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raquezha Apr 2018
Kun ika mamoót,
Mamoót arog kan pagpadangat kan búlan.
Dae niya hinahâbon an banggí,
Pinapaluwas niya an gayón kan diklóm.

Asin kun ika mamoót,
Mamoót arog kan pagpadángat kan urán.
Dae niya binabasa an háwak,
Nililinigan niya lang an atî kan kalág ta.

Asin kun ika mamoót,
Mamoót arog kan pagpadángat kan duros.
Dae siya nawáwarâ,
Pinaparahay niya an satuyang sadkíri sa kada paghángos ta.

Asin kun ika mamoót,
Mamoót arog kan pagpagdángat kan saldáng.
Dae ka susulô sa kaláyo na tinatao niya,
An sulô na hali saiya an mapagayón kan agihan.

Asin kun ika mamoót,
Mamoót arog kan pagpagdángat kan bitóon.
Bako lang kintab an dara,
Pinapagirumduman kita na maski
an kagadánan kayang pagsuwáyonan duwang puso.

Asin kun síring,
ika mamoót
Mamoót bako lang bilang parte,
kundi arog kan bílog na kinâban.

Mamoót ka arog kan bílog na kinâban.
Orignal Title: "And if you are to love" by Jasleen Kalra
Translated in Bicol Language by Jan Celada
raquezha Sep 2019
Kun ika mamoót,
Mamoót arog kan pagpadangat kan búlan.
Dae niya hinahâbon an banggí,
Pinapaluwas niya an gayón kan diklóm.

Asin kun ika mamoót,
Mamoót arog kan pagpadángat kan urán.
Dae niya binabasa an háwak,
Nililinigan niya lang an atî kan kalág ta.

Asin kun ika mamoót,
Mamoót arog kan pagpadángat kan duros.
Dae siya nawáwarâ,
Pinaparahay niya an satuyang sadkíri sa kada paghángos ta.

Asin kun ika mamoót,
Mamoót arog kan pagpagdángat kan saldáng.
Dae ka susulô sa kaláyo na tinatao niya,
An sulô na hali saiya an mapagayón kan agihan.

Asin kun ika mamoót,
Mamoót arog kan pagpagdángat kan bitóon.
Bako lang kintab an dara,
Pinapagirumduman kita na maski
an kagadánan kayang pagsuwáyonan duwang puso.

Asin kun síring,
ika mamoót
Mamoót bako lang bilang parte,
kundi arog kan bílog na kinâban.

Mamoót ka arog kan bílog na kinâban.
Orignal Title: "And if you are to love" by Jasleen Kalra
Translated in Bicol Language by Jan Celada
raquezha Sep 2018
Núarín an huríng pagbaba kan duwáng kamót
pasíring sa mahalnás na háwak na nag gigibo kan búhay.  

Núarín an huríng pagkurahaw mo sa pangaran ko
habang kaulay ko an uniberso tanganing daé ka magpundo.

Sa likod ko ta napiling ipadagos an dálan kan búhay,
an henerasyon na madara kan satuyang pagkabúhay,
kitá an mga ákî na inapon kan panahon asin
kitá man an mga ákî na mapadagos
kan kasuhápon, ngunyán asin sa máabot na panahon.

Kitá an mga ákî, na pinangaki para kógoson
an kasâlan kan panahon. Daé ta man iní hinagad.
Basta naáraman ta nalang poón kan
sinabihan kita kun ano an tama asin salâ.

Ako, an hawak na inaapód mo pagkatapos mo magsigarilyo.
Iní an epekto kan paglaóg mo sa sakuyang uniberso.
apódon mo akong saímo, asin aapódon takang bitóon.
Bitóon na kaibáhan ko pirmí sa banggi.
Kun mawara ka man, aram kong masabog ka asin
igwa naman sarông uniberso an mabubuo
hanggang sa ako naman an masabog kaibáhan
an mga ákî na satuyang mabubuo.
Vi lovede hinanden hele den store verden dengang
Tiderne var anderledes, klokken var 22 når den var 17.
Vi havde stjerneregn af kæmpemæssige følelser
Som vi åd af hinanden, slikkede og fik kuldegysninger.
Lange aftener, som fik det hele til at vare dobbelt kort.
Jeg er ikke engang sikker på at jeg savner det
Eller dig. Eller noget af det vi gjorde sammen
Men en del har bidt sig fast. Jeg er blevet ramt
Af en virus. En fejl i mit liv, som du har plantet
I mig og min indre globe og færden, når jeg søger
Efter ting, som jeg umuligt kan få, finde eller fjerne
Jeg er syg, og mit immunforsvar svækkes, men
Jeg går i skole. Jeg lever mit liv videre, med
Tanken om at jeg ikke ved hvornår det stopper
Jeg vil lukke følelsen af dig/det/os ud af mig selv
Du styrer alt det du ikke må og du får alt så let
Så jeg lever livet videre, jeg lærer at ignorere det mave
Sår du har plantet i mig. Jeg sover det væk.
Drømmer mig væk fra realiternes smerter. For jeg kan
Ikke klare det hele. Jeg ser ikke klart. Jeg mærker ikke
Det lys som alle siger kommer, og når de andre fortæller
Mig at det hele er hurtigt glemt. Tvivler jeg på mig selv og
På mine følelser. For jeg har ingen følelser, ingen tanker
Ingenting. Jeg har ikke noget og jeg er fortabt. For alt hvad
Jeg vil have og eje er fysisk kontakt med dig. Jeg vil se på
Dig se på mig. Jeg vil have at du fortæller mig at jeg er smuk
Og så er det det, efter vi har kysset. Så er det det. For man skal
Ikke sådan noget. For det spil vi spiller er farligt. Med et hug
Bliver man slået hjem. Hvis ikke man lander på stjernen eller
På verdenstegnet. Så er det hjem, uden noget som helst.
Vi er en tikkende bombe. For hvor mange sekunder går der
IKKE før du egentlig finder ud af hvem jeg er, vi er, du er.
Til du finder ud af at du er bedre. Jeg kan ikke. Jeg tænker
Jeg kan. Men det hele er forkert. Jeg er kommet til at bruge alt
For mange kræfter på ting man kan få kræft af. Jeg er styret af den
Kraft du har. Jeg bliver ved med at bryde mig selv ned, selvom de
Andre nogle gange prøver at få mig op og stå igen. Det (s)eneste
Som jeg ikke har, er alt det jeg ikke kan få. Og jeg ved ikke
Engang hvad det er, eller om jeg er sikker på at jeg ved det på
Et tidspunkt. Jeg løber en tur væk fra mig selv. Jeg prøver
At eskapere fra verden. Jeg er flygtning fra mig selv.
Så kom her. Læg dig sammen med mig. Lad os lytte til din stemme
Bare et par mange gange, så jeg kan høre på alle de kloge ting
Du gør og siger. Ligesom den gang jeg gjorde det før.
Dengang det hele var godt.
Da vi to ejede verden, og hinanden. Men det gjorde vi ikke.
For du er helt ny, opstået så pludseligt, men sådan er det bare.
ungdomspoet Jan 2016
kom med mig
bare bliv i nat
du siger alle de ord jeg engang ville høre, men det føltes ikke rigtigt
hvad forventer du at jeg skal sige
du ved jo godt at det er lidt for sent
du tager min hånd
og siger du har ændret dig
men søde, dine undskyldninger narrer mig ikke
fordi for dig er det hele bare et spil
så bare forfør mig nu
for tiden har gjort mig stærk
jeg er begyndt at komme videre
jeg siger det her nu
du har haft din chance
og du ved jo godt at det er lidt for sent
en lille smule for forket
og jeg kan ikke vente
men du ved lige hvad du skal sige
du ved jo godt at det er lidt for sent
du siger at du drømmer om mit ansigt
men det er ikke mig du savner
du kan bare godt lide det du ser nu
men for at være ærlig
er det helt ligemeget nu
for du ved jo godt at det er lidt for sent

