"friedrich" poems
Friedrich Claus Owner at Self-Employed
All copyright belongs above
Tax his land, tax his wage,
Tax his bed in which he lays.
Tax his tractor, tax his mule,
Teach him taxes is the rule.
Tax his cow, tax his goat,
Tax his pants, tax his coat.
Tax his ties, tax his shirts,
Tax his work, tax his dirt.
Tax his chew, tax his smoke,
Teach him taxes are no joke.
Tax his car, tax his grass,
Tax the roads he must pass.
Tax his food, tax his drink,
Tax him if he tries to think.
Tax his sodas, tax his beers,
If he cries, tax his tears.
Tax his bills, tax his gas,
Tax his notes, tax his cash.
Tax him good and let him know
That after taxes, he has no dough.
If he hollers, tax him more,
Tax him until he’s good and sore.
Tax his coffin, tax his grave,
Tax the sod in which he lays.
Put these words upon his tomb,
“Taxes drove me to my doom!”
And when he’s gone, we won’t relax,
We’ll still be after the inheritance tax.
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 6:26 AM UTC
"silence is worse; all truths that are kept silent become poisonous.” ― friedrich nietzsche
like poking the hornet's nest with a stick, you are a rose with stems and thorns so thick,
your skin is protection from oppression, keeping the world out of your private channels
like i'm AM and you're FM all of which are static with distorted voices only science can pry through your enigmatic cacophony on a molecular level, and any evidence of who you are, i couldn't find with years of knowledge, a indestructible ship could speak more evidence about
why it was annihilated, obliterated, disintegrated under the ocean for months at a time without
any current survivors, and the last person i could be described as would be Sherlock Holmes
every detail washes over my head like a flood of details that can't enter because a force field
surround my head like it's a crown being so clueless, but it feels like i'm wearing a dunce hat
and maybe i do realize that there will be a position where you will be put out into light
there is no way out of your mind, like a schizophrenic, if kryptonite killed superman,
can it **** the infectious virus spreading like wildfire through these veins, can you stop
worrying about when you will finally break down and open up to someone?
****
- kra
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
A sign we are, without meaning
Without pain we are and have nearly
Lost our language in foreign lands,
For when the heavens quarrel
Over humans and moons proceed
In force, the sea
Speaks out and rivers must find
Their way. But there is One,
Without doubt, who
Can change this any day. He needs
No law. The rustle of leaf and then the sway of oaks
Besides glaciers. Not everything
Is in the power of the gods. Mortals would sooner
Reach toward the abyss. With them
The echo turns. Though the time
Be long, truth
Will come to pass.
But what we love? We see sunshine
On the floor and motes of dust
And the shadows of our native woods and smoke
Blooms from rooftops, at peace beside
Turrets' ancient crowns; for the signs
Of day are good if a god has scarred
The soul in response.
Snow like lilies of the valley,
Signifying a site
Of nobility, half gleams
With the green of the Alpine meadow
Where, talking of a wayside cross
Commemorating the dead,
A traveler climbs in a rage,
Sharing distant premonitions with
The other, but what is this?
By the figtree
My Achilles died
And Ajax lies
By the grottoes of the sea,
By streams, with Scamandros as neighbor.
In the persisting tradition of Salamis,
Great Ajax died
Of the roar in his temples
And on foreign soil, unlike
Patroclos, dead in king's armor. And many
Others also died. On Kithairon
Lay Eleutherai, city of Mnemosyne. And when
God cast off his cloak, the darkness came to cut
Her lock of hair. For the gods grow
Indignant if a man
Not gather himself to save
His soul, yet he has no choice; like-
Wise, mourning is in error.
Friedrich Holderlin
translated by Richard Sieburth
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 3:56 PM UTC
The fruits are ripe, dipped in fire, cooked
And tested here on earth, and it is a law,
Prophetic, that all things pass
Like snakes, dreaming on
The hills of heaven. And as
A load of logs upon
The shoulders, there is much
To bear in mind. But the paths
Are evil. For like horses,
The captive elements
And ancient laws
Of the earth go astray. Yet always
The longing to reach beyond bounds. But much
To be retained. And loyalty a must.
