"ferdinand" poems
Simula ng makilala ka,
Buhay ko'y sumisigla,
Lagi akong masaya,
Nalaman ko ang tunay na kahulugan ng tuwa at ligaya,
Aking pagsinta,
Bakit nga ba?
Naranasan ko ang mga pambihirang bagay,
Ang mundo ko'y naging makulay,
Binuhay mo ang diwa kong matamlay,
Ikaw ang aking lakas,
Pinakita mo ang aking magandang bukas,
Mula sa simula, gitna, dulo at wakas,
Ang isip at puso ko'y iyong pinatalas,
Madapa man ako'y iyong hinawakan,
Binangon mo ako mula sa lupang aking kinasasadlakan,
Napuntahan ko ang dulo ng kalawakan,
Ang mga puno't halaman,
Ang berdeng kagubatan,
Ang ganda ng kabundukan,
Lahat ng ito'y aking nasisilayan,
Daan ka nga ng pakikipag-ugnayan,
Ika'y gamit sa pakikipagtalastasan,
Daan tungo sa kaunlaran,
Ngunit ako'y nanghihinayang,
Dahil ika'y di kilala ng maraming kabataan,
Sabi nga nila hindi ka magandang pagmasdan,
Di nila namamalayan,
Ika'y maaari nilang maging kaibigan,
Taglay mo ang naiibang kapangyarihan,
Ika'y iniregalo ni Rizal sa kanyang buthing may bahay,
Kay Josephine Bracken ika'y ibinigay,
"Kempis "ka kung tawagin,
Ika'y,"Tagalog Christ" naman para kay Ferdinand Blumentritt.
Alam kung di matatawaran,
Ang iyong kasiyahan,
Kapag ang mga pahina mo'y binubuksan,
Mabuti kang sandigan!
Sayo nagmumula ang di matatawarang panindigan,
at di-natitinag na katwiran,
Mabuti kang larawan,
Nagsisilbing huwaran,
Magpakailanman!
Maipagmamalaki kahit saan,
Pangako ko ika'y aking dadalhin,
Pupurihin, I-ingatan at papahalagahan,
Hanggang sa aking huling hantungan,
Sayo lamang...... Minamahal kong----aklat!
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 12:10 AM UTC
I can name you
The exact date
On which he was shot:
June 28, 1914.
Who killed him?
Gavrilo Princip,
Member of the Bosnian Nationalist
Movement: The Black
Hand.
Suddenly this montage
Of bullet chambers
And dead wars
Shift -
Hands. You. Me.
Your fingers,
Which I long to hold.
Your voice,
Which I long to hear.
Which I have forgotten -
Sometimes it is hard
To trace the annals
Of history. Our
****** pawprints
Make the trail of
Arms and hatred
Harder to keep straight
Than sin and so
We walk backwards.
****** trail of footsteps
Perhaps stepped
Into
By a meandering
Mao, or ******
Or Tojo. Muddied further
By the presence
Of an Alger
Hiss -
Your voice
Is a whisper,
It sings to me in
Secrets - I do not
Know you but I
Am in love,
You are beautiful and
I don't know why
But there's a
War. In my heart.
A war of attrition. Subtraction
Of causes. And the Archduke,
Well the Archduke
Is glad to see you.
Hear his dates blur
Into yours -
History tests,
And love notes
Crumpled away folded
And stored
In the same junk
Folder.
I imagine his hands
To have folded
Quite slowly,
Searching for something
To latch onto.
Like mine.
