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Jordan Chacon Apr 2014
The Anglo-Saxon Rune Poem

Each line consists of two half-stanzas, following the alliterative verse form of Fornyrðislag, or Old Meter.

Feoh byþ frofur fira gehwylcum;
sceal ðeah manna gehwylc miclun hyt dælan
gif he wile for drihtne domes hleotan.

Ur byþ anmod ond oferhyrned,
felafrecne deor, feohteþ mid hornum
mære morstapa; þæt is modig wuht.

Ðorn byþ ðearle scearp; ðegna gehwylcum
anfeng ys yfyl, ungemetum reþe
manna gehwelcum, ðe him mid resteð.

Os byþ ordfruma ælere spræce,
wisdomes wraþu ond witena frofur
and eorla gehwam eadnys ond tohiht.

Rad byþ on recyde rinca gehwylcum
sefte ond swiþhwæt, ðamðe sitteþ on ufan
meare mægenheardum ofer milpaþas.

Cen byþ cwicera gehwam, cuþ on fyre
blac ond beorhtlic, byrneþ oftust
ðær hi æþelingas inne restaþ.

Gyfu gumena byþ gleng and herenys,
wraþu and wyrþscype and wræcna gehwam
ar and ætwist, ðe byþ oþra leas.

Wenne bruceþ, ðe can weana lyt
sares and sorge and him sylfa hæfþ
blæd and blysse and eac byrga geniht.

Hægl byþ hwitust corna; hwyrft hit of heofones lyfte,
wealcaþ hit windes scura; weorþeþ hit to wætere syððan.

Nyd byþ nearu on breostan; weorþeþ hi þeah oft niþa bearnum
to helpe and to hæle gehwæþre, gif hi his hlystaþ æror.

Is byþ ofereald, ungemetum slidor,
glisnaþ glæshluttur gimmum gelicust,
flor forste geworuht, fæger ansyne.

Ger byÞ gumena hiht, ðonne God læteþ,
halig heofones cyning, hrusan syllan
beorhte bleda beornum ond ðearfum.

Eoh byþ utan unsmeþe treow,
heard hrusan fæst, hyrde fyres,
wyrtrumun underwreþyd, wyn on eþle.

Peorð byþ symble plega and hlehter
wlancum [on middum], ðar wigan sittaþ
on beorsele bliþe ætsomne.

Eolh-secg eard hæfþ oftust on fenne
wexeð on wature, wundaþ grimme,
blode breneð beorna gehwylcne
ðe him ænigne onfeng gedeþ.

Sigel semannum symble biþ on hihte,
ðonne hi hine feriaþ ofer fisces beþ,
oþ hi brimhengest bringeþ to lande.

Tir biþ tacna sum, healdeð trywa wel
wiþ æþelingas; a biþ on færylde
ofer nihta genipu, næfre swiceþ.

Beorc byþ bleda leas, bereþ efne swa ðeah
tanas butan tudder, biþ on telgum wlitig,
heah on helme hrysted fægere,
geloden leafum, lyfte getenge.

Eh byþ for eorlum æþelinga wyn,
hors hofum wlanc, ðær him hæleþ ymb[e]
welege on wicgum wrixlaþ spræce
and biþ unstyllum æfre frofur.

Man byþ on myrgþe his magan leof:
sceal þeah anra gehwylc oðrum swican,
forðum drihten wyle dome sine
þæt earme flæsc eorþan betæcan.

Lagu byþ leodum langsum geþuht,
gif hi sculun neþan on nacan tealtum
and hi sæyþa swyþe bregaþ
and se brimhengest bridles ne gym[eð].

Ing wæs ærest mid East-Denum
gesewen secgun, oþ he siððan est
ofer wæg gewat; wæn æfter ran;
ðus Heardingas ðone hæle nemdun.

Eþel byþ oferleof æghwylcum men,
gif he mot ðær rihtes and gerysena on
brucan on bolde bleadum oftast.

