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"kum" poems
painting when being bilingual, the naked phonetics of the english alphabet, and the diacritics on the polish one, for example -sh- of the former and -sz- of the latter, but the painting is still entitled: trying to capture what was being said without lip-reading but by optics encoding the sounds, so that someone bilingual might decipher; and yes, dependent of aesthetics / orthography the -rz- versus the ż. azog szak gaum'dasz! blog kruto, goniś... gunwondersmargen'ś. azog mor'rzyrljisz? blog golumdo, sza zu lisz sza za duh. azog jam dysz! *** da kurz nak krza rzuk; arz ga bejark gundabadul, mar kam narm karszrz. mulgaj! a'naj! ursdraj! tu pu nam - ah me c!
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Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 10:03 PM UTC
phonetic painting of extended bilingualism
sit with me before the dance in my little thatch hut on a mat of yellow reeds together we’ll string garlands marigolds, jasmine, roses to offer at His petite, azure feet with glossy red kisses we’ll serenade our Sri Krishna weave peacock feathers through His perfumed tresses the Yamuna river is lit up with lotus lanterns and vrindavan incense we have adorned ourselves in the finest silk saris and red *** *** dots we are ready with aching, ardent hearts to dance with the Lord come into our eager, hopeful arms darling Giridhari
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Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
Nandalala
i cover my head with the golden hem of my sari and wipe away charcoal tears streaming black with kohl pencil lips red as *** *** whisper how much I love you Your face a shimmering reflection appears in the deep patina pools of my crystal prayer beads Only Your Name eases this heartache and helps to keep sanity Invisible One fill my nostrils with the scent of jasmine and the alluring music of Your Murali
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Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 9:47 PM UTC
Murali Krishna
Your kiss hangs suspended hibernating somewhere between here and the Smokies Indian Winter rains pelt the earth brilliant feathers woven though my hair red *** *** dot on my third eye I kneel a Hopi Corn maiden planting new seeds hoping for the harvest of your Love
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Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 9:08 PM UTC
Almost Spring
found in Styron's darkness visible... he survived auschwitz... but said adieu to life: by throwing himself down a flight of stairs. millennial, generation y, huh?!     also called the: bearable heaviness of non-being...    say: survivors of auschwitz, and apart from Kundera, i'm fudged into this stealth-culprit      hangover...    and when i speak the native tongue i use double emphasis... everything suddenly becomes italic...     gówno... or **** teutonic: gavron, ja, ich habbe schtabbe ga ga, magpie on               a licky-sticky schtaisse: vroom bog-tie boom boom...    everntually language is just that:    magnifique sounds, mein herr,     be that a cello i hear?                       nada... mindlessly i too   feigned a farting brigadier, farting into        a brass horn: worth a gingerbread / pumpernickle        marching rhythm. yes, double emphasis in the native... kosz (koš)... bin...     trza błagać... błagać!         o śmierć... beg for death...              but hetman cossak said smerc... and it sounded altogether better.    a household argument,    after prawn-pasta was cooked throughout an afternoon of general bewilderment:         a heap of pebbles makes more sense than the Orion constelation...               given the mathematical approach to the situation, and subsequent mapping...    because they really did drop a bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki...                 and that's why 21st creativity is trapped in a hamster's routine...     karaoke is standard...                          this insissting plagiaristic zeitgeist! so i said: you really think you conquered yapan?            jesus, je suis, zeus, yesus, jamaican                               jah jah *** buck...       rasta root mon, rasta root.     battered and bruised...                someohow this whole dating scene passed me by...                      and what happened to me aged 21... is strangely becoming the norm                        of giving the circumstance:   i can't remember being of any age, particular.   the quicker argument would coincide with:     give me a machinegun, and march me into a Latvian forest...                    because, right now, it's a scenario of being coerced into donning a leash    or more like a leech,                          and an afternoon spent pulverised by a pneumatic tsunami                      of adverts... calling it a job done, with a siberian brew: cow juice in                        tea...                      liquid werther's original.