Empty palms flickering
Amidst a trail of
Blood and dust -
Oh, and yeah
The history lessons
Of course.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 2:12 PM UTC
Once upon a time there was an Italian,
And some people thought he was a rapscallion,
But he wasn't offended,
Because other people thought he was splendid,
And he said the world was round,
And everybody made an uncomplimentary sound,
But he went and tried to borrow some money from Ferdinand
But Ferdinand said America was a bird in the bush and he'd rather have a berdinand,
But Columbus' brain was fertile, it wasn't arid,
And he remembered that Ferdinand was married,
And he thought, there is no wife like a misunderstood one,
Because if her husband thinks something is a terrible idea she is bound to think it a good one,
So he perfumed his handkerchief with bay *** and citronella,
And he went to see Isabella,
And he looked wonderful but he had never felt sillier,
And she said, I can't place the face but the aroma is familiar,
And Columbus didn't say a word,
All he said was, I am Columbus, the fifteenth-century Admiral Byrd,
And, just as he thought, her disposition was very malleable,
And she said, Here are my jewels, and she wasn't penurious like Cornelia the mother of the Gracchi, she wasn't referring to her children, no, she was referring to her jewels, which were very very valuable,
So Columbus said, Somebody show me the sunset and somebody did and he set sail for it,
And he discovered America and they put him in jail for it,
And the fetters gave him welts,
And they named America after somebody else,
So the sad fate of Columbus ought to be pointed out to every child and every voter,
Because it has a very important moral, which is, Don't be a discoverer, be a promoter.
3.3k
Tra-la-la-la-la-la-laire—nil nisi divinum stabile
est; caetera fumus—the gondola stopped, the old
palace was there, how charming its grey and pink—
goats and monkeys, with such hair too!—so the
countess passed on until she came through the
little park, where Niobe presented her with a
cabinet, and so departed.
Burbank crossed a little bridge
Descending at a small hotel;
Princess Volupine arrived,
They were together, and he fell.
Defunctive music under sea
Passed seaward with the passing bell
Slowly: the God Hercules
Had left him, that had loved him well.
The horses, under the axletree
Beat up the dawn from Istria
With even feet. Her shuttered barge
Burned on the water all the day.
But this or such was Bleistein’s way:
A saggy bending of the knees
And elbows, with the palms turned out,
Chicago Semite Viennese.
A lustreless protrusive eye
Stares from the protozoic slime
At a perspective of Canaletto.
The smoky candle end of time
Declines. On the Rialto once.
The rats are underneath the piles.
The jew is underneath the lot.
Money in furs. The boatman smiles,
Princess Volupine extends
A meagre, blue-nailed, phthisic hand
To climb the waterstair. Lights, lights,
She entertains Sir Ferdinand
Klein. Who clipped the lion’s wings
And flea’d his **** and pared his claws?
Thought Burbank, meditating on
Time’s ruins, and the seven laws.
3.2k
If I had last words they would be…
Well… I mean… I see in those streams of invectives
I see especially people who drink, eat, sleep,
who make all human functions
Which are quite rather ******
And I shall say that they’re heavy
It never stopped being heavy
I noticed
I’ve read so many verses and particularly
verses from the 17th century
Verses, so-called courteous verses
I found 3 or 4 good ones in thousands of them
There’s little lightness in man
He’s heavy... isn’t he
And nowadays he’s extraordinary in heaviness
Since automobiles, alcohol, ambition, politics make him heavy
Even heavier
It’s mostly like that, he’s extremely heavy
Maybe one day shall we see a mind rebellion against the weight
But it isn’t for tomorrow
For now... we’re heavy
So I’d say indeed
If I had to die
I’d say
Man is heavy
That’s all
Oh! They were mean but...
Because they were heavy
They were heavy
They were heavy… jealous of a certain lightness
Jealous... jealous like a woman who wears a clothing burlap
instead of another who wears lace
Like someone who owns a workhorse
instead of a thoroughbred
Jealous...
Jealous of being heavy... that’s all
Crippled...
They weigh... they're crippled
Heaviness makes them *******
Therefore we can beware of them
They’re ready to do anything
Oh sure
They’re ready to do anything
And to activate heaviness
They drink, aren’t they
So when they drink, they turn into sledgehammers
It’s frightening, isn’t it
Sledgehammers without control
Yes, they’re especially like this
They activate... increase their weight
Instead of making themselves lighter
Oh! They’re not in Ariel’s side
They’re more like Caliban
More and more
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 1:49 AM UTC
Once I looked to the Bard for words profound;
ageless, his wisdom ran unabated.