Dæg byþ drihtnes sond, deore mannum,
mære metodes leoht, myrgþ and tohiht
eadgum and earmum, eallum brice.

Ac byþ on eorþan elda bearnum
flæsces fodor, fereþ gelome
ofer ganotes bæþ; garsecg fandaþ
hwæþer ac hæbbe æþele treowe.

Æsc biþ oferheah, eldum dyre
stiþ on staþule, stede rihte hylt,
ðeah him feohtan on firas monige.

Yr byþ æþelinga and eorla gehwæs
wyn and wyrþmynd, byþ on wicge fæger,
fæstlic on færelde, fyrdgeatewa sum.

Iar byþ eafix and ðeah a bruceþ
fodres on foldan, hafaþ fægerne eard
wætre beworpen, ðær he wynnum leofaþ.

Ear byþ egle eorla gehwylcun,
ðonn[e] fæstlice flæsc onginneþ,
hraw colian, hrusan ceosan
blac to gebeddan; bleda gedreosaþ,
wynna gewitaþ, wera geswicaþ

Modern English Translation

Wealth is a comfort to all men;
yet must every man bestow it freely,
if he wish to gain honour in the sight of the Lord.

The aurochs is proud and has great horns;
it is a very savage beast and fights with its horns;
a great ranger of the moors, it is a creature of mettle.

The thorn is exceedingly sharp,
an evil thing for any knight to touch,
uncommonly severe on all who sit among them.

The mouth is the source of all language,
a pillar of wisdom and a comfort to wise men,
a blessing and a joy to every knight.

Riding seems easy to every warrior while he is indoors
and very courageous to him who traverses the high-roads
on the back of a stout horse.

The torch is known to every living man by its pale, bright flame;
it always burns where princes sit within.

Generosity brings credit and honour, which support one's dignity;
it furnishes help and subsistence
to all broken men who are devoid of aught else.

Bliss he enjoys who knows not suffering, sorrow nor anxiety,
and has prosperity and happiness and a good enough house.

Hail is the whitest of grain;
it is whirled from the vault of heaven
and is tossed about by gusts of wind
and then it melts into water.

Trouble is oppressive to the heart;
yet often it proves a source of help and salvation
to the children of men, to everyone who heeds it betimes.

Ice is very cold and immeasurably slippery;
it glistens as clear as glass and most like to gems;
it is a floor wrought by the frost, fair to look upon.

Summer is a joy to men, when God, the holy King of Heaven,
suffers the earth to bring forth shining fruits
for rich and poor alike.

The yew is a tree with rough bark,
hard and fast in the earth, supported by its roots,
a guardian of flame and a joy upon an estate.

Peorth is a source of recreation and amusement to the great,
where warriors sit blithely together in the banqueting-hall.

The Eolh-sedge is mostly to be found in a marsh;
it grows in the water and makes a ghastly wound,
covering with blood every warrior who touches it.

The sun is ever a joy in the hopes of seafarers
when they journey away over the fishes' bath,
until the courser of the deep bears them to land.

Tiw is a guiding star; well does it keep faith with princes;
it is ever on its course over the mists of night and never fails.

The poplar bears no fruit; yet without seed it brings forth suckers,
for it is generated from its leaves.
Splendid are its branches and gloriously adorned
its lofty crown which reaches to the skies.

The horse is a joy to princes in the presence of warriors.
A steed in the pride of its hoofs,
when rich men on horseback bandy words about it;
and it is ever a source of comfort to the restless.

The joyous man is dear to his kinsmen;
yet every man is doomed to fail his fellow,
since the Lord by his decree will commit the vile carrion to the earth.

The ocean seems interminable to men,
if they venture on the rolling bark
and the waves of the sea terrify them
and the courser of the deep heed not its bridle.

Ing was first seen by men among the East-Danes,
till, followed by his chariot,
he departed eastwards over the waves.
So the Heardingas named the hero.

