"lingua" poems
One in the know drops a line,
there was no A B C to spell,
yet it keeps spreading.
An animated lingua
wraps round the eyeline.
All those that get wind of it
arise and keep counting.
Without a beginning or an end,
For it has no 1 or 9,
not a mark nor a sign.
Speechless, breathless me,
turn to mine, the one,
superior turned-on mind.
And it appeared true,
true to that credible nature
that identifies indeed
the 'name' of the composer!
Meanwhile, a bird of time.
A giant spell takes no time,
eases off in a blink of eye.
I start to breathe,
begin to revive, again in my
native countryside:
some clay-bumps on the river.
I can cry, smile, now I
can shed tears.
Rhyme on the river.
What's in a river?
'Lores of time immemorial,
an open heart on the move!'
Is there anyone out there
'tapped into the running cycle of water,
following the rhyme on the river'?
One in the know drops a line,
there was no A B C to spell,
yet it keeps spreading.
An animated lingua
wraps round the eyeline.
All those that get wind of it
arise and keep counting.
Without a beginning or an end,
For it has no 1 or 9,
not a mark nor a sign.
Speechless, breathless me,
turn to mine, the one,
superior turned-on mind.
And it appeared true,
true to that credible nature
that identifies indeed
the 'name' of the composer!
Meanwhile, a bird of time.
A giant spell takes no time,
eases off in a blink of eye.
I start to breathe,
begin to revive, again in my
native countryside:
some clay-bumps on the river.
I can cry, smile, now I
can shed tears.
Rhyme on the river.
What's in a river?
'Lores of time immemorial,
an open heart on the move!'
Is there anyone out there
'tapped into the running cycle of water,
following the rhyme on the river'?
One in the know drops a line,
there was no A B C to spell,
yet it keeps spreading.
An animated lingua
wraps round the eyeline.
All those that get wind of it
arise and keep counting.
Without a beginning or an end,
For it has no 1 or 9,
not a mark nor a sign.
Speechless, breathless me,
turn to mine, the one,
superior turned-on mind.
And it appeared true,
true to that credible nature
that identifies indeed
the 'name' of the composer!
Meanwhile, a bird of time.
A giant spell takes no time,
eases off in a blink of eye.
I start to breathe,
begin to revive, again in my
native countryside:
some clay-bumps on the river.
I can cry, smile, now I
can shed tears.
Rhyme on the river.
What's in a river?
'Lores of time immemorial,
an open heart on the move!'
Is there anyone out there
'tapped into the running cycle of water,
following the rhyme on the river'?
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 9:40 PM UTC
The Eid is bustling with joy
come let’s give it a try
f
l
y
away!
To the deathless groovy paradise
floating high on the elixir flow:
The triumphant joyous wave
streamed up from the secret bottom line!
Up above the lapis lazuli sky.
A pair of butterfly basks
in the sunlight
quietly indulges in style.
It goes on in slow motion
illuminating the night a firefly
perches on a slice of the Moon
flanked by the moonlight.
But you and me
we will rhyme and chant
in our lovely mother tongue.
In the same original lingua
like ‘Adam speaks up and all
angels listen in paradise’.
Come let’s give it a try
f
l
y
away!
On the wings of the moonlight
we will
s
a
i
l
away!
Ambling by the Moon
we'll **** through the starry nooks.
Eyes open and gently perched
atop a star for a moment or two.
We will see miles of galaxies
over the moonlit lakes of the blue
playing cool ravishing lutes!
The spring night is in bloom
and the cute sleeping beauty
wakes up playing the flute!
Musical half lights filling the sky.
Come let’s give it a try
f
l
y
away!
We’ll drink sharaban tahura
the holy wine of paradise
and once for all we will
k
i
s
s the death goodbye!
Our story will fill the divine soil
the heaven's flora and fauna
each and everyone will shine on our page
no houri will ever say finito singing our tale!
As Adam did it first stunned the angels
telling the nature of all things in paradise.
