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Bryan Muller Jun 2016
Met skewe takke,
met 'n krom stam
en die seerste dorings
wat in my vasklou

Daar waar die bloeds
aar le vind ek jou
in die donker nag
met die skeinheilige lig
wat ons altwee verblind

En so ontmoet ons
in die rooi valende duine
met die vonke
van 'n vuur binne my.
Coconut Skins Feb 2015
An bhfuil duine ar bith ag tabhairt aird orm?
Níl, táim i mo thaibhse, ag siúl gach lá
Gan duine ar bith ag rá, conas atá?

Chomh imeallaithe leis an teanga álainn atá in úsáid agam.
Ní thuigfidh daoine an dán seo.
Ní thuigeann daoine mise.
My first poem as Gaeilge (in Irish).
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2019
.in the back of my mind...
           gyöngyhajú lány -
                  the huns have finally
succumbed to the "pastor's"
                   castrato harem of the choir?!
wow!
                but i will still have
to "steal" from shakespeare's take
on macbeth, in pig latin...
    by... someone known as apemantus...
what other worth is there beside
citing macbeth?
  thus and the prayer:

              hell... let's give it a spin,
english, latin, scottish gaelic...

  immortal gods, i crave no self;
i pray for no man, but myself.
grant i may never prove so fond,
   to trust man on his oath or bond;
or a harlot for her weeping;
or a dog that seems a-sleeping;
or a keeper with my freedom;
or my friends, if i should need'em.
amen. so fall to 't:
rich men sin, and i eat root.

     immortalem superi, ego rogo nullus sese;
ego tandem enim nullus ****,
sed memet.
     tribuo ego licet numquam
demonstro sic amans,
     ut confido **** super
          suus sacramentum vel vinculum;
   uel scortum quia sua ploratus;
ut canis quod videor soporatus;
ut custor *** mea libertas;
ut mea amici, si ego postulo illis.
amen. ita cado to id:
    **** dives peccare,
                ut ego pappo radix.

again, this is pig latin...
the gaelic version will not be much
better...
                       who the hell can even envision
speaking ancient latin,
without succumbing to modern
english grammar? so much for the
current gaelic...

neo-bhàsmhor diathan, mi miann chan eil fèin;
mi ùrnaigh airson chan eil duine,
                       ach mi fhìn.
tabhartas mi a'chèit(ean) a-chaoidh
                          tha measail,
    gu earbsa duine air an bòid no bann;
no ah clàrsach airson í    a ’caoineadh;
no ah cù sin a ’chadal;
    no ah neach-glèidhidh còmhla ris
                                  mo saorsa;
no mo caraidean, ma tha mi bu chòir
                                            feum air iad.
amen. tha tuiteam gu e:
    beairt fir (sin), agus mi ith freumh.


i really don't see the "problem",
with, the, "problem"
containing itself...
          there's a *******
concern...
  but the paedophiles are
self-reforming?
  so... there's a problem?
               oh sure sure....
there's a problem...
gay pride parades...
      to "me": that's a real *******
problem...
          gas the jews...
casanova just ate a rat...
what's your problem,
*****?!
         the eternal law of man...
ever see a former
convicted paedophiles
get kicked in the face,
and take it,
                like a hulk brute?
**** happens:
at least the heritage
of the slave trade /
the holocaust survivors
also learned...
god will take it,
he made gravity
a jurisprudence stasis...
because he knew...
man, for all the jurisprudnce
worth? not worth that
much...
                "sorry"...
i'm not defending,
but i get them...
when grown women become
so nauseating,
limitating, so... "off-limits"...
you know what
a male mating pig's name
is in a porky harem
in poland?
        knur / knout...
that word alone lets me
to remember ******...
          gg... ******: swim...
down the deep-end...
             you were gagging for
this to become apparent,
this enforced egg-shell
walk *******...
      and i was called vermin...
and there came the mongol,
the **** and the communist...
now i'm watching
these bulging african hulks
and i'm looking at my body...
and... there really isn't
much to think of!
             pressing the right buttons...
i like that, now i get to press
the "wrong" buttons
on behalf of me...
      come on...
kinh john of england
wed a bride aged...
   isabella of angoulême
                 (lem) no "extra" e...
there's the ian watkins
example...
         of the lostprophets...
no baby-****** is
given you the jitters
when it comes to teenage girls...
i'm sorry...
     i remember being a teenager...
what's wrong with
teenager sexuality?
there's something wrong with
it?
    oh... there was always
something wrong with it...
sexuality matures,
legally...
when a woman reaches
her prime age
of 40, and she's crazy not having
frozen her ovaries...
wow!
             no, really, wow!
she's not a baby,
she's in her teens...
talk about an elevated
stance on m.g.m.
(male genital mutilation)...
it's like:
harem, ******, strap-ons
are not enough!
the mere thought is evil!
some more pharmacological
revisionists actions, yes?
so the simple process
of castration won't help?
we'll need the pharmacological
amnesia procedure?
cool cool!
         sign me up...
i already have a hard-on
for the experiment...
  if these people want to see
a baboon in a cage
riddled by haemorrhoids...
sign me up
for this "judo chop" sat on.

