"lithuanian" poems
I won't remember you...
the husky sound of your voice
tall, lanky stature
Lithuanian shape of your
Baltic blue eyes sledding
across my heart
even this embrace
standing on Melbourne beach
the wind swoons
two silhouettes melting into
each other
All the lines on my hands
are erased
the ocean pours tears into
a half moon shell
my body, a blind mermaid
washed ashore
upon the smooth, faceless sand
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 3:14 AM UTC
I waited today for a freight train to pass.
Cattle cars with steers butting their horns against the
bars, went by.
And a half a dozen hoboes stood on bumpers between
cars.
Well, the cattle are respectable, I thought.
Every steer has its transportation paid for by the farmer
sending it to market,
While the hoboes are law-breakers in riding a railroad
train without a ticket.
It reminded me of ten days I spent in the Allegheny
County jail in Pittsburgh.
I got ten days even though I was a veteran of the
Spanish-American war.
Cooped in the same cell with me was an old man, a
bricklayer and a booze-fighter.
But it just happened he, too, was a veteran soldier, and
he had fought to preserve the Union and free the
*******
We were three in all, the other being a Lithuanian who
got drunk on pay day at the steel works and got to
fighting a policeman;
All the clothes he had was a shirt, pants and shoes--
somebody got his hat and coat and what money he
had left over when he got drunk.
2.4k
English
I wake up
I bath
I work
I finish
I go home
I sleep
I repeat
French
je me réveille
je prends un bain
je travaille
je termine
je rentre à la maison
je dors
je répète
Yoruba
Mo ji
Mo wẹ
Mo sise
Mo pari
Mo lọ si ile
Mo sun
Mo tun ṣe
Arabic
استيقظت
أنا حمام
أعمل
أنهيت
أنا أذهب للمنزل
انام
أكرر
Japanese
Watashi wa
mewosamasu
watashi no basu
watashi wa hataraku
watashi wa oeru
watashi wa ienikaeru neru
watashi wa kurikaesu
Latin
Ego surgere
et bath
laboro
ego consummare
i Vade in domum tuam
ego dormio
ego iterare
Lithuanian
aš atsikeliu
Aš maudytis
Aš dirbu
aš baigiu
aš einu namo
aš miegu
aš kartoju
Rex Verum Regem
TFK
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 4:07 AM UTC
being Polish was never **** it was never a clue for
the sentencing of volleyball team effort... it was never ****
whatever it was... it was never going to be an Irish
bargain of gambling... it was just bad luck...
something akin to Lithuanian, something worth forgetting...
like Indians and the Bangladeshis... like Versailles and Belvederes palaces...
it was worth forgetting... which exemplified the love of
music in western Europe... and where music is
lacking there the poetic expression... well thank you Pink Floyd,
but let us forget Auden... we can all do enough with a sing-along...
but when it comes to canvases of involvement to track
the shoe-lace ties or the cravat tangle readied for a ballet...
well, aren't you the one to tell us that it was just
a calorie intake of veganism:
mark that as a turnip postage... and a
fried potato licked, while she gags on ageing for the
added repertoire of scandal in sandals flicked to represent lapping
tongues and butterfly flicking of what became
flapped toe-curls of synchronisation; and the dipping,
soda baking of a tartar sauerkraut.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 10:37 PM UTC
*it's a dead, obviously, working from per se, i only used prae to be near per, i could have used foris, or even ante, but given the dictionary and the necrosis of the Latin tongue per se as in: per - by rather than in - and se - himself rather than itself, you can imagine the complications of coining a phrase for the antidote of in-itself, i.e. outside-itself.*
revision of Enya: **** away **** away,
against the wind against the wind;
mash up... brrrrapt big up big up east end
Loud Don... bonkers bunch...
now that is random,
i wanted to make a serious point,
and i will (insert snigger)... eventually.
what i wanted to communicate was the revenge of
von Kleist against Kant...
