"drang" poems
Met boeke vol helde, soos ek en jy
Potgieter, Trichardt, Smuts, Kruger selfs De LaRey
Almal met die doel, om hul volk te bevry,
Die Afrikaner, uit te brei
Om hul families, van leiding te bevry
Selfs, De LaRey
‘n Lafhart, wou eers nie beklei
Later die held, wat die boere, verder wou lei
Familie man, vader seun broer en gesant
Ja, die mense was ook bang
Maar met passie,
Met drang
Met dit wat slange vang
Het hulle als aangevang
Kyk na jou vriend
Kyk na jou maat
Kyk na die, anderkant die straat
Dis jy, wat hul toekoms baat
Dis jy, wat hul vereen, ou maat
Die Afrikaners, was plesierig
Dit, kan julle glo
Nou gevul, net met gierig
En al hul misnoe
Ja, dit kan julle glo
Waar is ons eendrag
Waar is ons mag
Waar is die dae, toe ons nog lekker kon lag
Waar is ons helde, van vandag
‘n Held, in elkeen wat die taal verstaan
Elkeen, wat n weg vir Afrikaans wil baan
Elk, wat sy man wil staan
vir die taal, wat min verstaan
‘n Kultuur, wat net ons verstaan
‘n Kultuur, so ryk aan helde soos ek en jy
Helde, wat die Afrikaner wil bevry
Helde, wat nie bang is om te baklei
Helde, soos ek en jy!
Oct 23, 2010
Oct 23, 2010 at 2:36 AM UTC
I was tripping, tripping
Over to Vietnam
Their hands were ripping, slipping
In hot blood
While I asked how many people they've shot
How many kids?
How many villages burnt with a fire so hot
So cold, the beers cracked open
Sweating like the citizens trying to stay alive
Rage trapped in their heart-like pig pens
I was told to take pictures
Told to record every explanation
Every lieutenant major gave a lecture
As calves were sewn to thighs
Thighs sewn, stitched
The thighs piled high
In buckets of ****** ice
I might have a son
I visited a madam
Down in la Drang Valley
Should've kept it in my pants
Now my sons running naked
Through streets paved in fresh blood
Pros ably pushing drugs or kidnapping women
Selling women
Because his mother was sold to me
In Vietnam
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 11:53 AM UTC
My Doppelganger holds secret negotiations with my Avatar.
Slicing up the available territory by flipping a coin. Apparently,
I can see a me for myself if I happen to be in Somalia next Monday.
But that’s the Avator talking. Doppelganger is betting on Seattle.
I am eavesdropping, sitting around in my underwear. They
think I am unaware because I can’t see them, but they are
impossible without me.
Goethe, Shelley and John Donne are in the next apartment
huddled over some broken poems each had written on
the mirrors. No mistakes were made. No reflections.
They get to see themselves out of the corner of one eye,
for up to nine seconds which is like a lifetime to remember.
Yet the acrid smell of Neitzsche emanates from dark corners.
Sturm und Drang be ****** Neitzsche is convinced
no one has ever looked like him, but he does suggest
a parallel universe.
Abe Lincoln, a latecomer and unlikely participant, picks up a few pointers.
He knows full well that what he saw was not a reflection. And he rode that train
all the way from Pittsburg. All those windows...
And, yes, KA, the spirit double, the Egyptian Goddess, goes in **** as the
Greek Princess and shows up as Helen to tease Paris of Troy.
How can you not believe that? For Goddess sake, she helped end the Trojan War.
I have a lot of time on my hands. I don’t get out much.
Ava and Dopp came by just to let me know I’m still around.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 4:57 PM UTC
i.
The day he lost her to a fallen world
He promised to be satisfied with life
His love came from above abundantly
Commissioned to give back put others first
One day the Sturm und Drang hit city streets
He viewed upon his high apartment floor
Then after business hours his neighbors parked
He witnessed many soaked from pouring rain
Instinctively he grabbed umbrella case
He pulled it from the scabbard to withdraw
His saber in right hand, ran down the stairs
Now opened sheltered fabric for the folks
The people parked now waited one by one
Because the gent had hurried them inside
He got the last one in so safe and dry
The people clapped, bade “thanks, umbrella man”
ii
Weeks later:
He heard the honking horn across the street
A straggler struggles out of vehicle
Looks like a neighbor, hadn't seen before
He gets her out of pouring rain, she smiles
This man who was as masculine as can be
Had felt his legs go weak; her pretty face
She saw his handsome face, aglow; proclaimed -
“Am pleased to meet our famed Umbrella Man”
__________________________________________
Glossary
Sturm und Drang: noun - turmoil, storm and stress, violent disturbance and disorder
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 3:12 PM UTC
Apparently blessings soon wither
Where your star shone
Reminisce
In the darkening sky
There's a Taj Mahal!