An estate is very dear to every man,
if he can enjoy there in his house
whatever is right and proper in constant prosperity.

Day, the glorious light of the Creator, is sent by the Lord;
it is beloved of men, a source of hope and happiness to rich and poor,
and of service to all.

The oak fattens the flesh of pigs for the children of men.
Often it traverses the gannet's bath,
and the ocean proves whether the oak keeps faith
in honourable fashion.

The ash is exceedingly high and precious to men.
With its sturdy trunk it offers a stubborn resistance,
though attacked by many a man.

Yr is a source of joy and honour to every prince and knight;
it looks well on a horse and is a reliable equipment for a journey.

Iar is a river fish and yet it always feeds on land;
it has a fair abode encompassed by water, where it lives in happiness.

The grave is horrible to every knight,
when the corpse quickly begins to cool
and is laid in the ***** of the dark earth.
Prosperity declines, happiness passes away
and covenants are broken.
SassyJ Feb 2016
Verse
Ever cruising , in the base ship
Now finding my feet on the ground
Muddy pathways ,
Pebbled alleyways,
River coursing eastwards

Chorus
Give me the revelation
That I need to elevate
Give me the calibration
That I need to stimulate
All aligning, all aligning

Verse
We are divided, in the realities
Now finding sensate zones
Hearts entwining
Minds compassing
Many flowing for the cause

Bridge**
And they shall walk on the land
Their feet will sink in the pads
They will smile and trance
Fight then unite,
Recite in their might
All attuned, all aligned
For the audio Mix..... I thoroughly enjoyed mixing the tracks and making the beats from scratch.
https://soundcloud.com/user-367453778/calibration-sassyj
SassyJ Mar 2016
The forested breeze blew eastwards. On each swing of the wind, the birds flew and fluttered. Each of their wings swaying to find a harmonious balance. The sweet melody of ethnic hymns from the native village rose above the trees. The sequenced output with equalised acapella became an anthem that ruled the forests.The gravelled path structured it's way between the trees right to the heart of the village.

The village elder sat outside the middle hut. His hut stood out from those encircling it. Humbled in stature but yet symbolically decorated with colourful redness of the roses. The beautiful scented ambience rose to fuel the air within and around. The door of the hut was formatted with sculptured inscriptions that had a covert meaning. A story line about the long historic lineage of leaders. The entrance of the doorway was guarded by two warriors. Each of them had a shield and spear, alert and portraying courage. Their bodies were bare ready to attack the enemy, their groins fully formed and covered with *****. The sight of the hut itself was magnificent...... it's aura radiant with an embodiment of hereditary and hierarchical authority.

As the village chief watched the birds sway and whistle, he sat on his antique stool. In the openness of the nature he appeared puzzled. As he shrugged his symbolic leopard hide on his back.... it swung side to side. Still in situ, but there was something about it's presence that nagged him. He touched it and then speedily moved his hand from it. He then raised his voice. "Amita!"

His voice echoed and roared penetrating all the homesteads. By the time the volume of the echo subsided he called out again "Amita, Amita, Amita!"

Amita came running and knelt at the feet of the Chief. She replied "Yes Chief Hashi. I am here for your service Sir!"

Amita was a 21 year old girl. She was wearing a straw skirt. Her arm was tattooed with a prominent artistic representation of a snake swinging from the tree. The shades of the red snake pictured on the hues of the green tree. This symbolised that she was a servant and lived at the Chief's Quarters. Amita had sacrificed her life as her lineage did to serve the Chief and his household. A dedication of servanthood to the Chief and him alone.

Amita bowed as she knelt, her bare ***** ***** and shadowing the Chief's feet. The chief looked at Amita as if hyptonised by the touch of her *******. He glared at her beauty, the outstanding womanhood she poised. After a long pose of silence the Chief responded, " Amita, can you fix my hide ensuring that it's attachments are secure"

There was a level of vulnerability that the chief showed Amita. He appeared to be humble, a denudation of authority, that very call of submission. There was evidently a reciprocal of roles as Amita raised her eyes from the ground to face the Chief. As their eyes met the Chief hastily paused and froze as if speechless. As he gathered his senses he was firmly able to look at Amita and said, " Can you join me inside my hut please?"