Kant is the enemy of poetry we're led to believe,
i can imagine, only Heidegger took Holderlin seriously
and lectured on his poetry,
von Kleist committed suicide out of despair
having read Kant's critique...
but what i want to do:
to take each poetic technique out of poetry, and
then use each technique to describe it's origin...
so for example metaphor... given that poetry is
ensō (one smooth stroke) - ever watched the t.v.
series Wolf Hall? it's about the dealings of Thomas
Cromwell, all matters of intrigue, Henry the VIII,
and Anne Boleyn... so the metaphor describing
poetry... at the end of Wolf Hall
Anne Boleyn is about to be decapitated, because
she ****** like Catherine the Great (although i'm
sure the myth about the horse by polish / lithuanian
conspirators isn't true... or applicable to Anne)
and that offended the king...
so on the scaffold, there's the swordsman (using a sword
was a clean affair, axes were brutal, imagine hacking
at stump of wood, or like Longinus Podbipięta,
who with a Teutonic sword cut three Turk
heads in one go, so Longinus Podbipięta vouched
to a lady his chastity that he'd bed her if he also
cut three Ottoman heads in one go ref. Sienkiewicz
with fire and sword - the sword
that cut ****** Mary's head was, blunt)...
so there's this scene in Wolf Hall, ah man, the swordsman
is classy, Thomas Cromwell asks him, 'will it be a clean
death?', 'only if she doesn't move',
so on the scaffold, he takes his shoes off, speaks into her right
ear as if she's expecting the swing to come from there
and then with great stealth moves in the other
direction and cuts her head off from the left...
so i guess poetry is a metaphor of that, an ensō,
an evolution from haiku: one smooth stroke and you're done:
nothing airy fairy, like you need to sigh...
no... you need to drop the anchor:
poetry prae se, as described by metaphor.
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 9:24 AM UTC
Yet another in my "Barry Hodges" series
O what a beautiful city is baroque and unspoiled Vilnius,
A veritable rose in the greyness of Eastern Europe,
And a centre of fierce Lithuanian pride and nationalism
Where loathing of Russia comes as part of the national tapestry,
Woven into the heart and soul of each true descendant of Gediminas:
"Tik geras rusų yra miręs rusų!"[note 1] my Litvak lady love would cry out
In moments of extreme and poetic ******** excitement,
As she farted tunefully through purple quilted haemorrhoids.
O dearest delightful Vilnius, where my obsessive adoration
Of this rather plump but still juicy middle-aged lady
Went unrequited when she was sober, despite the perpetual onslaught
Of my tenderly whispered syllables of love and lust,
Even when my mispronounced tirade of affirmations of desire
Rose to a pointless crescendo, wasted on the midnight hour,
As she shrieked: "Lietuvių valytojoms yra geriausias pasaulyje!" [note 2],
In a desperate attempt to retain her composure post-climax.
O how can I ever forget her egregiously insatiable ****** appetite or
Her immense cantilevered ***** whose glorious silhouette
I can still recall in the silvery moonlight shining through
The toilet window, as I peeped at her through the keyhole,
Watching her wipe between her gorgeous silken arse-cheeks,
With an improvised corner of the unfurled bathroom curtain,
Mysteriously muttering "Jei nėra silkių nereikia valgyti!" [note 3]
As she reviewed the remains of half-digested Cepelinai [note 4]
O woe! All is now finished and dear overweight Valerija is lost to me,
Having fallen drunkenly down an open manhole on Pilies one evening,
And I am left alone to wetly kiss the cryptic letter she left for me,
Staring sadly at the tear-stained smudged ink of her illiterate scrawls.
Yea, mate, her last words of warning and patriotic exhultation were:
"Jei jūsų kūdikis turi imbiero plaukus, mesti jį į upę!" [note 5]
Followed by "Valio už Lietuvos Vermachto karo didvyrių!" [note 6]
And I think they were probably the sanest things she ever said.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 1:45 PM UTC
life is but a dream...
Lithuanian speaking parrots
dangle alluringly toxic grapes,
but you breakfast on hyacinths
and suddenly turn cruel in April.
Seductively sleepy lidded women
grip you with invisible fangs
squeezing away any latent lust.
Your cat silently reads your will
licking his sharp, sodden chops.
The IRS sends you an inviting
prison manufactured Christmas card.
