"ita" poems
Roses, rooted warm in earth,
Bud in rhyme, another age;
Lilies know a ghostly birth
Strewn along a patterned page;
Golden lad and chimbley sweep
Die; and so their song shall keep.
Wind that in Arcadia starts
In and out a couplet plays;
And the drums of bitter hearts
Beat the measure of a phrase.
Sweets and woes but come to print
Quae *** ita sint.
1.5k
Esu Lanlu
Esu Elegbara
Esu Odara
Esu, the scared child of heaven
Esu, a reviled, respected,
Yet misunderstood being.
Esu, all creations dance to your best of life
Esu Dagunro
Esu Lukuluku
Esu Apagbe
Esu, the quickest and fastest one
Esu, confuser of many
Esu, the disruptor of order
Esu, the iconic one
Esu, the master of linguistics
Esu, the conciliatory peacemaker
Esu, the divine alchemist
Esu, the trickster
Esu, the pusher of those,
Who doesn't carry Olodumare's wishes.
Esu, the inseparable friend of Orunmila
Esu,
Papa Legba
Legba Atibon
Kalfou
Papa La Bas
Esu, divine messenger of transformation
Esu, ebora to luti la nbo
Esu, Okunrin ori ita
Esu, a quick responder when consulted
Esu, divine messenger of the gods
Esu Odara, the divine one of Ose Otura
Esu, carrier of the ase of sensuality and fertility
Esu Lanlu, king of dance
Esu, keeper and imparter of ase
Esu, the fundamental Orisa
Esu, the manifest of greatness
Esu, the one who is as hard as Rock
Esu Akeregbaye
Esu, the shedder of blood who knows no one's tears
Esu, the controller of earth
Esu, the special middle man between heaven and Earth
Esu, the anointed rope to success and wealth
Esu Lanlu
Esu Elegbara
Esu Odara
Written by Tosan Oluwakemi Thompson
Jul 6, 2020
Jul 6, 2020 at 8:18 AM UTC
My account was accepted today
I was so excited to start.
I read some poems.
so good
This place
Hello poetry.
Is really nice.
I read a fiew people's words.
Ashton
Bleeding diamonds
Toxic moon
Its gonna make sense.
But they have some **** good poetry.
Ashton proves life can be livable.
Bleeding diamonds proves that he can havr fun and be serious through abuse.
Toxic moon has a genre of relations.
And ita gonna make sense lays it down flat for ya.
Hello poetry
My first night tonight
And i know
I love it.
Smash the hearts
Repost my words.
Though i have some questions
Like
Why does bleeding diamonds bleed?
Or why does ashton feel so trapped?
Things I'd love to learn
Here
On hello poetry
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 12:02 AM UTC
Beautiful flower poem in japanese:
Utsukushi hana:
Utsukushi hana no yona
Sore wa chimei-tekina kakusa reta toge o motte iru
Utsu no o matte iru
Umareta bakarita jinsei o shuryo suru
Hayai, sore o haishutsu suru
Sore ga kanso suu tame ni
Jinsei o mite kare
Fuyu wa kono michi o kuru toki,-suki
Katsute atatakakatta subete no seimei o korosu
Sore wa taikutsu ***** ita toyuu riyu dakede
Sono utsukushii hana
Sore no tame ni jinsei
Meiwakuna hachi no yona monodesu
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 10:49 PM UTC
The fall of Rome is upon us.
I have spied it from my window,
i dare not intrude.
venimus
vidimus
vicimus
(ourselves)
The slaves are in revolt;
the Colliseum burns,
flames tenderly licking
destruction and freedom,
a beacon in the
dark autumn night;
Carthage has embraced
its high sodium diet,
it now seeks equality;
the Senate lies in ruin,
much as it always has,
now bereft of contributors.
Ego autem relictus solus devius,
faciamus nobis effugium.
Come, fair plebian lady,
get in my chariot,
i will 'Billy Ocean' you
all the way
to the end of the world,
because some things never change.
veni
vidi
vici
NOTHING
per memet
ita reliqui,
empty-handed
my new fair plebian in tow.