Amita remained kneeling as the Chief stood up from his stool. Chief Hashi steadily walked to the doorway of his hut. Pace after pace, stroll after stroll. As he walked by the doorway the warriors raised their spears to his presence. He was proudly ushered to his exquisite residence. He then  faced the warriors and asked them to leave guard. Chief Hashi requested, "Can you come back after two hours." As the guards walked away the Chief in his freedom danced around, hysterically moving his hands multi-directionally.

Chief Hashi opened the window to his hut. This was adjacent to where Amita was kneeling. In his vulnerability he whispered, "My child Amita, get up and join me inside my hut. The door is open and ajar.... always for you my queen."

Amita stood up from the kneeling position and run her way into Chief Hashi hut.
Inspired by
Mafikizolo ft Uhuru (Khona)..... Come and see that place....I don't know the full meaning of the song but love the vibe of it.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yhk52GlkhVA
K Balachandran May 2013
1
Like the  turning sheets
of a monthly calender,
life has layers after layers.

How would he know that ,
just a callow youth on  sea shore
playing with  smooth pebbles,
that was when he saw her first.

She was the woman who
taught him, whole cities lay merged
within a woman, like wave after wave,
of inhabitants over time, leave their
archaeological markers of periods,
she was a mystery like life itself.
There is no way to decipher.


2
They first met
in the city of light,
Diwali lamps were lit
in all courtyards,
It was an immortal moment
in his  life, he realized,
leading him gently to the light
which evaded him though he assiduously sought,
she parted without a word
Did she belong to someone else?
3
The city of sorrow,
yet again brought them  face to face
Ridden with angst of existence
he stumbled, was about to fall, then
he  could experience her iron will
more than a woman, she stood, like a pillar of strength,
she took his weary head in both hands, pressed to her breast,
pulled out the crown of thorns, their paths
diverged again, inexplicably complex, was their relationship.
4
In the city of guilt,
an unexpected meeting again,
they were surprised. Here, they were on their own.
They  wanted to take their lives in their hands,
in spite of the currents that pulled them to different directions.
But he knew all the while that her self, was divided between
three cities within her.They co-existed, Light.Guilt.Sorrow
will their love survive? Not all loves are intended to live long,
a parrot in his tree of loneliness always whispered.He pretended he didn't hear,
A game of dice, almost was their lives, mysterious forces did bet on their love,
Having traveled through fire and water, she was beyond pleasure and pain,
Kali with a fiery nose stud, female power that overcomes all pain,
she became, that shattered his dreams for them.
He was thankful, to be awakened by her,
the light she lit, burned bright, within.


Now or never.He crossed the river.
Deliverance comes from an inner source,
otherwise all will end as an idiot's tale
signifying nothing.
Her flame lighted his wick, liberated him.

5
Fire spitting dragons one can tame,
but in the duel with demons of life,
it could be a blood letting end,
call it play of chance or what ever
they are the  easy game here
He  packed his backpack and
started to move eastwards,
Westward bound was she, invariably,
her heart had still a song left for him,
the void was filled, the pain was stilled
with anesthetics of mind.
Just for one last time they went to the beach,
watching the sunset was their good bye to each other.
They never met again.
Sara L Russell May 2013
2007, revised May 2nd, 2013*

How neatly northerly she points her tail,
With fluffsome front paws pointing to the south;
Whiskers point west and eastwards, without fail,
Each side of her benignly-smiling mouth.

She navigates from rockery to pond
And slyly measures distances ahead,
With whiskers poised, behind a ferny frond,
Waiting to stalk fishes, with stealthy tread.

