"coe" poems
[Dedicated to Austin Osman Spare]
Have pity ! show no pity !
Those eyes that send such shivers
Into my brain and spine : oh let them
Flame like the ancient city
Swallowed up by the sulphurous rivers
When men let angels fret them !
Yea ! let the south wind blow,
And the Turkish banner advance,
And the word go out : No quarter !
But I shall hod thee -so !
While the boys and maidens dance
About the shambles of slaughter !
I know thee who thou art,
The inmost fiend that curlest
Thy vampire tounge about
Earth's corybantic heart,
Hell's warrior that whirlest
The darts of horror and doubt !
Thou knowest me who I am
The inmost soul and saviour
Of man ; what hieroglyph
Of the dragon and the lamb
Shall thou and I engrave here
On Time's inscandescable cliff ?
Look ! in the plished granite,
Black as thy cartouche is with sins,
I read the searing sentence
That blasts the eyes that scan it :
**** and SET be TWINS."
A fico for repentance !
Ay ! O Son of my mother
That snarled and clawed in her womb
As now we rave in our rapture,
I know thee, I love thee, brother !
Incestuous males that consumes
The light and the life that we capture.
Starve thou the soul of the world,
Brother, as I the body !
Shall we not glut our lust
On these wretches whom Fate hath hurled
To a hell of jesus and shoddy,
Dung and ethics and dust ?
Thou as I art Fate.
Coe then, conquer and kiss me !
Come ! what hinders? Believe me :
This is the thought we await.
The mark is fair ; can you miss me ?
See, how subtly I writhe !
Strange runes and unknown sigils
I trace in the trance that thrills us.
Death ! how lithe, how blithe
Are these male incestuous vigils !
Ah ! this is the spasm that kills us !
Wherefore I solemnly affirm
This twofold Oneness at the term.
Asar on Asi did beget
Horus twin brother unto Set.
Now Set and Horus kiss, to call
The Soul of the Unnatural
Forth from the dusk ; then nature slain
Lets the Beyond be born again.
This weird is of the tongue of Khem,
The Conjuration used of them.
Whoso shall speak it, let him die,
His bowels rotting inwardly,
Save he uncover and caress
The God that lighteth his liesse.
6k
Give the David his due,
...give your devil to you?
Jul 1, 2018
Jul 1, 2018 at 2:56 AM UTC
Mayan Poetry Translations
The Receiving of the Flower
excerpt from a Mayan love poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Let us sing overflowing with joy
as we observe the Receiving of the Flower.
The lovely maidens beam;
their hearts leap in their *******
Why?
Because they will soon yield their virginity to the men they love!
###
The Deflowering
excerpt from a Mayan love poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Remove your clothes;
let down your hair;
become as naked as the day you were born—
virgins!
###
Prelude to **********
excerpt from a Mayan love poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Lay out your most beautiful clothes,
maidens!
The day of happiness has arrived!
Grab your combs, detangle your hair,
adorn your earlobes with gaudy pendants.
Dress in white as becomes maidens ...
Then go, give your lovers the happiness of your laughter!
And all the village will rejoice with you,
for the day of happiness has arrived!
###
The Flower-Strewn Pool
excerpt from a Mayan love poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You have arrived at last in the woods
where no one can see what you do
at the flower-strewn pool ...
Remove your clothes,
unbraid your hair,
become as you were
when you first arrived here,
virgins, maidens!