We will do that once more without a smirk
this time we will see the loving Creator!
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 1:04 PM UTC
Mahal ko ang Filipino, pagdiriwa’y walang plano
Malaking palaisipan pag-alala ng gobyerno
Samantalang ‘di naisip prayoridad wala rito,
Pagpapayaman sa Ingles hindi na magkandatuto.
Paggunita anong saysay, pagsasabuhay sa wikà
Makakapagpamulat ba lalo na sa mag-aaral;
Pagsambit sa mga ito maging sa mga parangal,
Ito ba’y nakagugulat isang buwang itinakdà.
Totoo namang ginamit sa pakipagtalastasan
Filipino’y instrumento sadyang hindi matumbasan;
Kahit na karamihan pa napagkakamalang Kanô
Pakikinig sa istasyong bumibilib na napunô.
Ang tanong sa puntong ito, napapayaman ba kayâ?
Sa mga naging konteksto, ang masa ba’y nakukutyâ?
Sa mga nakakarinig, nahalua’y kabaduyan
Maging mga komentaryo, kalaswaa’y kinantsawan.
Kung bastos ang naging dating, anong magiging termino?
Ang mga dapat ilimbag sa papel ng mga dyaryo;
Sa pagbibigay ng aliw,ito’y pulos kababawan
Inisip ng mamamayan, may ganitong katangian.
Kapuri-puri ang iba, may mahahalgang paksà
Ito’y kinakikitaan na may seryosong diskurso;
Sa kabilang banda pala, ito’y nawalan ng bisà,
Tulog na ‘pag pinalabas, ito’y kadalasang kaso.
Paano papaunlarin kung iba’y pinagpilitan
Tunay na nakalulungkot ito’y naging panambitan;
Sa halip pa ngang gamitin bilang makatwirang midyum,
Sa mga usap-usapan, maging sa mga simposyum.
Ang pagpapaunlad nito ay hindi sa balarila
Hanggang sa pag-uunawa pati ng ortograpiya;
Kinailangang mawala ang mga maling pananaw,
Ito’y nangangahulugang pagkilatis ‘di papanaw.
Ang natanging lingua franca nagbibigay identidad
Sambayanang sumasambit pagka- Pinoy lumalantad;
Sa bansa’y nagbigay-linaw, paggamit ng isang wikà,
Kaysa sa salitang- dayo, nagturan ng hakahakà.
Oo, Agosto na naman, dapat pa bang magkamayan?
Wika nati’y maging ilaw siyang magsisilbing lakas,
Juan, gumising ka naman, kamtan mo’y tuwid na landas;
Kung hindi tayo kikilos, mayroong paglalamayan.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 9:26 AM UTC
Os iusti meditabitur sapientiam,
Et lingua eius loquetur indicium.
Beatus vir qui suffert tentationem,
Quoniqm *** probates fuerit accipient coronam vitae.
Kyrie, fons bonitatis.
Kyrie, ignis divine, eleison.
O quam sancta, quam serena,
Quam benigma, quam amoena esse Virgo creditur.
O quam sancta, quam serena,
Quam benigma, quam amoena,
O castitatis lilium.
Kyrie, fons bonitatis.
Kyrie, ignis divine, eleison.
O quam sancta, quam serena,
Quam benigma, quam amoena,
O castitatis lilium.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 2:02 PM UTC
Carla kept nudging me to learn Italian.
It is the language of lovers and liars she said, life’s two best friends,
Discipline yourself, it will teach you to sing, she offered,
Each phrase a lyric, a seduction,
It will give you an unfair advantage over younger men, she promised,
Tickle her ear with this tongue and she will shiver and unfold,
Her heart, her knees unlocked.
Italian is a calculate of rhythm, Carla suggested,
Every woman understands timing and phase,
Our life is nothing but cycles for god’s sakes,
How have you not understood this?
It is the lingua of fair play, she continued, each syllable an equal citizen,
A dialect with an innate sense of justice,
Women are as intrigued by its possibilities,
As they are by threat and danger,
Either of which you can no longer promise.