But we shall not look forward
Or back. Let ourselves rock, as
On a boat, lapped by the waves.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
These are modern English translations of the "Xenia" epigrams written in collaboration by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller.
#2 - Verse versus Kiss
She says an epigram’s too terse
to reveal her tender heart in verse ...
but really, darling, ain’t the thrill
of a kiss much shorter still?
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
#5 - Criticism
Why don’t I openly criticize the man? Because he’s a friend;
thus I reproach him in silence, as I do my own heart.
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
#11 - Highest Holiness
What is holiest? This heart-felt love
binding spirits together, now and forever.
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
#12 - Love versus Desire
You love what you have, and desire what you lack
because a rich nature expands, while a poor one contracts.
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
#19 - Nymph and Satyr
As shy as the trembling doe your horn frightens from the woods,
she flees the huntsman, fainting, uncertain of love.
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
#20 - Desire
What stirs the virgin’s heaving ******* to sighs?
What causes your bold gaze to brim with tears?
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
#23 - The Apex I
Everywhere women yield to men, but only at the apex
do the manliest men surrender to femininity.
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
#24 - The Apex II
What do we mean by the highest? The crystalline clarity of triumph
as it shines from the brow of a woman, from the brow of a goddess.
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
#25 -Human Life
Young sailors brave the sea beneath ten thousand sails
while old men drift ashore on any bark that avails.
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
#35 - Dead Ahead
What’s the hardest thing of all to do?
To see clearly with your own eyes what’s ahead of you.
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
#36 - Unexpected Consequence
Friends, before you utter the deepest, starkest truth, please pause,
because straight away people will blame you for its cause.
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
#41 - Earth versus Heaven
By doing good, you nurture humanity;
but by creating beauty, you scatter the seeds of divinity.
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Keyword/Tags: Goethe, Schiller, epitaph, epigram, German, Germany, translation, love, kiss, friendship, desire, holy, holiness, earth, heaven, beauty, divinity, nature, spirit
Feb 6, 2021
Feb 6, 2021 at 4:39 AM UTC
God died right after had given her
The power of creation
Who is she to talk Friedrich
Like her blue premature infant?
I liked the color blue but it is
The color of forget-me-nots
Who am I to talk flower
Like my growing hair down under?
"What are humans?
Why am I different?"
Who is God to ask?
The talking doll now is God
No, no different than
The sky nor the ocean
God is a rolling title
Like a dough, like eyeballs
Who is it to talk breadcrumbs?
The birds aren't like that anymore
I sat on the table
Flipped
No, no different than a shared diary --- Then
Lou Gehrig should be happy
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 1:12 AM UTC
"Being at one is god-like and good, but human, too human, the
mania
Which insists there is only the One, one country, one truth and
one way. "
Friedrich Holderlin
translated by Michael Hamburger
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 3:59 PM UTC
Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.
Friedrich Nietzsche
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 11:37 PM UTC
I promise you that we will make love
On a bed full of philosophy books
So that the depth of our hunger
Matches the depth of our thinking
Every press of my nail upon your flesh
Will have you question your existence
You'll feel more alive with every thought
Then you will understand Rene Descartes
Our smoldering bodies radiating pleasure
Will have you disregard the material world
This passion will posses the highest reality
Then you'll understand Plato's forms
Amidst my guidance toward your ******
You will hold values and aspirations close
And form your most perfect self with me
Then you'll understand Friedrich Nietzsche
On this bed full of marvelous thoughts
We will lay tangled exhausted overjoyed
For our love our lust and our everything
Will have the immensity of philosophy itself
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 12:00 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
She is an anti-thesis to Maya Angelou’s conscience
She stretches Maya’s awareness beyond rudimentary perfection
She is a public commoner with her insatiable palatability,
She eats French fries and pork like a carnivorous queen
Her instinct cannot save her from curse of pinching,
She is tall and slander with all virtues of beauteous individuality
Which the sagacious Friedrich von Schiller saw in frivolous Cassandra,
She has tattooed nose and ornamented death, not white in taint of alcohol hue
Chains of jewellery around her neck and hands, sea corals as beads around her waist,
She loves rough men like Alexander Pushkin who died in Duel, and the militant Othello
Who only woos by using the vaginal ******** of the alligator
As his Casanova’s love voodoo bequeathed to him by his mother,
She spends money from a foreign sweat, in thrifts and thrifts,
She commands unilateral faculty of non-numerical learning
With her indelibility dominating the world of Music and painting,
She dares not to dream of true love, but her faith is in weakness of men
Hot in bed like an Italian pizza oven and cold in reason like tundra climate.