These are my modern English translations of ancient Mayan love poems. Native Americans were creating poems and songs in pre-Columbian days; Mayan and Aztec literature may date back to the first millennium BCE. Unfortunately the Spanish conquerors of South America destroyed all but four of the thousands of pre-Columbian books that probably once existed (according to translator Michael Coe). Mayan hieroglyphs remain far from fully understood and dating what remains is difficult. However, the best poetry is timeless and I believe we can know our Mayan brothers and sisters a little better through their poems.—Michael R. Burch
These are my modern English translations of ancient Mayan love poems. Native Americans were creating poems and songs in pre-Columbian days; Mayan and Aztec literature may date back to the first millennium BCE. Unfortunately the Spanish conquerors of South America destroyed all but four of the thousands of pre-Columbian books that probably once existed (according to translator Michael Coe). Mayan hieroglyphs remain far from fully understood and dating what remains is difficult. However, the best poetry is timeless and I believe we can know our Mayan brothers and sisters a little better through their poems.—Michael R. Burch
Keywords/Tags: ancient, Mayan, poetry, translation, translations, love, virginity, *** marriage, joy, happiness, flower, flowers, deflowering, clothes, hair, ****** nakedness
May 5, 2020
May 5, 2020 at 4:54 AM UTC
Come see black night. Black night proposes
more
Than madness in a prophet's dream, sets free
A lean uncertainty, sweet taste of all
We dare not see.
My sweet Kathryn, you were older than me,
Knew all the black mountains--Olson, Creely, Duncan, Morley, Dorn... While I
was learning
Levertov. Your dark, unshaven armpits
Drove me wild. I understood the honor
Of that crazy night--how could feather leave you--
our dance at the outlaw bar,
Your sapphic gaze bemused by coal miners,
In cowboy boots, as the band played Haggard,
Coe, Willie, Waylon, Johnny Cash, Kristofferson
& Emmy Lou. I wouldn't trade it for a date
With Miss Brazil, or Russia as it were--
Some people say you made that up,
Changed heritage and grew the hair to seem more European. I couldn't care
Less. A great dark mystery I loved
Now thirty-seven years ago with me
Just old enough to drink and you come down
From Bingington, I loved the way you said
That frozen town, where your husband lingered,
Teaching English to native speakers.
I know you still loved him. I think you loved
Me, but needed a woman's touch the same
As I. Strange how a night can be recalled
More than years, one drunken naked sunrise,
Pillow talk instead of class. I ditched the speech
At PBK, can't remember what they
Fed us, coming for you in a straight shift
Chevy pickup, red as the night was black.
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
got so drunk at their little, ahem, initiation ceremony: drank a bottle of whiskey when i heard we were going clubbing wearing lycra shorts... the man with the biggest bulge and the biggest stick... never understood male group psychology... or any group psychology for that matter... it isn't exactly a throng of noblemen following Henry VIII.
i joined the lacrosse university team
for a bit,
left it when the time came to buy the
equipment - i didn't think getting
smacked by the defenders' longer sticks
was worth it, to be a striker with the shortest
stick - too physical - i thought i'd seek
some other physicality,
got stuck-up on rock climbing, and mountaineering
for a while, nothing serious,
a bit of easy bouldering on the edinbrugh crag,
the one lining the skyline at holyrood park,
the salisbury crag, just west of arthur's seat -
i'm not going to lie about clinging off the
matterhorn or something -
but i did an expedition with the mountaineering
club near Ben Nevis once...
Glen Coe / Coire nan Lochan...
and i figured, with all this talk of light pollution,
well, "pollution", to think that a bunch of
street lamps can blind away the stars of what
former poets spoke of: about the illumination
of the heavens for the blind eye to see...
we camped outside one bothy (basic shelter)
set off fireworks, drank whiskey, played music,
burnt a fire in the bothy...
but to be honest... i was not amused by this whole
theory of light pollution...
i looked up at the sky, and the number of stars
was no greater than the number seen in a bright
lit city... i know they say all those telescopes
amplify the chance of peering into the heavens
at night and see more stars...
but why cite light pollution, when, in a remote
highland hideout the number of stars didn't
increase in number... i've heard a girl from
australia cite that, in the outback she said
more stars could be seen... even without a telescope...
so the scottish highlands are unlike the australian
outback? is it just me... or is it simply ********
this whole light pollution argument?
it was dark out there like in an **** after black coffee
and charcoal tablets.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 6:45 PM UTC
My pitch through sow
and debt trouble superfluous
with wealth in Coe
where thrift a hoax now
but tread yuan nigh
there my dear and die in relief
that join forces by tomorrow's spring.