The car you can't drive finds a
new owner on Craig's List and
leaves you stranded and alone.
Unable to reach the grocery store,
you will choke on frozen burritos.
Your good cholesterol joins the plot,
turns bad, and conspires to ******
Lowly earthworms dug for fishing
mutate into malevolent Blacks Mambas.
AARP hounds you to rejoin
no matter how many times you move.
Your high-speed Internet connection
devolves into a slow, taunting swamp.
Your toenails just won’t shut up.
The sun rises suspiciously late.
And you've only been awake an hour.
Could be a very long day.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 7:16 AM UTC
when women speak of eternity, my masculine immortality says: do i have to?! why? because my masculine mortality didn’t.
that a prophet’s nation is not without honour, but among the nation’s
ownership of itself in what’s being compared as nation-defining,
and thus dishonour with a nation’s history claiming more than
the nation’s honour in terms of taught examples lost
in emotion guaranteed by pride and jealousy,
so telling the history of poland
via the polish-lithuanian commonwealth
as defining poles...
nest well in a foreign tongue in order to keep your mother’s,
should your father’s execution of foreign tounging disgrace your mother...
but no talk of honour... should a nation’s honour be
defaced to localise individualism...
thus localise individualism and deface to entrust such a nation
with the concept of globalisation that f. d. r. could have oppossed
in the riddle of isolationalism that ended the great depression
and the phobia of the last years of misguided capitalism
carving the futurism of domestication of anything but the sexually adequate:
consciously-careful animalism of grunt and snorkle and bitten snouts
of the animalism correcting the 90 angle into 3.2 children multiplier
as perfected village people: 4kg of potato, 3 children, 2 pints of milk...
34 sundays kneeling in a church in aid of worship to dogmatise the pyramidal prism
as an aversion to staircases nonetheless climbed
to echo arthritis oiled for the perfected propaganda caste.
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
i'll be the one fattening the nationalists like
they're worthy to inherit the swine skidding
kinds of talk of the famous winged Hussar toppling
mountain in stone as in grain of sand: avalanche -
and akin to a crows' kraken bellowing: gluttonous kra!
und tod! schatten överskuggar död:
and what yearn be dripped in acknowledged European -
loftier thought than done, kindred of what's called
the civilised / colonial world - toward the auburn horizontal -
and in due bereaving: left undone, and unduly asked for:
to be grasped as worshipped, quasi Lutheran,
mingling Calvinist and Catholic... but never the love affair
of Henry VIII. so much of modern English
history is bound to Las Vegas, and so much to the Hajj toward
Jerusalem no one cares about... then so few to mind
the invasion of the Polish-Lithuanian
Commonwealth by the Swedes... because this is England,
and Cockney speaks, usurper of the royal tongue, due to pride,
due to the elephant man, due to jack the ripper and
harry the stinker... and the joyous rhapsody coming
from the lonely mile in Irish slang; or said: Mamelukes -
because the Mongols were at one point defeated -
and thus grieved the Baghdad skull with tinges of Hamlet -
oh the grand library, what was left of it, could remain
enshrined in Texan avoidance - not to be:
Chilcot Coke - Cooled Coca and later Koala - Bruise and White -
thugs' select - later respect'ah - bony g and later bonbon
and much later bony m - and much much
later Alfonso Jalfrezi - alias gaga: and all the culinary sagas,
the Forsytes of Malta... or the Forsytes of Málaga?
i'm sure that question is all about:
wherever the peppercorn blows
and wherever the sneeze deposits a hunch
toward an itchy cartilage - from an itch and a scratch:
a butterfly! well, isn't this
the most beautiful of all possible worlds...
sorta makes you want to get up in the morning
and say good-morning to someone.
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 9:58 PM UTC
I can hardly remember your face,
left here in a chair,
room aglow with the muted television,
drunk as hell.
A man becomes a pigsty without a woman.
***** stains on the sports sock,
a battleaxe hangover,
bills piled by the toaster
and **** over the kitchen sink.
The bailiffs came.
I cried like a child through the burglary,
drank the Ganges in stout when it was over.