Tell a woman you love her in Italian,
Ti amo più respiro, I love you more than breath,
And her ******* will disappear,
She won’t be able to take her eyes off your lips,
And as we all know, your mouth is your hook,
Your irresistible smile, the pout, the persuasion.
You are a poet, a miracle I know,
Your words are narcotic when you put your mind to it,
I’ve heard you quell an unruly crowd;
Your resonant tone could soothe a pack of ravenous jackals.
But with that intricate face of yours,
Your accumulating age, the leather wrinkles,
Believe me, you will soon need to help to ****** even a photograph.
Enlist, become Italian, Carla told me, it is your only hope,
And she tossed the last of her wine onto the sand,
Watched the red stain saturate and fade,
And lay back to face the sun.
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 7:08 PM UTC
*A weaver of words in deep quiet reflects
In his mind’s prism, many a thought deflects
Within him the rainbow colours of passion rage
He scripts songs of beauty and rhyme on page after page
He has no magic, neither erudite nor clever
But hungry souls, his poems avidly devour
Stirring their hearts as wind on whispering leaves
And each line, some alluring fancy weaves
As from pen to paper his fancies flow
In a lingua that has an unusual glow
Though a great epic may not be born
His songs move even hearts of flint n’ stone
He sings the paeans of love and life
Of men in cross roads of toil and strife
He awakens dead worlds long forgotten
Taking us to magic lands never trodden
His songs have echoes of a heavenly rhapsody
Drowning the Earth in flooding melody
Fuelling hearts with thoughts one cannot name
Spawning tempestuous passions one cannot tame*
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 5:49 AM UTC
You will know the house,
Caught up in a spell of tales played out for a century or more
Within earshot of whispering catacombs
*** mortuis in lingua mortua’
You can’t miss it –
Architecturally complex, ornate with ormolu,
Elevated, enigmatic, a work of art.
You’ll be enchanted
But take heed, its façade will beguile you.
There is no sweetness of honeysuckle,
No singing of ascending larks to embolden the heart.
The plot is strewn with hen-bane, stinging nettles, snakeroot.
Generations tell of a skinny hag feeding on innocence,
A path scattered with ashes of children
Whisked away with a broom of silver.
Don’t dare to stray beyond its palisade of porous bones.
Don’t bide your time admiring its guilded thistle.
Appreciate if you will, this well-crafted masterpiece from several angles,
then make a hasty escape to Viktor’s Great Gate at the end of the walk.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2011
Jul 16, 2011
Jul 16, 2011 at 8:56 AM UTC
Ridonsi donne e giovani amorosi
M’ occostandosi attorno, e perche scrivi,
Perche tu scrivi in lingua ignota e strana
Verseggiando d’amor, e conie t’osi ?
Dinne, se la tua speme sia mai vana
E de pensieri lo miglior t’ arrivi;
Cosi mi van burlando, altri rivi
Altri lidi t’ aspettan, & altre onde
Nelle cui verdi sponde
Spuntati ad hor, ad hor a la tua chioma
L’immortal guiderdon d ‘eterne frondi
Perche alle spalle tue soverchia soma?
Canzon dirotti, e tu per me rispondi
Dice mia Donna, e’l suo dir, e il mio cuore
Questa e lingua di cui si vanta Amore.
2.1k
originally it reads as:
**** i am drunk: do sudoku drunk!
what a ******
x x x x x x x x x
x 7 6 x 5 9 3 x x
x x 8 x 7 x x 1 x
x x 2 x 1 x x 5 x
x x x 3 x 7 1 2 x
1 6 9 x 2 x x x x
x x x 4 x 1 7 8 x
9 4 x 7 x x x 6 x
x 5 x 6 x x x x x
now i really want to learn something,
but i don't seem to want to...
the end result?