Roma victa.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
Satietatem potare dulci nectare tua desiderium ego
Ad nos transeat, usque mane
Nostra corpora convol
Corpora nostra lusibus
Sol ortus, Sitis commoratur
Amorem vivere devora tua suavita
Vitae caelestis
Nostra ad et aut angelus diaboli
Quod viget, vitae singulis nobis,
Retorta peccatorum gaudium de salute nos
Corpora *** carnis luxuriam
Tenebrae concupiscentiis saginatus
Dolorem voluptatem servus
Impium impium fames
Sanctus diversitas peccatorum
Ita et nos, in manus nostras et amore peccatorum nos
Nos ad unum corpus est cor
Translation Latin to English
I drink my fill of sweet nectar of your desire
To pass to us until morning
Our bodies roll
Our bodies dance
The sun rises, thirst lingers
Love, live, eat your sweetness
heavenly life
Our call to the devil or an angel
That is active, the life of each of us,
Twisted sins, the joy of our salvation
Bodies with carnal lust
Dark desires fed
Pain and pleasure slave
wicked, wicked hunger
Holy diversity of sins
Even so we, in our hands, and the love of our sins
We are one body and heart
~Wes Noneya
My Latin isn't the best but I gave it a go. I like both versions.
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 5:33 PM UTC
El agua la manda el cielo,
la tierra la puso dios.
Viene el amo y me la quita,
¡la p...ita que se partió!
A ver, respóndame, hermano:
si esta fue tierra ´e los incas
¿de donde hay dueños de fincas
con títulos en la mano?
Pa mí que al pobre serrano
le vienen tomando el pelo.
Acequia, puquio, riachuelo
todo en títulos se fragua.
¿De ´onde tiene dueño l´agua?
¡el agua la manda el cielo!
Y por último, los incas
no han sido los más primeros;
antes los huancas ´stuvieron
y antes que ellos los mochicas.
Ora hay haciendas tan ricas
pa sólo un dueño o pa dos
y gritan a toda voz
que heredaron de su padre...
¡Que no me vengan, compadre,
la tierra la puso Dios!
Donde no hay minas de gringos
hay tierras de gamonales,
pagan míseros jornales
y te andan a los respingos.
Se trabaja los domingos
Más pior que en tiempo ´e la mita.
Y hasta si tengo cholita
para mi pobre querer,
por el gusto de ...poder
viene el amo y me la quita.
Creo que, ultimadamente,
debiera ser propietario
quien fecunda el suelo agrario
con el sudor de su frente.
Así espera nuestra gente
y así mesmo espero yo.
Y así ha de ser, pues si no
a gringos y gamonales
vamo a recontrasacarle
¡la p... ita que se partió!
1.1k
its possible that forever
a brighter day can shine
even if its no day for me
ita a day brighter than mine
a brighter day for someone
but i cannot tell you who
because i cannot tell the future
but i can show it to you
Feb 18, 2011
Feb 18, 2011 at 9:29 AM UTC
Its hard to wake up from a nightmare when you're not even sleeping
its hard to trust people when you don't even trust yourself
its hard loving people when you dont even love yourself
its hard being in other people's battles when your at war with yourself
its hard trying to find path when you're so lost
its hard to let people In when you want to be alone
its hard to forget the memories when there where so many good ones
Its hard to laugh when you feel like breaking
its hard to fake a smile when there around
its hard for giving people when they put you through so much pain
its hard seeing things gade away when you wamt them to come back
ita hard seeing people leave when I never left anyone
its hard to grow up when everyone is changing
its hard to hold on when you JUST want to let go
its hard not to cry when you gave me so many reasons to
its hard to talk to you when you use my flaws against me
It's hard to think about you when I don't want you to exist
it's hard to feel confident when I have so many flaws
it's hard to dream when you're living a nightmare
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 12:31 AM UTC
Its funny how your words hurt more when your not speaking them.
Its funny how you blame me for the action when you continued it.
Its funny how you leave, then get mad at me for being distant.
Its funny how much you hurt me.
Its funny how much I take.
Its funny how much I blame on myself
Ita funny how i still love you
Its funny how neither one of us can tell who's worse
This acctualy is not funny at all
Because I just lost my best friend.
Amd im never getting her back.
And she will never
Accept my apology
But i am sorry.
All i ever wanted to do,
was help,
I promise,
Im so sorry
So leave me Alone
And let me cry.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 1:04 AM UTC
Its getting hard not being able to talk to my family
Ita getting harder that I cant even talk to my boyfriend because hes an ******* to me a lot.
Its all just getting so hard.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
I try to hard
My expectations are too high
No one feels the same as me
I have to accept some people love in a different way
But still....
