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Shyamal Bodosa Oct 2020
Dimasa jadi neh, Dimasa hoshom neh,
Dara gadain, Disha gadain.
Ringya kabo ringma nangba, Nuya kabo numa nangba.
Dara gadain, Disha gadain.
Hadam guphu **** kaseh, rephgong reph bah ringkaseh.
Dara gadain, Disha gadain mithima.
Written by Ajoy Hasnu
15 Ikalabingwalong kaarawan na
Ng binukot na prinsesa

16 Ang pagiging dalaga niya’y ganap
Isang prinsipe ang ihaharap

17 Panahon na upang lumabas sa palasyo
Humarap sa mga mamamayan at mga dayo

18 Ngayong nasa harapan na ng madla
Ipakikilala sari-saring mga binata

19 Tangan ang mga regalo
Sa prinsesang sinusuyo

20 At pagtunog ng mga tambol at plawta
Si Dara’y makikisayaw na

21 Sa mga lalaking napupusuan
Na sa mga pagsubok idadaan.

-06/23/2012
*Gintong Lupa Series
My Poem No. 143
raquezha Aug 2020
Nagpoon sa pagbagsak kan dáhon
An mga istoryang dai mo huhunaon
Na makakaabot sa susunod na henerasyon
Dai dapat pundohon an pagsurat
Kan satuyang tataramon asin
Dai dapat malingaw sa kagayonan
Kan pagbasa nin mga surat na hali
Sa mga utak kan satuyang mga pag-iriba
An oras na tinaya mo sa paggibo
Nin obra, surat, tula man o kanta
Basta nilaagan **** puso
Sigurado na iyan matalubo
Arog kan káhoy, daí pirming nahihiling
An pagdakula pero maabot an aldaw
Igwang saróng tawo an matambay
Sa limpoy kan hawak niya
Igwang sarong tawo an masirong
Ta makusogon an uran
Mahihiling mo an dáhon na nagbabalyi
Kapot kan duros pasiring sa banggi
An mga káhoy nagtatalubo, haloy magadan
An úbak sa hawak niya
An patunay na sinda nabubuhay
Dara-dara an mga istorya na sinurat ta
An mga piyesa na nakadukot na sa dugo ta
Sinda an giya
Na kita dapat an maprotekta
Sa palibot ta
Daí matatapos an buhay
Sa pagbagsak kan dáhon
Sa daga na iniistaran ta
Daí matatapos an buhay
Maski sadiring dugo ta
An magkugos
Sa daga na pinadangat ta

—𝐔𝐛𝐚𝐤,  a Bikol poetry
· Úbak;
1. Bark (of a tree) also,
2. To Peel (as fruit) also,
3. To PEEL (as skin)
-
4. https://www.instagram.com/p/CEHemKMh6Yy/
A talented blue star borrowed a cup of the magical moon
She sprinkled the pastureland as evening songsters-
performed their tunes
Dara led Earths Opera like a hand to the loom
The northern breeze tamed the Fire of June
She crocheted the constellations
Cross stitched the horizon
Wove the Belt of Orion
Offered blessings to Hill Country & her lake environs ...
Dara O Dara , Mother of Wisteria & Gardenia Blooms ,
traipse the forest of night and return soon...
Copyright- June 10 2020 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
1 Isang prinsesang bawal yumapak sa lupa
Siya ang binukot na si Dara

2 Ang kanyang edad ay labimpitong taong gulang
Natatanging anak ng mga magulang

3 Matuwid at makintab ang maitim na buhok
Mana sa amang hari na mapusok

4 Maputi at makinis ang balat
Mana sa inang reyna na madalaing magulat

5 Tapang at nerbiyos sa dugo nananalaytay
Matapang sa buhay, natatakot mamatay

6 Sukdulan sa proteksiyon at pagka-sensitibo
Kaya ‘di pa nakalalabas ng kwarto

7 Subalit mayroon din naman siyang libangan
Kumanta at manood ng mga mangingisda sa durungawan.

-06/22/2012
*Gintong Lupa Series
My Poem No. 141
brandon nagley Oct 2015
( old Irish version)

i. Queen Jane, tá lá atá inniu an lá, an dara bliain mí ourn.

ii. Queen jane, looketh mé ar aghaidh chuig eternity leat.

iii. Queen Jane, ealaín muid mar an gcéanna á s.

iv. Queen Jane, ar feadh an tsaoil chomh maith le; Infinity.

v. Queen Jane, sonas neverending suthain.

vi. Queen Jane, tá a chruthú bás a fháil le sciathán ar síoda.

vii. Queen Jane, gan teorainn flyeth againn ar an Cosmos.

viii. Queen jane, amour ourn 'láidir, TIS lánmhaith.

ix. Féadfaidh na spéir s cairde dúinn, le toast.

x. Dhá mhí sona, an anam mianach, Jane mianach, mianach Reyna.