Undulating endless
Asimetry of
Love
Floating above
The placid
Waters
One
Glimpse ~
My wet hands
Kyoto protocol
Hair in a Thankfury
Violet Versace
And your smiling coasts
Me wrapped in a black coat
Lush lucrative dynamics
Zarathustrian imperative!
Covering your manly
Shoulders
Dig a grave in my
Hollow submarine
Diminishing distance
Was I, to call your firm hand's
Grip ~a lesser degree in Hiking,
Or a postponed poetic height
Thumbs entwined. . .
Spirited as a killer
Eagles mudra
You stare at
My profile
Well ~we stand
Opposing as a lovers
Of A grand Poetic
Name surpassing the time
Awaiting, courting, questioning
Via simile to the blood under
The Bask's barret
No, the ring I've put aside,
My hands are bare tonight!
Bewildered, I´ll stumble forth
within a bright new day to
complete your sermon.
You usually brake the cliche
Walking hand in hand
With Affar Authors
With Dead Spirits
With Alive Authors
Playing dead, unknown
Within the journalists eyes..
When they whisper
Wisdoms to your son's father
When they sturm und drang my sweetest
Sister
The softest spring is coming forth and
I know where to find you. In southern sighs.
Dreamy. Uncatchable.
Playing
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC
On Monday
you are sponges
Squeezed empty by
Pokemon tournaments and
Supernatural Watchathons
On Wednesday
you are dictionaries
lexicons of hyperbolic histrionics
thesauri of sturm and drang and
angsty angsty goodness
But Friday
you are IMDB
airbenders and Fassbender and
light bending across the sails
of a ship bound for the
unreal
implausible
impossible
unnatural
illogical
while Monday
you are rabid
like word-eating mongrels
and Wednesday
you are 1930's radios
spewing never-before-heard myths and mysteries
but Friday
you are careening
between the moons of Jupiter
ungrounded
unfettered
untethered
unrealistic
imaginative
but Friday
you are
gone gone gone gone
gone
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 5:06 PM UTC
It's Christmas 2015,
And I am here to ask,
When will you and I be younger,
When will we have more life ahead to live,
And if we don't choose to fully live right now,
When will we?
Life is a precious gift.
Hellish?
Yes, sometimes.
Wonderful?
Yes, often!
Beautiful!
Certainly, and ugly, too.
Look up from ennui.
Rise from the ashes of despair.
Take hold of Hope.
Seize Forgiveness.
Embrace Courage.
Stumble or Stride into Life.
Do you know there is a Savior
Who came as a poor babe
Through the ****** doorway
Of a ****** to set His mortal path
To the ****** doorway of the Cross,
In order to lead us through it to Joy?
To travel that path to Joy,
You and I must do only one thing....
Receive the free gift;
Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ...
And be saved.
The rest is the infinitive
TO LIVE!
Life in Christ is a struggle;
No secrets there,
But that Life is worthy
The Sturm und Drang,
And don't we all have
Sturm und Drang
Anyway?
So, LIVE!
Merry Christmas!
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 9:18 AM UTC
November of Sixty-five, at the X ray landing zone
men of the seventh Calvary were outnumbered far from home..
The casualties were mounting, Charlie held the heights.
Four massed assaults repulsed that day, Terror ruled the nights
In the high grass and the heat they lay,
the wounded men and dying.
They thought their fate was set and sealed: No med-e vacs were flying.
Through shot and shell, into that hell, two brave men came flying
into the hot landing zone for the wounded men and dying.
Thirteen trips in all they made to keep some hope alive.
There are men alive today who, without them, would have died.
Ed Freeman and Bruce Crandall flew where angels feared to tread.
They bore the wounds of valor where others would have fled.
His medal of Honor was bestowed for conspicuous gallantry.
today we mourn, Ed Freeman’s gone
and Freedom’s still not free.
this poem is written in honor of Captain Ed "Too Tall" Freeman. the action for which he received the Congressional Medal of Honor was the battle of La Drang, Vietnam which is the core of the Mel Gibson film " We were soldiers" the action takes place on 11/14-15/65
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 6:58 PM UTC
The beach
and I
alone
the winter night
I hear its sigh
mingling
with my own
there are words
in silence
between us
a strange kinship
forged in stillness
I can't explain why
my feet touch
the soft tender sand
a vibration
it does seem
to travel through
my total being
am I in a dream?