Sometimes I want someone to love me the way I love them
Try just as hard
I'm tired of feeling I try at a 100 only to be met with 50
I want your love
I won't your affection
I don't doubt ita there
Just learn to show it more
I know it's in you
I know you care
But I can't help feeling like we're in different books
I love you more than my heart can bare
you just have to show me it's there..
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 10:50 PM UTC
Your people have been here
for one thousand years and more,
longer even
than this country here.
Much, much longer.
Yet they'd tell you to leave
if only they knew
who you are,
what you are.
But they don't,
and you hardly don't.
Your Spanish is broken,
self-taught because your dad wouldn't,
not even your grandma would.
It's practiced in retail
selling credit cards
to people who can't afford them,
and not at home with family.
Your recipes are a mix
learned from your mom
and that grandma,
to your step family,
and even the ever present internet.
Your name?
It looks French, people say,
even though it doesn't at all
to anyone with even a passing knowledge
of that language or this name.
It's pure Mexican,
so pure not even a lot of friends know it
and are amazed to hear
that you're not really white.
There's others with it though,
some looking far less French than you.
You've never had a quince.
You never set up an ofrenda.
You never dealt with la chancla.
You got the hugs and kisses
and mijas and sweet things ending in -ita,
and you always had the food
and more of it
because you're too thin, mija.
You have so little though.
So little that when you look
at yourself
in the mirror
you see a ******
Toss away that guilt though.
Get back what you can and more.
Don't be like your father
ashamed of what Spanish you know.
You're a Mexican too,
you just have to practice more.
Dec 13, 2017
Dec 13, 2017 at 3:05 PM UTC
im drowning in a sea
its not of water
but of me
simple thoughts
run through my head
and make me stop
by waters edge
the waters low
the thoughts run deep
this crazy world
shall i keep
do i jump
or do i not
thoughts of you
may make me stop
my body says yes
but my mind says no
ita time to turn
its time to go
heres the problem
as i see it
the waters cold
and i don't need it
i'll go to her..and work things out
and get off the waters edge...right now
return my brain to normal how....
by living..for another day
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 8:50 AM UTC
MY MOTHER’S HANDS
(in memory of my mother Ita Dempsey)
My mother’s hands
washing potatoes
washing kids
washing pans.
My mother’s hands
on bitterly cold days
******* yet more washing
on a pregnant line
the line growing nothing but
nappies
her hands blind
with the cold.
My mother’s hands
ironing clothes
ironing clothes
ironing countless knickers
for my seven sisters.
My mother’s hands
taking my hands
in hers
such love...such laughter!
My mother’s hands
patting talcum powder
on another baby's ***
Mum being Mum.
Me, kissing
my mother’s hands
for all...they’ve done.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 8:38 AM UTC
Bell tower
against the afternoon sky
and the tolling of bells
for the office of None,
Domine *****
mea aperies,
the sun in the church
through high windows
pouring in the light
and we stood
chanting in Latin,
siamo come Dio
ci ha fatti
said the Italian monk
as he aided me
in the sacristy,
see I am as Eve
come enter my valley
she said and I obliged,
pray as if everything
depended on God
but work as if everything
depended on you
said Augustine(saint),
the feel of the rope
between hands
as we pulled down
to toll bells
for the office of Sext
George smiling
and I too,
Dieu se trouve dans
le silence the French monks said
as we walked
the abbey woodland
after lunch and birds sang
from high trees,
she peeled down her clothes
and revealed her soft fruit
partake she said,
Hugh stood in the shade
arms folded
gazing at the tree
in the garth
and the fruit it bore
still unpicked,
I polished the choir stalls
with a yellow duster
and red polish
the smell mingled
with incense
from mass that morning,
sprechen mit Gott
the Austrian monk said
as we walked
from the chapter house
one early evening
and I did but
was he listening?
I wondered,
perfect numbers are like
perfect men they
are very rare Gareth
said quoting Descartes
as we washed up
after supper
in the small room
by the kitchen,
my husband will never know
she said if you want to,
Deus qui possit ita
salvare te,
but I closed my ears
and even in the dark hours
I saw little light,
and I closed the shutters
to the departing day
and gazed at the Crucified
on the wall
above my bed
but small connection
to Christ in my head.
