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Mark Bell Apr 2017
Eft the newt
Swimming eagerly home
A dik dik on a mountain top
Roaming all alone
A quirky fate of nature
Say these creatures will never meet
Reminds me of the humans in a busy bustling  street
Reginald the Chinese man
Walking slowly home
Bob the wandering,Desert nomad
Wandering all alone
A quirky fate of nature say these humans
Will never meet
Reminds me of the newt and the dik dik
In a busy bustling street.
Mark Bell Apr 2017
A dik dik dik dik
Jumping a ha ha ha ha
Ornamental garden

Mosses lichen green
Acid colours hallowed
Awakening sky

Bonsai Japanese
Tiny small wood shrubbery
Seventeen potted
SimpleWritings Dec 2018
Ma
Inħobbok

Mhux dejjem naraw għajn b’għajn
Imma nħobbok

Naf li dejjem pruvajt mill-aħjar li stajt
Biex tagħtini dak li int qatt ma ngħatajt

Imma sfortunatament mhux dejjem irnexxilek
Il-Mulej mhux dejjem provdilek

Jien qatt m’għidtlek meta nqasstni
Meta bin-nuqqas tiegħek warrabtni

Qatt ma ridt niksirlek qalbek
U ngħidlek li ħadd mhu qed jisma talbek

Imma iva Ma,
Weġġgħajt

Għaddejt minn ħafna u int ma taf b’ xejn
Alla ħares tkun taf kif u x’ fatta u fejn

Bħalek Ma,
Għaddejt minn dak li m’ għandu jgħaddi ħadd

Ġarrabt id-dlam
U bkejt fis-solitudni

Imma issa Ma
Sa fl-ahhar...

Inħoss li sibt il-kuntentizza
Inħoss li qbadt it-trejqa li qed nibni jien

Ma rridx nibqa naħbilek iktar
Għajjejt nigdeb u nħaref

Allura għidtlek

Ma flaħtx inżomm iktar
U għidtlek

Kienet diffiċli għax kont beżgħana
Imma ridt naqsam din l-aħbar ferħana

Stennejt li ser tifhimni
Stennejt li xorta waħda ser tibqa tħobbni

Imma

Ir-reazzjoni tiegħek ma kienetx dik li stennejt
Ma kienetx dik li f’ moħħi pinġejt

Għalfejn Ma?
Għalfejn ma tridnix?
Għalfejn mhux taċċettani?

Għidli Ma

Lil min inħobb ma għandux jaffettwa kemm inti tħobb lili
Lil min inħobb ma għandux inessik li jien xorta waħda bintek

Mara offritli dak li dejjem fittixt
Mara għallmitni nagħraf x’inhi l-imħabba

Mara urietni kif jidher id-dawl fost id-dlam
Mara qed tgħini nsir inħobb lili nnifsi

Iva Ma

Inħobb mara
U mhux raġel

Għalfejn qed tħares lejja b’ dak il-mod Ma?

B’ ħarsa ta’ diżappunt
B’ ħarsa ta’ diżgust

Bintek għadni Ma

L-istess b-i-n-t li kont tgħannaq miegħek
Meta kont tħoss li d-dinja qed tikrolla

L-istess b-i-n-t li kont tiftaħar tgħid li hi tiegħek
Lil kull min taf meta tilmaħni fost il-folla

Ħobbni Ma
Nitolbok

L-istess għadni
Biss, ħrigt mill-moħba

15/10/2018
This poem is written in Maltese.
Elkhan Asgar Jan 2022
Maşa birincidədir,
Nə gözəl forması var!
Nişastalı önlüyün
Dik qoysan, dik də qalar.
        *   *   *
Önlüyü qırçın-qırçın,
Paltarısa büzməli.
Qiyməti də “5” olsa
Olar tam səliqəli!
The translated version of  the poem Первоклассница (First-grader) by Агния Барто (Agniya Barto)
twenty years later
marking two decades
I pause to think about
life’s trajectories