3 1 5 8 4 6 9 7 2
2 7 6 1 5 9 3 4 8
4 9 8 2 7 3 5 1 6
7 3 2 9 1 8 6 5 4
5 8 4 3 6 7 1 2 9
1 6 9 5 2 4 8 3 7
6 2 3 4 9 1 7 8 5
9 4 1 7 8 5 2 6 3
8 5 7 6 3 2 4 9 1...
bu there's a narrative to mind...
the ) game,
half an hour's worth of game after inserting
the first six -
(a
b) matrixes -
the theta-phi debate crosswords and blind-spots -
but the narrative goes like this:
a. 7 1
1 5 )
x 7 1 2
"zooming in with a nibbled into 6",
b. 5 | 5
7
1
x
x 2 x
x
x
x
c. 2nd 5
6 x x 4 x 1 7 8 x (5)
d. 1st 5
5 x x 4 x 1 7 8 x
9 4 x 7 x x x 6 x
x 5 x 6 x x x x x
e. x x x x x 2 x x x
x 7 6 | x x x | 9 4 x
x x 8 1 6 9 x 5 x
f. x x x
x 5 9
x 7 x
x 1 x x 5 x
3 x 7
5 2 x
4 x 1
7 x 5 7 8 5
6 x x
(more than or haczyk, or háček
a hook: in saying: oi! geezer!
traffic that 'un!
but still more than or less
than in Copernican lingua?
dunno... well: that's two smokin' barrels' worth
of info for the inauguration -
'cos' pretty face over 'ere was half a wit's know-churn
off a ***** 'now what i mean?'
they necessarily say it in sprechen glutton Danzig
so you look smart, and not like some artful dodgy
podger:
n'es pas? twinkle tweezer ****
oi right and that ****** off came with the touch
of a knuckle: 'cos' i wasn't preaching trigonometry:
nor was i ******* kidding.
down the east end they call us Vlad-sodden
impaler imperialistic -
after the little debacle we 'av a laugh and drink
a bottle of *****
then we do the rickety chance of engaging in
baptismal fire with the Jamaicans -
or so you know. *well, wouldn't you believe it,
look how far being called vermin gets ya!*
all the way to Buckingham Palace me says!
and some dared to say: ransack Sicily.
blah ha ha... your's a tongue on the leash!
g. x - 4? / 3?
5
7
1
x - 4?
2
x
x
x
h. 6 2 x 4 x 1 7 8 5
6 2 x 4 9 1 7 8 5
6 2 3 4 9 1 7 8 5
(breakthrough point!)
i. 7
x
1
5
2
x
j. x 7 6 1 5 9 3 x x
k. 7 l. 7 m. 7
x x 4
1 1 1
5 5 5
2 2 2
x 3 3
8 8 8
6 6 6
9 9 9
n. 6 2 3 4 9 1 7 8 5
9 4 x 7 8 5 x 6 x
x 5 x 6 x x x 1 x
o. 6 2 3
9 4 x
8 5 x
p. 6 2 3 4
9 4 1 | 7
8 5 7 6
the 1st square: 6 2 3
9 4 1
8 5 7.
2nd square:
x x
3 x
x x
x x
1 x
x x
7 5
9 4 1
2 6 3
7 8 5;
q. square no. 2 anti linear:
4 9 1 4 9 1
7 8 5 : / v. 7 8 5
6 x x 6
ergo
4 9 1
7 8 5
6 3 2
3rd square:
7 8 5 7 8 5
2 6 3 | 2 6 3
x 9 x x 9 1....
subsequently: 8 5 7 6 3 2 4 9 1
hence: 1 6 9 5 2 x x 3 7
": 1 6 9 5 2 4 8 3 7
": 2 7 6 1 5 9 3 4 8
(interlude):
4 x 8 x 7 x x x(?)
r. x s. 7 3 2
2 x x x
4 1 6 9: 3
7 2
x 4
1 7
6 5
9 1
8 6
9
8
t. 1 then: 1
7 7
x 9
3 3
x 8
6 6
2 2
4 4
5 5
then 7 3 2
5 8 4
1 6 9 then 5 8 4 3 6 7 1 2 9
then 4 2
5 9
7 8
1 3
6
u. 7 3 2 x 1 x x 5 4
then
6 5 4 9 1 8
1 2 9 | 3 6 7
8 3 7 5 2 4
then
6
9
3
8 8 4 6
7 1 5 9
4 2 7 3
1
5
2
v. then 3 1 x 8 4 6 x 7 2
then 3 1 5 8 4 6 9 7 2 0
then the crescendo:
9 7 2
3 4 8
5 1 6 !