The non phenomenal woman the mother of my first born son,
I took him to Oxford University for a degree course in land law
He came back with a diploma in being a barber, good in shaving!
He is so handsome in pettiness with mighty athletic mediocrity
Vices redolent of maternal genetics in the non phenomenal woman,
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
"Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings - always darker, emptier and simpler." - Friedrich Nietzsche
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 2:04 AM UTC
The heart’s shadow withers restive on the soul;
it becomes an illusion of an image
that was once a lascivious,
yet taciturn, reflection
of a life worth living—
(Friedrich Nietzsche once wrote: "To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering."
If you embrace that you will assuredly always run toward the suffering,
and smile.)
—Time. Fear not for Time will eventually devour us all.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 4:42 PM UTC
Why do people leave me?
Why do love only give birth to be slaughtered by your hands?
I am so afraid.
You won’t listen.
You won’t tell me the words I want to hear.
I bring myself into the fires as I scream and smoke fills my lungs and the fire licks my body angrily - the same way your hands are all over me. I scream. Nightmares.
Daymares.
Reality.
I wish I didn’t end up like this all the time
I have a tortured soul, and one day, Jung and Nietzsche told me, I will too, become the torturer
But ******
I fight, and I fight it so hard
I fight so hard to not hurt others
It’s all I ever do
I fight, and
I fight but I never seem to win
I had given in, accepted my fate
Why did you have to tear down
all
I
built
?
Maybe this all I really am;
a punching bag;
dust;
pulp;
Please, one time.
Help me up before you throw me out the window.
Next time, don’t let them get so close.
Don’t let them
Them
and
me,
against the world.
I should know better.
I sink.
No metaphors.
No similes, please.
No poems. Please.
Just empty words after all.
Yes, beautiful. But
empty.
...
Take it all away.
Please.
Leave your knives,
leave your swords,
leave your guns.
Stop killing me.
Stop.
Please, stop me before I dive into the dark, freezing ocean -
there is nowhere for me in this world.
So, to sleep.
Perchance to dream…
and all of that.
Let’s be true.
I don’t really know Hamlet’s soliloquy.
But **** Shakespeare. He doesn’t know how hard it is.
Ophelia didn’t drown herself so easily - I don’t sink so easily, but I still do - and every night I dream, I go away.
Forever.
I’m not alone.
I tell lies.
Okay, so maybe I’m not okay.
But when will I ([n]ever) be?
I am born with this heritage.
With this scarred soul.
And William, Friedrich, Carl…
- well, this is just another story of loneliness and giving up.
The crazy bunch.
Maybe, this is the last straw.
Maybe, I’ll finally go crazy.
The inevitable will happen.
The lonely will be left - completely alone.
The self-destructing fool,
finally, self-destructing oneself.
It’s so difficult to climb this ladder.
…
I’ll just go down.
The water is cold.
May 29th 2014
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 10:46 AM UTC
I didn't see it coming;
I expected nothing else.
Thirteen years old, hiding behind the rules
so I didn’t have to face
that shortcoming, that missing piece.
Once I had accepted limitation as
the sublime:
something that would come in time.
The constraints, then, gave it meaning,
deciding who says what.
Syntax is rules, and rules are limitations.
Without them, we are-- what?