jeg var ung og forelsket
jeg gav dig alt hvad jeg havde
men det var aldrig nok
og nu vil du pludselig have kontakt
du ved jo godt at det er lidt for sent
gå hjem til din kæreste
jeg slipper dig fri
jeg elsker mig selv
du har et problem
men kom nu ikke og spørg mig om hjælp
for du ved jo godt at det er lidt for sent
en lille smule for forket
og jeg kan ikke vente
men du ved lige hvad du skal sige
du ved jo godt at det er lidt for sent
du siger at du drømmer om mit ansigt
men det er ikke mig du savner
du kan bare godt lide det du ser nu
men for at være ærlig
er det helt ligemeget nu
for du ved jo godt at det er lidt for sent

jeg kan elske med hele mit hjerte
jeg ved jeg har så meget at give, jeg havde så meget at give
men med en player som dig
der har jeg mistet troen
det er ikke den måde jeg skal leve mit liv
det er bare lidt for sent
det er bare lidt for sent
en lille smule for forket
og jeg kan ikke vente
men du ved lige hvad du skal sige
du ved jo godt at det er lidt for sent
du siger at du drømmer om mit ansigt
men det er ikke mig du savner
du kan bare godt lide det du ser nu
men for at være ærlig
er det helt ligemeget nu
for du ved jo godt at det er lidt for sent
du ved jo godt at det er lidt for sent
Johanne Borup Jan 2015
jeg synes, jeg er den mest inspirerende person i verden. jeg kan alt muligt. jeg  kan tegne, jeg  kan  skrive, jeg  kan læse  mine  egne  tanker, ikke  altid fejlfrit, men  mine  følelser  får  jeg  i  hvert  fald  nogenlunde  forstå­et,  og jeg ved, hvem jeg kan lide og hvad jeg kan lide og hvem jeg var. jeg synes, mine  følelser  for  hende  der  jeg på  en  måde elsker  (det  er  i hvert  fald det, jeg har læst mig frem til) er  mere  interessante end  hende,  det  synes alle andre også, det  ved  jeg,  det synes jeg er fornuftigt at synes, og jeg er fornuftigere  end dem. jeg har  god musiksmag  og god  tøjstil, og de fleste er  dummere  end  jeg.  nogle  gange  ønsker  jeg, at  de  ikke  ville være så dumme  og  uforstående  og stabile, og nogle  gange har  jeg ondt af  dem, fordi de  ikke inspirerer mig, med  mindre jeg tænker noget  om dem. men så skifter  jeg mening igen, jeg skifter mening, fordi jeg er glad for at jeg er sindsforstyrret og kan læse tanker og se mig ud af alting og rive mit ansigt fra       hinanden      og     skabe      kunst     af       de      hjerneceller,       der
ryger                                                  med      ­                                                 ud.
Nora Morell Feb 2016
En lille kvantefluktuation
kan udløse inflation
Du bliver til en ursuppe
Millioner grader varm
Hvor ingen elementarpartikler
kan parres
Hvor selv lyd og lys ikke kan trænge
igennem dig

Når jeg ligger søvnløs
disse nætter
Trøster jeg mig selv
ved tanken om
at om ca 13,82 milliarder år
Har du udvidet dig
og du har tempereret dig
Så systemer af sole, stjerner
og støv kan bestå
Så heliumkerner, hydrogen og
hafnium kan dannes
Og jeg endelig kan trække vejret
i dit
**kosmiske temperament
annacharlotte Feb 2015
jeg kan se og jeg kan græde
jeg kan elske og jeg kan smile
jeg kan kramme og jeg kan kysse

men så kan jeg også være migselv, og bare skride
Sa Sa Ra Dec 2012
A Native American Code of Ethics
                                                       ­         *From Shaman Cloud & the FireBear



1.      Rise with the Sun to pray. Pray alone and pray often. The Great Creator Spirit will listen when you speak. Find the peace that comes from being alone.