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 12:07 AM UTC
vague games enable and our liturgies co-mingle in an inkling of the I.
your mind succumbs to the soul. the rabid rain is ironic and the font you spell ' god ' with
is all scrawl and scrumptious. you lump this dream into your dolphin of Delphi
and squeak cute symphonies of deep brood.
you choose your Oblivion.
and that's how Angels kiss. they force the Word through your Animus
and greet your weakness with squinty eyes and Lion's breath.
you're the next best thing since that one thing that had no soul for god to play with.
it never complained. you might look and you might not see
what you're not supposed too. but i know you'll be happy with lemon-drops
and long dark naps.
that's how we do,
like a crispy pillow is a cloud with a lobotomy
and all my barbed wire is wine.
Like i'm the king of unbearable sublime. you anoint the fallen. i spike the punch, judy. you sunshine.
eulogies wet the pavement. darth mauls
the halls of our peril
and the dry
sparrows
you had no love but you had a thing that went thump
when you met her. and some other cocka-mamy thing.
and your narrow view
of the wide ha ha and the mute " **** this "
and why not?
we're all caught in the same frame and the gorgons are massive. you have to elect a hero to laugh at Death with and might get a girl.
you're nothing at all and that infuriates the reality you were dreamt with. you have no kin, but your family hasn't been.... you were unhinged
from the stark grim and the tide pool. why do you think i say things that ain't been language but has always been lingua nova ?
why would i lie ? this is the scepter of the vengeful design and the glee demons of first love sipping from a chalice of lost love
with closed eyes. this is the pier and the ocean. the dime store Picasso hanging the velvet Elvis with the perfect circles
with the little
cube inside...
aching for flamingos.
or not.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 8:09 AM UTC
III
Qual in colle aspro, al imbrunir di sera
L’avezza giovinetta pastorella
Va bagnando l’herbetta strana e bella
Che mal si spande a disusata spera
Fuor di sua natia alma primavera,
Cosi Amor meco insu la lingua snella
Desta il fior novo di strania favella,
Mentre io di te, vezzosamente altera,
Canto, dal mio buon popol non inteso
E’l bel Tamigi cangio col bel Arno
Amor lo volse, ed io a l’altrui peso
Seppi ch’ Amor cosa mai volse indarno.
Deh! foss’ il mio cuor lento e’l duro seno
A chi pianta dal ciel si buon terreno.
1.7k
Before delusion becomes infallible
miracles happen. Especially to non-believers.
Just doubt enough – it’s the currency
of breakthrough. Promise.
And look at the generosity of the modern world.
We constantly keep dancing on thin ice:
Quite generous, isn’t it? –
A phone call, an error, a rainbow
merge into: Let’s go for a walk
gathering raindrops and conjuring up rivers.
I do suggest alchemy as lingua franca.
It will create so much joy and tongue-twisters.
And now I start being busy doubting –
it is only a little window onto god.
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 6:26 AM UTC
Lying under a Patagonian sky
The silence is loud
A few gauchos happen by
A crowd
The wind sings
As the world passes by.
Distant fields of snow
Paint patterns on peaks
While clouds lay wispy blankets
On glaciers far below
Mother Nature speaks
A lingua franca
Time and space
The whispering of grass
In an empty place.
Estancia Nibepo Aike, January 2011
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 2:40 AM UTC
IV
Diodati, e te’l diro con maraviglia,
Quel ritroso io ch’amor spreggiar solea
E de suoi lacci spesso mi ridea
Gia caddi, ov’huom dabben talhor s’impiglia.