( English version)

i. Queen Jane, today is the day, ourn second month anniversary.

ii. Queen jane, I looketh forward to an eternity with thee.

iii. Queen Jane, we art the same being's.

iv. Queen Jane, a lifetime plus; infinity.

v. Queen Jane, perpetual neverending happiness.

vi. Queen Jane, immortal creation's with wing's of silk.

vii. Queen Jane, boundless we flyeth the Cosmos.

viii. Queen jane, ourn amour' is strong, tis upmost.

ix. May the heaven's grace us, with a toast.

x. Happy two month's, mine soul, mine Jane, mine reyna.



©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane nagley dedication ( Filipino rose)
©Lonesome poet's poetry/hari and Reyna poetry.
raquezha Sep 2019
Kun ika mamoót,
Mamoót arog kan pagpadangat kan búlan.
Dae niya hinahâbon an banggí,
Pinapaluwas niya an gayón kan diklóm.

Asin kun ika mamoót,
Mamoót arog kan pagpadángat kan urán.
Dae niya binabasa an háwak,
Nililinigan niya lang an atî kan kalág ta.

Asin kun ika mamoót,
Mamoót arog kan pagpadángat kan duros.
Dae siya nawáwarâ,
Pinaparahay niya an satuyang sadkíri sa kada paghángos ta.

Asin kun ika mamoót,
Mamoót arog kan pagpagdángat kan saldáng.
Dae ka susulô sa kaláyo na tinatao niya,
An sulô na hali saiya an mapagayón kan agihan.

Asin kun ika mamoót,
Mamoót arog kan pagpagdángat kan bitóon.
Bako lang kintab an dara,
Pinapagirumduman kita na maski
an kagadánan kayang pagsuwáyonan duwang puso.

Asin kun síring,
ika mamoót
Mamoót bako lang bilang parte,
kundi arog kan bílog na kinâban.

Mamoót ka arog kan bílog na kinâban.
Orignal Title: "And if you are to love" by Jasleen Kalra
Translated in Bicol Language by Jan Celada
Shrivastva MK Jun 2017
Kitni azeeb hai ye Duniya kitne ajeeb log,
Koi kisi ko dara rha, kuchh sahme sahme se log,
Bada muskil hai esko samjhna,
Yaha palbhal me baldate hai log,

Humne bhi socha tha Ki jawane ko badalenge hum,
Ek nayi soch ke sath ek hokar chalenge hum,
Par ye dekh kar dil tut gya Jab ek hi dali ke chaar phoolon ne kaha,
Nahi hum khilenge,aur nahi ek dusre se milenge hum,

Roh deti hai kalam bhi likhkar dard jawane ka,
Kuda-Kachra nadiyon me kya haal bna diya Bharat ke khazane ka,
Roti ke liye tadapte sadak par log,
Aur yahan pariyojna chalai ja rhi desh ko smart banane ka,

Gareeb ko roti kapda aur makan chahiye,
Kisano ko es desh me apni ek pahchan chahiye,
Sabhi ko samjhe ek barabar,
Aisa deshbhakt insaan chahiye,
Aisa deshbhakt insaan chahiye....
So ashamed to watch and write the real figure of Indian village and their peaples here lots of problems and leaders come at the term of election after electing they havent come till day...
...
raquezha Apr 2018
Kun ika mamoót,
Mamoót arog kan pagpadangat kan búlan.
Dae niya hinahâbon an banggí,
Pinapaluwas niya an gayón kan diklóm.

Asin kun ika mamoót,
Mamoót arog kan pagpadángat kan urán.
Dae niya binabasa an háwak,
Nililinigan niya lang an atî kan kalág ta.

Asin kun ika mamoót,
Mamoót arog kan pagpadángat kan duros.
Dae siya nawáwarâ,
Pinaparahay niya an satuyang sadkíri sa kada paghángos ta.

Asin kun ika mamoót,
Mamoót arog kan pagpagdángat kan saldáng.
Dae ka susulô sa kaláyo na tinatao niya,
An sulô na hali saiya an mapagayón kan agihan.

Asin kun ika mamoót,
Mamoót arog kan pagpagdángat kan bitóon.
Bako lang kintab an dara,
Pinapagirumduman kita na maski
an kagadánan kayang pagsuwáyonan duwang puso.

Asin kun síring,
ika mamoót
Mamoót bako lang bilang parte,
kundi arog kan bílog na kinâban.

Mamoót ka arog kan bílog na kinâban.
Orignal Title: "And if you are to love" by Jasleen Kalra
Translated in Bicol Language by Jan Celada
raquezha Apr 2018
Para máhiling ninda an liwanag mo,
dapat kang magrayô,
ta garó ka saldáng; Pag haraníhon ka,
nakakabutá an dara **** liwanag.
Pero hiling-hiling ka sa harayô.

Nakukua man ninda giraray an liwanag mo,
pero an pag-apresyar kan presenya mo
iba sa pag-hiling kang eksistensya mo.
Kun dae ninda ma-apresyar
an presensya mo,
nungka ninda mahihiling
an pagkawarâ mo.
bicol poetry, philippines, raquezha
Ashlagh Naighlim Jul 2010
Pe cand noaptea se lasa si nimanui nu-i pasa,
Pe cand ceata-ndeasa si acum far-de-prefata,
Pe cand lumina piere si se lasa cu durere,
Masca eu o pui deoparte si ma definesc aparte.