I have been drinking ever since
the Christmas lights turned on,
the town bathed in absinthe, teenage smokers,
Lithuanian women;
no chance of collision with you.
Eternal ashtray, brick upon brick,
cylindrical beams - an empire of ash
and odour. I can't smell you anymore.
How senses die, yet you remain,
stubborn as a **** on a concrete street,
stubborn in your deceit,
my old crutch, my faded ***** in heat.
I am a mess of old exchanges
whilst porn-stars **** on screen.
Fantasy is dead
as my first dog, defunct,
birthing colonies beneath the ground,
frozen over in winter.
I feel nothing. No thing.
Urges clamour for attention to keep me alive,
vague hunger, the need to bleed.
The paramedics came.
I cried like a child through the gift-wrapping,
drank from a plastic cup as they covered your face.
I can hardly form a sentence
in this fast world
of slow days and long aches in silence:
this is hell.
A man becomes a pigsty without a woman.
I see you in my ridiculous moments,
the insanity that stands in your place,
fractured light in the doorway-
my obsessive state, your forgotten face.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 12:04 PM UTC
A Refugee
He had been given a lift by a Lithuanian truck driver
to a little town in inland Norway where the winter
starts in September and is cold and unforgiven as its
inhabitants. The truck driver had given him money
for coffee, and cigarettes.
Not dressed for winter this swarthy unshaven Levant
perhaps Iraq, a flotsam from a war caused by black
stuff that came up from the earth and cursed them.
He walked into the railway station had a coffee but sat
So long a guard came and told him to leave.
In the waiting room, he felt strange, sweated needed air
went outside to cool down and collapsed, pneumonia and
lack of nutrition an ambulance arrived people gathered
Around, ****** refugees get everything for free someone
in the crowd murmured.
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 4:32 AM UTC
My mother told me when she was living
that i had "black blood", was
related to Heidi Selassie, the emperor of Ethiopia at that time,
and heir to his throne.
As I've said a musical therapist here said that
because I had A positive blood I had all bloodlines.
My mother also said the Sturies were
Scottish, Lithuanian, regular German,
and I got a phone call- maybe I've already mentioned this- back in the eighties
when I was rooming with a black family that I was
part South American.
My mother also told me that I was
heit to the throne of Lithuania at that time
and that the Sturies are high German
which mean we're sorta preppy compared to everybody else
and that we're related to the likes of
Plato, Christ, ****** Von Steuben, and Metternick.
Interesting.
At least it didn't lead to me disintegrating.
I also read on the internet that the Sturies have a little Cherokee in them.
That's about all I know right now.
For more about my bloodlines
except that we're related to Hugh Hefner (it said on the internet)
that a friend of mine told me the Sturies are
distantly related to Daniel Boone.
So turn on your heatline
Neil Diamond
and reach out to me
when my father, bless his heart
comes back from
beyond the sea.
Charles Sturies
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 3:39 PM UTC
poetry written in English
just reminds me of
agent orange in Vietnam:
or the anorexic
tailoring of some city-state
fashion week -
twenty girls
to one Mongolian yak;
it actually sounds as horrid as it sounds...
premature depression of
its users... when old age should be
reserved depression...
their old age has dementia
reserved for all its worth of accomplishment...
sadness in youth when old age should receive it...
and dementia in old age when
youth has nothing demented to give...
only another imitation of Catcher in the Rye
or a David Copperfield -
or the faking of cult:
when old age should deem itself sad,
it's their youth that's sad...
and its elders demented -
because its youth
can't allow old age to fathom sadness of an
all encompassing accomplishment;
my excuse is?
i never ventured into colonialism -
i can't, by reason, integrate into
using the tongue completely -
for i have no tattoo that says:
slave owner no. 10256901 -
or no ****** guilt at not doing
the better runner from King Fuji-Moochou
of Ivory Coast selling me to the pink pimple-skinned...
