfully, anally yours...
**** a **** - nine dead, it's day-to-day Germany:
i like to dream... yes yes right between the sound machine...
you don't know what we can find...
why don't you tell your dreams to me...
close your eyes girl...           papa fried Freud squirrel...
tripped on a white horse galloping standstill
in a 1sqm balcony - everyone swore it was Zorro....
but i corrected them, it was: Zoroaster (colon,
former fame for listings, otherwise the italics,
colon the synonymous variation of italics, pressurised
theatre pause - no listing).
Ve tu ta soch vi ni sakda,
Ki kinna pyaar kardi haa.

Mahiya mere jaan hai tu meri,
Mai sirf haa teri sirf teri.

Teri je na hoyi kade kisi di ni hona,
Tere bina assi el pal vi ni jiyona.

Tu hove jado mere naal hove bahaar,
Tere bin eho ji zindagi vi bekaar

Ankha kholla te tu samne hove,
Tere ch vasdeya mera khuda ve.

Tere naal meri rooh rang di,
Taitho mai tainu hi mangdi.

Chal assi ek sohni duniya vasaiye,
Tu hai meri taaqat mere mahiye.

Jiyona marna hai naal tere,
Teri dadhkan hai saddi saans sajna mere.

Mai rabb nu vekheya nahi aye,
Mere layi khuda tu hi ve.

Mai kinna tenu chauhni mai,
Eh baya mai kar sakdi nai.

Har saah te sajna naam tera,
Jado jud jave tere naal naam mera.

Zindagi da sab tou sohna din ve,
Mainu le jaye doli ch jaan meriye.

Hathha ch mehndi hove tere naam di,
Ghodi leke aaye le jawe sajni aapdi.

Paira ch jhanjhar chan chan chanakdi,
Laal jode ch dulhan ohdi pari lagdi.

Mere sohneya teri jaan tenu yaad kardi,
Meri ankhiyan sirf tehnu labhdi.

Supna banke mil jaunda hai raatan nu,
Ardaas kardi mai khush rawe har vele tu.

Mere hathhan di khushbu tere hathhan ch,
Ja milau os rabb ne sohne lekh injh.

Is zindagi ch jiyone jinne saah sajna,
Tere naal hi leni kardi sajda.

Seene naal laake har lenda har dukh,
Tere hisse ch karde rabb mere har sukh.

Har janam mai tere naam kar deya.
Saaha tou piyareya hai mera mahiya.

Rabb tou pehle tera zikar aunda ve,
Chand naal chandni raat naal taare.

Pta ni lageya tere naal dil laa baithhe,
Sacchiyan mohabbatan assi tere naal karde.

Preeta suchiyan ne,
Tenu har gal dasange.

Tere karke hi haa jiyondi,
Tenu hi har vele os rabb tou mangdi.

Rabb ne milaiya jodiya,
Tere naal hi hasdi teri mahiya.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
.****... who came first... ol' Jim or ol' Jack? well i know that Jim began his stature of being the marquees de bourbon in 1795... but Jacky boy? personally i can't tell the difference between two... it's not like i'm drinking whiskey... the differences are so much more subtle... and every time i crack open a bottle... brothel perfumery comes to mind... that's what bourbon feels like: if you've ever visited a brothel... the scent in the air is filled with sweet sweet bourbon and soap and tender skins: no latex, no leather.

the day began with me having a cigarette,
and admiring rain drops hanging off
the washing line...
    oh... like that flock of birds...
that sit on a roof in rows...
it might have been the European starlings,
but, my guess is just as good as yours...
so let's say... a row of ~starlings...

now for the sentence...
no... wait...
a side-note addition postscriptum
of working from
a sample of a cultural exhange
program from Cold War II
,
                  circa? now.

synthetic a priori is
actually synthetic a- priori,
there's no knowledge involved...
   hence the a- hyphen being
     added to denote: without...
only chance, a curiosity,
a haphazard...
   a genius invention,
a "mistake"...
   take champagne
or L.S.D., these are examples
of a case of synthetic a- priori,
i.e. they they take a concept
of synthesis, and apply it to:
with a prior to, said example...
a discovery!

