"esperanto" poems
I Deserve to Die, A shout of Joy.
I deserve to Die
My life is a lie
A flippant lie
I Deserve to Die
I Deserve to Die
In this world full of Love
I fly like an unguided dove
I Deserve to Die
I Deserve to Die
If I could tell myself the truth
I may be a better youth
But, I Deserve to Die
I Deserve to Die
Too weak for this battle
To grip for this struggle
I Deserve to Die
I Deserve to Die
The song I hear in the morning
The door opened in the evening
Ready to Die
I Deserve to Die
I Deserve to Die
The depressing things I tell myself
The worthless value of myself
I Deserve to Die
I Deserve to Die
Not a prayer
From a player
But I Deserve to Die
I deserve to Die
But who cares?
The limitless growth of the stairs
I Deserve to Die
Who will save from my grief?
Jesus?
Do I even believe?
Maybe not!
Maybe I do!
I’m not sure
I Deserve to Die
I Deserve to Die
But I don’t want to
Will I have to?
Do I need to?
I Deserve to Die
I Deserve to Die
Shall I help myself?
Maybe,
Maybe,
I shouldn’t Die
Well, I Deserve to Die
But He went ahead and Die
Now I can’t Die
A new beginning,
A new life,
Lord I Deserve,
Will you let me Die?
Hear my cry
Save thee
I Deserve to Die
Don’t allow me to Die.
I Deserve to Die
But I need to escape
Open the gate of life
Hear my cry
I just need a way
To run away
I Don’t want to Die
I cry…
Esperanto
Sep 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019 at 10:56 AM UTC
I am so smart, I can fool myself
but I am too stupid to figure me out.
What's your problem?
If you don’t stand for something,
You will fall for anything.
Now pick yourself up, get a number and wait for your turn.
I think, therefore I am over qualified.
And that’s why you work here.
No, it’s not ignorance nor arrogance
I’m just smarter than you.
Were you born deficient or are you just stupid today?
Do not believe or even read every word that I have written.
Do not believe everything you think.
Remember you are special, just like everyone else.
Remember to take your smart pills.
I can see you had an extra bowl of stupid for breakfast this morning.
Then stop pretending to be stupid, that’s just dumb.
When you leave home, don't forget where you live and
don't forget your pants, again.
Ask me about my ability to annoy anyone any time.
That’s Mr. ***** (aays - ol - aye) to you, it’s Esperanto.
And yes, it is part of my charm thanks for asking.
Are we having fun yet?
The daydream is the free thinkers nightmare,
what do you think? never mind
Perjury murdered imagination, without an assault rifle,
or second amendment rights, without mass media
or an internet connection. What's your excuse?
I didn’t say it was your fault, I said, I was going to blame you.
So, how does it feel to be back on the hamster wheel?
C’mon man really?
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 10:25 AM UTC
**life is a chain of choices and chances
yOu have to make 'EM and take 'EM
if yOu don't STAND for something
yOu'll fall for anything**
**when yOu SET your GOAL
yOu Feed your SOUL**
***life shouldn't be measured by breaths taken
but by the times life takes your breath away***
*put a SmiLe on some ones fACe today
take pride in knowing yOu put it there*
**I THINK therefore I AM over qualified
and that's why yOu work here**
**NO it's not ignorance nor arrogance
I'M just smarter than yOu**
**DO not belieVe or eVen read eVery word that I haVe written
Do NOT believe everything yOu think**
***remember yOu are special, just like everyone else
remember to take your smart pills and STOP pretending
to be STUPID, that's just DUMB***
**that's Mr. AzzHOLE to yOu (ays - oh - lay) it's Esperanto
and YES it is part of my charm, thanks for asking**
***the dAy DreAm is the free thinKer's nighTmaRe
what do yOu thinK? NeVer MiND***
**perjury murdered imagination, without an ASSULT rifle, without
2nd amendment RIGHTS, without maSS media or an iNterNet CoNNectioN**
**it's NOT what yOu accomplish
it's what yOu OVER come**
**I didn't say it was your FAULT
I said I was going to BLAME yOu**
***life is like SkiPPing with a Peg leG
at night it's like Sleeping with SciSSorS***
HAVE FUN
*if you feel offended by this please read again
with your name in each rant, then take two (2) smart pills
and go back to sleep*
hehehe
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 6:16 AM UTC
Sunday-empty Auckland my pre-breakfast escape,
Sheep-spotted mountains in early morning mist,
Whangarei marina for a cauldron of cappuccino.