Caci ma vezi ziua schimbator,pe emotii trecator,mijlocitor
Sad sau merg,vorbesc sau tac,dar sunt tot un...liliac.
Caci doar eu ma inteleg si fluier mut,caut coleg...
Dar de unde sa gasesc,noaptea zbor,ziua zabovesc.

Stau si plang,stele de stele,indurerat,companie-mi tin doar ele.
Luna nu o mai suport,imi strica lumea ce mi-o port...
Indoliat mereu,dar nu se vede,caci doliu-mi tot...cine ma crede?
Nimeni,caci imi scriu doar mie;Sa ma cunosti?!...e Blasfemie.

Hai sa-ncerc sa ma arat...usor,sa nu dau indarat.
Schimbat in singur,deci cu timpu,trecutau anii,schimband grupu,
Cutand mereu fata far-de-zar,siguranta pura,dar e in zadar;
vesnic adaptiv,renuntator,am invatat constant *** e sa mor.

Trecutau anii,evoluand,am luat cu mine tot,furand,culegand.
Tarziu mi-am dat seama *** de izbutesc...In invizibil eu traiesc
Domino eu mesteresc si involuntar,mereu,eu il pornesc;
Toate piesele-mi cad in sac,se evapora...plang si tac
Munca,alinare o secunda,dau masca jos,da sa se-ascunda
Urlu,magai,simt,gandesc si mereu ma pacalesc.

Cautand mereu ambrosie,dar nectaru tot ma chinuie...
Trec prin sange si prin sentiment cu idealu-mi stimulent
Dau de-o ea si dau de mine,dara EA nu da sa vie...

Va ascult *** reprosati,radeti,inghiontiti,bucurosi sau suparati,
Calcati pe voi,calcati pe mine,ignorati si totusi tine...
Gasiti refugiu-n contradictii,fugiti de voi,va luati de dictii
Si astfel tot ma atacati,priviti spre mine indignati...

De ce? eu pur "sange" m-am nascut,fara frica si nu m-a durut
Ati venit,m-ati "educat",fara mila si regret,tot voi m-ati conturat.
Sad in fata voastra-acum,reprosati,ma indemnati pe alt drum.
Ce vina am eu ca v-am ascultat?,fac ce stiu,ce ma-ti invatat.

M-am luptat,m-am ridicat,de unde voi m-ati aruncat,
Si cu aripi noi noute,diferite,...dar dragute...
Am decis sa nu v-ascult,sa fac ce stiu,tot mai mult
Si astfel ne-am departajat,in voi si eu,...TERIFIANT!

V-ati semnat propriu testament,sa va dau iubire vehement,
Va dau tot ce batjocoriti,va dau ce nu vreti pana muriti,
Dar cu timpul s-a schimbat,ati invatat,ati evoluat...
Tot,tot,tot,ce eu am dat,miseilor,ati manipulat...

Am luptat,am incercat,ce simt,pe  voi e insemnat,
Tatuaj fara de voie,nevazut,scris cu lamaie;
Caci il vad,il desclusesc,in oglinda eu privesc
Intorsi pe dos pana la moarte,va citesc ca pe o carte.

Am trecut incet,incet,printre voi,plin de regret...
Sa va iubeasca Dumnezeu,caci in lumea me-as doar eu.
Emotiv,departajat,scriu in stele-ndoliat...
Preamarind singuratatea,cunoscand nici-cand dreptatea!

Greu de inteles,desprins,incalcit parca-n adins.
Zbor acum si scriu departe,bucurand scantei de soapte.
Sad in somn,visez pucioasa,tremur vesnic dupa raza.
Si tipand pe ploaia deasa,ma asez usor,...mi-e greata.
raquezha Aug 2020
Nagpadagat kami kan saróng aldáw
Ta ako pirmi na sana bagang ribaráw
Gusto ko man sanang malingáw
Kaya uni nagbabaláw-bagáw
Kaibahan si Papa naglangoy sa taháw
Kan dagat asin pagkatapos mabalnáw
Maugmahon lang ngunyan na aldáw
Makakan kan dara ni Mama maski na bahaw
Itong inihaw na manok tapos sabaw
Igwa pang masiramon na lugaw
Si tugang yaon sa pampang naglalakaw-lakaw
Garo may balak na magpalataw-lataw
Aram kong masakit makakuha nin ilaw
Na mataong kusog buot na mapukaw
Sa satuyang kalag na nakatúkaw
Garo baga bagong mata, mungaw-mungáw
Mabagsak man an bulalákaw
An masinggayang pagmati ma-ibábaw
Sa kinaban, Dawa pa an inaaagihan ta halangkaw
Udók sa buot asin bakong karáw
An makaibahan kamo, Dai malilingaw
Na mapadagat ulit kita sa masuronod na aldáw.