I know exactly
where I was
who I was with
what I was doing

I can’t say the same
with any assurance
about the location of
my current disposition

twenty years ago today
I was manning my
FT Info post
on the 18th floor
of WTC too
bashing away
on a clunky laptop
authoring a proposal
for an urgent sales call
at Lehman Brothers

when the blast went off
the concussive ******
rose through the building
like a undulating express train

i felt it enter my feet
bubbled up my legs
tangoed my coccyx
off its seat
shook my heart
clamored my arms
jumbled my brains

"*** was that!"
the lights blinked
then came back on
Patty said
“this is serious”
I said “yeah,,,
I’m busy....
go check it out”

the sirens sounded
but we still had power
i beavered away on my
LB solution

Patty came back
and the PA system
announced a mandatory
evacuation of the building
i put the finishing
touches on my
smart LB pitch
hit print and
off I went

in the hall
smoke was
leaking from
the elevator doors
wisps tickled the
ceiling
the lights
dimmed again
only emergency
illumination
lit the shivering
building

the stair wells
were clogged
with 104 floors of
workers slogging
downward

i was running
late for my
appointment
with big deal
destiny

i cut and dashed
my way downward
into the spiraling
morass

slicing past
the slow moving
old folks, nudging
recklessly inhibited
handicappers

i was running late
i was conscious of
expending time
as i flashed
by screamers
and hysterical
ladies twisting
ankles on bent
high heels
flopping
down the narrow
dim lit stairwell

i was out in
a flash

i emerged on the promenade
of the intercontinental hotel
a mass of shattered
glass sparkled in the
court below

a curious man
rousted from
his hotel
workout
stood next to
me in perspiration
tainted tees
shorts and
sneaks
flakes of
snow
drizzled down
onto his hairpiece
he said something
about the Pentagon
and concluded with
“this was bad'
and slipped away into
a squall of flurries
i took him
for CIA

my investigation
concluded
i had to make time
to be on time
i jogged
through the
swelling mass
of gagging trundlers

their face, running
noses and drooling
mouths splashed
in black paint soot

i was late
but i was making
good time
as i pushed up
Greenwich Street
a parade
of fire trucks
honked and blared
a salute to my
diligent march

arriving at my
destination
building security
whisked me away
"buildings closed
didn't you hear
the WTC was
bombed”

my analog
phone binged
“jimmy, where
are you?
are you alright?
the WTC was bombed?
why didn’t you call?
I’m so worried.”

My wife was tearing.

“I got an important
sales call. I’m doing
deals.  

I’m on my way...

Should i bring home
some Chinese from
Top Dik?”

Music Selection:
Clash: Rock The Casbah

jbm
2/26/13
Oakland
B'Artanto Dec 2018
Dik, Pada bagian mana Oktober tidak menyenangkan?
Bukankah ia yang mengantar kita sampai ke ujung toko buku?
Ntah sudah berapa buku fiksi yang kini bergelayut dipuncak pikiran
Padahal ntah apa yang ingin aku ketahui di dalamnya
Mungkin bait?
Barangkali juga sesunggukan senyum kecil-kecil yang dibiarkan lepas
Maka pada bagian mana Oktober tidak menyenangkan, Dik?

_BA (30 JULI 2018)
B'Artanto Dec 2018
?
Demi apapun yang kau lakukan, selesaikanlah

Karena sebagian memang tidak bisa diwakili kata-kata

Sekalipun berbalik arah adalah haluan terbaik,

datanglah dulu kemari

Karena ada yang dingin kemudian beku tanpa dikenangkan

Tidak mengapa jika datang yang terakhirmu hanya untuk duduk dan hening panjang

Tidak mengapa, dik

Karena datangmu adalah perwakilan akhir dari permulaan yang lalu

Datangmu adalah jawaban terbaik dari haluan yang dipaksakan

BA
(31 Juli 2018)
B'Artanto Apr 2020
Dik, tidak ada yang salah dari 6 tahun yang berlalu

Harapan dan batasan-batasan yang kau buat sendiri melalui ketikan pada ponselmu

Tidak ada yang bisa melawan garis-garis pada telapak tanganmu

Jangan tunggu yang tidak menemui ayahmu

Berhentilah memikirkan sepeda biru yang pernah kita bahas

Tidak ada yang salah pada garis tanganmu

Jilatlah,
Ia kumpulan garis-garis yang membentukmu

26 April '20
_BA
A Henslo Feb 2019
DE SNEEUW VINDT HAAR EINDE OP EEN WARM GAZON
EN WAT OVERBLIJFT

De diepste indruk maakt een dik pak sneeuw.
Rustig residu die middag,
opziend naar een wonderblauwe hemel.