now for trying to write that sentence
using 7 variant dialects...
mind you...
i think i figured out the circumflex
over the omicron
in the Kashubian word for boy:
knôp...
             see... the linguistic explanation
is a tongue tied /uo/
doesn't work for me...
i found a better depiction...
      of ô:
i.e. kno'op - the apostrophe better
explains the circumflex hanging over
the omicron...
   it's... such an outdated linguistic
system...
to explain a diacritical mark in a word
with merely more letters,
i.e. ô (circumflex,
   which will not appear
in commaful's html) = /uo/
   i prefer the new method i conjured...
use the whole word
so? the ô in the word knôp = kno'op...
or at least... look here,
there's a U in there, oddly enough,
using the apostrophe you can
create a U shape with this "x-ray":

                kno   op
                       U
                                     but saying:
knuop?
                  well, my taste is different...
oh... and... today i watched a scary video...
people were giving out their D.N.A.
details out for free..
saliva swabs...
                     that bothers me...
so... you think these ancestry companies...
will not pass the data
to crime prevention agencies?
   you don't think they're creating
a database... not that you might commit
a crime... but if you were to...
isn't this... minority report?

anyway... looking at these dialects...
oh... look...
     an overring... which is typical
for Scandinavian languages...
  notably in the chemical constant
of the å (ångström)...
     well... that **** wasn't invented
by the Masovians...
  it had to come with the Vikings,
passing down the Vistula to found
Kiev...

(you know you're writing something
difficult to read...
when even you experience... tedium)...
you just know it...

now, the sentence...
utilizing (in no particular order):
Kurpian, Kashubian, Silesian,
Gaelic, Pict Gaelic, Cymru and Cornish...
oh ****... revising the Book of Revelation's
seven headed beast...
i.e. "revising"... I, V, X, L, C, D, M...

now for some more brothel
perfume... to think of a decent sentence...

( cicha woda, brzegi rwie
   - the silent water tears away
     at the edges -
so much for the freedom of speech,
so much said, and yet,
silence... eats away the fringes
of society, while the majority,
are fathomed, to be subdued
by a lullaby...

  a liar does not walk
on stilts - i.e. a liar is no
             longshank (edvard) -


       yr łgårz a 'dèanamh nynj
          ar hir giry
      
- a łżélc je chan eil
                   hir-aranau -

certainly not:
Eideard Fadacasan.
bheith acu:
             déanta úsáid roinnt
   Gaelach,
however much broken.
                                                         ­          )

p.s. if you're not in some way intoxicated,
or in a "schizoid" state of mind,
invoking ciphers and metaphors...
how the hell do you know you're
writing poetry?
is reading the book a revelation
something to be taken...
literally, or with a grain of cipher?
who the hell writes poetry
like its some reply to a company memo?
who makes poetic language
authoritarian,
giving out commands,
or worse still: advice?
     who makes the art of poetry
less than a hallucination of language,
of phonetic encoding that
transcends, phonetic encoding?!
poetry is bound to an inherent
incoherency, because it does not
translate into rhetoric...
it is a fascination with the elevation
of autism into the realm
of the demigod Solipssus...
it can't be coherent,
it cannot be found to not be teasing
the para-schizoid dimension
of the reality of language...
listen...
  i'm not giving you sentences,
i'm not spewing the lawyer gerbil
language of... god prevent us
using the dictionary,
and direct meaning...
we all know that lawyers
have not knowledge of the existence
of the dictionary...
they skipped that part...
and went straight for the thesaurus...
******* weasels...
poetry is the ultimate authority
of language...
if it's confusing,
it's supposed to be confusing...
how can you expect to say:
a square is a square is a square...
how can a poet be poet...
when he hasn't experienced
an auditory hallucination...
you trip on psychoactive substances...
you become a painter...
but people are afraid of what they
might "hear" compared to
something they might, "see"...
the eye is an enthralling palace...
but the ear?
     ah... the scary place...
how would i ever write poetry,
to the coherency standards of
sane people literature?!
   can anyone even comprehend
the mundane reality of
writing sane people literature?!
of course they can...
most of that literature is adopted
into movies...
or, whatever translates the x-ray
into muscles, body, flesh...
you can't be expected to write sane poetry...
you're already dealing
with the metaphysical...
   which implies:
that, which translates
the transcendence of the physical
into the meta- realm...
   of language...
  the, literally is the one poison
arrow that kills the art of poetry...
poetry is, by far,
the best translation of philosophy...
whereas the far *******,
sorry, darker aspect of poetry,
is the, "translation" of sophistry...
but that aspect of "poetry" is
a lesser form of sophistry...
esp. within the realm of populist
poetics...
it's called: latching onto the bandwagon
of what was already said,
and emphasizing a partisan
language of appeasement...
no, philosophy is not a pretentious
genre in literature...
it's just ******* difficult...
plain and simple...
   for a philosophy book,
to be translated into a poem...
5 years, and the greatest aspect of
this scenario?
   it'... inexhaustible...
who the hell expected for poetry
to be a sanity bastion for those
who do not have enough *******
in them to write fictional narrations,
and character plots of expansion?!
        