—𝐔𝐝𝐨𝐤 𝐬𝐚 𝐁𝐮𝐨𝐭,  a Bikol poetry
1. Udók sa buot, wholehearted, from the
bottom of the heart
2.
https://www.instagram.com/p/CEE4RqFHlaz/
raquezha Aug 2020
Garo pirmi akong hinahapag
Kan hinangos ko
Pag nagdadalagan ako
Pasiring saimo
Dara-dara an balde nin pintura
Asin nag-aasa na mahiling ka
Ano daw kun aram mo man
An sakuyang namamatian
Pag nagrarani ako saimo
Para i-abot ining pinabakal mo
Na pintura na hali pa sa sentro
Ano daw kun padagos ****
Kulayan an buhay ko
Sana dai ka magpundo
Magpabakal sako nin dawa ano

Saro ka sa pinakamatibay na pintor
Kaya **** makagibo nin obra
Sa maski anong kolor
Tinawan **** kulay
An mabublay kong buhay
Iyo garo ito an ráson
kun tàno ika an pinili ko
Maski dakol na tao
An sigeng usióso
Bahala man sinda
sa buhay ninda
Bahala man kita
Basta padangat taka

—𝐔𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐬𝐨,  a Bikol poetry.
1. Usióso; to stick your NOSE into
2. https://www.instagram.com/p/CDwT-vGnmk6/
Ete Sep 2011
La verdad es que: el amor , la paz , la felizidad , no te la puede dar nadie. Nada afuera de ti mismo te lo dara.
Si tu realisaras lo que en realidad tu eres, te darias cuenta de esto imediatamente.

El amor mas grande que tu le puedes dar a un pajarito es soltarlo a el aire. Dejarlo en su naturaleza. Dejarlo volar si eso es lo que quiere. Si el pajarito vuelve , con una erida en la patita, ayudalo. Tu mismo corazon te pedira que le des amor.
Cuando el pajarito se recupere, no pares de darle amor. Dejalo que vuele. Ser libre es parte de su naturaleza. Dejalo ser feliz.


Si tu realisaras lo que en realidad tu eres, te darias cuenta que lo que trae felicidad no es solamente recivir amor. Te darias cuenta que dar amor es lo que en realidad te da felicidad. Dar amor es parte de tu naturaleza. Dentro de ti , bien dentro de ti, en tu essencia, tu eres amor.

Si tu dejas tu felicidad en las manos de otra persona o en algo de tu exterior , tu felicidad siempre va a depender en algo fuera de ti.  Perderas tu propia libertad. Constantemente tu felicidad cambiara de niveles y no seras tu la que estara en control. Otra persona sera responsable por tu felicidad, y esa responsabilidad se la as dado tu misma. Ya no eres una palomita libre. No siempre podras volar cuando tu quieras. No siempre podras ser feliz cuando tu quieras. Aveces tendras cadenas amarradas a tus patitas. Las cadenas seran tu dependencia.


Una paloma solo necesita su libertad para ser feliz.
Una persona también.
senjakala May 2019
Aku punya cerita
tentang dara
yang mudah suka,
kata mereka.

Sesungguhnya,
dia hanya terlalu mudah
pahami manusia bisa berubah
kala sedang jatuh cinta.

ㅡ dia,
puan penikmat rindu
yang ditinggal melulu
sebab jalannya lurus;
tak harap muluk.

Hanya sederhana,
jika kamu baca,
cukup ketahui sesuatu,
dia tak akan minta ini itu.

Tampaknya justru sebab itu,
semua hanya berlalu
tanpa coba pahami
isi relung hati.

Bukan masalah,
tenang tak sampai luka.
Hanya lelah,
jadi tak perlu singgah.
raquezha Aug 2020
Nagigirumduman ko nanaman an namit
Kan tocino na binakal ni Papa ki Pay Tasing
An parong habang piniprito sa kawali
An pagtilampsik kan lanang sobrang init
Inaabangan ko an pag-ugpa kan kakanon
Sa lamesa ming maugmahon
Yaon si tugang na mayong ibang ginibo
Kundi an magselpon maghapon
Si Papa na inaabangan an balita sa TV
Uni ako sadit-sadit
Dai pa kayang magkakan solo
Kaya inaabang ko an eroplano
Nagitok-itok may darang maluto
Saka paborito kong tocino
Naglalayog daa sabi ni Mama
"Open your mouth na"
Arog lang kani an buhay mi kadto
Simple lang pero magkaibahan
Sa atubangan kan lamesa
Mahihiling mo an pagpadangat ninda
Mauumok ka sa kaugmahang dara
Simple man lang an gusto ko
An makainom nin tubig
Sa atubangan nindo.