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 2:26 PM UTC
I learned to write poetry
From those bathroom walls
I even learned about life
From them ***** old stalls
I think one was even written
By Mr Edgar Allan Poe
Wait!, that might have said
David Allan Coe
One poem that I found
Was scribbled in red
Of course I can't really repeat
What that poem said
Some were so funny
They made me laugh real hard
I laughed til I cried
And my lungs were scarred
Here I sit so broken hearted
Was a poem that we made famous
But we never signed our names
In case they ever tried to blame us
Now some say that bathroom poetry
Just isn't very well known
But you just can't help but read some
While you're sitting on the throne
To *** or not to ***
I haven't made up my mind
But you have to admit, bathroom poetry
Is simply one of a kind
Jun 2, 2010
Jun 2, 2010 at 8:16 AM UTC
*of what heart is to begin with, intact, there is no love in such a heart to govern the cruelty of flux, for love only aspires in fragmentation pf that ***** readied for nothing metaphysical, yet only the physicality of the muscular... love enters when the heart is garment in fractions and nowhere and by no-how does it exist... if love is not a search, then love is no love at all... for love akin to god, there is no clear direction, no definite coordinate, no (a) to (b) basis, or subsequent exfoliation into some sort of basics... away from my country of birth, i only found love within the existence of scotland... and by that quest for "demise" i forfeit an ask for glasgow to forgive me, my idle friendships with stereotypes of alarm... rest abididing by edinbrugh... as i might say: for every glasgow there's a birmingham, as there's a london for every edinburgh... in no other town have i felt the over-powering grasp of stereotype; forgive me.*
don't climb a mountain,
if you can't speak
to the mountain: prior
to an attempted climb
of it,
never seak what you cannot
contain with your own
worth of grip with the hands...
never ask the mountain
to become a hill you
can exectute a promenade
over... and serve such
effort the lingo of: complete.
never ask the mountain for
a name,
instead ask it to name
an ocean...
never ask
the ocean for a mountain's name,
instead a name
of a valley,
a glen coe and its massacre,
or the grand canyon...
and all the many
crevices upon the human
body with its skeletal
blanks and
empty spaces of fleshy folds...
never ask the mountain
its name...
reach the peak,
and then ask yourself
the name you were bestooed with!
ask yourself the name
you ingested as a child...
when climbing a mountain,
never ask for the mountain's name...
once you reached the tip
ask yourself, what your name
is or rather, ought to be...
and what would the mountain
name you, as a mother or a father
already have...
never mind to name
a mountain, as if it might be exclaiming
a righteous conquest...
name yourself prior
as a baptism,
and then name yourself post-
as a "catholicism"
of the rite of confirmation...
whatever name you think of
climbing down,
is the name of the mountain you
have just "conquered"...
for each man to
have reached the ever-reach of man's
final end,
if there are equals to astronauts
who reach the lunar orb,
there are those, grounded,
medium grounds between astronauts
and astronomers...
those who seek the eagles' eye,
aloof, upon the himalayan titan's cranium,
and by god,
that's halfway toward the stars.
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 9:19 PM UTC
Don’t waste your life on *****
Don’t waste your life on drugs
Don’t waste your life on women
Don’t waste your time learning a language you will never use
I did because I couldn’t be loved
Not when I wanted to
Not when I was young.
And I really needed to be loved
And as I grew up
I never stuck around
For people
I just kept riding off
Into the sunset
Trying to shake of a broken heart
They say forget the past
But the past has become so convincing
And the wound so pronounced
That its something I cannot overlook.
More like it creeps up on me
When I am alone with this mind
This mind that achieved alot
But achieved so little
Kissed so few women
Was loved so little
Had so few experiences in love.