to end? my fetish for the deutschezung:
   ein steinherz,
                ein leeren verstand:
         ein eisenwerden -
              und die vergessene welt:
wohnte im durch eisen sein.
i wish to reveal a most precious thing
as Spring has begun
my dearest Daddy’s Birthday is done

he is not a man of celebrations
i want to disclose this personal’s manifest

as his blueprint, i am really beatific
i am very fortunate to be able to recollect
all and everything

to be your beloved daughter
is one most precious and delightful evidence

such a coziest feel to have you in my presence
you embody all that is calm and peaceful
no other impervious Daddy then you, my handsome sensitive

your BirthDay, dearest Daddy is never nebulous
the reputations you left us are all fabulous

you told me tales, they are in fact realities
you are one of a kind, your mind so sublime
you constantly cared and loved me, i am your prime

i love to tell superlatives about you
you deserve the most, dearest Daddy,

i am very proud of you, of your humor and your visions
your cartoons, drawings, and your fascinating paintings
you conjured magic in all your writings

C.C. was your weekly talkings
Charlie was your weekly walkings
in the world of Charlie Chan

i am very fond of you, my very talented Daddy
i know your world too, owned by you as a stage performer….
i remember everything, every detail hidden in my mind

i wish to reveal the most precious thing
last night i went to your place, i was wondering
you were not there, i started sobbing….

© Sylvia Frances Chan
21st March 2017
May he rest in Peace. May he have a Happy BirthDAY in Heaven on the 21st March on Tuesday....
He died too young too soon, my greatest grief on that day.
The Lord gives, the Lord takes at His Time....
Hiro was such a clever guy.
he always said the funniest little jokes, even when he was Hiro-chan, to me.
he used to act like a cat when he was frustrated and, and-
remember what he said to the mailman that day, in like june?
about how he looked like an angry Hotei-osho?
we all laughed and that mailman, that man’s face went radish red.

he was such a good lawyer, Hiro.
i mean, he wasn’t rich and powerful, no
but he did good things, though.
like Sayotoma’s lease –
without Hiro, he would’ve lost the store!
and then where would we get our tempura? huh?


oh, Hiro, you are so much fun to talk about.
and i hate that all i have of you now is smoldering incense and an expired passport.
i poured a cup of water on your grave today, you know.
it was a hurting kind of hot under summer’s sun – it’s august, after all.
some steam came off, and it sounded like you sighing
and i said more loudly than i cared no problem, Hiro
and my wife looked at me, with a misting eye,
while my son kept flicking matches
from that cheap matchbook we got at Sayotama’s place.

all the failed matches collected between his sneakers
and i thought that i wish Sayotama didn’t make all his matches
so **** fragile.
they burst and blacken in a second,
and you don’t have the chance to really light something,
and they just end up falling between the sneakers
of some kid who can’t even remember you,
Hiro.
© David Clifford Turner, 2010

For more scrawls, head to: www.ramblingbastard.blogspot.com
Arik Fletcher Feb 2011
She walks in shadows of lost love,
all her dreams long left behind,
abandoned by the gods above,
lost too long for them to find.