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Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 7:32 PM UTC
liquid werther's original
found in Styron's darkness visible... he survived auschwitz... but said adieu to life: by throwing himself down a flight of stairs. millennial, generation y, huh?!     also called the: bearable heaviness of non-being...    say: survivors of auschwitz, and apart from Kundera, i'm fudged into this stealth-culprit      hangover...    and when i speak the native tongue i use double emphasis... everything suddenly becomes italic...     gówno... or **** teutonic: gavron, ja, ich habbe schtabbe ga ga, magpie on               a licky-sticky schtaisse: vroom bog-tie boom boom...    everntually language is just that:    magnifique sounds, mein herr,     be that a cello i hear?                       nada... mindlessly i too   feigned a farting brigadier, farting into        a brass horn: worth a gingerbread / pumpernickle        marching rhythm. yes, double emphasis in the native... kosz (koš)... bin...     trza błagać... błagać!         o śmierć... beg for death...              but hetman cossak said smerc... and it sounded altogether better.    a household argument,    after prawn-pasta was cooked throughout an afternoon of general bewilderment:         a heap of pebbles makes more sense than the Orion constelation...               given the mathematical approach to the situation, and subsequent mapping...    because they really did drop a bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki...                 and that's why 21st creativity is trapped in a hamster's routine...     karaoke is standard...                          this insissting plagiaristic zeitgeist! so i said: you really think you conquered yapan?            jesus, je suis, zeus, yesus, jamaican                               jah jah *** buck...       rasta root mon, rasta root.     battered and bruised...                someohow this whole dating scene passed me by...                      and what happened to me aged 21... is strangely becoming the norm                        of giving the circumstance:   i can't remember being of any age, particular.   the quicker argument would coincide with:     give me a machinegun, and march me into a Latvian forest...                    because, right now, it's a scenario of being coerced into donning a leash    or more like a leech,                          and an afternoon spent pulverised by a pneumatic tsunami                      of adverts... calling it a job done, with a siberian brew: cow juice in                        tea...                      liquid werther's original.
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64
My grandson Alex said something very profound and intriguing after his graduation ceremony. I was complaining about how thin my hair had become and blamed it all on growing old. Alex looked at me with quizzical eyes partially covered by a mop of black sheepdog hair and declared, "Well, Grandma you are an old lady." I gave him a piercing look and said, "True, but, remember this: The Soul is Eternal." In that moment, my 14 year old grandson said that I reminded him of an old lady living in an off-the-beaten road shack. As I listened to him and the evocative images he spun I took the liberty of embellishing his description: "Hidden by a dense patch of wild crafted herbs, a hint of mint, diamond needles darning their way around the bucolic scenery, a peculiar little hut comes into view. The round oculus amethyst windows appear as portholed eyes to another world. If you pause and listen keenly you can distinctly hear the hum of otherworldly chants echoing from its eaves. Indeed, everything about this strange occult cottage exudes magical charm, you'd think it was inhabited by a priestess or something of that nature. Slowly, I open the creaking door, puffs of rose moss incense and pooja camphor burn in small brass pots. Countless multi colored bottles, all different shapes and sizes, antique knick knacks, curiosities crowd the musty shelves. And a soft, rainbow mist floats through the room. This enigmatic Shack oozes wisdom......My Granny, her hair thinning, bits of silver creating a halo of stars, welcomes me. She gazes at me with a wise, weathered elderly smile while applying a red *** *** dot on my third eye and says: "You know Alex the Soul is Ageless."
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Jun 23, 2019
Jun 23, 2019 at 7:44 PM UTC
Wisdom Shack
My grandson Alex said something very profound and intriguing after his graduation ceremony. I was complaining about how thin my hair had become and blamed it all on growing old. Alex looked at me with quizzical eyes partially covered by a mop of black sheepdog hair and declared, "Well, Grandma you are an old lady." I gave him a piercing look and said, "True, but, remember this: The Soul is Eternal." In that moment, my 14 year old grandson said that I reminded him of an old lady living in an off-the-beaten road shack. As I listened to him and the evocative images he spun I took the liberty of embellishing his description: "Hidden by a dense patch of wild crafted herbs, a hint of mint, diamond needles darning their way around the bucolic scenery, a peculiar little hut comes into view. The round oculus amethyst windows appear as portholed eyes to another world. If you pause and listen keenly you can distinctly hear the hum of otherworldly chants echoing from its eaves. Indeed, everything about this strange occult cottage exudes magical charm, you'd think it was inhabited by a priestess or something of that nature. Slowly, I open the creaking door, puffs of rose moss incense and pooja camphor burn in small brass pots. Countless multi colored bottles, all different shapes and sizes, antique knick knacks, curiosities crowd the musty shelves. And a soft, rainbow mist floats through the room. This enigmatic Shack oozes wisdom......My Granny, her hair thinning, bits of silver creating a halo of stars, welcomes me. She gazes at me with a wise, weathered elderly smile while applying a red *** *** dot on my third eye and says: "You know Alex the Soul is Ageless."