Yet Hamlet is now ideologically unsound,
“the slings and arrows” historically Iocated.
I wept for the creature of Frankenstein,
spurned by his master, forced to roam the Earth.
But I’d been subjectively positioned in a paradigm
by Mary’s anxiety about childbirth.
I read Balzac, Hardy and Henry James
describing “worlds” which seemed quite sensible.
Now Eagleton’s exposed their bourgeois games
I find them morally reprehensible.
I dreamt of being Robinson Crusoe
or proud, fierce Hawkeye in his buckskins dressed,
but Fenimore and Defoe have to go,
they’re culturally encoded and empirically obsessed.
Inspired by Guinness, did James Joyce sit down
to see what magic flowed when he was ******
The stream of Ulysses floats Bloom-about-town
dreamthinkingnever : “I’mamodernist”.
I’d gladly give Woolf a Room of Her Own
and be one of the boys with Hemingway,
but sensitive guys leave their bulls alone
say de Beauvoir and Luce Irigaray.
No more fun with Wordsworth being daffodilly,
no simple pleasure reading Mickey Mouse;
Steamboat Willie can’t help but look silly
dissected by Foucault and Levi-Strauss.
The Bible shows intertextuality
says the two Jacques, Lacan and Derrida.
Judas, a construct of bisexuality?
The **** fixations of Herod are?
It’s got so bad I deconstruct a holiday brochure.
I can’t even **** without Roland Barthes and Ferdinand de Saussure.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 12:06 AM UTC
Speeding away from gravitational orbit
The moon ablaze as gazes glare from the cockpit
A jacket of jet leather with patches abound
The Dead Kennedys and Franz Ferdinand
Keeping political war on Earth's ground
Flying away into the plains of space
As the plane of time gives hearty chase
Hollow youth filled with snippets of old age
As their battlecry channels an inner rage
Death to all earthly matters that muddle our future
The neon glow hums as the last remnant of a culture
So make way for this warrior who shall bring us all closure
Rebelling like a banshee set ablaze over Orion's shoulder
Ensuring the enemy's final haze destroys their dying composure
May 9, 2019
May 9, 2019 at 3:49 PM UTC
In 1972,
Nixon shook hands with Mao
and the world turned its back on Taiwan.
In 1972,
Ceylon changed its name to Sri Lanka,
Okinawa returned to Japan,
and Jane Fonda became Hanoi Jane.
In 1972,
twin Olympics were held,
hungry tigers on wooden skis dashing
down the white slopes of Sapporo,
while the streets of Munich ran red
with the blood of slain Israelis.
In 1972,
Elvis was still the king,
Elton wasn’t quite the queen
and Prince was still a quiet teen.
On September 21, 1972,
Philippine president Ferdinand Marcos
placed my grandmother’s homeland under martial law.
I was born that day
while my grandmother wept.
Jan 5, 2021
Jan 5, 2021 at 9:17 PM UTC
Mr Kalashnikov I'll ask you nicely
Please don't point that thing at me
Laszlo Biro how nice to see you
Without you where would we be?
Mr Molotov may I remind you
You are in polite company
May I present the Earl of Sandwich
Do partake of his wares
And special desserts are served soon after
Presented in person by Anna Pavlova
The Duke of Wellington brought in some mud
Mr Macintosh is expecting a flood
Candido Jacuzzi and Joseph Pilates
Appear to be making friends
Henry Shrapnel and Joseph Guillotin
Who invited them?
Ferdinand von Zeppelin,
Perhaps you would like a schnapps?
Mr Winchester, Mr Colt, Mr Gatling, Mr Lewis
So many gunmen I'm alarmed I confess
May I trouble you Mr Hoover
To help tidy up the mess?