Dark clouds hang above her heart,
drops of rain that drench her soul,
cold winds blowing through her mind,
tears beyond her self control.

She stares into the lake of hope,
the waves reflecting on her face,
she lets go of life’s fraying rope,
to find true love in death’s embrace.
Nekatu Poetry © Arik Fletcher
Alight the sun and moon are in the skies,
Attending to the passing of the great.
A burning light will leave our twinkling eyes,
With passing time, we reach the dreaded date.
And though the lights are here, the sky is dim,
The premature pathetic fallacy,
Even nature herself cannot hold in,
The blinding sorrow she too feels for thee.
And though with sadness we anticipate
Departure of a kind and bubbly friend,
We shan't forget to say, before it's late,
Goodbye, good luck, we're with you 'till the end.
And don't forget your trendy, cool nature,
Or joyful outlook which makes you so pure.
I frickin' didn't want to use thee bc that's really gay but hey ** I needed a rhyme
I have tried here to create an Essay on Mother
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~with love, Sylvia FC


a Mother,
a GodMother,
a GrandMother,

the central figure in every family's life,
who has the quality of a professor,
the patience of an angel,
the power of Tarzan

the unique habit of keeping her family together as a united one,
with that special kind of love which we cannot see,
we as her kids can only feel it, smell the atmosphere of the cosy surrounds at home as we never could ever feel elsewhere...

East-West
at home with Mom is always the best!!
her cookies are the most delicious ones
we love to talk about her in superlatives
Mother a place to hide when we have fear or anxiety,
under Mother's wings is always a peaceful home-coming...

daughters love to write a great tribute to Her
as well as to Mothership

Some quotations from different sources I put down here:
First from the Bible:
"Honour thy mother and thy father" Bible: Exodus

"As is the mother, so is her daughter" Bible: Ezekiel

And now from other sources:
"So for the mother's sake the child was dear"
"And dearer was the mother for the child" (Samuel Taylor Coleridge 'Sonnet to a Friend Who Asked How I Felt When the Nurse First Presented My Infant Child to Me')

"All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That is his" (Oscar Wilde The Importance of Being Earnest)

And the last quotation is mine:
"A Mother is the most complete human-being on earth,  
the caring and loving person,
the only one to whom daughters write a greatest tribute,
the safest place to come home...
a Mother is like Home...." (Sylvia Frances Chan)



© SYLVIA FRANCES CHAN
AD. Friday 7th Nov 2014- 17.01 hrs p.m. here on this site. Saturday
7 Jan 2012- 5.01 hrs a.m. posted on Poetfreak.com
PENTECOST = PINKSTEREN ( in Dutch )

Especially for Mr. Syd 4ever !! God's greatest Blessings for you.

MIS - understand - in = means stand in another place,
misunderstanding = do not understand each other.

Pentecost is the language that everyone understands,
for they are pentecosted.

An empty sack can not walk right or stand upright (African proverb).

Pentecost means that we are again people
who can understand each other in the Spirit of Jesus,
let us pray to God that He again gives us the spirit of Jesus.

Let us pray singing,
Let us pray singing,

that this Pentecost will give us new strength again,
that this Pentecost may bless us again,
that this Pentecost will give us strength again to forgive our fellow man,
that this Pentecost will breathe again life in us,

with the power that is able to forgive and overcome all the mistakes and misunderstandings,

and we will also experience as such:
Forgive and be forgiven

Do not look whether we are rich or poor,
this Pentecost may allow us to experience
that feeling of complete pleasure
in all total love and peace.

That this cup may always overflow with solidarity, love and care.

Peace of the Lord be upon us
until the end of time.
Amen....

a Dedication to Syd 4ever,
with unconditional love, Sylvia.