2.      Be tolerant of those who are lost on their paths. Ignorance, conceit, jealousy, anger and greed stem from lost souls. Pray that they find guidance.

3.      Search for yourself by yourself. Do not allow others to make your path for you. It is your road and yours alone. Others may walk it with you, but no one can walk it for you.

4.      Always give your best to others; your company gets the best bed, blanket and food. Treat them with respect and honour.

5.      Do not take anything that is not yours. If something was not earned or given it is not yours.

6.      Respect all of the things that are placed upon this Earth. People, animals, plants and rocks are all children of the Great Creator Spirit. Honour their place in the chain of life. We are all interconnected.

7.      Honour other people’s thoughts wishes and words. Give each person your attention and allow them expression. When you give an idea away, you no longer own it. If someone uses your idea, you take no credit. If someone doesn’t use your idea you take no offense. Your ideas are no longer yours as soon as you give them away.

8.      Practice Optimism. If you put negative energy into the Universe, it will multiply and return to you. All people make mistakes. Mistakes can be forgiven. Bad thoughts cause illness of body, mind and spirit.

9.      Nature is not for us, it is part of our sacred family. Live in balance with all of nature. Tread softly on Mother Earth.

10.  Children are the seeds of our future. Plant love in their hearts and water them with wisdom and life’s lessons. When they are grown, give them space to be themselves.

11.  Be truthful at all times. Honesty is the test of one’s will within the Universe.

12.  Keep yourself balanced. Consider that your mental, physical, spiritual, emotional and volitional selves must work on harmony at all times.

13.  Make conscious decisions as to who you will be and how you will react to life. Accept the consequences of your own actions.

14.  Always respect the privacy and personal space of others. Never touch the personal property of others, especially sacred items.

15.  Be true to yourself. You can not nurture and help others until you can nurture and help yourself. Live your truth/

16.  Respect the religious beliefs of others. Never force your beliefs on anyone else.

17.  Share your good fortune with others. Tithe and participate in charity.
Always give back to others, that they too may have a good life.

18.  Always walk your thoughts before you make important decisions. Find your place of inner peace and operate from there. Walk in peace that others may do the same.

http://motherpeace.net/A%20Native%20American%20Code%20of%20Ethics%20by%20Firebear.htm

­This originally appeared in the "Inter-Tribal Times," October, 1994
http://www.nativevillage.org/Inspiration-/nativeamericancodeofethics__.htm


The Afu-Ra-Kans, (Africans),
were always happy to teach the human family that which was beneficial to all.
The following is a portion of the first constitution.
You can find the full version in aforementioned book by Scholar Chancellor Williams.


1. The right to equal protection under the law.
2. The right to a home.
3. The right to land sufficient for earning livelihood for one€™'s self and family.
4. The right to aid in time of trouble.
5. The right to petition for redress of grievances.
6. The right to criticize and condemn any acts by the authorities or proposed new laws. A. Opposition groups were recognized by law.
7. The right to reject the community'€™s final decision on any matter and the right to withdraw from the community unmolested; the right to rebellion and withdrawal.
8. The right to a fair trial. A. There must be no punishment greater than the offense or fines beyond the ability to pay. B. Fines are determined by the income status of the individual and family of that individual.
9. The right to indemnity for injuries or loss caused by others.
10. The right to family or community care in case of sickness or accidents.
11. The right to special aid from the Chief in circumstances beyond a family'€™s ability.
12. The right to a general education covering morals and good manners, family rights and responsibilities, kinship groups and social organization, neighborhoods and boundaries, farming and marketing, rapid mental calculation and family, ****, tribal and state histories.
13. The right to apprentice training for a useful vocation.
14. The right to an inheritance as defined by custom.
15. The right to develop one'€™s ability and exercise any developed skills.
16. The right to protect one€™s family and kinsmen, even by violent means if such becomes necessary and can be justified.
17. The right to protection of moral law in respect to wife and children, a right which not even the King can violate.
18. The right of a man, even a servant, to rise to occupy the highest positions in the state, if he has the requisite ability and character.
19. The right to protection and treatment as a guest in enemy territory, once one is in the gates of the enemy's village, town or city.
20. The right to an equal share in all of the benefits from common community undertakings, if one has contributed to the fullest extent of his ability, no matter who or how many were able to contribute more.

The Afu-Ra-Kan, (African),
constitution teaches the world that the human being is endowed with fundamental, inalienable,
God given rights.
Every human being is entitled to these rights.
In this original society, in Afu-Ra-Ka, (Africa), women were equally endowed with these rights.
The King could not violate the constitution and deny any human being his or her God-given rights.
The King could not violate any human being, because of the belief that every human being is the house for the soul and spirit of the Divine Creator.

This is the philosophy of the Afu-Ra-Kan, (African):
Every human being, whether male or female, is the house for the soul and spirit of the Divine Creator.
It is time now for the Black man and woman to become Afu-Ra-Kan, (African), again.
It is time for the Black man and woman to teach, once again, that all human beings, Black, Brown, Red, Yellow and White, have the potential to become the house for the soul and spirit of the Divine Creator.

This philosophy must be taught to all people, regardless of race, class, color or creed.
It is up to the Afu-Ra-Kan, (African), to stand up for the fundamental rights of every human being, regardless of race, class, color or creed.
The prophets taught this philosophy.
Jesus taught this philosophy.

Let us all strive to be Afu-Ra-Kan, (African):
Male and female houses for the soul and spirit of the Divine Creator.
*

Thank you for reading these words.*
http://www.thankaboutit.org/gpage3.html
Indeed; 'It is time now for' All Men and Women 'to become Afu-Ra-Kan, (African), again.'
"Male and female houses for the soul and spirit of the Divine Creator"

The Heavenly Spirit with this Our Earthly Existence!!
UNITE WITHIN
Star Dust, R

Afu Ra Ka
Which reminds me...Sa Sa!!!
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/in-lakech-ala-kin/

Been a while sorry I am behind on reads,
overly buzzed busier reading these;
~Hearts Of All~~
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/my-needs-deep-of-all/
~Sa Sa LOVE!!!
..R~~

Visual Reinforcement;
Facebook pics here only!!