It’s best to be stupid when you are young
And not have this pessimism hardening in your soul.
Like a dry bit of flesh
Protecting the tender wound
I’ve tried *****
I’ve tried laughing
I’ve tried staring at the ceiling
I’ve tried not caring
But this mother dies hard.
I can only survive
By listening to Waylon
And Willie
And Alan
And Merle
And David Allan Coe.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 9:38 AM UTC
Walking, alone, down cold, uneven sidewalks.
Beech St. crosses with Bagley, then East Grand.
After three, only the unsavory, the lost, and the tormented roam these paths;
Forever seeking peace of mind where only delusion resides.
Not knowing entirely what lay ahead,
Walked to Coe Lake.
One spot in this little place that seems almost untouched, unadulterated.
No street signs,
No cars.
Just the gentle silence that is discontent with just being;
It affects, it liberates, it call into question all that is certain.
Get lost in your thoughts on the gravel path,
And take a seat by the water.
Just as Mother Moon gazes into the face of the glassy lake surface,
So must I look inwards,
Is this the right path?
I sigh, the nights sighs back.
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 11:27 AM UTC
(alternately titled: ah me go march'n home on derange)
I'll play the devil's advocate, yet
prepare a stance with pitchfork
against misinterpreted faux attempt
to describe, how whet
d'ya column re: immigration officials coe vet
patrol, police, and poison tranquil casa blanca
where killer attack dogs fiendishly pin set
ting sharp fangs at jugular vein of respectful,
dutiful, and blissful (or at least
prior to being sniffed out) innocent
long time laborer on American soil now get
ting Das Boot to their unfamiliar Motherland
(despite living social
as law abiding righteous folks) fret
full, cuz unfairly punished, and
cruelly deported, dispirited, doomed
pained visage non verbally articulates
at un war rented deportation you bet!
with just a flick of the wrist
and alien hated, pigheaded,
and xenophobic ventriloquist
bring back the Alien and Sedition Acts
with a Trumpeting Latina, Hispanic,
and for good measure Mulatto twist,
where original writ (signed into law
by President John Adams in 1798),
historical footnote, aye cannot resist
spooking (like a ghost), those *** pill
born south of the border pooped and ******
in potties of this proud country, sans free and brave
now frightfully get flushed out
glad to feign dis guise
as one among select Geronimo cadre
we henchman lubricate
wheels of injustice myst
tuff hie hiding dark shadows
(along the edge of night)
thence paddy wagon comes
to screeching halt nabbing
an "illegal alien" name on hit list
code word "bag dad" (biggest quarry)
and score a win
for Barren Trump Tah Mahal Incorporated
impossible mission special ops sentry slithers as trained
fearless to shackle ******* ranked big hest
catch also including ***** prize,
as you correctly guessed.
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 2:33 AM UTC
I'm going down
to the local bar
to see one of
the toilets.
I'm goin' to
try and be
a star..
see if the shoe fits.
I'm goin' to find
a beat whether
it's crap or rap.
I'm goin' to
put my hands
in my armpits
and hope to hell
I don't got the clap,
and shout it out
'cause it'll be about
something,
even if it's the *****
Every time
I hear the phrase
'Hip Hop'
I think of Easter
being on its way.
I'm going to call me
Vanilla not so nice,
the whitey who rolls them dice,
don't get caught in no trap
like all those other mice.
Hell, now I'm flippin' house's,
what a way to land on your feet..
and I still hear my songs on the radio..
...not often mind you.
Lot's of people make mistakes
while others get some breaks,
Now I may have said some things
to get yourtail feathers up..
but don't you worry about me,
I can take the blow-by-blow.
It could be a lot worse don't you know.
I could be some numb nuts like David Allan Coe.
I could leave this one to rest
because it's most clearly
not one of my best,
but it woke me up one morning
and I had to right it down..