Sylvia Frances Chan
On Whit Sunday, 15 May 2016
Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
I swear to god there's no other way to say
**I ******* love you
Thank you for the greatest weekend of my life. I will never forget these memories and i will continue to miss you until the very next time i see you
Ken Pepiton Jun 2019
If the writer is not the reader and the reader is not entered
(entertain-ed?) by the trial or trier
here in our phor of oroboronic

wheel spinning, our world of
entertaiment
contained,
be
coming to meet, um,
-phatics of sorts unheard,
ignored,
or unshown, un-

init-
iated unit-
ary, you,

become the
eleventh hour ***, none hired.
Apo

Unem, come work my field, *** my hard rows
no early helpers
weeded

Attention glitch... some signal intra fearal

No worry,
-- fear of god beginning wisdom boot code;

that connection
has been loose so long, missignaling
special and free,

a special sort of
crudescence has scabbed the short.
It's a brain fix.
You get a feel for it, the augments help,
Om as the
Axionic go, is tuned to absurdity. Listen.

Hear me, dragon-lizard-brain. We are a team. The team.
All the story stories tell of you and me. We unite.
We get our act together, and we
go mad, in the sight of all earthlings augmented to see
Youtube.

By my ab-surd-ifity, all our stories change. An unmatched wave.

-- forgive the footnote, but don't lie about what we both know is true:

absurd (adj.)"plainly illogical," 1550s,
from Middle French absurde (16c.),
from Latin absurdus "out of tune, discordant;"
figuratively "incongruous, foolish, silly, senseless,"
from ab- "off, away from,"
here perhaps an intensive prefix,
+ surdus "dull, deaf, mute," which is possibly
from an imitative PIE root meaning "to buzz, whisper"
(see susurration).
Thus the basic sense is perhaps "out of tune,"
but de Vaan writes,
"Since 'deaf' often has two semantic sides,
viz. 'who cannot hear' and 'who is not heard,' ab-surdus can be explained as 'which is unheard of' ..." The modern English
sense is the Latin figurative one,
perhaps "out of harmony with reason or propriety." Related: Absurdly; absurdness.
--
Screech, boomers know, finger nails on the chalkboard, the blackboard
jungle screech,
when teacher is takin' a smoke. Absurdity is entertainment.

It can make you think in whole new ways.
Or stop your believing of a lie

for long enough to see
a hope, no lie, a hope of something human
**** sapien sapiens augmental,
upright under Good and Evil,
sheltered from the storm.

A class, a level, a common value beyond Belief and Dignity and

dexterous sinister plots of points where clues were pinned,
yet you
overlooked the message, daze-led by the angels dancing.

Thales fell into this hole. He survived. It all ties in

The new -phatic word that started this stream ends it,
with our common
scream for meaning fullness apo-

apo-phatic mystery of sympathy,
bha, bha --

Paradox ortho
pedic augmentations, koan to mantra,
meditation on the word of words,
step to step to step logical
logos-centric reason, logo-istical rite to
evince a visible faith,
a virtue signal,
a mark, between the eyes,
an aim,
a point to spring a story from
upon an unsuspecting child averse to boos.

Trauma at a bubble pop. When all we know, dear
reader, is lost, and our bubble's edge sur
past our horizons,
we are mine-yoot, mispent attentions being

recycled, for goodness sake. Old lies twisting
into first fruits of the know
ing tree, ideas mani-fest
ing
ting, ding

Aha, my bubble of thought ala
funny papers in the old days where we met and laughed
together
in America, before we knew
earth from this distance
fifty years ago.

Wishbooks were real,
Whole Earth Catalog suppliers
sold me my nets, my hooks, and lines,

I learned the ways men have caught fish.
Wishing all the while for a way to live as earthlings live.
Guided by witty inventions, messengers
from the gods, eh.

Easter eggs, tucked away in retro games surfacing on Wall Street.

Who manages the messages released when the
first trump sounded?

That was me, as real, Asreal Kanbe, a walkon role.