A water pistol thwarts her cunning scheme,
Fired from the door with some accuracy;
And like one rudely wakened from a dream,
She leaps into the air, and bolts to flee.

But soon her equanimity returns;
She's back smiling at fishes, through the ferns.
LJ Jun 2016
Revelational 33 in triangulation
A one, the perpendicular, the two
A pyramid adjoint in intersections
Recalled dream of masters and teachers

Repentant breeze on drowned water
a leather polished and scaled to sleek
A lover, my 33 year old angelic man
Reaped at the foot of the rooted crux

Restored from the mire and mirage of mares
An outward crimson, the glorified grace laced
A river that flow eastwards on descending cliffs
Revolved from the depth of oceanic rocks

Revelational 33 in triangulation
A light, the spotlight pearl unfurled
A  force that will never die but live
Rectifies and autocorrected from the abyss
Love you loads baby, ;always missing you and thinking about you always! An ember that always glows in the rumble. My spotlight, my warmth...... a master number 33!
SassyJ Sep 2018
The sea whistles gently eastwards
right to the rocks of a promise
the in-between without a compromise
nor reasons of a just triumph

That sunset was so beautiful
with an glowing amber sheen
lowly reflected upon the waters
to the dense of the drowning pebbles

I stretched my arms and you was cold
distanced in treason confrontations
no permission to treasure my disposition
nor an intermission to give a position

I shall **** you, like I killed all the darlings
those that brought a fiery passion
and their heat transpired to a lustful tension
May the fiery seas draw to your conclusion
I killed a darling..... goodbye. Get me an axe and a sharp knife hehehe
Scurry away eastwards errant clouds....
Blown by wind as if angry with its task
Laden with moisture they rise higher and higher-
Freight trains of the skies
Have you room to carry of love and my desire onwards on your journey??
Carry them Eastwards  to my secret love  
Then let them fall as drops of rain on her
Allow them to permeate
her heart so that she might recognise my love...
x
Donall Dempsey Jun 2019
OFF THE COAST OF WRANGEL ISLAND

The room was a frozen
block of silence

the out-of-love lovers
like two hairy mammoths

trapped in the ice
of their shared hatred.

Thousand of years had passed
since they had last talked.

Preserved like two rare
artifacts in a museum.

This the "invisible land"
an island of mists and fogs.

They looked like bad
caricatures of who

they used to be
and who

they could never ever
be again.

*

Wrangel Island is an island in the Arctic Ocean, between the Chukchi Sea and East Siberian Sea.It lies astride the 180° meridian. The International Date Line is displaced eastwards at this latitude to avoid the island. Wrangel Island may have been the last place on earth where mammoths survived.

The island is subjected to "cyclonic" episodes characterised by rapid circular winds. It is also an island of mists and fogs and is known as the "invisible land."  In literature Jules Verne has his characters trapped on a floating iceberg near here and Cassandra Clare makes it  the seat of all the world's wards, the spells that protected the globe from demons and demon invasion.

She was as it happened was reading Jules Verne's novel 'César Cascabel" whilst he as it happened was reading Cassandra Clare's "Mortal Instruments: City of Heavenly Fir", both entirely different books but both featuring Wrangel Island. I delight in such happenstance and synchronicity. I only knew of it because of the mammoth found there with hair and muscle tissue and blood intact. I was fascinated with photos of it and there was one where a scientist was bending down looking at it on a bench and they were nose to trunk as if having a chat about the years in between that separated them. When I originally wrote the poem I was looking at them in the mirror of their big fat room with the thinest of windows when they thought they weren't being observed and it looked as if the mirror had painted their emotional state and that time hung suspended forever in that one moment. They both could dispute angrily or peevishly about their state whether it be in the voice or even in silent thought. I called them THE WRANGLERS after the mirror's painting of them. Or indeed THE WANGLERS because of their persistent arguing or manoeuvering the other into the worse position so that the other could take the lowish of moral high ground. It was a bit like observing trench warfare back in WW1.