—𝐔𝐦𝐨𝐤, a Bikol poetry.
1. Umok; a mouthful.
Safana Jan 2021
An share duk wata tantama
Lokacin da babu wata Tama
Da za'a zuba akan tabarma

An fada an nanata fada
Babu fada a tskanin fada
Ta fada tasa na fada a fada

Ga su bature mai jan kunnuwa
Ya kifa hula a ka mara kokuwa
Cak! ya cake kuma ya rike hannuwa

Har da galadima mara hannuwa
Ya dunde kai nasa har kunnuwa
Kai! kace buzu ne a bisa  ganuwa

An tsare tsari can bisa tsauni
Sai tsala ihu! ni ku sake ni
Ko na dare derere kan tsauni

Kaga gada a gada sai yin dara
Kallo, kifcen gefe ta ankara
Mai harbi da gwafa ta daddara

Ka ji biri da dila yan yaudara
An ajiye kwalba a cike da madara
Sun dauke a guje ba hattara

Kai shaho Sarkin dauka na samaniya
To ka aje ka gudu ka dau anniya
Kar mahari ya hare ka da kibiya
Con desprecio
y mucho sudor,
A penas con el sol
te dara lo necesitado
te recibirá solo
con mas calor

te veo para evitarte
en tu mirada
no entraras en mi pupila
des-ca-ra-da
Taijitu Jan 2019
Cientos de estrellas contamos juntos cuando era niña
y jamas imagine que un dia te buscaria en cada una de ellas
Tu ausencia hoy me acaricia como la brisa de aquellas noches
en las que llena de historias me dormia junto a ti
Tus memorias son aventuras que se vuelven mi refugio
Tus dulces palabras, la unica melodia que me hace sentir bien
Se que el tiempo jamas podra curar el dolor de tu partida
Pero se que tu sonrisa me dara las fuerzas para continuar
Donde estes, te extraño, te pienso, te amo Papa.
8 Isang hamak na mangingisda
Itong si Agus na makisig at masigla

9 Mga magulang niya’y kaytagal nang payapa
Kaya natutong mamuhay mag-isa

10 Gamit ang mga gawang-kamay nito –
Lambat, sibat, panggaid at isang baroto

11 Sa ‘di pangkaraniwang palad ay kasinggulang niya
Ang natatanging prinsesa ng bayan nila

12 Lingid sa kanyang kaalaman
Si Dara ay lagi siyang pinagmamasdan

13 Halinang-halina sa binatang kaygwapo
Dagdag pa ang katawang matipuno

14 Minsan naring natikman ng dalaga
Ang mga huling lamang-dagat ng binata.

-06/22/2012
*Gintong Lupa Series
My Poem No. 142
Maddy Sep 2022
She talks of Affection
She talks of Loss
She talks of angels here on Earth
She tells of stories others can share
Battles that keep happening
Soldiers who will fight for a win
Tee shirts with names of those who suffered
They are remembered with Love and Joy
She will not rest until Esophageal Cancer has a cure and treatment
The fourth annual walk today proves her spirit and determination with many cheering her on
Congratulations to her and to all that walked and participated
See you next year
Looking forward to progress and good news

C@rainbowchaser2022
To Dara Mormille
Dara Mar 2018
Air had never been sweeter,
when I swam and broke the tension.
I released myself,
from the crushing oppression that restricted me.
I fought tens of thousands stood side by side, almost unmoved.
Every individual linked arm in arm, together a legion.
Each encompassed my fingers, in an attempt to detain me,
as I brought myself to the surface.
My lungs unfolded and bones reconstructed.
the pressure was lifting and there was utter peace.

So I breathe,

air forced inwards into my lungs,
recollecting within my yearning and frail sacs.
every molecule is treasured,
locked away and undisclosed.
And for a little while,
I was unbound.


Dara.
An old piece.
Safana Jun 2020
Can da dare na dare
Bisa dereren dara
Yara yan tare taron
Tattara taurar tata
Na takura turmin
Tura turakar tunkura

Kunyar kunya na
Tunkuya tukar tuka
Tukwanen kwaba
Kwafar kololon
Kwakwule kwacen
Kwakwa na kwakwula

Hausa ba dabo ba
Hausa, a mother 👅
Donall Dempsey Dec 2016
HISTORY. . .HAPPENS.

It is 11.32
in 1132 and  - now.

A sunset sets fire
to Kildare

burns it to the ground.

Night takes the town
in its arms.

Memory sets fire to time.

I, a mind invisible
( divisible by all )

move through the pages
of history

slip silently through
the ages

an unobserved
observer.

The ghost I've
yet to be.

The latitude of now
the longitude of then

the ****** flux
of history.

Voices scattered throughout time
( spoken in as 16th century accent )

whisper to me
greedily

wanting to be
remembered.

". . .the successor of Brigit
was betrayed

carried off...put into a man's bed
forced to submit to him."

"I hear you..!" I say
". . .I hear you!

". . .seven score killed
in Cill Dara...most of it burnt..!

The Chronicles tell
the tattered tale.

The voices once again
lost in the wind.

Diarmud Mac Murrough's
violence on Kildare

happens all over
again and again

written upon the wind.

The **** of the abbess
destroying the divinity

of her authority
her harmony.

A woman baptises
her new born

with milk
as in the old way.

The fires of her age
flickering across her frightened face.

Brigit born anew.

Time tamed
comes to my side

licks my hand
like some mythical hound.


"Take me back..."
I command
". . .to my own now!"

"Now!"
I cry.

Out of the Silken Thomas
one two and three inebriated

merrymakers sway and spill
out into the Christmas of I984.

One big one small and one very very tall
together they sing

informing the yet-to-be
of what is lost and past.

"Rejoyce!" the snow says:
"...snow falling faintly through the universe

and falling faintly...upon the living and the dead."