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 4:00 PM UTC
In 1492,
Columbus had a few
Things to do
Before he sailed the ocean blue.
He needed some green,
If you know what I mean,
So he went to see the King and Queen
Of Portugal, England, and France:
They laughed, shook their heads and said, “No chance.”
While his Homies back in Italy
Said, “Christabo, you gotta be kiddin’ me.
You want to do WHAT!? And you want US to pay?
We think you're a nut, now go on, go away."
But he didn’t give up and he didn’t complain,
He shook it off and took off for Spain
Where Ferdinand and Isabella,
Thinking him a righteous fella,
Told him they would float his boat,
If their country he’d promote,
Plant their flag on lands discovered, and
Bring them riches he uncovered, so
They all signed on the dotted line, and
Columbus said, “The pleasure’s mine!”
Then he smiled and bowed and said, “I’ll see’ya!”
And hopped aboard the Santa Maria.
See Christopher knew the Greek Geeks found,
That instead of flat, the earth was round,
So he thought he knew, or at least he guessed,
That it might be best
To get Far East by sailing west.
He pulled up anchor, set the sail
Told ninety men, success or fail,
West, they’d go, and west they went
Seventy days, provisions spent,
When land was spotted, dead ahead,
Columbus planted the flag and said,
“I claim this land for the King of Spain,
In doing so increase his reign,
And underneath this flag, unfurled,
Declare New Spain, a brand new world!”
What Columbus didn’t anticipate
He was 500 years or so too late,
For Eric the Red, and Leif, his son,
Long ago discovered Newfoundland.
Now when history tells North America’s story,
There’s room for both to share the glory.
But another fact, it’s become quite clear,
There were thousands of people already here,
See life in Asia wasn’t so great,
Some folks decided not to wait,
They just walked across the Bering Strait,
So Chris and Leif both got here late!
Phil Lindsey 1/27/17
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 11:47 PM UTC
i arrived in this world with no map to guide me but the palms of your hands. you let me hold them sometimes, and they’re warm and inviting.
sometimes you make me feel starry-eyed with your words, or at least that’s what you used to do
but i’m waiting for you to send me constellations of goosebumps running down my arms and spine
i will shape myself into an amateur cartographer, and make it an active point to mark places on the map that we’ve been to together, and as i trace my fingers across towns and mountains we’ve yet to cross, a part of me wonders if we’ll even get to any of those destinations
because somehow you’re staggering and i don’t know why or what’s holding you back
still i persist, i yearn for adventure.
i leave the map unfurled and smooth the creases of my sudden remembrance that i came here alone. i made my own decisions and ran into you in the meanwhile.
you too, were a wandering traveler. your feelings as nomadic as your feet on these lands. i wouldn’t call myself foolish to have ever gotten involved, but you are embedded in my memories. a new story for me to flesh out every time someone asks me how i got here or there. i’ll keep meandering from town to town, but no longer will i seek you — you may find me.
i realized this was not your map, but mine.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 2:21 AM UTC
De las Casas records in stark numbers the genocide that took place under Columbus and the Spaniards, writing that when he first came to Hispaniola in 1508, "there were 60,000 people living on this island, including the Indians; so that from 1494 to 1508, over three million people had perished from war, slavery, and the mines. Who in future generations will believe this? I myself writing it as a knowledgeable eyewitness can hardly believe it...."[80]
Columbus and his brothers lingered in jail for six weeks before busy King Ferdinand ordered their release. Not long after, the king and queen summoned the Columbus brothers to the Alhambra palace in Granada. There the royal couple heard the brothers' pleas; restored their freedom and wealth; and, after much persuasion, agreed to fund Columbus's fourth voyage. But the door was firmly shut on Columbus's role as governor. Henceforth Nicolás de Ovando y Cáceres was to be the new governor of the West Indies
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 3:42 PM UTC
"Take a throne, we're all royalty here"
Said the Master of Ceremonies to The Peeping Tom, The Spokesperson, The Wretch and The One Man Band
He pulled out the syllabus
It said that each of his colleges must fulfill a duty if they wanted membership into this social club
The One Man Band had to seek out a impudent amputee, a touchy nomad and give them brochures to a day spa
The Spokesperson was asked to to find his inner child, his feminine side and his sensitive side while making good conversation with Arch Duke Franz Ferdinand and ask him why he holds a grudge against Bosnia
The Wretch was given the task to sell Avon products to those who looked like death warmed over and sway their urges to burn their candles at both ends
Lastly, the Peeping Tom was told to teach the languid, rough and tumble lipid worshiping people the number line then pass out pamphlets on healthy living
After reviewing their work and the rubric, the Master of Ceremonies congratulated them, they were in
"You will all now be a part of history, figures on this brotherhood's timeline; you fit the bill!"