But in time I came to want it,
that freedom to--
I traded "pressure to not" for "pressure to do".
Peering through the rhetoric,
I ventured into the upper reaches, and
I came apart.
There was nothing to hold me together
in this elevator, its yellowed walls crumbling away.
“Not all freedom is good. You can have terrible freedom.”
Was it the mother or the Aunt that said this?
Or Friedrich “entsetzliche Freiheit”--
Ah, Schiller.
What of the Mrs? Did she have freedom
in her husband, in Richard F.?
More freedom in the
(cock-and-) (ball-and-) chains
than in the haze of youth?
The most, then, (it can be presumed)
from her departures: first to Alaska,
then even farther north, from where none return.
As freedom dissolved into expectation,
itself now another limitation, I wondered.
Which had it worse:
the woman (machine) outside the yellowing elevator walls,
or the girl (ghost) pacing within?
Aug 21, 2024
Aug 21, 2024 at 4:39 AM UTC
“And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 6:42 PM UTC
On my way from the camel
to the child
I would like to be
an impressive peacock!
Some dandy! An Oscar.
But what really happens is this:
A Zen-master shows up
and rips this aphorism apart:
„Better to stick your nose into
the galaxy,“ he utters grumpily,
„don’t miss that beauty!“
And what a nice philosophy –
I will take that opportunity.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 2:42 PM UTC
The Pen of Friedrich - I
*To live is to suffer,
to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering*
*A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum
shows that faith does not prove anything*
*You have your way.
I have my way.
As for the right way,
the correct way,
and the only way,
it does not exist*
*Ah, women.
They make the highs higher and the lows more frequent*
*And we should consider every day lost
on which we have not danced at least once.
And we should call every truth false
which was not accompanied by at least one laugh*
*The true man wants two things:
danger and play.
For that reason he wants woman,
as the most dangerous plaything.*
**a few of my favorite quotes from
The Pen of Friedrich Nietzsche**
Gomer LePoet ....
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 6:45 AM UTC
Do you like this painting by Friedrich?
YES or NO,
A binary one or zero answer please,
true or false.
I like recognized neural solutions
posed to logistically regressed ideas.
Do you like the color
BLUE or YELLOW?
YES, I did like GREEN,
so slender and bright
faced in her youth.
We were adolescents with too many connections
And maybe not enough pruning.
Or maybe we were just mixed and mash-up,
media saturated?
What do you think?
Did you lust for GREEN too?
YES or NO, true or false.
And now, are we adults or autistic kids?
We withdraw, refuse to recognize faces,
limit human touch because it's all
too overwhelming-- reduced to visual cats,
difficult to herd by old Hands
and cooperative Rules.
We wanderer above the Cloud
seeing answers from a Fog of Random data.
Old world romantics, Greenhorns
in the brave new world of hard logic
and emotional detachment.
If we randomly assign
BLUE = false, YELLOW = true, and GREEN = lust;
logic tells us false AND true must equal false.
A novel recognition that sometimes when
BLUE mixes with YELLOW, we are again BLUE!
By sheer force of color faith
and romantic human sensibility,
we mix falsehood with truth
to arrive at what we desire.
In our blue hearts, and yellow skin
we still green after romance.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC
When your fellow poet becomes jealous
Of your nick knacks love of the art
pure jealousy! lots of rocks to throw
I will continued to nibble on my dry ball point pen
I will rise up;
You will always be the underdog
I am not your caged bird
The scattered jeers, your hissy fits
your dark shadow of misery
or the back channel of you being misled.