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10
Don kno how to escape Kant seem to find any man for a Gud date But am I late, I taste ma own sweat and tears Will jakie *** back. Don know dat Will I picke feet bak up Will I Will I I don even kno me anymore I don kno Jake I thinke I'll shop, Best way for dis girlie to think.
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Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 8:31 PM UTC
Shop for thinking
Ideas turned ideology create Infinite numbers of lines in the sand Here's mine and there's yours Serotonin deficient lives Laying dreams on the back of others Then shunning them for breaking Men told to **** the marrow Women told to **** the **** Pigeon holed sweater wearers Hanging the future in neat picture frames Staring intently to help it self-materialize Junkies pry the world limb by limb Holding hands in *** ba ya As they skip off windowed cliffs Red light burning away the innocence Of hairless brown rabbits Hypnotized boxers fighting ideas While onlookers are sold to slavers Breathless New Ageisms Creating an orthodoxy of unorthodoxy Visions of trains in a spotless horizon Idolizing the unreal,  a hope for hope Destined for eternal disappointment
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Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC
untitled 10/28
Sacchi Mohabbat hai zamaane me boht *** Mohabbat ki adakari boht hai.
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Aug 15, 2019
Aug 15, 2019 at 1:27 PM UTC
Mohabbat (love)
Bhaiyon aur behnon Aao karein charcha unki Jinki leh na bahe toh Hojata hay ghanghor apraadh Fir mehek achi ** ya buri Dil mein bas reh jati hay baat Zaika hai inka bhi anokha Magar chonk ke bina kaisa swad Aao karein charcha unki Jisse hum khetey hain jasbaat Apni marzi ke yeh hain maalik Time par dikhate hain aukaat Kabhi bina namak, Aur kabhi cheeni *** ** toh G par dil khol dete hain laath
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Feb 4, 2020
Feb 4, 2020 at 3:13 PM UTC
Namak, swag anusaar
Uphesheya komlambo Ndiphesheya komlambo Ndiselunxwemeni ndixinekile Ndixhinile,ndixakiwe Ndikubona, undibona Ndingenako ukuza kuwe Ungenakuza *** Ulee nam ndilee Ndinga ndingawela Unga ungawela Isiziba sinzulu Sele ndibane ndizula
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Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 3:07 AM UTC
Uphesheya ndiphesheya
gözlerimde yüzme kararınız şimdiye dek hiç olmadığım kadar mutlu hissettiriyor *** tepelerinde oynayan bir çocuk gibi küçük çakıllar diziyorum bikini izlerine dudak kesimlerim güncelleniyor böylece daha fit bir dikişe yeni moda değil tanrı vergisi meleke çok iyi bir terzi olduğum söyleniyor birkaç yabancı dilde ve şilebezi akşamlar işin sırrı çepeçevre memnuniyet çitlerinde ve dans ederken duble beyazın içinde çakır olacaksınız siz de başın göğsüm gövdem inmeyen asansör zirvede iki maviyiz bir kavanozda artık ve hazırsınız boşalmak için gökyüzüne her zamanki gibi önce siz lütfen..
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Jun 20, 2019
Jun 20, 2019 at 7:49 AM UTC
Zirvede Kal
latches on to your mind ******* on the uniqueness, iconic-ness, spontaneous actions, of who You are. Having a Storm Trooper as your companion For a six hour drive, Lighting a bowl in a middle of a *** & Go carwash, Being my bright ball of light, when I needed it. The parasite latches onto that happiness, laughter, and soul of yours. Spits all of it onto the floor, letting it evaporate in the air. That little parasite clinging on to your mind haunts You. You’ve taken medications, shook your head, and dreamt. But the parasite’s will is greater than your mind. You can’t see who You truly are any longer but I can. You’re Strong Stronger than anyone I’ve seen. You’re Brave. You could’ve ended It all. But You didn’t. So, You know what? You’ll get rid Of that parasite And live the life You were meant to live. I hope You do. Because You deserve it. Always.
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Dec 16, 2018
Dec 16, 2018 at 7:04 PM UTC
A Parasite
So much aggression And oppression *** Bay Ya Or Hell Nah Straws and Pseudoscientists           look into spoon  |/|\|/|\|/|\|/|\|/            hypnotization           ~take the straw~ religious regard as Lord of the Lard hole in the Ozone messed up chromosome the Earth is flat flat as my ***
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May 23, 2019
May 23, 2019 at 1:58 PM UTC
Earth