I feel
there's life
hidden
vibrant
in its every particle
and atom
I'm reminded
all at once
nature is a miracle
in every manifestation
open to the sympathetic eye
the sea recedes
at a late hour
it sings a dirge
as though
in a painful cry
the sky
is empty
no cloud
is in sight
the moon shivers
the stars slowly
away they fade
and die
man and nature
each bears a heart
they share rapture
and pain they harbour
against the backdrop
of time and its temper
Sturm und Drang
the sweet and sad songs
they had at the beginning
together embraced
and sung
after tonight
I'll never be
the same again
for life's mystery
I have tasted
and drunk
the hours quicken
the trees they wail
and the winds they sail
in gentle sweep
the leaves are shaken
a voice ethereal drifts
through the waters
the ripples are silenced
I harken
as though
in obedience:
' I'm the first
of time
but willed
not to be the last
enchained
like Prometheus
to unending years
yet humans not one
do know my tears
and you whom
I meet tonight
will carry my message
and relate my story
and agony
near and far
for how blessed
you humans are
to know
the taste
of mortality'.
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 9:35 PM UTC
You'd think Blake, Bosch
& Emanuel Swedenborg
read Pythagoras in the original
& walked with Christ & Newton;
E. A. Poe, the Horror-Poet;
influencing the Decadence of
Baudelaire, Wilde & Rimbaud;
Pinkham Ryder's influence on
Symbolism & Surrealism led,
oddly, to 20th century pop culture
depictions of Victorian monsters;
Frankenstein was the product
of the English Romantics;
German Romanticism to Sturm
& Drang led to Expressionism.
Beardsley [dead at 25], Gustave
Moreau, Van Gogh, Gauguin,
Egon Schiele [dead at 28]; ||| - -|
Klimt, Freud, Jung: Judaism;
Id, Superego, Ego, Shadow,
Anima & Animus, collective
psyche, Nietzsche's Superman,
eternal recurrence & will to
power; Wagner's Ring Cycle...
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 1:56 PM UTC
"sturm und drang" sagt ein mann
on the train
it's snowing.
agley they gang, the best-laid plans
plus the pain
of knowing.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
Whiz-zip-bang shenyang ang;
Mang mangue flang hang prang pang;
Pinang lalang unhang kang youth defang khang;
Marang schlang gang wolfgang ying-yang xuanzang.
Klang sea get wrang.
Sang tsang li-kang gangue langues.
Thang drang crang tang harangue sprang zhang shang siang whang strang hang verdinsgang chuang;
Brang lang nang bhang xiaogang mahuang durang huang.
Hange hsiang und;
Zang rang kuomintang ourang section gang hang.
Krang pahang boomerang fang guilt;
Spang gang;
Hangsang xinjiang tunkelang slang tangue nanchang clang chang bangue vang ziyangbaoguang hwang pang the tsiang alang dang ylang-ylang.
Tang liang.
Overhang langue pyongyang.
Cangue sangh mustang stang frang yang lange kukang farang **** care sturm t'ang;
Zamang drang chiang road a jang;
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 2:51 PM UTC
It was long years ago, I took the fifteenth day
to suffer hour on hour, the usual way:
Deduce the bottom line in dollars, even cents.
It makes no sense, no sense.
And even worse the guilty pang -
The overwhelming sturm und drang
that one day soon, the pinstripe suit,
the man that makes my machinations moot
will tap tap tap on my metaphorical door
and I will be at liberty no more!
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 11:18 AM UTC
Upon returning from Deutsch class,
Where we spoke of Sturm und Drang,
I reminisce about Schiller’s scull in glass
and think it rather wrong.
Maybe it’s just komisch
your best friend stealing your noodle
somehow it makes sense, I wish
a really great poem he did doodle
Schiller and Goethe, the poets
and quite a pair were they!
Even after death we know it,
“Schiller’s” head was on display!
The inspiration knew no bound’ries,
words flowed without a hitch,
like blacksmiths in metal foundries
he truly found his niche
Know nature, life, and death alike
looking in his hollowed out eyes
you never know! Inspiration may strike
n'ere prompt, like lightening, o’re the skies.