© 2012
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 3:53 PM UTC
Crank the truck
Radios up loud
David Allen Coe
Sings out proud
Put it in gear
Head down the road
Willie sings
And lightens my load
If that ain't country
And whiskey river Take my mind
Send me down the road
New places I can find
Clint blacks next
At the stop sign
I sing along
Just killing time
Commercials now
Never stop I think
Then merle screams
Think I'll just stay here and drink
Country music gold
Radio clear and true
Hank Williams wails
***** tonk blues
Miles go bye
Thoughts of love inspire
Big john cash tells me
About a ring of fire
My ride is long
Where too?
The oaks chime in
With Bobbie sue
Singing and riding
Let the music ring
Waylon tells me
Bob wills is still the king
That may be true
But not what I say
Now George straits
Marina del rey
Circling back to home
And the end of my ride
Kiss an angel good morning
With Mr.. Charlie Pride
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 12:00 AM UTC
My sister Susan had disappeared
At the age of twenty four,
She’d gone on up to the attic room
And she’d locked and barred the door,
We beat, cajoled, and entreated her,
But she never would come out,
I said, ‘We shouldn’t have argued Sue,
I didn’t need to shout.’
My father came with his gravel voice
And demanded ‘Open up!’
He thumped and kicked on the cedar door,
And beat with a metal cup,
But there wasn’t even a whimper
As of somebody inside,
It was like she’d suffered a broken heart
Had crawled in there, and died.
We left her there till the morning,
Thought a night would calm her down,
‘She’ll come out once she is hungry,’
Said my brother, (he’s a clown).
But as the clock struck for dinner time
With not the slightest stir,
My father carried a battering ram
And ran right up the stair.
He stood and battered the cedar door,
He said it gave him pain,
‘I can’t afford to replace it, but,’
Then belted it again,
The door had splintered, the lock fell off
And he burst into the room,
But all that he saw were cobwebs, dust
And an air of deepest gloom.
‘Susan, where can you be,’ he cried,
‘There’s nowhere you can hide,
There isn’t even a window here
So you can’t have got outside,’
His voice rang out through the house and sent
An echo down the stair,
My mother burst into tears to hear
That Susan wasn’t there.
The police came over and climbed the roof,
Dropped into the attic space,
They hunted among the rafters there,
Looked almost every place,
There wasn’t a sign of Susan though
She’d simply disappeared,
‘The same thing happened to Grandma Coe,’
My mother cried, ‘It’s weird!’
‘She locked herself in the attic there
In the fall of forty-eight,
‘They thought that they heard her on the stair
When the hour was getting late,
But never a sign of her came back,
Then her husband, Grandpa died,
We always thought that she must be here
But somehow locked inside.’
We called the local clairvoyant in
And he brought his Tarot pack,
He stared long into his crystal ball
Till we had to call him back,
He chanted into the midnight hour
In a voice both loud and slow,
Till shuffling out of the Attic came
Not Sue, but Grandma Coe!
David Lewis Paget
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 3:33 AM UTC
Well, I was gonna write a poem
But I can't remember how
I know words are involved
You know, like "thee" and "thou"
And I was gonna be famous
You know, like Edgar Allan Poe
Wait!, I think that was his name
Or was it David Allan Coe?
Yep, I was gonna be rich and famous
Til a friend of mine said
"You can't be rich and famous,
Til long after you're dead"
I knew right then I didn't wanna die
So a mediocre poet, I'd be
And if anybody ever said I was good
I'd say, "Huh?"... "Who me?"