Ne treccie d’oro, ne guancia vermiglia
M’ abbaglian si, ma sotto nova idea
Pellegrina bellezza che’l cuor bea,
Portamenti alti honesti, e nelle ciglia
Quel sereno fulgor d’ amabil nero,
Parole adorne di lingua piu d’una,
E’l cantar che di mezzo l’hemispero
Traviar ben puo la faticosa Luna,
E degil occhi suoi auventa si gran fuoco
Che l ‘incerar gli oreechi mi fia poco.
1.4k
Silvia, rimembri ancora
quel tempo della tua vita mortale,
quando beltà splendea
negli occhi tuoi ridenti e fuggitivi,
e tu, lieta e pensosa, il limitare
di gioventù salivi?
Sonavan le quiete
stanze, e le vie dintorno,
al tuo perpetuo canto,
allor che all'opre femminili intenta
sedevi, assai contenta
di quel vago avvenir che in mente avevi.
Era il maggio odoroso: e tu solevi
così menare il giorno.
Io gli studi leggiadri
talor lasciando e le sudate carte,
ove il tempo mio primo
e di me si spendea la miglior parte,
d'in su i veroni del paterno ostello
porgea gli orecchi al suon della tua voce,
ed alla man veloce
che percorrea la faticosa tela.
Mirava il ciel sereno,
le vie dorate e gli orti,
e quinci il mar da lungi, e quindi il monte.
Lingua mortal non dice
quel ch'io sentiva in seno.
Che pensieri soavi,
che speranze, che cori, o Silvia mia!
Quale allor ci apparia
la vita umana e il fato!
Quando sovviemmi di cotanta speme,
un affetto mi preme
acerbo e sconsolato,
e tornami a doler di mia sventura.
O natura, o natura,
perché non rendi poi
quel che prometti allor? Perché di tanto
inganni i figli tuoi?
Tu pria che l'erbe inaridisse il verno,
da chiuso morbo combattuta e vinta,
perivi, o tenerella. E non vedevi
il fior degli anni tuoi;
non ti molceva il core
la dolce lode or delle negre chiome,
or degli sguardi innamorati e schivi;
né teco le compagne ai dì festivi
ragionavan d'amore.
Anche peria tra poco
la speranza mia dolce: agli anni miei
anche negaro i fati
la giovanezza. Ahi come,
come passata sei,
cara compagna dell'età mia nova,
mia lacrimata speme!
Questo è quel mondo? Questi
i diletti, l'amor, l'opre, gli eventi
onde cotanto ragionammo insieme?
Questa la sorte dell'umane genti?
All'apparir del vero
tu, misera, cadesti: e con la mano
la fredda morte ed una tomba ignuda
mostravi di lontano.
1.6k
For Caira Doheny, My Irish Muse
"Chameleons feed on light and air:
Poets' food is love and fame."
An Exhortation, st. 1 (1819)
Percy Bysshe Shelley
------------------------------------
Let us intimate a Poetic Competition,
Tween an Irish lass,
and a New York Jew,
I shall serve, and you,
You shall return
A contest:
Our tongues, our racquets,
Across the table,
The words shall bird fly,
Across the net,
Couplets and haiku
Shall smash and whistle
The winner will be the one
The God of Poetry
Accepts for permanent servitude
You **** my poetic soul forever
With the currency of praise genuine,
Authentic, flowing and fulsome,
Awarding me the Medallion Doheny
Cash value, a mere Irish penny,
But to the poet, the food of love and fame
Genetic to your nature,
You exhale word rhythms,
Excitable and interrupting,
Speech free flowing,
Tho I am of the People of the Book,
You, by birthplace,
Are unfair poetry advantaged
All your utterances
Are action heroes of the heart,
And I fail miserable to capture
The poetry you breathe out
Your Irish praise me awarded,
Tis now the
Standard and the Curse
This benighted amateur
Must now Prometheus nurse
One day in Dublin, shall we meet,
In a country where poetry is the
Iron in the people's blood
In a particular pub
Opposite we will sit,
You, a cowboy by adoption,
Me, the dastardly banker
You know the pub,
I, with my pint,
You, with your diet coke,
And the only lingua Franca
Shall be darts of poetry
In a language our own,
A collective work we will weave,
A blessed unity, a single tongue now,
Lilting, singing, bespoke
We will let the singer-poet laureate**
Of the island we now share, moderate,
Over his piano man's gin and tonic,
As we do as Yeats instructed:
Between us,
"A line will take us hours maybe;
Yet if it does not seem {but}
a moment's thought,
our stitching and unstinting
has been naught"
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 11:58 AM UTC
I apologize,
but the liquid ran clear,
as it lacked the taste of beer.