~Spirit of the Divine Creator,
Inwardly Received...~~
~Without is as Within,
Inwardly Reflected~~
https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=449340938461153&set;=a.422381444490436.98406.100001557525105&type;=1&theater;

Time To Unite
https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=449341261794454&set;=a.422381444490436.98406.100001557525105&type;=1&theater;

Earth Will Be Reborn
https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=449341148461132&set;=a.422381444490436.98406.100001557525105&type;=1&theater
Frederik B Oct 2015
Vi har løbet så længe
kan vi tage det med ro
og for en gangs skyld
Lad os være hinanden tro

Du er min blomst
lad mig være din biolog
helt ærligt kvinde
Jeg vil høre hvad du tænker på

Det kan blive os mod verden
du skal ikke være bange
lad mig fri dig fra dine tanker
Vi kan klare det her sammen

Hvad er tid når du er nær mig
det står stille i mit hoved
siger ikke at vi har travlt men
Tiden går hurtigere end jeg troed

*(f.b)
Kan læses forfra og bagfra.
Marolle Nov 2014
jeg føler mig ikke hjemme
ikke på mine fjorten kvadratmeter
som jeg betaler i dyre domme for
jeg føler mig ikke hjemme
i mit barndomshjem
som jeg sjældent besøger
jeg vil gerne føle mig hjemme på mine fjorten kvadratmeter
men jeg kan ikke
jeg hører hjemme et andet sted
jeg kan heller ikke føle mig for meget hjemme i mit barndomshjem
jeg kommer aldrig til at bo der permanent igen
det bliver for hårdt at tage derfra efter endt visit
man siger man har hjemme i et hjerte
og så er det ligegyldigt hvor man bor
passer det?
jeg håber det passer
jeg håber du vil lukke mig ind i dit hjerte
så jeg kan føle mig hjemme igen
det knækker mig snart
indvendigt
ikke at have et sted hvor jeg kan opholde mig
hvor jeg kan være mig selv
hvor jeg kan være permanent

*(Marolle)
er rigtige digte lavet af de knogler, du bruger
til at løfte skovens blade med
jeg ved det ikke, for når jeg ser mod byens lys
ser jeg kun en skygge af dig, og av
hvor det egentlige skærer i mine øjne,
men nej
hvor kan jeg ikke lade være med at se en anden vej
for det gør så ondt at se dig i en andens refleksion,
så jeg lukker bare øjnene, måske kan røgen tynge
dig i gulvet, det har jeg jo set den gøre så mange
gange før, men her i byen kan du ikke tynges ned
af nogen, her er du din egen helt, for her er der
ikke nogen, der kan redde dig, men måske kan
jeg, hvis jeg prøver lidt mere, end hvad jeg gjorde
før månen skar i dine håndled
du spiser min barnesjæl, og fortæller mig, at
mine øjne er lavet af kviksølv
når du taler om mig, får du bedre karakterer i
fysik, men jeg tror ikke på noget af det, du siger
så jeg tænder en ekstra, og håber på, du giver
mig en ekstra chance
for at være eller måske blot blive
hende, du mangler
- digte om alt det, der skete dengang
O my conscience,
immerse your  laments in my shoulder ..
i stroked it every longing grating your beautiful hair ..
i listened to the sound of the breath right conscience little sob ..

i held my conscience,
my beautiful and cheerful absorb the whole silenced ..
i'll understand your silence and every beautiful ..
and I'll put out any smoldering of your jealousy ..
i'll treat it every charm your referral..

just lets you to know,
when incandescent embers of passion vibrate our body ..
a longing,
faint creeping expanse of our memories ..
miss you,
hurling beautiful memories in a serenity..

and among the writhing of our body while longing crave to possessed ..
that love is the inner desire ...*

┈┈┈┈»̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶  ƦУ  »̶·̵̭̌✽✽·̵̭̌«̶┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

oh nuraniku,
benamkanlah nestapa keluh kesahmu dipundakku ..
kan kubelai kisi kisi kerinduan disetiap helai rambut indahmu..
kan kudengarkan deru nafas yang mengisak suara hati kecilmu..

kan kudekap nuraniku,
dan kuresapi indah cerita yang luruh terbungkam..
dan kupahami setiap diammu yang cantik..
dan kupadamkan setiap cermburumu yang membara..
kan kumanjakan setiap pesona rujukanmu

ketahuilah,
saat pijar bara gairah bergetar ditubuh kita..
sebuah kerinduan,
sayup merayapi hamparan kenangan kita..
merindukanmu,
melontarkan indahnya kenangan dalam kehampaan..

dan diantara menggelinjangnya tubuh kita saat dirasuki kerinduan ..
bahwa cinta adalah nurani kerinduan...
when the glory night envelop the moon that would light up the exhilaration of heart..
the sun was reluctant to reveal smile to warm the earth..
Jeg er ikke en lukket beholder, der endnu ikke er købt
Jeg kan ikke købes for sedler og mønter, jeg er ikke hvad du får for penge
Jeg er kun et menneske
Jeg kan ikke erstattes, på trods af min påstand herom
Jeg er ikke fornøjelse, jeg er ikke et legetøj, jeg er ikke et objekt
Du kan ikke tale mig ud af min modstand
Hvis mine døre er låst, kan du ikke byde dig velkommen ind, tvungen indrejse er hvad de kalder det
Når alt jeg vil have er en samtale, men alt andet strejfer din hjerne
Dine undskyldninger er undskyldninger der dukker op i et glemt hav
Og mine følelser fortsætter med at hæve sig over min vagt, der blev bygget til beskyttelse og modstand
Men fortæl mig: hvis jeg sagde nej, hvorfor snakker vi stadig?
raquezha Feb 2019
Dae ibig sabihon
na tuninong
dae na maogma.