Sneeuw biedt je weer een lijf, zet je een hoed op,
begraaft je in haar tweede natuur, met een schijnsel
van sepia, lekkend schemerblauw.

De sneeuw friemelt aan je voegen,
wil naar binnen.

In de sneeuw ben je engelachtig
en zij is niet beangstigend, zij lijkt ons veeleer
te omarmen en te beschermen
op onze weg door de stad

Zelfs middelbaar ben je weer even kind.
De sneeuw vangt ons met haar gepeperde adem
en geeft frisse lucht.

Zij komt en gaat en komt weer terug
Zij hoopt zich op zonder
hoop op duurzaamheid
& wenst niet te blijven.

De sneeuw, ik benijd haar,
dat zij zal verdwijnen
laat haar koud

Zij is haar eigen landschap,
met haar coole witkalk
creëert ze
een albasten pracht

trekt zich dan terug zonder klacht.
English Dutch transposition by A.Henslo
Original poem by Deborah Landau, 2018

The Snow Goes to the Gallows of a Warm Grass  and What Survives

The deepest redress is a thick and fulsome snow.
Peaceful prevail of afternoon,
looking out at this bluish marvel the air.

The snow realizes you a body, puts on you a hat,
tombs you in its second nature, with consequence
of sepia, a leaking dusky blue.

The snow fumbles at your borders,
wants a way in.

In the snow we are angelic
and it’s not discouraging in fact it is marvellous
when the snow has its arms around us
and we walk the streets as if safe.

You’re a child, even in midlife.
The snow clouds us in its peppery breath
and the air comes fresh.

It comes and goes and comes again
it doesn’t aim for durability
it accumulates for the sake of it
& doesn’t want to last.

The snow, I envy it,
it will vanish
but it doesn’t care,

it’s its own garden,
its own cool chalky paint―
kicks up
an alabaster splendor

then retreats without complaint.
Julian Delia Jul 2019
Ġrieħi miftuħin,
Xejn ma jrid jingħalaq.
Suppost, il-ġnus maqgħuda,
Iżda lkoll qegħdin mifruxin,
Donnu, xejn ma jrid jiċċaqlaq.

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

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

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

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

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

_______

’Open wounds’

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

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

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

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

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

Before, we had chains and brute force.
Now, we have contracts, and the penal code,
With banks reigning supreme,
With governments who are now state corporations.
I am not asking you to believe me -
I am asking you to examine the facts.
I have no strings, none that can be pulled;
My conscience is clean,
And I have no lies to cover up.
Dedicated to a nation full of crooks and *******.
Muzaffer Apr 2019
kırık kalbiniz endişe etmediğinde
daha rahat yürünebilmekte dik yokuşlar
ve zirveye vardığınızda
sizi mavi bayraklı derin bir huzur karşılamakta
elleri lotus çiçeğini andıran
küçük afacanların sevinçli yüzlerine ayrı ayrı baktığınızda
tek şeritli bir yolda nasıl yaşlandığınızı görebilir
saatler, hatta günlerce usanmadan izleyebilirsiniz
örneğin, ilk kalp ağrınız bir faunusun içinde
sabah dozu olarak göz pınarlarınıza sunulabilir
fakat tek bir hücresine dokunmanıza izin verilmez
damlayan her bir göz kristali bir sonraki aşk hikayenizin
görüntüsüne ödenen peşinat değerini kesbeder
en çok sevilen, en çok alanlar listesinde en üst sırayı teşkil etse de
best lover oldukça pahalı bir hatırlatmadır ve o prezenteyşında
kesinlikle kristal damlacıklarına izin verilmez
ki
kural ihlal etme hakkınız mevcut olsa da
bedel olarak en başından tüm yürüyüş ve soluk
niyet ettiğiniz konuma dek silinir ve gösteriyi hatırlamanıza izin verilmez
bu bağlamda oldukça hayal kırıklığı yaşansa da
seçilmişlerin yüksek bir bölümü level atlamakta
ve ölüm boyu yaşam ödülüne hak kazanabilmektedir
diğerleri için sürecin olumsuz renkleri iniş merdivenlerine yansır
ve başlangıç noktasına geri döndüğünüzde
sizi grammy’ye aday esmer bir ezgi karşılar..