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 2:35 AM UTC
CRAZY CANARY YELLOW
(In Memory Of My Mother Ita Dempsey)
Bright skin tight
a crazy canary yellow
jeans
my pride & joy
(my first Versace)
took a lot
of *****
to wear ‘em
but then
I got
‘em!
My mother hated
(with a vengeance) them
(hated to pieces)
them
until one morning early
up with the crow of the ****
I cut them
myself to pieces
“Snick snack! ” sniggered
the scissors
(good for a laugh)
threw the shreds of the threads
up upon the roof
let an hour or so
pass
and then discovering
my own(the devil’s) handiwork
accused her
of the dastardly deed.
Who else(I said)
wanted the jeans dead?
Who hated them
with such a passion
to do such...such
a thing.
Maybe she thought...
“I did it in my(God forgive) sleep.”
“Although I know
I didn’t do it
it’s what I would have wanted done.”
After hours
struggling like a worm
I let her off the hook
confess it was I
that done them
(the jeans) in.
She annoyed at the spoof
that took her in
but delighted at the demise
of those **** things.
The hearty laugh of then
the feeble smile of now
as she(here is this hospital)
tries not to die.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 3:19 PM UTC
Fresh after rain
Ground yet to dry
Distant silver moon
Still crossing the sky
On the far horizon
Begins a distant glow
Sun rising in the east
Ita golden light to show
And in that calm moment
When all my work was done
The world was at peace
Beneath both moon and sun
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 11:06 AM UTC
Babe,
I love you.
I know that things seem perfect
But im not.
I never was.
See,
I wished upon a life
That could not be achieved
I love you.
Your face
Eyes
Everything
I know ive said it a million times but
Im curious to know
have you accepted it yet?
Because no matter how many times
I say it
You just kind of roll your eyes
Give a slight smile
And kiss me ever so gently.
Babe,
You wanted a poem
And i didnt want to write it just yet
Because i was waiting for the right words.
These words,
Though never enough to describe you
Finally sailed to me.
Babe,
You make me a poet
You are my inspiration for all happy words
You are happy.
So **** cute
And even a bit sassy too.
I cant tell you
How glad i am to have met you
Beauty surrounds you.
Ita so strange that you are with a skrub like me...
But life doesnt always come out with a direct explenation, does it ***
Babe,
So sweet and kind.
A man like me should not have a girl like you.
But when i roll over in bed,
There you are.
You hold me so tight.
I lose my sight
But dont mind.
You are all i need to see.
All i want
All i need
Babe,
This is for you.
I love you
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 9:59 PM UTC
ME **** MIND
(in memory of my mother Ita)
“If you fall
off that wall
& break both
your legs
...don’t come
running to me! ”
Could never understand
my **** mind
& how it
worked.
One moment
she 'had half a mind
to come up there
&' get me off that wall.
Then she 'was in two minds
about' whether to tell me to stop.
“Go ahead...go ahead
& **** yourself
...see if I care! ”
“I’m warning you child
if you fall off that wall
& ****
yourself
I’ll personally
come up there
& **** ya myself
so I will! ”
I used to watch the words
climbing out of her mouth
& fly around the room
looking for a place to land
in my mind.
Never cared
whether she gave out.
I just loved
everything she said
the music of her
& how
she made the words
behave.
I came down
and kissed her
kissed her worry away.
'I'm sorry Mam'
I told her.
And she cried.
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 7:25 AM UTC
There is a story about St. Theresa of
Avila t5hat on her death bed, in great
Anguish she spoke to the Lord saying:
Lord I have given up everything for
You. All I have left is my faith; then
The Lord answered her saying: Sister
Give up our Faith. Hard words but
The reward was so much greater and
More wondrous than the sacrifice it
Could not be known. Even so it the
Same for everyone as for the saint.
for the poet it is his words. For if
We would see God face to face is
Our dream we must sacrifice the
Dream to have the dream come
True. in the end to give up our
Labor to experience the glories of
The harvest. Give up the dream
To make it actual. This is the all in
All where the destination does not
Lose the Way. The Hope of Love .
Love itself are one in the rapture.
The promises of Spring find their
Fulfillment of Summer. With each
New season we must have given up
Ita memory. As an old New England
Woman when asked if she did not get
Bored by the autumn having seen now
Near a hundred times? Her answer:
It is a glory and cannot be remembered.
Yet as it is revealed it is also resonant.