They all got up as the Wretch footed the bill and went on to go wassailing
-Tommy Johnson
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 1:17 PM UTC
Mahusay na napagtagumpayan ang Tagapagtanggol na kurso
Magaling na tagapagtanggol, sundalo at senador
Nagtayo at nagtaguyod ng mga dakilang proyekto
Napahaba serbisyo, nakilalang diktador.
-12/25/2014
(Dumarao)
*Pinuno Namin sa Panahong Pilak Collection
Sep 14, 2019
Sep 14, 2019 at 10:29 PM UTC
Hello,
there's someone I'd like you to meet.
Ferdinand is his name,
a great hero he's destined to be!
He was carved out from an ocean trench
Each limb, taken from the base of mountains
On his head rests seven thunderclouds
His heart burns hotter than the whitest sun
I want you to feel the terror of his mighty arms, swinging, lobbing jagged rocks at you
I want you to hear the volts and feel the jolts surging through your spine
I want you to fear him, to be frozen in shock and awe, to loathe him, to love him
I want you to see him too.
I want Ferdinand to live!
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 5:08 AM UTC
A weak and vacillating man,
one vain and narcissistic ,
once drew a line upon the sand
with consequences cataclysmic.
Now some will say
the line’s been crossed,
while others say not yet.
Intervening in a civil war
won’t end without regret.
Relentlessly his minions beat
the drums and call for war.
Propagandists lionize
Their would be king once more.
In Austria, Franz Ferdinand
is stirring in his crypt.
Entangling alliances-
It seems I’ve read this script.
Now if the lights go out again
as they have dimmed before
We will not see them lit again
If we blunder into war.
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 9:16 AM UTC
I am a taurus
somewhat of a Ferdinand
out smelling flowers
eyeing pretty little cows
capering in the pasture
but those that make the mistake
of thinking me soft or meek
or even a bit foolish
find out to their pained chagrin
that this gentle Ferdinand
becomes El Toro
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 12:52 AM UTC
Rasputin, tsarevich Alexei
you can find them in a book of history
history is like a tireless eyewitness
history is nothing but
ancient
collections
of eternity
seek out
the causes
of French
and bolshevik revolutions
the grandson
of Genghis Khan
Vlad the Impaler
queen Isabella and
Ferdinand
Lawrence of Arabia
they vanished
long ago
you can find them in a book of history
Aug 21, 2022
Aug 21, 2022 at 6:05 AM UTC
“Trip”
I want to be great
You want to be grand
You appreciate me
When i can't really see
The hope in my heart
Cause i'm not nearly as smart
As you with your shyness
And amazingly long silence
But Ferdinand my friend
I don't often tend
To think these things through
So i’ll just say it to you
You confuse so thoroughly
That I can’t really tell
Whether i’m flying for you
Or simply falling with style
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 11:56 PM UTC
I feel like listening to jazz today
Because it is raining and I remember your story
About how it was raining so hard
That you had to stop to tie your shoelaces
And wipe your tears
This jazz album is yours
I got it when I asked
If you were dating anyone
You said you thought so
And I felt that I was Chicken Little
Because the sky came crashing down on me
I don't feel like that anymore
These days I just want to leave this house
And pretend that I'm some wayward Ferdinand
Like that song you loved so much
Because I get so tired
I hear jazz and I remember you
I watch films and I remember you
I see Helvetica and I remember you
I don't want to remember you anymore
Begging makes it bad on all sides
That's what they say
But please, just please
Stay out of my head and my dreams
I'm trying to make this easy for both of us.