I saw a third,
at least, of all the fish in the sea die,
in the duration of a single
short-span standard life. All seven trumps did sound, though,

they may be like lizards, we don't hear them well.

These seventy years of captivity
in the tales of my culture, my people and the ways they live in peace,

in the ways they resist war, sistere in peace with faith, the idea, the deed,

faith works in acting. True. Eh. Faith without action is dead.

Incandescentis onburnedupus, ****, dark. Switch on switch off
nada
dark dark faith sees nothing, ah so what, we muddle in puddles

and fail to portage for fear of surface I can't sticking to our
iron shod feet,
miry clay, heavy steps ******* the good news socks off
our beautiful feet,

see hear focus id - i dent ify the why, find the how-

thought change changes thinker, not thought.

Which of you can make one wire plus or minus by taking thought?
Taking anxious thought? Eh?
Fret not. Ohmmmmmmmm

my god, why the threats? Why must I fret for never making sense?

Dee ahna knowledge chan zen

consider the opposite, the shadow of turning, not doubt

preserve light and darkness little man
preserve sun and moon and stars

lose your wish to catch the Magic Fish.

But that is my wish, my wish for one more wish,
I wished to catch the fish

which taught the lessen to the fishher whose wife
could not be satisfied.

I wished for a source of all the answers ever found,

Ah. and I got this global brain that remembers ever,
though we know only now.
Never before,
has this been past that which men hoped for,
unseen.
Faith for the world to become as it now is,
is finished.
What a man sees, why does he hope for?

It worked. Self-evident, right. Same class as life and liberty.

Chickeneggical,
**** or ovoidal elliptical slices of life, those arrive for our

per-use-al, right or wrong. Like a Fabrege' egg:
You break it, you bought it. Life ain't fair. But it works.
Pick up the pieces.
They all still fit. None are missing. Some are broke,
but a soft touch can fix em.

You were always Humpty-Dumpty. This had to happen once.

Good side always shines, when
the rub has been dealt a shine-on signal for ever sake,
no reason,

just cause. A man can, even mad, be as happy
as he can imagine being,
at the time, all things considered, augmentasciously.

This was my oldest memory today, the future
shall come, and whatever
shall be, shall be, que sera sera.

How are you bored? This is earth. Even if you wish otherwise.

There are new things we may learn if we choose.

--apophatic (adj.)
"involving a mention of something one feigns to deny;
involving knowledge obtained by negation," 1850,
from Latinized form of Greek apophatikos,
from apophasis "denial, negation,"
from apophanai "to speak off,"
from apo "off, away from" (see apo-) + phanai "to speak,"
related to pheme "voice," from PIE root *bha- (2) "to speak, tell, say."

I would not call this meditation, sitting in the back garden.
Maybe I would call it eating light.
Mystical traditions recognize two kinds of practice:
apophatic mysticism, which is the dark surrender of Zen, the Via Negativa of John of the Cross, and
kataphatic mysticism, less well defined:
an openhearted surrender to the beauty of creation.

Maybe Francis of Assissi was, on the whole,
a kataphatic mystic,
as was Thérèse of Lisieux in her exuberant momemnts:
but the fact is, kataphatic mysticism has low status in religious circles.

Francis and Thérèse were made, really made,
any mother superior will let you know,
in the dark nights of their lives:
no more of this throwing off your clothes and singing songs and babbling about the shelter of God's arms

When I was twelve and had my first menstrual period,
my grandmother took me aside and said,
'Now your childhood is over.
You will never really be happy again.'
That is pretty much how some spiritual directors treat the transition from kataphatic to apophatic mysticism.

But, I'm sorry, I'm going to sit here every day the sun shines and eat this light. Hung in the bell of desire.” 
― Mary Rose O'Reilley, The Barn at the End of the World: The Apprenticeship of a Quaker, Buddhist Shepherd
Daring to let art be fun and philosophy be phuny, I laugh and romp in the remains of fallen walls between any curious mind and all the knowledge in the world, accessible as long as we both shall live.

— The End —