hakuna matata ( keyfine bak )

sıran henüz gelmedi...
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2018
re: DEΔD: 125 scientists 75 bankers 3 journalists 24 HOURS video.

i actually don't mind listening to people
reading, esp. not someone like
   james munder:
            the author of this video on youtube...
perhaps me imaging
                     cuddling a panda is out
the question,
                   but it's not the "mistakes" he makes
that even remotely "bother" me...
             the interjection of apology is,
well, cute?
                       then again, he is bound
to reading something written poorly...
                i wonder what
     diacritical mark application
                   would do to such a reader...
   e.g. sam gyimah...
                   would gýīma(h) fair better?
          grave, jet, yet...
   guy-ma(h)...
                       tongue tied or
   simply: well, we won't built a wall,
   we'll ensure everyone is "literate",
    but we won't build a wall,
     just words that might as well be spelling
mistakes, or words that require
   another person to have said it, a priori
   (prior to a unique mimic event)
      and then... you get the english
suburban labyrinth.
                       another example from the video:
dr. anne, szarewski...
          the usual "argument" of the anglophone
is that slavic languages have
"too many" consonants...
              well, you can rewrite that word
and put it back into the pedantry
of what's the anglophone ontology
                    of language...
    either dyslexia, or memory erosion
with no clear syllable structures
   due to missing diacritical mark application...
                            SHA-RE'VSKI      
i'm not a ******* linguist on the matter
but studying lingua abstractum
                  as any linguist might...
    i.e. [dik-shuh-ner-ee]  | /ˈdɪkʃənərɪ; -ʃənrɪ/ ...
this is the part where a bilingual
comes in and, has not a gram worth
of gloat in a crowd of polyglots...
                  you noticed how lazy
the linguists have become?
                   no diacritical marks in sight in
their little: attempting to be a mathematicians...
what's that? ʃdy/dx?
                                       you're talking
calculus?!
                    sure, you could pull off
   d(icks) i.e. an S with one in
                             *****-shou-nerry...
               or have to remember: dictionary.
  i still find the english language
   to be constructed without clear syllable
autopsy...
          and why should i write like this
given computer language is just
as complicated?
                      well, if that language is not
going to get any easier,
      my use of english will not, either!
i still haven't heard of a dyslexic poe-lack
          (******);
                     another example though:
[thi-sawr-uh s]     |    /θɪˈsɔːrəs/
      FE, FE thesaurus!
                  any diacritical marks in
  that intellectual shambo?
              (shambo? back in the day,
in the countryside, before urban sewage
systems... people used to dig a massive hole
in a field, and then bury their **** in it.
            that depiction is probably
the worst attempt at writing music...
or language... the ancient egyptians
  are laughing right now,
    shouting: hey! give 'em the rosetta stone
to boot!
             nonetheless,
   listening to james munder
                  i still think about hugging a panda;
sometimes a man can really have:
an appealing american accent...
                most of the time:
     you just feel like throwing an english
          toff into the couldron to **** people off.
Daan Mar 2019
Ik vraag me zoveel af de laatste tijd.
Bijvoorbeeld waarom ik geen luide stem heb,
waarom ik zo zorgvuldig pijntjes mijd
of waarom ik verstrikt raak in mijn eigen web.

Zo doe ik mezelf de das om. Zo weet ik
mezelf te strikken voor een nieuwe rol.
Mijn hoofd staat bol, mijn knie is dik.

Kijk alstublieft naar morgen.
Kijk en knabbel en lees, houd moed.
Maar weet dat je in zorgen
verslik

ken
goed en beteren is
dan kauwen zonder betekenis.
Strompelen of stom kwelen

— The End —