And so it was through all this happenstance that I placed them off the emotional coast of a stormy isolated island...in some limbo "invisible land."

And as to the right or wrong of my two too human artifacts where right or wrong are not all that easy to place? As Michael Pollan puts it "… morality is an artifact of human culture, devised to help us negotiate social relations."

All I knew is that I sure as hell wouldn't want to be in their peculiar shoes or that particular hell.

The room was a frozen
block of silence

the out-of-love lovers
like two hairy mammoths

trapped in the ice
of their shared hatred.

Thousand of years had passed
since they had last talked.

Preserved like two rare
artifacts in a museum.

This the "invisible land"
an island of mists and fogs.

They looked like bad
caricatures of who

they used to be
and who

they could never ever
be again.
Wrangel Island is an island in the Arctic Ocean, between the Chukchi Sea and East Siberian Sea.It lies astride the 180° meridian. The International Date Line is displaced eastwards at this latitude to avoid the island. Wrangel Island may have been the last place on earth where mammoths survived.

The island is subjected to "cyclonic" episodes characterised by rapid circular winds. It is also an island of mists and fogs and is known as the "invisible land."  In literature Jules Verne has his characters trapped on a floating iceberg near here and Cassandra Clare makes it  the seat of all the world's wards, the spells that protected the globe from demons and demon invasion.

She was as it happened was reading Jules Verne's novel 'César Cascabel" whilst he as it happened was reading Cassandra Clare's "Mortal Instruments: City of Heavenly Fir", both entirely different books but both featuring Wrangel Island. I delight in such happenstance and synchronicity. I only knew of it because of the mammoth found there with hair and muscle tissue and blood intact. I was fascinated with photos of it and there was one where a scientist was bending down looking at it on a bench and they were nose to trunk as if having a chat about the years in between that separated them. When I originally wrote the poem I was looking at them in the mirror of their big fat room with the thinest of windows when they thought they weren't being observed and it looked as if the mirror had painted their emotional state and that time hung suspended forever in that one moment. They both could dispute angrily or peevishly about their state whether it be in the voice or even in silent thought. I called them THE WRANGLERS after the mirror's painting of them. Or indeed THE WANGLERS because of their persistent arguing or manoeuvering the other into the worse position so that the other could take the lowish of moral high ground. It was a bit like observing trench warfare back in WW1.

And so it was through all this happenstance that I placed them off the emotional coast of a stormy isolated island...in some limbo "invisible land."

And as to the right or wrong of my two too human artifacts where right or wrong are not all that easy to place? As Michael Pollan puts it "… morality is an artifact of human culture, devised to help us negotiate social relations."

All I knew is that I sure as hell wouldn't want to be in their peculiar shoes or that particular hell.
Grace Jun 2013
Run away to Boston,
gonna find my future there.
Run away to Boston.
With all my heart, it's yours to bare.

We're running away to Boston
and reaping what we've sewn.
We've run away to Boston.
Onwards, eastwards we have grown.
Should have been a folk song
Antony Glaser Nov 2021
swallows fly eastwards by memory
gladly remembering furlong paths by reborn directions
blessed is natures amazing recovery
fiachra breac Nov 2017
Ethiopian sunrises are very beautiful, it would appear.

I feel like I am always in Addis
but I've yet to have seen it in the daylight.
Arriving in darkness was no different from the norm,
but I have to say I have been pleasantly surprised by this morning's offering.

Addis appears to be surrounded by peculiar bunches of mountains
that pile up on top of one another.
The dark blue has slowly been replaced by sky,
then yellow,
then pink,
then grey,
then mountain bunch.

I didn't sleep much on the plane.
From about Greece it felt like an age since I had last seen Irish soil.
Why is that?
What is it about travelling that allows time and space to become so closely tethered to one another? It's been barely twelve hours since
I left Sasha, Mum, and Dad in Dublin but it may as well be a year.
I can only hope that this feeling does not overtake me
come the 28th April.
I don't want to have to desperately cling on to the memories of Kiwoko
as they are eroded by the aeroplane's slipstream.