Now words come easy to one like me
Course, I don't really know how to spell
But that just keeps me down to earth
We wouldn't want my head to swell
So if I write a poem that's really good
Don't say, "Great" say, "It's okay" instead
Cause I don't wanna be rich and famous
And I don't wanna turn up dead
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 10:51 AM UTC
peak skill wafts milky aroma from ******* Eros they win
an apt pupil dial lates with a twin
thus…two orbital allies – seek carnal *** sass sin
while sunk kin their sockets, they scan yar scenic skin
drawing interest sharp as a pin
while testosterone pump kin
not cease…thus juiced hum ma gin
slicing ether of sea like an ocular shark fin
past yar eyes darting from toes ta chin
where ****** fantasies shift their shape
letting daydream let me lips braise the nape
of neck before shimmying with invisible escape
resorting to atavistic antics per great ape
within me twenty first skein of muscle and bone
especially verboten iced creamy country where
this pal wannabe wants to drone
and in fair weather or foul would pine to hear ya moan
upon me milking tropic of cancer as ye lie supinely prone
regaling tulips and rivulet dribbling over miniature mossy stone
aware when proboscis nearing bulls eye by your purring tone
ecstatic I located an erogenous zone
mentally book marked careful not to slide nor slip
a live as one googly eyed earth linked yahoo excites
pheromones on the outlook for purr act perch per verboten trip
could don role of aim mesh applying his little buggy whip
of ca horse heading to bird in hand
*********** paradise or some other place grand
dill a quaint as would be surmised as this animal
a carnal, excitable, guttural one-man band
seething with hormonal secretions
unfairly forced into a coe wide dill cell bait
coveting to reach the integral female bad land.
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 6:01 PM UTC
I read all of our old messages
They make a bitter smile come to my face
They make a bitter laugh come out my mouth
I am glad you at least told me the truth
However,
The truth you told me makes me feel worst
And for some reason it makes me smile
How does that make me smile?
It made me laugh too
I really must be as pitiful and as messed up as you said I was
And Ne'coe said it too
I still find it amusing
He had a girlfriend who was a harlot
And he was a church boy
She cheated on him loads of times
He knew it, but was blinded and deaf by his love for her
Mirruh,
I don't know much about you
Maybe that's one of the reasons why we weren't ever friends
Sometimes I catch myself regretting not being good enough for you
But you knew me well
You told me how you felt about me
It almost crushed my heart at the time
But I reread those messages and laugh at how I want to cry
How I want to make you feel what I felt that day
I'm still holding on to what was lost when it was never found
I sometimes catch myself being that same pitiful way
The way you told me I was
I hate myself even more now
I hate being this way
I keep holding on
I don't know how to let go
How do I let go what I still want?
I got one of the things I wanted
It was what I denied
That I was pitiful
And I am messed up
I got her and Ne'coe to admit it the hard way
I set myself up for it
I'm glad you said it
Cause now there's no way for me to deny it
Cause you admitted it too
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 4:38 PM UTC
I regret I wasn't good enough
I should have tried to be
I regret I didn't ask more
I should've asked more
I regret I whined too much
And I regret everything I did and didn't do
You told me everything I did wrong
I whined too much, I assume things, and I'm too attached to people and I make them uncomfortable
I don't know why I do it
I didn't really see it till you told me
I hate it
Makes me realize how messed up I am
I hated that you didn't even give me a chance to fix these things before you told me to **** off" after telling me how annoying I am
Then I realized
After what happened between me and Ne'coe I realize now that was my second chance to fix things
But
I didn't see it
I was too dumb to see it as a sign that I was the problem
That it was me
Not anyone else
I keep regretting
and I can't seem to stop
I keep over thinking everything I do or say to anyone
I hate regretting
because it makes my heart squeeze and crush under it's weight and it makes it heavy as oceans
And I'm doing it again
And again
And again
I keep reading the messages you sent me and it crushes my heart rereading it
All the reasons I was never good enough
Everything
And it makes me want to cry, but I can't
I haven't cried for anything for three years and I don't know why,
but I'm all cried out even after never crying
So I just try to fix these things you said, even though you won't want me anymore
And
I'll be a better friend for someone else
And if it helps
I still care about you
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 7:40 PM UTC