I tell the night
that is already passing into

the great beyond.

"Remember O Thou Man
Oh Thou Man, oh Thou Man.

Remember, O Thou Man
Thy time is spent.

Remember, O Thou Man
How thou camest to me then

And I did what I can
therefore re. . ."
Brighid reappears in various guises in various times and seems part historic, part mythic -- part Christian, part pagan. One of her dualities is that she is herself but also an incarnate representative of Mary

She is the protectress of dairymaids and is associated with February lambing day (one of the four primary Gaelic holy days, Imbolc, meaning "bag of cream" or "butter-womb").  She was born herself by manifesting from a bucket of milk being carried out the door by her mother, a milkmaid. And the Irish Catholic Church, before it came under the aegis of the Roman Catholic Church, baptised in milk rather than water. My Auntie Nelly used to put the sign of the cross on the flanks of their cows by dipping her fingers in the milk.


As the first abbess of Kildare ( Church of the Oak ****-dara ) she was followed by an unbroken line of abbesses who commanded great respect from the people and were responsible through the saint’s order for maintaining by precise ritualistic means a continuous fire ignited by St. Brighid before her death in ca. 522. The abbesses were assisted in this by 19 nuns. With the sack of Kildare the fire of centuries was finally snuffed out.



The **** of the Abbess of Kildare in 1132  destroyed her sanctity and rendering her unfit for her office. MacMurrough imposed in her place a kinswoman of his own.
Her **** threw paved the way for the Norman occupation of Ireland.  


James Joyce was intensely proud of being born on February 02, lambing day, that is on Imbolc, which by the old reckoning shares the claim for being St. Bridgid's Day along with February. The Celtic day was measured in a lunar manner like the extant Semitic calendars so that a calendar day begins at sunset, not midnight). Joyce considered St. Brighid to be his muse and liked to have his works first issued on February 02 to honour her. She is invoked in all post-Chamber Music work. As St. Bride [220.03], Brighid continues to maintain her abbey, now a "finishing establishment" for the "The Floras . . . a month's bunch of pretty maidens." She is Maria in "Clay," the moocow in Portrait, the old milk woman in Ulysses, the maid in Exiles, the broken branch in "Tilly," (one means allowed to stoke the sacred fire at Kildare was to wave air over it with a branch), and a thousand references to milk and things bovine in FW.

The Norman-Anglo Conquest of Ireland began in 1169, when a mercenary invasion force from Norman-occupied Wales captured Wexford and Waterford. A year later they took Dublin, and over the next century, 75% of Ireland would fall. Dermot MacMurrough's wily reign of deceit, beginning in 1132, paved the way for the Norman occupation
Riot Jul 2014
welcome to the nightmare in your head
-halestorm

because i'm broken when i'm open and i don't feel like i'm strong enough
-seether/amy lee

i'm kind of older than i was when i rebelled without a care
-lorde

but i'm only human and i bleed when i fall down
-Christina Perry

you can look me in the eye and tell me where to stand but when you're all stripped down you're just black and blue
-Carlie De Boer

when it feels like it's me against the world gotta get up and still fight, nothing's gonna stand in my way
-sammy

our only hope is Jesus
-Dara maclean

now watch what happens when you put it together

you can look me in the eye and tell me where to stand but when you're all stripped down you're just black and blue
and nobody is gonna tell you what you really need to do so

welcome to the nightmare in your head

i would help you but i can't

because i'm only human, and i bleed when i fall down

but i have to realize in situations

when it feels like it's me against the world, gotta get up and still fight, nothings gonna stand in my way

and yes

i'm kinda older than i was when i rebelled without a care

but the only way for some of us as humans to get to that point we have to realize

our only hope is jesus
Dara Mar 2018
You have seen many moons,
and still the chariot sleeps,
and though many suns,
it’s sleep is ever sweet.

For it rises for the fading,
the weak and moribund of those,
yet being young at heart,
your soul is not yet old.

And even when it wakes,
to gather all its prey,
It passes swiftly by,
for it knows not your name.


Dara.
(written quite a while ago)
Dara Mar 2018
"Be hasty and come quickly.
Man or Woman - embark upon the search.
Use your outstretched arm to pave your way,
Examine every drop, every grain of dirt.

Seek harder, seek further.
Ahead! Do you see the treasures?
Bring this to me tonight, this hour,
And we will share its pleasures.

Let the seas engulf your body.
And my smells - let them inspire you,
submerge yourself in the grasslands.
Only good things will ensue.

No mercy, do what you must.
Use your tongue to taste the wind.
To elevate, exploit the winged creatures.
For me, this night, fall into sin.

“Love”? Forget love! We are almost there.
Gather your speed, gather your rage.
And do not wane, don’t you dare.

And here it is we alight.
Now lose yourself and swim deep.
Embrace the wrath of every droplet,
Drink my treasures as they seep.

Here we are, in both peace and madness,
A quarter hour of hunting with but a minute left to indulge."



Dara.
Ryan O'Leary Jul 2019
Tadgh Sé was Seacht when he discovered
Dara and Beirt behind a Trí.

Naoi, he said when they told him to get
Ocht.