see... i see a big difference
when it comes to honesty
and outright shaming...
   when someone says they have
these kind of urges,
but is nontheless able
to suppress them?
       that's a ******* diamond...
that's worth keeping...
  i like this sort of honesty...
what i don't like is scheming
and shaming these unique
examples...

             between male to male...
it's the one resort's worth of
a cognitive ****** that serves
its purpose...
again... how old was
isabella of angoulême
when she was wedded to
king john of england?

          plus... all the teens look alike...
maybe that's the problems
facing these *******
reasoning type inhibitors of
the urge...

     mind you...
   lars von trier's take on
paedophilia in nymphomaniac...
at least some had
the ***** to commit
             to the deviant taboo...
but all the children look alike...
    what is it?
the fetish for "everything"
looking alike?
     generic fetish?

to reiterate:            

in the end...
     like all babies...
they just have the faces
of clones...
           non-distinguishable...

the difference between me
and your common folk...
well...
   kicking someone in the head...
on parole...
for distributing leaflets
in a new employment...
    whatever they did...
i suppose
the guillotine would be
a more humane eventuality
to provide justice on the part
of the victim...

       sexuality is odd...
to make homosexuality norm...
but paedophilia a taboo...
  feels like "someone" is being
excluded...
can't exactly make one
the norm and leave the other
one in the tribunal
of the nomads;
                          how is it fair?

in no desence,
   but i gather: what i have written,
will never reach the pop
majority that is usually associated
with a pop backlash,
just like: psychology made philosophy
popular in the 19th century,
by shortening it,
by sticking to schematic explanations...
like this,
   this will not reach the regurgitators
of pop culture, those twitter
sycophancy *****...
        unless, i'm, dead!
            i'll be left with drying
my jeans on the bed, with a cat sleeping
on the same bed i've decided to treat
as a rack...
      even now...
              try reading a Marcel Proust
2 vol. edition...
                    go to the gym, bro.,
       believe me: go to the gym, bro.
              
me? i love it...
it's like i can put on a godhead of either
rat or a fox, and manoeuvre my way
past all these jimmy... ****...
all these jeremy clarksons...
    and jeremy kyles...
                         another whiskey bottle
for me, another obscure prog rock album...
another night...
         and the world can just pass
me by, while i return to enjoying
skipping onto a double-decker from romford
to stratford, through to oxford st.,

some bad latin, even worse scottish gaelic...
these days you're not even famous
for 15 minutes, as, according to the andy warhol
prediction...
no one is famous these days,
not even for 15 minutes...
             the 15 minute window is over...
now? if you want to be "famous"...
sorry...
             infamy doesn't work
in 15 minute slots...
      when you're "famous" these days?
you're infamous forever...
         these days any publicity:
is bad publicity...
           i'll curse the day when i become
relevant to a large enough
number of people...
      that's the day i will learn
that i have lost the respect of the few
i managed to enthral.
Donall Dempsey Aug 2022
THE BACKWARD LOOK
( for D.B. )

the blackbird
leaves me a note
pinned to the sky

that blue
beyond
blue

the tide
of the moment
turning turning

Time
like apple blossom
falling through my mind

the little boy
unable to believe
that this day is not

made of forever
and only
now

I walk back
through my self
to unpin the note

the blackbird wrote
with his voice
still pinned

to that
self same
sky

the blue so still
beyond
even its self

I, at last, able to read
the birds words
its language a secret

no longer to me
"I  sing..."  it says  "...I sing
because all this must die!"