Dae ibig sabihon
na itom,
demonyo ka na.

Dae ibig sabihon na
habo mo sa tao,
mayo ka ng kwenta.

Kung dae mo siya
maintindihan,
respetohan mo
an desisyon niya.

Dae mo pwersahon
an sadiri mo
sa sarong tao.

Ako an tao
na mas gustong
hilingon an kinaban
sa mata kan taong
nasasabatan ko,
arog kan pagabot mo,
yaon ka nanaman
pinapagirumdum sako
na an buhay kan tao
halipot lang.

An duros na hali
sa langit pasiring
sa itom na háwak
asin nagsasakop sa
palibot kan kandila,
An makakan hanggan
sa madiklom
an palibot.

Hanggan sa pagpikit.

Tuninong na boses,
Magian na háwak,
Matagas na boot,
Magayon na numero,
asin kanta na dae
mo mapugolan itao
saimo kan mánlaén-láen
na tao.

Hanggang sa maghinghíng
saimo an kinaban nin:

"Maogmáng Compleaño, Ermano!"
Birthday Poem, Bicol Language, Poetry
Jose Remillan Oct 2013
May mga kurabkutab sa daghan na minaulang sa
Bulos kan daing sagkod na siram. Mayo ining kinaaram sa natural
Na pagruso kan mga kolor sa buhay o pagkamoot.
Saro ining kamawotan kan langkag na kalag na taros ning lugad.

Ngonian liwat minapoon an paghiro kan puso na
Danay nang daing untok.
Liwat na pagkabuhay---liningwan an nakaagi;
Nakahuyom na liwanag sa imaaga na ladawan ning pagmawot;
Sarong hararom na hurop-hurop sa pagsusod kan pagkatawo,
Bako sa tuyong magkaigwa, kundi
Tumang sa kinatudan na paghiling sa
Pagkamoot, ngonian minakmukna nin kinapunan.
A Bicol translation of my poem September Seventeen.
Bicol is one of the major dialects in the Philippines.
The translation was done by RAMIL B. ORGAYA.

http://hellopoetry.com/poem/september-seventeen/

Quezon City, Philippines
October 11, 2013
lad mig nu lige lukke øjnene så
jeg kan se dig
så jeg kan betragte dig, for du har
efterår i håret, og vinteren sidder fast
i dine kindben, men du har stadig
ikke læst mine digte, og du kender
ikke forskel på himlen og helvede
jeg tror, Gud er langs dine årer og
satan er hende pigen fra matematiktimerne,
der altid har lavet sine lektier
jeg tror du er hende, der kunne vande mine planter
så jeg ikke behøver at gøre det selv
jeg tror du er hende, der kunne tale mine ord
så jeg ikke behøver at sige noget
- elektriske silhuetter og rød læbestift
Jy wys nie die son vir 'n blinde wat weer kan sien nie.
Dis mos nou kinders-kry dan trou ,
'n priem baba se : Ek is lief vir jou.
Verby nog voor dit begin het.
Of is my hart nou wiegiedood wat
doodluiters my eie galg om die baba hang.
Breek ek die glas-skoen? voordat die lewe dit kan breek?
Of het ek nou maar oulaas 'n manier
om al die goeie goed - uit vrees
van stapel te stuur?
Ek kan jou volg... sal jou volg;
sou jou volg tot waar die wind ons waai
en saam jou kan ek... sal ek
sou ek heeldag rondomtalie en tiekiedraai,
maar *** gaan ek die onbekende in
as dit tussen my en die horison le?
My hartklop eikehout in die gang,
hy klop nog koud , maar hy klop nou!
En jy praat van altyd en van later en van dan:
verder selfs as wat my sig durf reik!
Jy is my nou.
Jammer dat ek more jou gister gaan wees;
probeer verstaan, ek verlang nog silwer en plooie
en die wereld is my lapdoek en die lewe is my lee papier
en ek wil groei.
Ek kan nie die trouring dra nie
,as hy nog koud aan my vinger kleef...
my hart is dalk nog prematuur ,
maar ek wil graag uitgan
en die koue skouers en spervure
vir my self gaan beleef.
Moet my nie die son wys nie
Ek leer nou eers *** om te sien...
en moet nie se jy is lief vir my nie,
want more is dit verby nog voor dit begin het.
En dan hang ek die priem.
lifeonLSD Sep 2018
De talloze keren dat ik je het heb willen vertellen
allen vol moed opzoek naar woorden, nederlands of engels
nog altijd niet de juiste taal gevonden

Moeten de woorden rijmen?
poezie of als muziek?
een artiest uitend op papier?

Of ja, in mijn geval achter het scherm

Alle pogingen gehuld in de meest romantische, passende en passievolle woorden
het is me nog niet gelukt

Inmiddels wel gestopt met rijmen, maar alsnog niet *** ik het had willen zien verschijnen
tot nu toe alleen nog maar lege woorden

Toch had ik gewild dat het schrijven over diamanten en jasmijnen
hadden kunnen onthullen wat ik probeer te ontcijferen
maar met miscommunicatie als tweede naam en onbegrepen die van jou
is dat geen strak plan

Zelfs zo, lastiger dan ooit, alsof je naast me zit nu
ik heb mijn woorden niet sneller zien verdwijnen
dan de tijd die ik doorbreng met jou
authentiek, elke spatie zo veelzeggend
maar ongebruikt gelaten, zoals de muziek
die waarschijnlijk nooit meer op zou houden op het moment dat ik jou vertel, alles, wat ik zeggen wil

Misschien toch maar poëzie
dat mijn ongekende motivatie toch niet schrijven kan
wellicht brengt het je dan de melodie
die ik voor je had willen zingen als ik de stem ervoor had