Dó Dó Driscoll was summoned, he took
none of their nonsense.

Deich Ban Garda arrived with Aon, his first
day in Mallow, he asked, “ Who’s getting Náid “?

Cúig we join in, we don’t Ceathair about Amhain
off, besides, high time someone Ochtar.

Ps.

This is a colloquial poem in Irish and English
mixed, I don't expect many readers to understand.
85 Nawasak ang kawayang palasyo
Kayraming nagkandamatay na mga tao

86 O anong salot na mabalasik
Ng mangkukulam na naghasik

87 Buong gabing dagundong
Ng mga higanteng lagunlong

88 Katakut-takot sa pandinig
Sa dibdib lakas kabig

89 Kinabukasan ng umaga
Halos lahat naulila

90 Maging ang hari’t reyna
Nawalan ng prinsipe’t prinsesa

91 Oo, nawawala sina Agus at Dara
Lumipas mga araw ‘di sila nakita.

-06/28/2012
*Gintong Lupa Series
My Poem No. 154
Damme May 2018
Lightened up another cigarette and whisper a little prayers, to keep me sane ‘till I hear your voice once again.
Dara Mar 2018
The truth is unfathomable,
to the wise man,
as colour can not be fathomed,
by the blind.
As his eyes are familiar with the darkness,
the thinker is still bound by time.



Dara.
Dara Mar 2018
Among the meadows, beside the church there lives a solitary soul,
his name is Arthur, who, like his father, possesses a heart of gold.

'To my dearest' he writes, 'to the one I love, the one I cannot have',
'the children cackle and point their fingers, the women are calling me mad.'

Arthur had wronged not a single one, he is a man both good and kind.
Yet he is highly eccentric and feared by some and, to his goodness, they are blind.

His only sin is the imperishable love he shares for his Rosalin,
she lives, like him, amongst the meadows and around the church, aside him.

'Conserved and peaceful' he describes, 'you truly are a woman in disguise'.
'the epitome of beauty' he says to her. 'My love is constant, it never errs'.

She, however, is a peculiar one. Her house is slender, wooden and black.
About her home there are painted signs, 'Witch' they say 'Don't turn your back'.

She dresses delightfully, with her hat and gloves, she adores her blue draped dress.
'Though that is strange', he writes again, 'as you do not seek to impress'.

'The ringlets and coils within your hair that sit above that buttoned nose,
each day I run my fingers through them, each day my love will grow.'

'The shards beneath my nails' he writes 'and scars upon my feet',
'The earth within my soles' he says, 'are painless when we finally greet'.

Her life is monotonous, continuous and dead, she hardly lives at all.
Yet each and every passing day Arthur is at her door.


Dara
Safana Jan 27
Duk da cewa an tattara
Duk hujjoji a fili karara
lauyoyin  masu kara sun tara
Kishiyoyin su suna ta dara
Duk da sun saka jar dara
A baya sun yi ta bara
Na fada cewa ba a bara
A kotu in an fara
Amma sai da suka yi ta karara
Karshe dai sun yi fara'a

Rashawa da cin hanci sun yi yawa
Har a kotu mai sunan kubewa yayi yawa
Tabbatattun hujjojin ya bawa
Marasa nasara yayan wawa
An kai ruwa rana da yawa
Domin tabbatar da waye wawa
kuma hujjoji sun bayyana wawan
A karshe me sunan kubewa yayi yawa
Dhadkan  me
Khuch is tarah
Aankhon me woh baat...
Parchhai dekh ke me Dara khud ki

Phir sun
....
Dara Mar 2018
I feel the arms of my skin, the hairs as they stand,
yearning and outstretched, what is it they demand?
They seek peace and envy those that behold such a gift,

maybe for a little while, you’ll be so kind enough to give?

Perhaps a mere drop, just a little something for the soul,
so that just for a little while, I may once again feel whole.



Dara
(written ~ 2 years ago)
Donall Dempsey Dec 2020
HISTORY. . .HAPPENS.

It is 11.32
in 1132 and  - now.

A sunset sets fire
to Kildare

burns it to the ground.

Night takes the town
in its arms.

Memory sets fire to time.

I, a mind invisible
( divisible by all )

move through the pages
of history

slip silently through
the ages

an unobserved
observer.

The ghost I've
yet to be.

The latitude of now
the longitude of then

the ****** flux
of history.

Voices scattered throughout time
( spoken in a 16th century accent )

whisper to me
greedily

wanting to be
remembered.

". . .the successor of Brigit
was betrayed

carried off...put into a man's bed
forced to submit to him."

"I hear you..!" I say
". . .I hear you!

". . .seven score killed
in Cill Dara...most of it burnt..!

The Chronicles tell
the tattered tale.

The voices once again
lost in the wind.

Diarmud Mac Murrough's
violence on Kildare

happens all over
again and again

written upon the wind.

The **** of the abbess
destroying the divinity

of her authority
her harmony.

A woman baptises
her new born

with milk
as in the old way.

The fires of her age
flickering across her frightened face.

Brigit born anew.

Time tamed
comes to my side

licks my hand
like some mythical hound.