"I sing the moment's tide
its turning
always turning!"

It's throat
full of song
glorying in being

alive for this
one eternal
moment


*

I was reading Frank O'Connor's series of lectures on early Irish poetry ( THE BACKWARD LOOK )and listening to both Bowie's newest and an old favourite of mine LODGER. I was at the start of FANTASTIC VOYAGE when the seemingly impossible news of his death trickled through and I went to BBC to confirm that...it was not so. It was so.

A moment ago he had been singing( as he had been singing for me all these years ):

"In the event
that this fantastic voyage
Should turn to erosion
and we never get old
Remember it's true, dignity is valuable
But our lives are valuable too"

I was also reading this 4 line fragment from the 9th century :

"There is one
   I would wish to see again,
And give the golden world to win -
    All, all, though all were vain."

"Fil duine
     Frismbad buide lemm díuterc
Ara tabrainn in mbith mbuide
     Uile, uile, cid díupert."

And  so I wrote him this little poem....THE BACKWARD LOOK.
Niamh Collins Jul 2020
táim óg agus tá mé sean
dá fheicthe ná rudaí a bhfeicim
páistí, cairde, clann
tá súile againn uilig
tá chroí againn uilig
tá saoirse againn uilig

tá ádh orainn
ábalta labhairt
ábalta canadh
ábalta am a caitheadh lenár teaghlaigh
níl an t-ádh ag gach duine

glac cúpla soicind
nuair atá tú ag gaire s' ag guí
glac an deas atá agat
agus cuir é in úsáid.
THE BACKWARD LOOK
( for D.B. )

The blackbird
leaves me a note

pinned
to the sky

that blue
beyond blue

the tide
of the moment

turning turning.

Time like apple blossom
falling through my mind

the little boy
unable to believe

that this day
is not

made of forever
but only this " now."

I walk back
through my self

to unpin the note
the blackbird wrote

with his voice
still pinned

to that
self same sky.

The blue so still
beyond even its self.

I, at last, able
to read the bird's words

its language a secret
no longer to me

"I sing..." it says "...I sing!"

"Because all this
must die!"

"I sing the moment's tide
its turning always turning!"

It's throat
full of song

glorying in being

alive
for this

one eternal
moment.

*

I was reading Frank O'Connor's series of lectures on early Irish poetry
( THE BACKWARD LOOK )and listening to both Bowie's newest and an old favourite of mine LODGER. I was at the start of FANTASTIC VOYAGE when the seemingly impossible news of his death trickled through and I went to BBC to confirm that...it was not so. It was so.

A moment ago he had been singing( as he had been singing for me all these years ):

"In the event
that this fantastic voyage
Should turn to erosion
and we never get old
Remember it's true, dignity is valuable
But our lives are valuable too"

I was also reading this 4 line fragment from the 9th century :

"There is one
   I would wish to see again,
And give the golden world to win -
    All, all, though all were vain."

"Fil duine
     Frismbad buide lemm díuterc
Ara tabrainn in mbith mbuide
     Uile, uile, cid díupert."

And  so I wrote him this little poem....THE BACKWARD LOOK.
Isla Mcgrath Nov 29
Buaileann gáire m’chluas
Foréigean an maidin.
Le troideanna ‘s Aoire,
Long too forgotten.

An ‘Screech’ gearr pic donn
A itheann an greann.
M’fhocail ach fianaise
That I hadn’t known.

Ach tá fhios ag’m fhírinne
An scéál,  is ár stair.
An gá lenár gaisce.
Why we are how we are.

Ag lorg an rath
Chaill tú d’Aidhm
Is d’fhág tú rud siar
Our reason for triumph

Mar sin, ná stop an gáire,
Coimeád do chuid greann.
Ní stopadh mo chroí
We know who has the crown.

— The End —