The mountains are getting clearer now.
Varying hues of blue and grey imposed on the horizon.
Off to the East the sky is burning with morning
through thick, white terminal lattice.

There's an impossible to miss radiance
scorching the jagged edge of this Eastern range,
yet it lingers almost imperceptible from the surrounding sky -
as if everything Eastwards is ablaze.
Commuter Poet Feb 2016
There is truth to be found in all things
The old man cleaning ******* from train platforms
Steam rising from ice cold ponds at sunrise
Frost clasping the tall grasses
The orange, pink and blue of morning skies
Glittering sea channels weaving through mud flats
A father and daughter walking to the bus stop hand in hand
Magpies flying overhead, dancing and swooping
Concentric circles appearing as moorhens paddle
A brave jogger running eastwards
My daughter, sleepy, resting in bed
My wife looking at me inquisitively
My own reflection in the glass
I notice such things
And I ponder their beauty
As I try to deeply understand
The nature of things
11th February 2016
Shaun Yee Jun 2022
Every evening around seven
From my balcony at back,
I see a flock of little birds
Flying eastwards from the west;
They knew exactly where
They were going
For their evening’s rest.

From my balcony out front
I see a flock of bigger birds,
Flying east then turning south
In the sky over the sea;
Going into the clouds
they knew so well,
Where  they want to be.


(Klebang, Malacca, Malaysia  2010)
written in 2010 from my sea-front condominium in Malacca
The cracked down on him, inhuman heroes.
They were from the same squad, he and the bullies.
They’ve been laughing at his temper full of stragness.
But you made the talll one say “sorry”, he was the king of bullies

“Why let him with just one “sorry”?” Here am I, right beside you.
I say it like I’m wicked, and smile along with you.
And with joke I hope hil a wound of his or two.
A couple years shall pass, and he’ll be a mountain guarding weak ones, too.

Oh, yes, hi will be guarding with the strength of words.
His eyes, they burn, like sunset skies if you look eastwards.
Hi will be our fellow, buiding from chaos of freedom the best of worlds.
He was saved today, well he will save tomorrow, big friend, trust in these words.
A year ago I translated my best poems from English into my native languages.
Now it’s time I do it in reverse. This is translation of “Gorah”. The original is in Ukrainian.
Dylan Jones Feb 2019
I live in a house with a tin roof and every time it rains
I can feel my brain is moving
Back and forth
Upside down
Eastwards
Feeling I'm remembering
Everything you do

I was up last night
Tossing and turning
Couldn't get to sleep and I slept thru the morning
Need to clear my head and get out of the city
All alone in the jungle you'll find me

Close your eyes
And hear my secret
Deep, deep loving
Hear my secret
Hear my secret
Hear my secret

Sometimes I can hear the tremble below me
Pounding thru the floor
My body so restless
It lives in the basement below some boxes
Makes me feel so strange and so thoughtless so
Maybe someday this roof will cave in
You'll find me on the floor looking at the stars
These walls are made of brick, plated in gold
But I'm still here
Growing so old
Close your ears and hear my secret
Deep, deep loving
Hear my secret
Hear my secret
Hear my secret
Close your eyes and hear my secret
Deep, deep loving
Hear my secret
Hear my secret
Hear my secret
Wayward bound or Eastwards bound to a place I found that suits me so,

and don't pretend that you don't know how it feels,
how when the Sinner and the Summer show a clean pair of heels and skedaddle

I paddle my own canoe and you know how that feels too,
don't you?

See
We are one and the same
granted
that
there are different races, religions
and creeds,

so feed me the line
like you did the last time
that we met,
better yet,
keep it
you'll need it when
the snow starts to fall,

to tether your eyes shut against
the bite of the Wind.