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 5:26 PM UTC
I came exhausted
Out of the blistering gray,
Lungs choking dust,
Tongue parched,
Body swollen with heat.
Your cool gardens saved me.
Basked I in the tender greens of spring;
Nurtured, I lingered in the shade all summer;
Warmed, I stayed near your embers in autumn.
I would not leave the blazing logs in winter.
Dry and desperate my early plight.
Parched and stumbling,
Clogged by dust,
I found your water;
Drank and bathed,
Found solace in body and mind,
Found time to rest, to heal.
I wonder at the restlessness
Howling outside your gates.
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 8:46 AM UTC
Labile
la·bile
/ˈlāˌbīl,ˈlābəl/
1. liable to change; easily altered. “Persons whose blood pressure is more labile will carry an enhanced risk of heart attack"
2. of or characterized by emotions that are easily aroused or freely expressed, and that tend to alter quickly and spontaneously; emotionally unstable."mood seemed generally appropriate, but the patient was often labile!
!~~~!
*oceans have boundaries,
a shaping, fluid, fluctuating definition.
words have dictionaries,
a permeable listing, unsettled,
offering oscillating
meanings like our lives.*
*these building blocks, fluid,flexing,
wooden watery vowels areshape shifters,
including the hard constant consonants,
lay upon the minds rubbled streets, begging for us
to trip and fall, in order to ********* an ‘ah ha!.’*
*words are liabilities, even if unknown,
responsibilities, carried upon our ledgers,
even if nuances pass patiently unrecognized,
even if unuttered*.
the woman wakes, bad startled by a concluding dreaming,
speaks ‘what time is it?’ and reassured by words,
promptly falls back to rem the darling earlies again.
her labile is my liability,
incumbent then upon me,
to be alert whenever she so stumbles, alarmed,
prepped with reassuring tools to soothe, coax.
*stored this word for how long, till it became a responsibility,
incumbent to explore its precision tooled vagaries,
saved unknowingly for this precise moment of*
Sturm und Drang.
Jun 5, 2022
Jun 5, 2022 at 11:11 AM UTC
Ik heb een onrust in me die moeilijk te plaatsen is
Nog in mijn hoofd, nog in een hokje
Het is niet de goede soort onrust waar je bezig van raakt
Het is de onrust van drie dagen niet snijden, vijf dagen normaal eten en vijf dagen niets in de buurt hebben om mezelf mee te beschadigen
Ik kan niet stil zitten, heb continu de drang om iets de doen
Mijn armen tintelen en schreeuwen bijna om bloed
Ik loop vaak te ijsberen, loop het mooie voorbij
En ja ik geniet, maar het is zo'n chaos in mijn kop
Ik ben op en ik kan niet verder meer, maar met deze drang blijf ik lopen
Je zou kunnen zeggen dat ik de scherpe pijn van een mes tegen mijn huid mis
Je zou kunnen zeggen dat de aansteker, lucifer en sigaret vriendelijk en verzachtend van aard zijn
Daar komt mijn zieke kant naar boven
In deze paar dagen is mijn zieke kant vaker aan de oppervlakte verschenen dan de echte Anne
Ik weet niet *** ik dit stop zonder bloed en zonder pijn
Ik weet niet *** ik leven moet
En nu?
Jul 23, 2019
Jul 23, 2019 at 3:24 PM UTC
Aus tiefster Schwärze, klarer Nacht,
es schlägt ein Blitz mit wahrer Macht.
Ein Donner zündet in der Fern
Mit neuem Feuer einen Stern.
Und mit dem heil'nden Regen schon,
den Drang erhaltend nach der Kron'
kommt er beschwichtigend für immer:
Das Ziel erreichen? Nimmer!
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 3:20 PM UTC
a glass ocean meeting a mountain--
dead of the night discordant pitch
of thorough breakage.
tinkling shards in whirlpools slicing
and splintering in spiraling inundation--
toy like vessels sunk, what could not
float the tonnage of drowning sound.
cargo of guts bust open, miles long tangled round
those vessels, wrapped tight for the ride down.
Beethoven's defiant deathbed fist clashing
with lightning, thundering blows--the
mass exodus composition of an unbreakable
spirit.
******* The Face of The Deep that voids
eyes at will--to behold its own!
nothing is in vain, even when beset with
such vanity!
Nov 4, 2019
Nov 4, 2019 at 1:11 PM UTC