"Take me back..."
I command
". . .to my own now!"

"Now!"
I cry.

Out of the Silken Thomas
one two and three inebriated

merrymakers sway and spill
out into the Christmas of I984.

One big one small and one very very tall
together they sing

informing the yet-to-be
of what is lost and past.

"Rejoyce!" the snow says:
"...snow falling faintly through the universe

and falling faintly...upon the living and the dead."

I tell the night
that is already passing into

the great beyond.

"Remember O Thou Man
Oh Thou Man, oh Thou Man.

Remember, O Thou Man
Thy time is spent.

Remember, O Thou Man
How thou camest to me then

And I did what I can
therefore re. . ."
Walking through Kildare one passes through all the history still hanging in the air...once one has heard the voices of those who have passed before us...it is impossible not to hear them ever again...the air is stained with the history of their times and the soul cannot but soak up all that has happened.
Brighid reappears in various guises in various times and seems part historic, part mythic, part Christian, part pagan. One of her dualities is that she is herself but also an incarnate representative of Mary.
She is the protectress of dairymaids and is associated with February lambing day (one of the four primary Gaelic holy days, Imbolc, meaning "bag of cream" or "butter-womb"). She was born herself by manifesting from a bucket of milk being carried out the door by her mother, a milkmaid. And the Irish Catholic Church, before it came under the aegis of the Roman Catholic Church, baptised in milk rather than water. My Auntie Nelly used to put the sign of the cross on the flanks of our cows by dipping her fingers in the milk.
As the first abbess of Kildare ( Church of the Oak ****-dara ) she was followed by an unbroken line of abbesses who commanded great respect from the people and were responsible through the saint’s order for maintaining by precise ritualistic means a continuous fire ignited by St. Brighid before her death in ca. 522. The abbesses were assisted in this by 19 nuns. With the sack of Kildare the fire of centuries was finally snuffed out.
The **** of the Abbess of Kildare in 1132 destroyed her sanctity and rendering her unfit for her office. MacMurrough imposed in her place a kinswoman of his own.
Her **** paved the way for the Norman occupation of Ireland.
James Joyce was intensely proud of being born on February 02, lambing day, that is on Imbolc, which by the old reckoning shares the claim for being St. Bridgid's Day along with February. The Celtic day was measured in a lunar manner like the extant Semitic calendars so that a calendar day begins at sunset, not midnight). Joyce considered St. Brighid to be his muse and liked to have his works first issued on February 02 to honour her.
She is invoked in all post-Chamber Music work. As St. Bride Brighid continues to maintain her abbey, now a "finishing establishment" for the "The Floras . . . a month's bunch of pretty maidens." She is Maria in "Clay," the moocow in Portrait, the old milk woman in Ulysses, the maid in Exiles, the broken branch in "Tilly," (one means allowed to stoke the sacred fire at Kildare was to wave air over it with a branch), and a thousand references to milk and things bovine in FW.
The Norman-Anglo Conquest of Ireland began in 1169, when a mercenary invasion force from Norman-occupied Wales captured Wexford and Waterford. A year later they took Dublin, and over the next century, 75% of Ireland would fall. Dermot MacMurrough's wily reign of deceit, beginning in 1132, paved the way for the Norman occupation
Donall Dempsey Dec 2023
HISTORY. . .HAPPENS.

It is 11.32
in 1132 and  - now.

A sunset sets fire
to Kildare

burns it to the ground.

Night takes the town
in its arms.

Memory sets fire to time.

I, a mind invisible
( divisible by all )

move through the pages
of history

slip silently through
the ages

an unobserved
observer.

The ghost I've
yet to be.

The latitude of now
the longitude of then

the ****** flux
of history.

Voices scattered throughout time
( spoken in a 16th century accent )

whisper to me
greedily

wanting to be
remembered.

". . .the successor of Brigit
was betrayed

carried off...put into a man's bed
forced to submit to him."

"I hear you..!" I say
". . .I hear you!

". . .seven score killed
in Cill Dara...most of it burnt..!

The Chronicles tell
the tattered tale.

The voices once again
lost in the wind.

Diarmud Mac Murrough's
violence on Kildare

happens all over
again and again

written upon the wind.

The **** of the abbess
destroying the divinity

of her authority
her harmony.

A woman baptises
her new born

with milk
as in the old way.

The fires of her age
flickering across her frightened face.

Brigit born anew.

Time tamed
comes to my side

licks my hand
like some mythical hound.

"Take me back..."
I command
". . .to my own now!"

"Now!"
I cry.

Out of the Silken Thomas
one two and three inebriated

merrymakers sway and spill
out into the Christmas of I984.

One big one small and one very very tall
together they sing

informing the yet-to-be
of what is lost and past.

"Rejoyce!" the snow says:
"...snow falling faintly through the universe

and falling faintly...upon the living and the dead."

I tell the night
that is already passing into

the great beyond.

"Remember O Thou Man
Oh Thou Man, oh Thou Man.

Remember, O Thou Man
Thy time is spent.

Remember, O Thou Man
How thou camest to me then

And I did what I can
therefore re. . ."

— The End —