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Lay me doon in the caul caul groon
Whaur afore monie mair huv gaun
Lay me doon in the caul caul groon
Whaur afore monie mair huv gaun

It was silent. His body sunk into the earth.
His soul long gone from there. He had died
A gun upon his arms.

When they come a wull staun ma groon
Staun ma groon al nae be afraid

He had died with a home that his dream would
live on.

Thoughts awe hame tak awa ma fear
Sweat an bluid hide ma veil awe tears

Later they had told us he had died with courage
and valor.

Ains a year say a prayer faur me
Close yir een an remember me

The shots continue he fell by the
tenth.

Nair mair shall a see the sun
For a fell tae a Germans gun

A ******* grasped in his stone
cold hand

Lay me doon in the caul caul groon
Whaur afore monie mair huv gaun

He saw a line of faces, brown, black
and white. Some were smiling others,
crying

Lay me doon in the caul caul groon
Whaur afore monie mair huv gaun

His body sunk into the cold, wet ground
As God opened his arms, for a boy
drenched in blood.

Whaur afore monie mair huv gaun*

A group waited in the wings. Soldiers
from many places. Who fought to keep
their shores safe.
Thank You
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2021
to have to little to say in so few
a words...
i'd hope for some Gabbie Hanna(h)
inspiration-al
   sic quotes...
               i don't want to write
oeuvre: -esque -esque stilettos of pain
grand reveals...
sejong the great:
who invented the Hangul is
my all time top three favourite
dead person...
  from among the denizens of
circa: hier...
                jetzt...
       i'd like to borrow from all
the waves of people: dead dead dead...
my envy is spastic & fantastic
because i'd scribble-bee
every, single, linguist...
first... of most importance...
to behave around food doubly-butchered
i.e. when beef is cooked it's
best to redeem it on the altar
and have it medium rare:
not chalk-brick annoyingly
translated into a glutton-fixation
of calories count etc.
i drink cheap ***** *****
not because i have a palette for
matured single malts but because:
if there is still every part of me
that can spew words out
while invigorated by some glug
of the ol' kosher of fire-blood...
and amber...
conversational overtones rife because
i clearly haven't had
much time to read a face
and nuance it and
whatever is left to pingpong / squash
an hour's worth: away
for... conversational pleasures
lubricated by wheat-towing bubbly
suffice...
interacting with stalemate...
one might call soul another calls sigma...
i.e. the totality that' animating
what's currency in transitioning
from living to dead
from living: space...
to dead: time...
resurgence of a detail of time
that's memory that feels raw feels
like **** when staged
to a collectivistic / "objective"
scrutiny -
derive the purely subjective
derive the purest objective...
call "red" a "puppet's tail"...
                my worship for letters
comes aligned with...
  some Cyrillic...
     no... not Tironian...
   and it only works around...

      ż (зъ)
                     vs. ż (зь)

ź (зъ)
                      vs. ź (зь)....

   which is a "mis-phoneme"
of sorts... given that... ж (ż)...
            hardly: nothing orthodox about: a...

       nuances in all things
Russian...
clearly beginning with some
Greek would have aided
the... ahem... conversation...

but if you were to post-modern
"revise" you could come
across something akin to...

ж (ż) = зъ
                     vs. зь

   i.e. is the hovering dot: hard... or soft...
is the synonym of acute... hard... or soft?
******* playground of sorts...

also, i.e. je suis...
        je zeus...
                     but i'm no zeus nor jesus...
this is my revenge against being told
French is impossible to learn...
by any stretch of the imagination -
added by the "sieving"...
i was not supposed to acquire
a brimming proficiency of French...
maybe German...

what letters to give free reign for
a Mongolian khan...
what letters and what auxiliary:
my eroded imagination "to begin with"...

for every "с":
          a съ = ш
or for every cь (ś)
at some "point": a caron š
will have to be arrived at...

  CHaser...
          ч vs. ц... Time...
                atoms of sounds blistering me
ripe with oozes of scraps and
fried bacon nibble-peel-offs...

how a bilingual might write
a polyglot scribble...
best kept summary...
four zunge prodding & prone...

how purely phonetic english
with all those graffiti shortcomings
could be arrived at
without question...
alt hier und dies...
             as exemplar primo...
no questions asked...
                  these feeble crusade...
the ancient continent of blues:
this funnel for Asia Prior...

i won't die defeated...
i'll be drinking with the mediocre skim-reading
zenith of lot
for the most part of the "hives"
activity...
      et cetera etc.

he's half as best remembered...
as he should be...
who? Sejong the Great...
and i'm not even Korean
to have to...

but it's not like i have a name
for the man who "invented" beer...
discovered... neither did Plato...
i have Tironian notations
like i have Aesop's parables...
i'm looking for a "holy trinity"
of people of influence...
Sejong is up there among my
favourites...

i want to stress the posit of St. Cyril too...
ⰃⰓⰅ
        ⰏⰀ (gre ma)
  (it has game...
   pronoun, gender neutral fanatics
beware...
   it can be much
of a hermaphrodite when
least intended)

          but it is still not the feat
performed by Sejong the Great...
and none will ever
be so...
            st. Cyril is a pale
shade concerning
the economics of the endeavour...

i know only one is right...
i.e. is it лъ or is it ль
for that little of a tau
"drunk" of a ł... or an anglo-sas
"double-u":
my eyes do see... a veering into...
it's not explained as to how or why...
aesthetically: a little...
a liTTle is more anti-explanatory
than...

sushi like clear-cut... syllable count...
if all my vowels: i had a(n) en group(e)
name for these "fiends"...
ma-to(w)-s'eh...
invigorating: fuming at
the collar...

it's not a stutter: it's not making
an acute... it's levitating toward
an apostrophe:
man'na... etc.

the scent of spring:
having arrived at the Faroe Isles...
i come at a fore of this all
to be believed mythology
and a piercing now...
       grønjord...
      groon
gro-en                 jord und
diese LA-ND...

behave... these little beasts of mediocre...
i have enough i don't have
enough...
i heave i clutter myself
with 15+ languages
and some share...
"claustrophobic"
the same letters...
       some don't...
        some never will...
        
yes... noting how: easily the Soviet
empire imploded...
and how much foreign intervention
it took to finally dissolve
the Yugoslav republics...

             it took only a cat's whisker
to take-apart the Soviet empire...
it would take a cat's meow
to take apart Yugoslavia...
who's to blame the Ottomans?!

— The End —