Shop of metal sheep starts a day of Kiwi weirdness,
Of customer requesting glassblowing lessons, and
“All Blacks” silk boxers, unworn by players I hope.
Driving to Dargaville for Mr. M. Ujdur museum treat,
That late gum-digging, Esperanto teaching, vintner.
Beside a colossal collection of accordions with muzak,
Playing an instrument-impossible Whiter Shade of Pale,
Plus coins and buttons and stamps and Scotsmen,
Left feeling stunned, like I was tripping on acid.
The possum cull with prizes seemed almost normal.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 9:29 AM UTC
It is usually best to avoid
crushing hopelessness, to swerve
and defer disaster, but even so
the world is well and truly ****** up.
Seek solutions to this conundrum.
Try to avoid curiosity, a pernicious
strain of insanity that conjures up
irrational fears of orangutangs
with meat cleavers, lethally ascetic
Tibetan monks, bathroom carpets
of abandoned razors or Big Macs
rife with E. Coli.
Avoid metaphysical musings that lead
to questions of coleslaw, vegan
water parks, the Team Quadraplegic
Gymnastics squad and the horrors
of the Hilary Clinton Naked Network.
Seek refuge in the present tense to
escape the interrogation of mirrors,
the crafted answer, dacryphilia,
remedial rage, landslides of therapy
and memorizing each month's horoscope.
Consider that mercy is on back order from God.
Remember the best lines of an unread book.
Nap on a battlefield; haggle over imaginary debts.
Set fire to the umbrellas of passing strangers.
Stop to watch the loudness and burn the recovered dead.
Call up new magic for a dying world.
Find beauty in the irradiated glow of burning cities.
Try not to bounce existential checks or notice
the crumbling of distant walls, ruined outhouses,
and the immense bleakness of forever and ever.
Take up training small rodents and lighting holy fires.
Ignore the broken stars, long dead and beyond grief.
Discover the pleasure in erasure, enjoy the biology
of strangeness. Walk many miles without a map
beneath innumerable ladders carefully detouring
around immense flocks of rabid cassowaries.
Throttle the recalcitrant blue sky's silent throat.
Listen to the melody of car wrecks and smashed guitars.
Abandon assumed corpses to dreams of endless cold.
Appreciate futures you cannot believe in but never visit them.
Learn to diagram sentences in Esperanto then speak with toads.
Ignore the slot machine odds against your deepest desires.
Hide beneath the ravenous trees from time's famished maw.
Seek sanctuary in toothy optimism and complete amnesia.
Follow these impossible instructions to the letter
and you will become non-valent, invisible, immune
and no longer notice the world is ****** up
beyond redemption. Go on, give it a try.
~mce
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
I USED TO THINK THAT DOGS THOUGHT IN ENGLISH,
BUT, OF COURSE, IT COULD BE GERMAN OR SPANISH,
IF YOU TELL THEM TO SIT, THEY MAY NOT RESPOND,
JUST RUN AWAY TO THE BACK OF BEYOND;
I'M LOOKING UP 'SIT,' IN RUSSIAN, 'GET OFF
THAT ****** CHAIR,' IN CROATIAN AND 'COME
HERE, THERE'S A GOOD BOY' AND 'WELL DONE,'
PERHAPS WE JUST NEED AN 'ESPERANTO' SO
THAT THEY WILL ALL DO AS THEY'RE TOLD,
OTHERWISE WE WON'T LET THEM COME IN FROM THE COLD,
'STAY,' IN SWEDISH COULD MAKE THEM PEEVISH,
'FRIEND,' IN SWAHILI COULD MAKE THEM AN ENEMY,
WE DON'T WANT THEM TO BARK, MOPE AND PINE,
DON'T FORGET THE MAGIC COMMAND - 'NEIN, NEIN, NEIN!'
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 12:58 AM UTC
As if ornithology was the Esperanto of poets
wishing to construct a phoneme or pheromone
to extoll the details rather than build the case.
Spinning from my orbit as you, wondering
in sparse moments cleared by rain
do birds perch along the Grand Elysee in Zaatari?
And humans, uprooted, children too knowing blood:
what mode of classification, what terms to agree on
face-to-face down those dusty avenues?
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 6:22 PM UTC
Like Winston Smith,
I think it’s time to start a diary.
Follow me now: it’s April in Oceania,
The cruelest month,
The silly season, printemps,
A regular I see London, I see France.
I see Winston’s Underpants.
If you catch my drift?
La Primavera: Vivaldi’s rocking the
Juke box and the vote, Botticelli’s painting,
A mural on Jerusalem's wailing wall.
My diary will be hard evidence of thought crime.
Thought crime: one of the more severe varieties of
Religious experience & the most psychotic form of mental illness,
In a category known as antisocial personality disorders.
Thought crime means never getting into any serious trouble,
Until you’re caught, can we at least agree on that?
So, we'd better add the DSM to our stack of essential literary classics.
The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders,
Published by the American Psychiatric Association,
Providing a common language,
A shrink’s Esperanto.
DSM-IV codes classify mental disorders.
The DSM: a Frommer’s travel guide &
User’s manual for life on planet Earth.
So, like Orwell's Winston, I start a diary of my own; but
Unlike Mr. Smith, I address my message to the here &
What’s happening now, not the future, not the past but
N-a-zayer, N-a-zither NOW.
That's right, I write for the present:
“If thought was ever free, it is not free now."
If truth exists it is a closely guarded secret,
Although McLuhan’s observations hide in plain sight:
*“The new electronic interdependence, recreates
The world in the image of a global village.”*
Which makes us all global village idiots.
We are no longer different from one another;
The age of groupthink is here.
I write to you from an age of security & surveillance,
Warrantless search and predator drones,
An age where no man is ever truly alone.
From an age of standardization, replaceable parts,
Whirling dervishes, dabblers in spin control,
Newspeak and doublespeak,
Atlas shrugged, drugged and fugged,
The new world order:
All but the faint of heart need apply, …
"I send greetings.”
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 3:56 PM UTC
Lines drawn.
Erasers
kept tucked in back pockets.
I'm circled. I'm shaded.
Smudged out,
separated.
You'll redraw the floorplan
schematics are changing
and I've
got the handbook.
regulations tossed out windward.
Wearing out
all the reasons for more sensible feelings.
The seasons change fast here,
I'm sure you'll be leaving again.
And you'll go
any place
that the latest squall takes you,
expecting I'm waiting.
But I've got blueprints of my own.
"Go anywhere you choose.
I won't care about the news."
The headline that I'm writing
and I wish that it were true.
So roll me up with the rest
of the shabby, used up trash.
Emptied cups and smoked-out butts.
All that's good has been unwrapped.
I'm cellophane.
Life spans.
Placeholders.
Not even a memory.
It's notched up. It's useless.
Refused
and ablated.
I'll toss out these blueprints.
**** all these schematics.
And you
wrote the last word
scrawled out in constructed language.
Wearing out
every patience for these senseless intentions.
I'm fenced off. You flatter
yourself and you're leaving again.
And I'll go
right back home
to my tiny apartment
where four walls await me.
But I still don't want you to leave...
...'cuz it's easy to believe
that you're beautiful beneath
these buzzy, dimming bar lights,
squinting through this hazy scene.
I've seen
this one before.
I know the script
like the way to my front door.
But, with constructed language,
our meaning will languish.
And I'll fade back to static.
Again.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 12:20 PM UTC
To Ellac, I bequeath a nifty hat trick:
The Treaty of Margas,
Which Rome will probably now
spit upon,
The Sword of Mars,
Once taken by your unscrupulous
cousins, the Vandals,
And Esperanto,
For talk around the water cooler.
To Dingizich, I bequeath my Alexander the Great
Commemorative plates and the Gaza Strip
--have fun with that one.
To Emak, I bequeath the Goths
--Visi, Ostro, and Joy Division.
To all my remaining children,
I leave you a year's supply of
Rice-A-Roni, the San Francisco treat.
To my many, many wives, too numerous to count,
I leave my fingers and toes
Or a portion thereof.
And to that one particular wife, you know who you are,
I bequeath the title
The Scourge of God.
Dec 19, 2019
Dec 19, 2019 at 3:55 PM UTC
onomatopoeias proved to us the existence of actual realities with our inability to encode them given our phonetic vectoring of assertion and amiable frames to conduct the practice of farming (e.g.), onomatopoeias showed us the boundaries, we can hardly write the sound of rain with the 26 notables, so we turn from the practice of onomatopoeias and raise the flag of imagery with so so many comparative associations, like, like, like / akin to.
after i ate cat snacks
i realised two thing...
a. cats have a really coarse palette
in terms of taste-buds
b. i never intended my poetry
to be read, esp. by me,
so it seems i'm looking for
an orator; a bit like chopin
looking for a pianist
to play the silencer notes
of scores, written in the realm
of chaos of surd musical notation,
gangrene on the page;
readily amputated,
i never write to speak it,
i'm looking for a slave to do the fiasco
for me - sounds cruel,
but i guess kindness comes at a price.
he's just a pianist and gets to be called
an artist - let' just say he's a learned
decipherer of scores...
london was built on grime & grit...
liverpool was built on ore-land (northern eerie land),
my heart was left in scotland...
i never write for oration -
i left my heart in scotland, dancing on the roof
of the old college (of law).
honestly, the thinking of musical composers
always fascinated me, that schizoid-arena
of near-to-miss theological theory of
predestination working in them,
the ability to see the sound lag of a violin
or a cello, decipher it and note it down
in the universal language of music,
forget Esperanto... noting down the sound
of a raindrop, a hammer striking a nail,
i'm jealous of this enigma... i truly am
and i am unabashed by it...
my musical expression seems so dumb and quartered,
i've been given the rhythm section of the composition,
the parameters of punctuation...
i'm not jealous of prose writers,
they're the ones that say: an opera for an hour -
they define the longevity of the **** thing,
i possess power over yawns and impromptus
of the orchestral cowbell known as the silvery triangle.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 3:55 PM UTC
I am so smart, I can fool myself
but I am too stupid to figure me out.
What's your problem?
If you don’t stand for something,
You will fall for anything.
Now pick yourself up, get a number and wait for your turn.
I think, therefore I am over qualified.
And that’s why you work here.
No, it’s not ignorance nor arrogance
I’m just smarter than you.
Were you born deficient or are you just stupid today?
Do not believe or even read every word that I have written.
Do not believe everything you think.
Remember you are special, just like everyone else.
Remember to take your smart pills.
I can see you had an extra bowl of stupid for breakfast this morning.
Then stop pretending to be stupid, that’s just dumb.
When you leave home, don't forget where you live and
don't forget your pants, again.
Ask me about my ability to annoy anyone any time.
That’s Mr. ***** (aays - ol - aye) to you, it’s Esperanto.
And yes, it is part of my charm thanks for asking.
Are we having fun yet?
The daydream is the free thinkers nightmare,
what do you think? never mind
Perjury murdered imagination, without an assault rifle,
or second amendment rights, without mass media
or an internet connection. What's your excuse?
I didn’t say it was your fault, I said, I was going to blame you.
So, how does it feel to be back on the hamster wheel?
C’mon man really?
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 12:05 PM UTC
Patro, patrino.
Mother: the little father --
in Esperanto.
Jan 11, 2025
Jan 11, 2025 at 1:45 AM UTC
Necesas ne, ke vi atendu;
vi havas sufiĉe lernadon.
Parolas vi jam Esperanton,
se vi legas ĉi tiun skribadon.
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
there's so much to life, lodged in your head,
than there is to life, "attempting"
to explore the world.
for the former? there are no boundaries...
for the latter? there always will be
four walls, a ceiling, and a floor;
hence a cube... or what's called
a lament configuration... otherwise known
as a lemon.
but!
imagine it, otheriwse though!
*a cat barking!
a dog meowing!
oi! dalton! the grass is blue, the sky is
green... the earth is purple!*
by now schrödinger is more concerned
with his hand...
i am waving bye!
and with the other:
i'm shaking yours with it.
**** me... adios, is not exactly esperanto;
do i have to get all cockney accent on
this ******** or can the thrown **** truly
stick to the wall, and not slide down the wallpaper?
Jun 1, 2017
Jun 1, 2017 at 1:04 PM UTC