You know and I know you know and I've heard that before
the audience applauds you and calls out 'Encore'
and I know that you know you want more than the fame or your name up in lights

you want your face in the sights and her finger on the trigger,
the bigger man would say so and don't you pretend you don't know that's not true.
SassyJ Dec 2016
Starlight stricken moonlight
at the heart of the moments
Forsaken, spent and abused
Shaked, lent and reduced
For another chilly winter roll

On the web of eastwards wind
where precious rocks were undone
and the glorious weeds remained
on the clay that moulds the flesh
at the core of their condolences

Not a shame for I felt it before
as I forgot the rain we saw before
the walks we walked there before
Not a shame for I felt it before
at the bonfire night terrain before
the walks we walked there before

We saw the sun as it forgot to rise
and the rain thunder footstep behind
The storms raged past vanished ships
and the voices that guided in woods
as descendants swept the golden robes

The eucalyptus that burst in trenches
from ashes that forms and reforms
on cyclic breaths of symbolism
as the gentle caress familiar mists
in particular mystic scent to an ear

Not a shame for I felt it before
as I forgot the rain we saw before
the walks we walked there before
Not a shame for I felt it before
at the bonfire night terrain before
the walks we walked there before
SassyJ Aug 2020
In the cool of a winter night
when the rain travels eastwards
filled with cups of love and laughter
a simmer to evoke all unkempt feelings

How so? the striking contrasts
with all the missed conversations
inside shadows of celestial quivers
tamed in uncovered whispers of mysteries

If thunder was all I could feel
I sacrifice to sharpen your tides
sending beats into the currents
as my soul is boxed in the wind of love

How so? that you shine brighter
dazed in the glow of your silhouette
as days turned into unending months
I see you reflection as clear as day
Until this feeling eases. Your esse continues to shine
Fionnuala Lidia Apr 2020
Drifting, I am floating between air flows,
The unseeable pathways guiding my body
Undiscovered spaces, a light
Sense of ever-existing freedom as
My weight shifts and my eyes
Point Eastwards.

Frozen streams follow paths over my body,
The sensations enlightening my nerves,
Over nostrils, and
Between feathers
Ruffles,
Shivers illuminate my chest.

Forwards, my paths of flight leads me,
Shadows, possessions of the clouds,
Create illuminations of the blue
Reflective mass below.
My belly mirrored,
Moving as me,
Gliding across the ever extending
Greens,
Shimmering folding currents.

Leaning my weight forwards
Gently, the images grow closer.
Every little reflected movement
Picked up by
The water.
Escapril day 5 - Prompt: The View From Up Here.
nivek Jul 2023
The 'West Wind' here, is the strongest, most persistent,
the 'One' that permanently bends the trees 'Eastwards',
much more than any other point on the compass.
Bending toward the 'East', the 'Sun Rising' you could be forgiven
for thinking that the Tree's here, are bowing down toward the coming light, in their morning prayer.
Evan Stephens Aug 2023
for Lori


Foaming Pacific ovals
sweep cold over nephew's knees -

his laughter breaches sandy mount,
from flashing white crescent

of pepperminted mouth.
Palms above the char pit

chaperone my brother-in-law
as he hisses open enameled cans

of sweet seltzer. My sister
trades antique desert stories

with my aunt. Someone slings
Monopoly hotels back into the box.

August is climbing eastwards,
bringing a fog bank

that won't stop arriving,
arriving, always arriving.
Ryan O'Leary Oct 2023
.               October Day


      Winged men swarmed

    eastwards over their pale

     of incarceration towards
                                  
          Lucifers morning  *

                    

        Descending to earth,

         God’s hand guiding

      outwitted the evil ones,

   capturing our imaginations.
Ryan O'Leary Jan 18
Just Did It


When I press the send

   button, I listen for the

    launch sound of my

   metaphorical missile

   and imagine a flame

     of propulsion as it

   leaves my MacBook

       for the open Air

    heading eastwards.

— The End —