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 12:33 PM UTC
I want to stop breaking people like glass, and I'm tired of hearing my own bones shatter because I allow others to crush them as they walk all over me. I want the world to stop changing for a moment so I can catch up with the times, but I'll never catch up, I'll never see the light of day if I keep hiding myself under the blanket of night where the stars seem to shine brighter than any future I could ever hold on this Earth. I am alone and the ground is shaking and time stops for no one and I believe it wouldn't be wrong to say that I love you because I do, but it is wrong because here I am, trying to pick up the pieces of my ever breaking heart and I can't remember a time when I could breathe because my lungs are failing and my blood is under oxygenated and I feel an emptiness somewhere in between my ribs or my less than whole and aching heart. Everything is dark, everything leaves a foul taste in the back of my throat and the leaves my be green, but I am dead and I am a walking, rotting corpse and I am surely a shame to this world because all I have to contribute to this earth are the sad stories I tell and the random facts I know about Archduke Franz Ferdinand and horrible words that sort of sometimes turn into poems, so what is the point of living when you're just full of nothing of importance? if I died, no, when I die, I will be either put into the ground or burned, which is not what I want (I would love to either be sent into space or made into a tree) but that will most likely never happen, so at least I will live long enough to know that people **** and anything can break your heart and that you don't care, no you don't care one bit and neither should I, but I care too much about everything and everyone and that is where I'm going wrong. that is why I am dying, I have given every good part of me away and all that is left are the feelings of misery, depression, and disconnectedness inside of my burning soul. if my body were a galaxy, my heart would be the black hole in the middle, for it surely knows how to grab onto the surrounding planets and stars and make them fall in till they are ripped apart piece by piece until they are nothing.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 3:01 AM UTC
He will rap in condo
and made honey in sea
that flounders there
and will lure cat to whim
that always a superlative eat
will net her curry
with splendiferous grins
inside hour of distress
as Viennese now Mozart
though Europe will glimmer
these peoples are goldeness
that Ferdinand will land here
in this time of tragedy again
and willingly muster a precious wish.
Jan 31, 2017
Jan 31, 2017 at 7:12 AM UTC
Sitting in the full moonlight
I realize it has always been
a question of which gods
I will follow and which gods
I must leave behind
if I am ever going
to get home or anywhere
and realize I am the one
who is making all this up
out of the creative power
of my own ideas good
and bad and can when I
get willing and ready become
a real human being
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
Exhaustion brings forth emotional happiness,
Ephemeral drug-induced exhaustion gives time enough to recall what is lost
during the noisy turmoil of cobwebby mind.
Silent is the room, a round robust room,
safely peregrinated around by Ferdinand Magellan.
I imagine how impaccably resilient is the barrier – a bony barrier of body contains an intermittent ruction,
the turbulence of nothingness.
Then comes a thin cutaneous membrane all over the body, potent to conceal an absolute abyss.
Envy does not provide with comfort.
A spiffing news spreads faster than rumour. Here I sit, sleepy and carefree, to imbue my vein with your pleasure. The pleasure of the universe attacks and multiplies like a contagious disease; An opaque streak of burnt hope appears, disappears,
disappears and appears in the guise of pleasure, whom we craved.
It's nothing more than a deceptive premonition of healing.
Let him convalesce who is meek and naive. These be my final words before another fit of unknown trepidation begins.
– Sarban Bhattacharya
Apr 24, 2020
Apr 24, 2020 at 1:59 AM UTC