Dan had het geluid je hart doen trillen

Op een plek waar gevoelens de woorden niet meer nodig had
misschien dan nog in een tekening, kunst, schilderij of een standbeeld
uitgekerfd en gehouwen of van gehouden
vastgezet in niets anders dan een mening in werkelijkheid uitgelegd

Het zit toch wat lastiger in elkaar

Wellicht ben ik dan eindelijk klaar met de keren dat ik geprobeerd heb jou te schrijven
en ik de loze woorden bij elkaar raapte en zei wat ik niet zeggen kan

Want waar mijn woorden te kort komen en geen inkt ze kan vormen in oneindig prachtige lijnen
geen scherm die het licht kan uitstralen
met het bereik van wat ik jou zou willen vertellen

Evenals de keren dat de woorden stierven
op mijn lippen onderweg naar jou is al zoveel verloren
ik ben het inmiddels kwijt

De ontelbare keren dat ik met jou deelde wat alleen van ons kan zijn
ik ga het nooit vergeten
de liefde, de warmte of het gevoel om met jou samen te zijn
misschien ligt daar alle kracht, opgespaard om op te teren
ik mag het niet delen

Het is van mij.
Timothy Oct 2012
Here bygynneth the Book of the tales of Caunterbury*
Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote,
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licóur
Of which vertú engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open ye,
So priketh hem Natúre in hir corages,
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
And specially, from every shires ende
Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,
The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.

Bifil that in that seson on a day,
In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay,
Redy to wenden on my pilgrymage
To Caunterbury with ful devout corage,
At nyght were come into that hostelrye
Wel nyne and twenty in a compaignye
Of sondry folk, by áventure y-falle
In felaweshipe, and pilgrimes were they alle,
That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde.
The chambres and the stables weren wyde,
And wel we weren esed atte beste.
And shortly, whan the sonne was to reste,
So hadde I spoken with hem everychon,
That I was of hir felaweshipe anon,
And made forward erly for to ryse,
To take oure wey, ther as I yow devyse.

But nathelees, whil I have tyme and space,
Er that I ferther in this tale pace,
Me thynketh it acordaunt to resoun
To telle yow al the condicioun
Of ech of hem, so as it semed me,
And whiche they weren and of what degree,
And eek in what array that they were inne;
And at a Knyght than wol I first bigynne.

A Knyght ther was, and that a worthy man,
That fro the tyme that he first bigan
To riden out, he loved chivalrie,
Trouthe and honóur, fredom and curteisie.
Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre,
And thereto hadde he riden, no man ferre,
As wel in cristendom as in hethenesse,
And evere honóured for his worthynesse.
At Alisaundre he was whan it was wonne;
Ful ofte tyme he hadde the bord bigonne
Aboven alle nacions in Pruce.
In Lettow hadde he reysed and in Ruce,—
No cristen man so ofte of his degree.
In Gernade at the seege eek hadde he be
Of Algezir, and riden in Belmarye.
At Lyeys was he, and at Satalye,
Whan they were wonne; and in the Grete See
At many a noble armee hadde he be.

At mortal batailles hadde he been fiftene,
And foughten for oure feith at Tramyssene
In lyste thries, and ay slayn his foo.
This ilke worthy knyght hadde been also
Somtyme with the lord of Palatye
Agayn another hethen in Turkye;
And evermoore he hadde a sovereyn prys.
And though that he were worthy, he was wys,
And of his port as meeke as is a mayde.
He nevere yet no vileynye ne sayde,
In al his lyf, unto no maner wight.
He was a verray, parfit, gentil knyght.

But for to tellen yow of his array,
His hors weren goode, but he was nat gay;
Of fustian he wered a gypon
Al bismótered with his habergeon;
For he was late y-come from his viage,
And wente for to doon his pilgrymage.

With hym ther was his sone, a yong Squiér,
A lovyere and a ***** bacheler,
With lokkes crulle as they were leyd in presse.
Of twenty yeer of age he was, I gesse.
Of his statúre he was of evene lengthe,
And wonderly delyvere and of greet strengthe.
And he hadde been somtyme in chyvachie
In Flaundres, in Artoys, and Pycardie,
And born hym weel, as of so litel space,
In hope to stonden in his lady grace.
Embrouded was he, as it were a meede
Al ful of fresshe floures whyte and reede.
Syngynge he was, or floytynge, al the day;
He was as fressh as is the month of May.
Short was his gowne, with sleves longe and wyde;
Wel koude he sitte on hors and faire ryde;
He koude songes make and wel endite,
Juste and eek daunce, and weel purtreye and write.
So hoote he lovede that by nyghtertale
He sleep namoore than dooth a nyghtyngale.
Curteis he was, lowely and servysáble,
And carf biforn his fader at the table.

A Yeman hadde he and servántz namo
At that tyme, for hym liste ride soo;
And he was clad in cote and hood of grene.
A sheef of pecock arwes bright and kene,
Under his belt he bar ful thriftily—
Wel koude he dresse his takel yemanly;
His arwes drouped noght with fetheres lowe—
And in his hand he baar a myghty bowe.
A not-heed hadde he, with a broun viságe.
Of woodecraft wel koude he al the uságe.
Upon his arm he baar a gay bracér,
And by his syde a swerd and a bokeler,
And on that oother syde a gay daggere,
Harneised wel and sharp as point of spere;
A Cristophere on his brest of silver sheene.
An horn he bar, the bawdryk was of grene.
A forster was he, soothly as I gesse.