We must have a dream to have a dream
Come true-So we must forget the dream
To have the dream be realized God has
Said He Makes All things New.Have we
Carried a treasured burden give it up.
So I lay down these words that they
May be given u pas lost children that
Will be restored to me as in Heaven.
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 11:30 AM UTC
no longer sheathed by the living skin of the land
ancients of the deep shriek in unholy abhorrence
as they make their rapturous ascent to the heavens,
seeking not salvation that they’ve forsaken,
but the evisceration of a former home.
it is malice not earthly tar that stains
bulging scleras and hissing pulses
placated only by wine tastes of sin.
these apparatuses remain ever silent
to eternally bask in the presence of Her.
Her who invokes the name of salvation.
Her, melichrous.
Her, scintillant.
composed of polished crystal embellishments
must have the creature once relinquished
the bipedal form to humanity in exchange
for spherical inconvenience.
renounced and disdained
by the possessors of illusory superiority
the mousy predecessors of righteousness
trod lightly through emotional labyrinths
only seeking to sate their vampiric empathy.
Her seeks this suffering of the corrupt
where the must be bound in crude scales
packed amongst their parasitical kin.
alexia unbound wreaks havoc in their stead
manifesting in serpentine coils which match
the tongue slithers out cryptic hymns.
Her must and will be subject to judgement,
durum hoc est sed ita lex scripta est.
and does this serpent mimic the rhythmic
folding to suit its needs as Her is bound
once more to the Mire
never to breach the heavenly dome
void of living skin wrappings.
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 1:42 AM UTC
CRAZY CANARY YELLOW
(In Memory Of My Mother Ita Dempsey)
Bright skin tight
a crazy canary yellow
jeans
my pride & joy
(my first Versace)
took a lot
of *****
to wear ‘em
but then
I got
‘em!
My mother hated
(with a vengeance) them
(hated to pieces)
them
until one morning early
up with the crow of the ****
I cut them
myself to pieces
“Snick snack! ” sniggered
the scissors
(good for a laugh)
threw the shreds of the threads
up upon the roof
let an hour or so
pass
and then discovering
my own(the devil’s) handiwork
accused her
of the dastardly deed.
Who else(I said)
wanted the jeans dead?
Who hated them
with such a passion
to do such...such
a thing.
Maybe she thought...
“I did it in my(God forgive) sleep.”
“Although I know
I didn’t do it
it’s what I would have wanted done.”
After hours
struggling like a worm
I let her off the hook
confess it was I
that done them
(the jeans) in.
She annoyed at the spoof
that took her in
but delighted at the demise
of those **** things.
The hearty laugh of then
the feeble smile of now
as she(here is this hospital)
tries not to die.
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 6:29 PM UTC
_Ina son ki
Ina kaunar ki
...Tamkar ki
Ni banda kamar ki
Ni zan dauke ki
In dora ki a doki
Ke ce hasken haske
Hasken daya haska haske
A zuciya ba wata sai ke
Ga hannu na sai ki rike
A gari sai zancen mu ake
Wai bani da kowa sai ke
Ba wani wai zancen haka ne
Ba ni da kowa tabbas haka ne
Ke ce daya tilo na gane
Kannan ki a guri na kanne ne
Yayyen ki a guri na yayye ne
Kowan ki guri na kowa ne
🎼🎵🎶
Ina son ki
Ina son sunan ki
Inkiyar ki
Da asalin sunan ki
Murmushin ki
Wanda yake kuncin ki
Maganar ki
Ita ce furicin ki
A harshen ki
Har cikin zuciyar ki
Sun dace da siffar ki
Kyakkyawa...
Sunan ki, ga kawa
Ya kan birge kowa
Ke! Har yan adawa
In sun ji suna tafawa
Amintacciya...
Siffar ki, aminiya
Rayuwar ki sam babu hayaniya._
Oct 27, 2024
Oct 27, 2024 at 8:36 AM UTC
NO DIRECTIONS
( In memory of my mother Ita Dempsey )
South of Sorrow
North North West of Pain
I search for you &...
...lose you yet again.
I calculate your absence
by the stars
& you are near
though you are far.
I wander through this Wilderness of Loss
...is this what loving you has cost?
East of Loneliness
West of Grief
...If only for one brief
... your voice echoes inside my head
... I see you smile & laugh
... pretend that you're not dead.
...pretend that you're not dead.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 11:59 AM UTC