I turned the bottle's end into the air,
and held it until I couldn't bare.
My mouth was marinated in liquor, my dear.
My tongue was saturated in Fireball.
Ever since, that unfaithful night,
my tongue must feel like a flame of dishonesty
against your flowering rosebud;
since, it drunkenly 'ate' up
it's own spoken promise in faithfulness.
For now, it lays in a bath full of salvia coded guilt with
forgiveness standing at the tip;
in it's want to lovingly still explore you.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 12:29 AM UTC
Luna (Latine Lunae) est terrae sola naturalis satellite. [E] [F] [VIII] licet non amet naturalis satellitis in Systemate Solare est, inter satellites maioribus signis maxima quod ad magnitudinem orbes obiecti (primarium) [g] [a] et post Io satellite Jovis, qui est secundus densa inter densitates satellite cognoscuntur.
Luna est in vna *** orbem terrarum, et semper, et faciens facies, *** cis insignis, quae per tenebras inter maria volcanus editis clarus, et veteri crusta impactus crateres prominent. Est enim post solem in coelo et immutari. Quanquam autem id candidissimam, obscurus etiam superficie *** bitumen reflectance fessis tantum leviter superior. Huius temporibus perquam cyclus regularem habere in coelo, quia antiquitus in luna lingua maximus culturae opes, fastos artis fabularis. Producit vim gravitatis luna dies et tempora et levi freta. Nunc de orbita lunae distantia diameter vicibus terra in caelum facit ut fere idem sit qui apparet Solis. Nempe per id fere totum solem lunam eclipsin solis tegere. Hoc simile est de magnitudine visuali fortuitum apparens. Lunaris a terra distantiae lineae sit amet, crescens ad rate of 3,82 ± 0,07 mm per annum, id est, non tamen semper. [IX]
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
Italian love songs
Canzoni d'amore italiane
fires the need, touch touch caress.
alla necessità, tocco tocco carezza
my hand engulfs her little finger,
la mia mano avvolge il suo mignolo
sliding down from her knuckle,
scivolando giù dalla sua nocca,
to the glassine hard smooth of
alla glassina dura liscia di
a petite fingernail, contradicting,
un'unghia minuta, contraddittoria,
confirming the sensational opposition
confermando l'opposizione sensazionale
the forefinger performs a solo,
l'indice esegue un assolo,
exciting the ear’s topography,
eccitante la topografia dell'orecchio,
the sexuality of hill, vale, spaces,
la sessualità di collina, valle, spazi,
curvatures extending an invitation,
curvature che estendono un invito,
the neck, plane of the neck, take
prendere il collo, piano del collo
I’m no longer of surety possessing,
*Non ** più la garanzia di possedere,*
is it my finger or my tongue, is it
è il mio dito o la mia lingua, vero?
that my finger became my tongue,
che il mio dito è diventato la mia lingu,
all senses at attention, blurred,
tutti i sensi all'attenzione, sfocato,
the love song enactment, touch
recitazione della canzone d'amore, tocco
<>
the confusion of love is its clarity, the master and the slave
becoming one
la confusione dell'amore è la sua chiarezza, il padrone e lo schiavo diventano uno
Oct 19, 2019
Oct 19, 2019 at 8:43 AM UTC
“Be careful walking home,” stout Patricia
told us through a mouthful of affogato.