**** me... it's great not having that sort of guilt
imbued in me grappling with history,
and the first offender: **** Germany as the
prime excuse making me pristine, holy
by comparison... ha ha! as if! Mao killed off
many more than you care to believe.
all i have is Lithuanians telling me:
you ****** us over... while i ask a Lithuanian
girl to kiss me in a pub... and she does...
oh god... sanctus polonius pseudo israelii.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 12:13 AM UTC
Let's have some fun! Let's go to the Gynae!
If you bleed a lot or have a tickly *****
Or if you have more spots down there
Than the walls in your local Indian restaurant
Or if you pong like a smoked salmon sandwich
It's off to the Gynae! Off to the Gynae!
The Gynae will ask a lot of personal questions
But he's not a pervert really (usually)
He's only doing his job but always bear in mind
He chose this specialisation out of many and
You have every right to wonder why
Anyone would ever do such an odd thing...
Strip off your clothes, put on a hospital gown,
(but be suspicious if it has a "see through" rear
or is of the Lithuanian "open crutch" design);
Then relax on an examination table
And hum along to Abba on the Musak,
Then get your feet up on the jolly stirrups.
Now open your legs so that the quack
Can get a total eyeful of your love-crack;
Don't be shy, he's seen hundred like yours
And some in worse condition too (I expect!);
You may ask to cover your feet with a sheet
If you feel they are too smelly for modesty's sake.
On with the surgical gloves, out with the speculum
And a liberal slathering of K-Y
And we're into the good old Gynae action!
Now lie back and enjoy two gloved fingers
Groping you like Crazy Frog on ******
He's hunting for lumps and bumps, yee-ha!
Don't feel embarrassed, oh no, oh no,
Why not ask your boyfriend or hubby
(or girlfriend if you're a hairy ****
To sit in with you for the occasion?
Wow! With a bit of luck, just a little bit,
You might end up with a hot swinging session.
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC
From ditches, from rubble, from dungeons
From false memory’s catacombs
From barely legible signs of death
When a startled heart from the grave reforms
You will select a single date
With the wind, which approached underground
So you could plunge the freedom as a burning needle
To the glass square of the sky
“January 13th” by Leonardas Gutauskas (in english)
Iš griovių iš griuvėsių iš požemių
Iš klaidžios atminties katakombų
Iš žūties vos įskaitomų požymių
Kai širdis prisikėlus nustemba
Tu atrinksi vienintelę datą
Su tuo vėju kurs artinos pažeme
Kad į skliauto stiklinį kvadratą
Smeigtum laisvę lyg degančią adatą.
„Sausio 13-oji“, Leonardas Gutauskas (in lithuanian, the original language)
Jan 13, 2021
Jan 13, 2021 at 4:26 AM UTC
Žodžiai - gėlė ir katė
Pieva šiuo meto laiku graži
Nusidažė gelsva spalva it pienė
Malonu žaisti indėnu tarp gėlių
Tačiau kažkoks neramus jaudulys suėmė
Kai pamačiau raudoną dėmę
Kai priėjau arčiau
Jauna, maža katytė
Aš ją "Kliudžiau"....
Jan 24, 2021
Jan 24, 2021 at 6:18 AM UTC
The art invention AI, the Allsay, I'll-gorithm,
Aiaia ai
let me say this is poetry, I did not write,
but found
enlightening:
*dhe-
*dhē-,
Proto-Indo-European root meaning "to set, put."
It forms all or part of:
abdomen; abscond; affair; affect
(v.1) "make a mental impression on;"
affect
(v.2) "make a pretense of;"
affection; amplify; anathema; antithesis;
apothecary;
artifact; artifice;
beatific; benefice; beneficence; beneficial; benefit;
bibliothec;
bodega; boutique;
certify;
chafe; chauffeur;
comfit; condiment; confection; confetti; counterfeit;
deed; deem; deface; defeasance; defeat; defect; deficient;
difficulty; dignify; discomfit; do (v.);
doom; -dom;
duma;
edifice; edify;
efface; effect; efficacious; efficient;
epithet;
facade; face; facet; ******
-facient;
facile; facilitate; facsimile; fact;
faction (n.1) "political party;"
-faction;
factitious; factitive; factor; factory;
factotum; faculty; fashion; feasible; feat; feature;
feckless; fetish;
-fic;
fordo; forfeit;
-fy;
gratify;
hacienda;
hypothecate; hypothesis;
incondite; indeed; infect;
justify;
malefactor; malfeasance;
manufacture;
metathesis;
misfeasance;
modify; mollify;
multifarious;
notify;
nullify;
office; officinal;
omnifarious;
orifice;
parenthesis;
perfect;
petrify;
pluperfect;
pontifex;
prefect;
prima facie;
proficient; profit; prosthesis; prothesis;
purdah; putrefy;
qualify;
rarefy;
recondite; rectify; refectory;
sacrifice;
salmagundi;
samadhi;
satisfy;
sconce;
suffice; sufficient;
surface; surfeit;
synthesis;
tay;
ticking (n.);
theco-; thematic; theme; thesis;
verify.