Ther was also a Nonne, a Prioresse,
That of hir smylyng was ful symple and coy;
Hire gretteste ooth was but by seinte Loy,
And she was cleped madame Eglentyne.
Ful weel she soong the service dyvyne,
Entuned in hir nose ful semely;
And Frenssh she spak ful faire and fetisly,
After the scole of Stratford atte Bowe,
For Frenssh of Parys was to hire unknowe.
At mete wel y-taught was she with-alle:
She leet no morsel from hir lippes falle,
Ne wette hir fyngres in hir sauce depe.
Wel koude she carie a morsel and wel kepe
Thát no drope ne fille upon hire brist;
In curteisie was set ful muchel hir list.
Hire over-lippe wyped she so clene
That in hir coppe ther was no ferthyng sene
Of grece, whan she dronken hadde hir draughte.
Ful semely after hir mete she raughte.
And sikerly she was of greet desport,
And ful plesáunt and amyable of port,
And peyned hire to countrefete cheere
Of court, and been estatlich of manere,
And to ben holden digne of reverence.
But for to speken of hire conscience,
She was so charitable and so pitous
She wolde wepe if that she saugh a mous
Kaught in a trappe, if it were deed or bledde.
Of smale houndes hadde she, that she fedde
With rosted flessh, or milk and wastel breed;
But soore wepte she if oon of hem were deed,
Or if men smoot it with a yerde smerte;
And al was conscience and tendre herte.

Ful semyly hir wympul pynched was;
Hire nose tretys, her eyen greye as glas,
Hir mouth ful smal and ther-to softe and reed;
But sikerly she hadde a fair forheed;
It was almoost a spanne brood, I trowe;
For, hardily, she was nat undergrowe.
Ful fetys was hir cloke, as I was war;
Of smal coral aboute hire arm she bar
A peire of bedes, gauded al with grene,
And ther-on heng a brooch of gold ful sheene,
On which ther was first write a crowned A,
And after, Amor vincit omnia.

Another Nonne with hire hadde she,
That was hire chapeleyne, and Preestes thre.

A Monk ther was, a fair for the maistrie,
An outridere, that lovede venerie;
A manly man, to been an abbot able.
Ful many a deyntee hors hadde he in stable;
And whan he rood, men myghte his brydel heere
Gýnglen in a whistlynge wynd als cleere,
And eek as loude, as dooth the chapel belle,
Ther as this lord was kepere of the celle.
The reule of seint Maure or of seint Beneit,
By-cause that it was old and som-del streit,—
This ilke Monk leet olde thynges pace,
And heeld after the newe world the space.
He yaf nat of that text a pulled hen
That seith that hunters ben nat hooly men,
Ne that a monk, whan he is recchelees,
Is likned til a fissh that is waterlees,—
This is to seyn, a monk out of his cloystre.
But thilke text heeld he nat worth an oystre;
And I seyde his opinioun was good.
What sholde he studie and make hymselven wood,
Upon a book in cloystre alwey to poure,
Or swynken with his handes and labóure,
As Austyn bit? How shal the world be served?
Lat Austyn have his swynk to him reserved.
Therfore he was a prikasour aright:
Grehoundes he hadde, as swift as fowel in flight;
Of prikyng and of huntyng for the hare
Was al his lust, for no cost wolde he spare.
I seigh his sleves y-púrfiled at the hond
With grys, and that the fyneste of a lond;
And for to festne his hood under his chyn
He hadde of gold y-wroght a curious pyn;
A love-knotte in the gretter ende ther was.
His heed was balled, that shoon as any glas,
And eek his face, as he hadde been enoynt.
He was a lord ful fat and in good poynt;
His eyen stepe, and rollynge in his heed,
That stemed as a forneys of a leed;
His bootes souple, his hors in greet estaat.
Now certeinly he was a fair prelaat.
He was nat pale, as a forpyned goost:
A fat swan loved he best of any roost.
His palfrey was as broun as is a berye.

A Frere ther was, a wantowne and a merye,
A lymytour, a ful solémpne man.
In alle the ordres foure is noon that kan
So muchel of daliaunce and fair langage.
He hadde maad ful many a mariage
Of yonge wommen at his owene cost.
Unto his ordre he was a noble post.
Ful wel biloved and famulier was he
With frankeleyns over al in his contree,
And eek with worthy wommen of the toun;
For he hadde power of confessioun,
As seyde hym-self, moore than a curát,
For of his ordre he was licenciat.
Ful swetely herde he confessioun,
And plesaunt was his absolucioun.
He was an esy man to yeve penaunce
There as he wiste to have a good pitaunce;
For unto a povre ordre for to yive
Is signe that a man is wel y-shryve;
For, if he yaf, he dorste make avaunt
He wiste that a man was répentaunt;
For many a man so hard is of his herte
He may nat wepe al-thogh hym soore smerte.
Therfore in stede of wepynge and preyéres
Men moote yeve silver to the povre freres.
His typet was ay farsed full of knyves
And pynnes, for to yeven faire wyves.
And certeinly he hadde a murye note:
Wel koude he synge and pleyen on a rote;
Of yeddynges he baar outrely the pris.
His nekke whit was as the flour-de-lys;
Ther-to he strong was as a champioun.
He knew the tavernes wel in every toun,
And everich hostiler and tappestere
Bet than a lazar or a beggestere;
For unto swich a worthy man as he
Acorded nat, as by his facultee,
To have with sike lazars aqueyntaunce;
It is nat honest, it may nat avaunce
Fór to deelen with no swich poraille,
But al with riche and selleres of vitaille.
And over-al, ther as profit sholde arise,
Curteis he was and lowely of servyse.
Ther nas no man nowher so vertuous.
He was the beste beggere in his hous;
[And yaf a certeyn ferme for the graunt,
Noon of his brethren cam ther in his haunt;]
For thogh a wydwe hadde noght a sho,
So plesaunt was his In principio,
Yet wolde he have a ferthyng er he wente:
His purchas was wel bettre than his rente.
And rage he koude, as it were right a whelpe.
In love-dayes ther koude he muchel helpe,
For there he was nat lyk a cloysterer
With a thredbare cope, as is a povre scolér,
But he was lyk a maister, or a pope;
Of double worstede was his semycope,
That rounded as a belle, out of the presse.
Somwhat he lipsed for his wantownesse,
To make his Englissh sweete upon his tonge;
And in his harpyng, whan that he hadde songe,
His eyen twynkled in his heed aryght
As doon the sterres in the frosty nyght.
This worthy lymytour was cleped Hubérd.