“The wild boar aren’t out much this time of year but
watch for the porcospini,” she snickered
wickedly,
“the porcupines’ll smell the grappa on your lips.”
my head spun in the moonrise,
the Dutch husband having poured glass
after glass after glass after
at first we were consp—hic
conspiring to cover the taste of the mushroom soup
hic—
don’t stand up just yet
eighteen year old legs for ages and a sweet
American peregrina sundress stupor
dizzy for the first time and feeling the
Tuscan drought on my lingua and in my mani
when I tell the story I remember there being
two dogs asleep under the table
but when they tell the story they
insist there was
only one
e noi non siamo di qui
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 11:44 PM UTC
They gather together with their guns all aimed at me,
Seeking to **** me once & for who I could ever at all be.
Later they would think that I had not been so wrong,
But it is just their bullets that I've been craving for long.
I hope when I'm dead they bury me and not burn me,
I've heard and often wondered about the world beyond.
I want to reach in physical existence and not as vapor,
I want to preach in their tongue be it the Lingua Franca.
Ready for the ado they embalm me for the beginning,
Further on they enforce a smile on my face so worn out.
They lend me four shoulders and I do not find it strange,
Don't they lend two to the players who won on the range?
My mother will weep rivers - perhaps cry - no - not for me,
But for losing a child whom she had borne in to this world.
My father would weep too - but silently - probably for me,
He would lose a son and a friend - a student and a teacher.
My enemies'd feel relieved & happy - perhaps pompous,
But their souls would salute a person with a lot of respect.
My friends'd find themselves wondering & questioning,
All the why's, what's, who's, how's rising in their intellect.
Far away at a distance miles from my coffin she'd lament,
Her reddened eyes & tears would belie her sweet smile.
She will furthermore let the memories seep into her veins,
Her attempts to let go of the memories would only fail.
She might try to slice her wrist vein with the kitchen knife,
But I'll return & stand by her side holding her shoulder.
She will then accept this fact that I've died & ceased my life,
And I'll want her to live on with our child in her womb...
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 1:30 AM UTC
i don't quite mi ricordo come scrivere anymore
imparando una lingua nuova mixes words together
Like Zuppa
mushed, soggy, and clouded
non voglio palare in inglese
solo italiano così posso imparare
my penso con inglese
i curse con inglese
i write in this limbo
a world in between two languages
the Purgatory of being Bilingual
ma io non sono Bilingue Veramente.
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
Pace non trovo e non ** da far guerra,
e temo e spero; ed ardo e son un ghiaccio;
e volo sopra 'l cielo e giaccio in terra;
e nulla stringo, e tutto 'l mondo abbraccio.
Tal m'ha in pregion, che non m'apre né serra,
né per suo mi riten né scioglie il laccio;
e non m'ancide Amore e non mi sferra,
né mi vuol vivo né mi trae d'impaccio.
Veggio senza occhi e non ** lingua e grido;
e bramo di perir e cheggio aita;
ed ** in odio me stesso ed amo altrui.
Pascomi di dolor, piangendo rido;
egualmente mi spiace morte e vita;
iin questo stato son, Donna, per voi.
892
I have lied to myself
on countless occasions,
hoping to forge truths
from behind my
yellowed teeth.
And now my mouth
is grown thick
with cultures
that were never brushed
from my pallet.
It is evident
in my clever speech
that I have never spoken
in my native tongue,
that my teeth are dying
because of this.
It is only a matter
of time before
the infection spreads
to my vital organs
and the lies I told
become me.
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 12:48 PM UTC
Teach me to sleep so I can learn to fly/
teach me this language so I can learn to fly
nel una lingua differente/
when i forget my dreams i must be sad
perche i miei sogni sono la mia fuga/
Teach me to sleep so I can learn to cry
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 4:01 PM UTC