It is the hypothetical source of/evidence for its existence is provided by:
Sanskrit dadhati "puts, places;"
Avestan dadaiti "he puts;"
Old Persian ada "he made;"
Hittite dai- "to place;"
Greek tithenai "to put, set, place;"
Latin facere "to make, do; perform; bring about;"
Lithuanian dėti "to put;"
Polish dziać się "to be happening;"
Russian delat' "to do;"
Old High German tuon,
German tun,
Old English don "t
dondiddondondon just the facts.
Mar 28, 2021
Mar 28, 2021 at 4:45 PM UTC
amazingly, the tree i tried to hang myself on
being cut down to less than a stump
in my garden - has reemerged strong
in my neighbour's garden, the one that keeps
weeds, it's there right now, a healthy sprout
about two metres high, yep, the same tree,
it migrated - i guess a befitting gift -
just like in the old days of the Polish-Lithuanian
commonwealth and the acceptance of Jews
and immunity from the bubonic plague in
the Cracow region.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 8:35 AM UTC
Žodis - Sijonas
Jis.
Flirtuoja kas su antra
Vaikosi sijonų
It be jų jam kiltų migrena
Tai įprotis likęs nuo mažens
Kai mama jo vengė namuos
Per daug jis priminė palikusį tėvą
Todėl neleido kibtis už skverno medžiagos
Vaikas nepažinęs meilės užaugo
Jo nepastovumą pateisina vaikystė
Tačiau ratas tęsiasi
Nes vienoje iš jo turėtų merginų
Prasidėjo nauja gyvybė...
Jan 22, 2021
Jan 22, 2021 at 2:25 AM UTC
Žodis :Apopleksija – kraujo išsiliejimas į galvos smegenis, sukeliantis paralyžių.
Parazitas pro akį patekęs
Nesukrečia taip žmogau kaip tu
Nemuša iš kasdienio ritmo
Blogiausiu atveju - nužudo sykiu
Tai bjaurus užkratas, aš tikiu
Vidinė žaizda, gal apopleksija
Tai ne kilnus dalykas
Kuris kūriniuose vadinamas meile
Ne, neteršk jos švento vardo
Duok kitą pavadinimą šiai ligai greitai
Neleisk manęs kankintis
Būti pavyzdžiu tragedijai
Išvis pribaik mane
Nes melstis Dievui pradėjau
Niekada nebuvau pamaldi/us
Tačiau tokį likimą man nulėmei
Jei nebūčiau sutikusi/ęs
Tavęs tą žiemos dieną
Gal vienintelis kandus skausmas
Būtų dėl gruodžio šalnos mėnesienoje
Jan 21, 2021
Jan 21, 2021 at 2:10 PM UTC
Aš begalybę kaip riestainį suvalgysiu
Apsuksiu kelis kartus aplink pirštą
Ir pašokusi toli į visatą nuskrisiu
Palikusi trupinių taką tirštą
Feb 1, 2021
Feb 1, 2021 at 6:38 AM UTC
Part African American and related to
Hilkesealase
related to Hugh Hefner
related to whatever
part Lithuanian and royal
Lithuania blood
part German
part Cherokee Indian
maybe part Polish and part English
part Mexican
part South American
maybe some middle eastern
blood
part English maybe
and part Irish
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 2:15 PM UTC