A Marchant was ther with a forked berd,
In motteleye, and hye on horse he sat;
Upon his heed a Flaundryssh bevere hat;
His bootes clasped faire and fetisly.
His resons he spak ful solémpnely,
Sownynge alway thencrees of his wynnyng.
He wolde the see were kept for any thing
Bitwixe Middelburgh and Orewelle.
Wel koude he in eschaunge sheeldes selle.
This worthy man ful wel his wit bisette;
Ther wiste no wight that he was in dette,
So estatly was he of his gouvernaunce,
With his bargaynes and with his chevyssaunce.
For sothe he was a worthy man with-alle,
But, sooth to seyn, I noot how men hym calle.

A Clerk ther was of Oxenford also,
That unto logyk hadde longe y-go.
As leene was his hors as is a rake,
And he nas nat right fat, I undertake,
But looked holwe, and ther-to sobrely.
Ful thredbare was his overeste courtepy;
For he hadde geten hym yet no benefice,
Ne was so worldly for to have office;
For hym was lévere háve at his beddes heed
Twénty bookes, clad in blak or reed,
Of Aristotle and his philosophie,
Than robes riche, or fíthele, or gay sautrie.
But al be that he was a philosophre,
Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre;
But al that he myghte of his freendes hente
On bookes and on lernynge he it spente,
And bisily gan for the soules preye
Of hem that yaf hym wher-with to scoleye.
Of studie took he moost cure and moost heede.
Noght o word spak he moore than was neede;
And that was seyd in forme and reverence,
And short and quyk and ful of hy senténce.
Sownynge in moral vertu was his speche;
And gladly wolde he lerne and gladly teche.

A Sergeant of the Lawe, war and wys,
That often hadde been at the Parvys,
Ther was also, ful riche of excellence.
Discreet he was, and of greet reverence—
He semed swich, his wordes weren so wise.
Justice he was ful often in assise,
By patente, and by pleyn commissioun.
For his science and for his heigh renoun,
Of fees and robes hadde he many oon.
So greet a purchasour was nowher noon:
Al was fee symple to hym in effect;
His purchasyng myghte nat been infect.
Nowher so bisy a man as he ther nas,
And yet he semed bisier than he was.
In termes hadde he caas and doomes alle
That from the tyme of kyng William were falle.
Ther-to he koude endite and make a thyng,
Ther koude no wight pynche at his writyng;
And every statut koude he pleyn by rote.
He rood but hoomly in a medlee cote,
Girt with a ceint of silk, with barres smale;
Of his array telle I no lenger tale.

A Frankeleyn was in his compaignye.
Whit was his berd as is the dayesye;
Of his complexioun he was sangwyn.
Wel loved he by the morwe a sop in wyn;
To lyven in delit was evere his wone,
For he was Epicurus owene sone,
That heeld opinioun that pleyn delit
Was verraily felicitee parfit.
An housholdere, and that a greet, was he;
Seint Julian he was in his contree.
His breed, his ale, was alweys after oon;
A bettre envyned man was nowher noon.
Withoute bake mete was nevere his hous,
Of fissh and flessh, and that so plentevous,
It snewed in his hous of mete and drynke,
Of alle deyntees that men koude thynke,
After the sondry sesons of the yeer;
So chaunged he his mete and his soper.
Ful many a fat partrich hadde he in muwe,
And many a breem and many a luce in stuwe.
Wo was his cook but if his sauce were
Poynaunt and sharp, and redy al his geere.
His table dormant in his halle alway
Stood redy covered al the longe day.
At sessiouns ther was he lord and sire;
Ful ofte tyme he was knyght of the shire.
An anlaas, and a gipser al of silk,
Heeng at his girdel, whit as morne milk.
A shirreve hadde he been, and a countour;
Was nowher such a worthy vavasour.

An Haberdasshere, and a Carpenter,
A Webbe, a Dyere, and a Tapycer,—
And they were clothed alle in o lyveree
Of a solémpne and a greet fraternitee.
Ful fressh and newe hir geere apiked was;
Hir knyves were chaped noght with bras,
But al with silver; wroght ful clene and weel
Hire girdles and hir pouches everydeel.
Wel semed ech of hem a fair burgeys
To sitten in a yeldehalle, on a deys.
Éverich, for the wisdom that he kan,
Was shaply for to been an alderman;
For catel hadde they ynogh and rente,
And eek hir wyves wolde it wel assente,
And elles certeyn were they to blame.
It is ful fair to been y-cleped Madame,
And goon to vigilies al bifore,
And have a mantel roialliche y-bore.

A Cook they hadde with hem for the nones,
To boille the chiknes with the marybones,
And poudre-marchant ****, and galyngale.
Wel koude he knowe a draughte of Londoun ale.
He koude rooste, and sethe, and broille, and frye,
Máken mortreux, and wel bake a pye.
But greet harm was it, as it thoughte me,
That on his shyne a mormal hadde he;
For blankmanger, that made he with the beste.

A Shipman was ther, wonynge fer by weste;
For aught I woot he was of Dertemouthe.
He rood upon a rouncy, as he kouthe,
In a gowne of faldyng to the knee.
A daggere hangynge on a laas hadde he
Aboute his nekke, under his arm adoun.
The hoote somer hadde maad his hewe al broun;
And certeinly he was a good felawe.
Ful many a draughte of wyn hadde he y-drawe
Fro Burdeux-ward, whil that the chapman sleep.
Of nyce conscience took he no keep.
If that he faught and hadde the hyer hond,
By water he sente hem hoom to every lond.
But of his craft to rekene wel his tydes,
His stremes, and his daungers hym bisides,
His herberwe and his moone, his lode-menage,
Ther nas noon swich from Hulle to Cartage.
Hardy he was and wys to undertake;
With many a tempest hadde his berd been shake.
He knew alle the havenes, as they were,
From Gootlond to the Cape of Fynystere,
And every cr

— The End —