It's only fair to say that---
**'Stupid as a man,' say the women: 'cowardly as a woman,' say the men. Stupidity in a woman is unwomanly."
-Friedrich Nietzsche**
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 1:08 PM UTC
i just looked at friedrich hölderlin's
life and thought: fair enough, Hegel might
get his bagel... but i'll have this madcap's
treaty of honour... the rest can have
the woman who will assuredly spend, and spend,
and keep the economical side of
things in tip-top ticktock... i don't mind death,
having embraced it once, my only fear of death is
a death that i should not wish to exercise against
the educational demonology of the Catholic church,
i.e. not exercising my rights to admit euthanasia...
as one poet said: the sane are too numerous,
too moralised, too cocksure and ***********
you can hear them talking but it just ends
up being a chance to hear them gagging
with a fur-ball... your thoughts on suicide are one,
but your thoughts on medical suicide are another...
that a: the joke wishes to die, what will the people
ever do next? cry? i believe in the Sinai Sun...
i believe in Taiyō as i believe in the Ensō -
Thai-yo-yo... if i am not allowed this luxury
i believe there's no need for a sofa, or a television...
or a care for your opinion being matched
to consider the way to live equal to mine...
your own the path sown and sewed...
each to our own straitjackets and the signature alive,
and epitaph dead.
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 10:46 PM UTC
We won't stand in silence, my brethren and I.
We can find beauty in violence, what colors when you die.
We stand here now where others may have fallen.
From Friedrich William Nietzsche to Joseph ****** Stalin.
Whether they be a tyrant, a king, or an overlord.
A musician, a muse, or a thinker due accord.
These people changed the world, for better or for worse.
Some left this world a little better, some of them accurse.
Put to ink these thoughts of yours as random as they seem.
Write about your problems, or jot down your favorite dream.
One of us who saw you would really like to know.
Did you ever fall in love and how did your spirit learn to grow.
You will change the world. How much to be decided.
Whether it's by acts or words, I'm sure some will be delighted.
Except for you Gacy. **** you.
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 6:06 PM UTC
We found our best sly roundabout way
Moving money from government sway
Bitcoin is strong - they cannot halt
The elegant network, or break the vault
Hayek foresaw the deeply set need
To better the money, minus the greed
With interest rate that’s naturally found
And not distorted, lowered or bound
Bitcoin, the peaceful revolution
A useful decentralized solution
Stops debasement & halts the power
Of looters who seek to steal each hour
Enhances freedom across the lands
Adds real value into people’s hands
Friedrich Hayek had this truth to say
We must find a sly roundabout way
Apr 14, 2023
Apr 14, 2023 at 11:21 AM UTC
Come, let us plant the seed of love,
let's create what some scientist said that was impossible
Let our love show in a magnificent way
Let it be healthy, wealthy and wise in coming years
It would be tears, it would be joy,
He would be our love joy and our sweet boy:
There is madness, there is happiness,
However, as we all know, happiness is found in the
Madness of one's life.
“There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche
Enter me with the warmth of your love,
Deposit the gift of life, as you seed flow and reach the tubes,
One smart egg will bond to become our next generation
Why would we do this, why?
Love like this is rare,
Come, let us plant the seed of your love
And we shall see our blessing of tomorrow.
Are you ready for fatherhood,
Are you ready for the responsibility
Are you ready to believe that one plus one
Equal three, are you ready kuku?
So, let's plant the seed of love.
We plant this seed, on the bed of
Residency the Blessing, on the coolest night
In Accura, near the Gulf of Guinea,
A sign of life, a sign of hope,
You should plant this seed,
It could be a future doctor
who would cure, senseless disease
A politician who can change numerous things
As he travels the world for free,
And speak up about the country economy
Or become the better poet, than his mother
Could ever be, Lord blessed thee!
One day his grandchildren will ask
Who was my grandparents, thank God
For them, that hour, when they planted the seeds.
Feb 20, 2023
Feb 20, 2023 at 11:10 AM UTC
I almost fell out of love
when I read your Tragedy and discovered your
Belief that poetry was no art.
That’s about the time I understood how
you could
stomach Kant. Your love of Dionysus.
You were
always so strict for someone with such
feeling.
Existing somewhere.
Alone in your dialectic irony.
But those were the early years,
before your father went insane
and you ran from a lifetime, with a
craned neck
only to slam into the shadow of your own Madness
atop that peak,
where you gave birth to millions of
dancing stars.
(Or was it millions of little sheep?)
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC