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Saša D Lović Sep 2014
1

gledao je dugo svoju sen
zakrvavljenim očima
  grlo mu se grčilo

sekiru sa zida da ponese
u šumu
  šta bi drugo

inače često dovodi sebe
u takvu situaciju
  ne zbog nečeg patološkog

ne zbog neke skrivene želje
već zbog šume
  ona je i ovog puta kriva

usne su mu drhtale
šumom odzvanjao njegov dah
  drveće počelo da vrišti

suze cerove kvasile humus
no to ga ovog puta ne pokoleba
  ovog puta otići će mnogo dalje

na sekiru pade zrak
i ona umi njegovo telo
  svojim sjajem


2

mala fide
dim se vije mehovi nadimaju
  čekići biju

znojavi kovači brkove suku
piju vodu metal stenje
  pod serijom teških udaraca

crveni se još nerođena sekira
u agoniji nastajanja
  sijaju se oštri zub i uvo tupo

pa je utom zgrabiše klešta
sve zaneme
  sve sačeka prvi vrisak

susret sa vodom
mala fide
  šta avaj nastade


3

u početku beše raka
i on je plesao oko nje
  poslednji ples

uma atrofičnog
udovi mu leteli sekli etar
  bale kvasila mu lice

očiju zakrvavljenih
ni glasa da pusti
  zmije su stenjale upregnute

niz amove otrov se slivao
raka poče da biva jezero
  drveće spustilo grane

i sve više grdilo mu lice
o boli
  ples je bivao sve sporiji

ptice su sve tiše rikale
iz tame poče da se rađa tama
  grđa i crnja

muve su naokolo zujale
drveće počelo da vrišti
  suze cerove kvasile humus


4

i kako je plakala sekira
naišavši na kamen
  vatrene suze prštale naokolo

kamen se vrteo kamen je jeo
vatrene suze
  i zub oštriji postajaše

svetlost njena poče da izjeda tamu
grđu i crnju
  od one pređašnje

pade zrak na nagrđeno lice
i stade sa plesom
  zmijama skide jaram

umi udove svoje u jezeru
urlik zapara galamu oko njega
  i nastade tišina tišina tišina

kezio se njegov lik
sa mirne površine
  progledao je


5

u početku beše i šuma
prašuma beskrajna
  u umu njegovom atrofičnom

i u njoj on i ona u njemu
podjednako
  plakao on plakala i šuma

jeli jedno drugo
grlo mu se grčilo
  udovi sušili crni dani behu

anđeli su sletali
kljucali mu oči
  koje su bile voda

donosili vatru u prašumu
da sagori um njegov atrofični
  vatra se gasila

donosili i vodu vodu mutnu vodu bistru
belu crvenu zelenu bilo kakvu
  voda se gasila


6

išla je sekira iz ruke u ruku
brzo i sigurno
  kroz vatru kroz vodu

padale glave
padalo drveće
  zub oštriji uvo tuplje držalje crnje

od krvi od zemlje
sekira je kružila
  tog su dana žene crno mleko muzle

ah nesreće
ptice su sve divlje rikale
  muve su zujale

pauci se razmrežaše
između prstiju njegovih
  ključala je lava u grudima šume

kezio se njegov lik
sa mirne površine
  jezera


7

sa rukom stopila se sekira
skameni se dah pogled znoj
  kidao je dronjke od odeće

bale kvasila mu lice
konji su bili nemirni
  anđeoskim hučanjem šuma ga zvala

lišće je padalo sa drveća
magla proždirala etar
  ptice behu odletele

rožnjače mu se zabrazdiše
srce poče da kuca
  sekira urliče

anđeli behu odleteli
samo su muve zujale
  on penio

šuma hučala
jezero ključalo
  tišina


8

na kraju beše svetlost
prasvetlost beskrajna
  u umu njegovom atrofičnom

i u njoj on i ona u njemu
podjednako
  smejao se on smejala se i svetlost

jeli jedno drugo
grlo mu se širilo
  udovi listali crni dani behu prošli

demoni su izranjali
kljucali oči
  koje su bile vatra

donosili gmazove u svetlost
da opogane um atrofični
  gmazovi se sušili

donosili pegaze sa rogom
bele crvrne zelene bilo kakve
  krila im otpadala


9

stajali bi sekira i on stopljeni
u agoniji
  svetlost zaslepi oko njegovo

iz rožnjače kapala je lava
tuga poče da izjeda svetlost
  grđu i crnju od pređašnje

zub tuplji uvo oštrije držalje istrošeno
pade tren na nagrđeno lice
  i poče sa plesom

zmijama jaram na vrat
kezilo se njegovo lice sa dna rake
  progledao je


10

granulo je sunce i nesta svetlosti
zmije su strašno siktale
  upregnute

gledale kako se otrov iz jezera
pretvara u oblak
  oblak zakri sunce

i njegov um atrofični
udovi mu leteli
  pogađali ptice

muve su zujale
očiju zakrvavljenih
  pusti glas planine su se tresle

vetar poče da duva
umrsi mu kosu koža mu se ospe
  iz tabana poče korenje da niče


11

sva se magla upi u njega
on spusti sekiru u raku
  u raku doteče lava

i ne bi više zuba oštrog uva tupog
šume prašume svetlosti prasvetlosti
  jednostavno ne bi

na kraju beše
on
  u agoniji

postojao je
Aridea P Nov 2011
Ini aku
Gadis remaja yang sedang jatuh cinta
Yang jatuh cinta kepada mu
Yang bermimpi bisa memiliki mu

Aku yang mengenal mu tak sengaja
Yang mengagumi mu dengan seribu alasan
Yang mengklaim mu sebagai makhluk istimewa
Ciptaan Tuhan yang ku harap adalah jawaban

Aku yang merasa bodoh di hadapan mu
Yang salah tingkah ketika berbicara dengan mu
Yang tak tahu harus menjawab apa atas pertanyaan mu
Yang selalu gugup bertemu dengan mu

Aku di sini..
yang berharap bisa lebih mengenal mu
Yang berharap bisa membuat mu jatuh cinta kepada ku
Safana Apr 2021
In Allah ya yarda
za mu yi aure...
Mu zauna tare...
Dukka hakkokin ki
ni zani kare...
Mu yo rayuwa
bamu ware...
Dukka dangi na
naki ne babu bare...
Zamu zauna a tare...
Zani so ki haifa mini
jinjiraye yan farare...

Rayuwa tana kamshi
idan an zauna da mai
turare...
Ko a kauye zaka ga yara
da safe, sun dauko karare...
Mata kuwa, a gona tare...
suna daukar kirare...
Ga iskar damuna tana
kadawa har da fure farare...
Korama mai sanyin yashi
ruwa ya ketare...
Ga mu cikin lambu
ni da ke mun tattare...
Dukka kayan lambu a
gaban mu, mun ciccire...

Haka ne...

In Allah ya yarda
Za mu yi Aure...

In Allah ya yarda
Za mu yi Aure...

In Allah ya yarda
Za mu yi Aure...
Saša D Lović Apr 2015
nem
brane mu pesme da piše
u srce krastaču mu nasadili
prste mu lepljivom svilom spojili
u noge sačmom gađali
iz očiju sve mu suze isisali
eno ih gde suva leže nisu više ni tako zelena
u uši mu ptičji izmet nagurali
i na čelo žig
iz sna prijatelje mu isterali
umesto njih strašno zlo osanotvorili
samo su se smejali
ponekim udarcem u kičmu ga budili
dok je nem tumarao po svetu
u pesme su njegove duvan motali
ili bi slova izvitoperili
takve na čitanje davali
brane mu život
brane mu da diše
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2022
i can't remember the last time i was satisfied with
only drinking one cider and 35cl of whiskey,
i honestly can't... then again i plucked two of my
favourite aphrodisiacs that night...
i beat up the whittle 'ichard before
(aphrodisiac no. 1 - exercise, exertion) cycled
to the brothel... then bought myself a bottle
of cider (aphrodisiac no. 2 - no other alcohol
works that sort of magic, no wine, no whiskey,
certainly not beer: cider...
and for that matter a very specific cider...
merry down cider, with a fox playing a violin
on the etiquette... the label... served in a 75cl
portion... 7.5%... medium dry...
so no...  not Thatcher's... or a Hertfordshire Weston's...
it has to be the Merry Down... probably
because of the portion) and did the victory
lap around the park and the brothel around
Goodmayes station...
obviously i bought 35cl of whiskey before walking
in... inside after we ******... hmm...
******* sets me off so quick... i don't know:
seeing a woman on her knees... from behind...
a bit like watching women in churches on
their knees before certain deeds are done...
i think i'm going to go back to a catholic church
one Sunday and draw out fetishes in my head...
kneeling before a cross... maybe Jesus the ******
would have loved to be nailed to some X cross
and then get ****** off by some Magdalene?
maybe he was into sadomasochism...
    who knows... but ******* sets me off on
an easy path of ******...
at least in the ******* it feels more
like exercise as i'm using the upper part of my body
to arch over a woman... from time to time
lowering myself to kiss her when she shows her tongue
licking her lips: i guess that implies: kiss me...
so i do... or lowering my body to brush noses
with her... press my forehead against hers
or just bite her chin...

is it just me or did the band Priest use certain accents
of Lana Del Rey's Summertime Sadness
in their song Phantom Pain? have a listen...
i think they did... never mind...
aphrodisiac no. 3: music... just listening to some
music you'd like to listen to when *******
fills the mind prior to the act with the act:
Trevor Something: into your heart...

work has transformed me, working with people,
dealing with drunk football fans...
i walked into the brothel: three beauties sitting there...
i never thought i had a thing for plump girls
or girls wearing glasses...
but this third one... the blonde... that lied
about being from Romania when in fact i know
from Michaela that she's Poland looked like:
a frightened doe... her eyes almost teary... her lips
moving as if trying to tell me something...
obviously i picked Michaela: she's going back
to Romania for a month to visit her family...
she worked so hard that she managed to have
a 12 room house with 3 bathrooms...
she's thinking about retiring in a year's time...
setting up a restaurant... i told her i make ****
good mint and chocolate chip ice-cream and i love
looking... who knows... i heard that Romania
is beautiful... and she's from Bucharest...
so... easy access to Ottoman heritage... and Dracula...
who knows... life is sometimes a house
of windows that are opportunities...
the same blonde that:

Khadija... Khadira... Khedra blocked me on WhatsApp
just before she ****** off back to Turkey
for a holiday... yeah... Khedra sent me
a photograph of herself with this girl...
now look at her... a frightened doe...
why did she block me? i don't care...
she was there last night... i asked for her...
but she was bringing back £60 for an extra half
an hour with a man she was already busy with...
we said hello: i kissed her cheek as a greeting...
me and my hardly jealous heart...
but Michaela can do i don't think even Khedra
could... after all... with Michaela it was
first time quick... second time longer...
third time quick... 4th time much longer...
first time? i blame it on the fact that she forgot
to pull back the *******... what sort of uncircumcised man
wants to **** without a circumcision imitation?
i know women prefer the aesthetic of a circumcised
man... but at the same time:
in the old ways... a man would be circumcised...
but the woman would have to pay some compensation...
just look at Islam and Judaism...
not the current American raw deal of circumcised
men... that's not how it works...
circumcise a man and his sometimes need to
pleasure himself makes no sense with no *******...

hardly a joke... it's called the acronym FGM (female
genital mutilation, but it's not called MGM male
genital mutilation?! oh right... all those eunuchs
in harems who were walking ******... because: hardly...
Solomon couldn't **** all his harem...
it would probably take him a whole year
to make the rounds and **** all his concubines)...
so unless he didn't have eunuchs to please his concubines
he had the concubines turn to lesbian acts...
even great kings of old didn't mind other men
******* their women... as long as they didn't impregnate
them...
i'm a modern man... i really don't care who she has
been ******* prior...

me? with Khedra... i know why she blocked me...
but it's only on WhatsApp... i still have her number...
i just have to use the conventional routes...
but she must have received advice from fellow prostitutes...
you're sending him pictures of yourself?
you said you'd gladly have a night with him
in a hotel room for free?! are you a ******* or his
girlfriend?!
mind you: Michaela asked me for extra money
for unprotected ***... Khedra simply gave it up without
any extra cost... to be honest... i don't mind either...
****** off: obviously...
****** on? honey... do you have two spare latex suits
we can wear? oh sure... and a tub of butter
we can both jump into and smear each other
and pretend we're snails... ha... ah ha... terrible joke...

but ever since starting work again: i feel more and more
alive... my confidence has shot through
the roof... two prostitutes sitting opposite me
don't really intimidate me...
one tries to be a smart-***... the other is gearing up
because she knows i'll choose her and the third
looks scared...
hmm... i know that Michaela would ask me to pay
extra to perform oral *** on her...
Khedra? she gave it up for free...
i love seeing a woman who shows her hot-shivers
or ******... not ******* are so ******* oratory
as might be portrayed... hot-shivers of ******...
and, to be honest? ****** vaginas are very...
not tasteless... i've had one once... they sort of stink...
there are not enough lubrication juices...
and i mean from multiple men...
it really doesn't bother me...

thank god none of them ever asked for me to perform
****... pop pornographic culture with all that
**** fixation is ill to me... i can understand
if two Russian soldiers on the front feel like
gagging each other's anuses... but with women?

that was Khedra... freebies... i would otherwise have
to pay for with Michaela...
but Khedra is a slim nymphomaniac...
Michaela is a business minded woman...
and being plump: that's an added asset...
Khedra has her eyes open throughout *******
while Michaela has her eyes closed...
hello: a welcome return to the Unbearable Lightness
of Being by Milan Kundera...
i have to see: everything... i gorge with my eyes...
i'm eating: but i'm not eating...

but i know why i only drank one Merry Down cider
and 35cl of whiskey last night, wrote 'Biggie"
and went to bed...
huh! i have a nickname? that's so endearing...
that's so much better than a girl calling you by your name...
English doesn't really have a diminutive
aspect of language: esp. nouns...
in ****** speech you can create diminutive "concepts"
of words: to make them more endearing...
Matthew, i.e. Mateusz can become Mateuszek...
duck, i.e. kaczka can become kaczuszka
dog, i.e. pies can become piesek
woman, i.e. kobieta can become kobietka...
what's the equivalent in English?
it's "diminutive": but it's not an endearing-diminutive...
it's belittling-diminutive, that's the distinction
between the two languages i own...
little women... you can't actually morph the word
woman to imply woman a "tiny", or, "small"
in an endearing way... only in a belittling way...
thank god i know two languages...
fluently: bilingually...
perhaps a third would be useful if i wished
to travel and start a business... most certainly a knowledge
of Spanish would open a world of opportunities...
obviously i'd settle for German... large enough
territory... but? as a personal psychology basis?
being monolingual would be claustrophobia for me...
or equivalent: therefore...

oh man... it would have been such a mistake if
i just settled for my high-school sweetheart, Promis...
when dating her i went to a friend's birthday
party and was presented with a chance to cheat...
she was much younger than me and eager:
i declined her even though she was already all
over me... it wouldn't have worked...
my father: i'm not my father... mentioned only
two women in his life...
one girl who tried to trick him into becoming
a surrogate father... i.e. not raising his own genes...
and... my mother... but i'm not my father:
i think my parents are freaks... seriously...
it's like monogamy and the swan song was all
about them...
my estranged uncle was a serial polygamist...
he tried a monogamy once: FAIL...
she ended up being a journalistic-wannabe
with an abortion as a notch on her belt...
i learned from my maternal grandfather too...
he was married at the age of 18? 19? but cheated
on my grandmother... he mentioned 3 women
in his life... me? i didn't lose count on purpose...
i lost count on the basis of: and how many different
selves of myself have i found along the way?
i can can't at least 5...

but unlike Khedra with her hot-shivers when i was
performing... eating-oysters on her ****...
there was Michaela who said last night:
look! you're making me dance! and she looked
the happiest girl... she was dancing... lying back...
it wasn't a dance: dance... it wasn't a samba...
she was dancing by wriggling happy on her back
after all that missionary ***...
plus?! i now have a nickname: i'm: Biggie...
and... fair enough: i have more beard envy than
***** envy... even though i've been approached
by guys at work with a similar envy... beards...
apparently i have a perfect beard...

i'm Biggie... now... a few years back i was
KAKASHKA for Ilona: little ****...
it could have worked with Ilona: if i wasn't a ******
and she wasn't a Russian...
Russian pride against Polacks was already
stated by Dostoyevsky demeaning us...
even though i'd be the first to celebrate Russian
isolationistic culture upkeep...

i don't think i could love one woman...
that would be selfish... after all... all the most beautiful
women are either prostitutes or...
actresses in the pornographic industry...
strange how beauty works: it works perfect in nature:
nature wants to showcase itself for the greatest
number of people...
that's a bit like beautiful women...
that's why beautiful women in Islam are an
antithesis of nature's parody...
i heard one Pakistani once tried to teach me
the "mystery" of Islam...
if you owned a jewellery shop... and you had this one
massive sapphire in your shop...
would you want to keep it in the front window
so that anyone could look at it...
huh? he continued: no... you'd keep it hidden
in the back...
                       rrrright... huh?!
he actually didn't mention: so people would ask about?
how could anyone know that you have
a massive ******* sapphire in the back
of your jewellery shop?
point being... why have a jewellery shop
if you're going to be so selfish about what's beautiful?!
you're a ******* jewel merchant or some stingy
****?!
then again: the allure surrounding women is the same
in the west as it is in Islam...
make-up and the NIQAB...
in the west make-up does what a NIQAB does in Islam...
it's the same-****: just a different cover...
i look at a woman in a NIQAB: i'm curious...
i watch a woman heavily overdone with make-up...
i can sometimes say:
there's less paint on a masterpiece than there is
chemical junk on her face to hide her imperfections
that: i might find appealing...
sure... with a NIQAB i can only see the eyes...
but with western standards: i see eyes... exfoliating
in feline fakery... and the rest of her is doubly faked-up...

thank god i'm man... i just need to wash myself
on a regular basis... trim my beard... shave my *****
region and my arm-pits... no chance of me shaving
the hair on my pirate chest and my stomach...
apparently Michaela likes flowing her fingers through
my body hair and teasing my *******...
tonight: i need more whiskey...
not because i'm miserable: i'm happy...
that's why i continue to drink and not get drunk:
i'll feel drunkness when i stop writing and relax...
until then my memory is working overload...
and this is only memory from yesterday...

maybe that's why i don't dream so much...
i don't dream because i'm not seeking escapism
some people seek via imagination...
since their memory faculty has either been eroded
by pedagogy... or? as Bukowski once noted:
some people never go mad: what horrible lives
they must least... a recurrent spontaneity of
"amnesia": or simply looking down on people?
not treating them fairly, lovingly?

life's not difficult: other people make life difficult,
their games of hierarchies...
life's not difficult... other people make life difficult...
and? i could never understand men
who associate cats with lonely modern women...
celebrating dogs...
oh **** me! cats are the best: esp. Maine *****...
then again... maybe i have a spezial cat...
why dogs and men why women and cats
why blue and men why pink and woman?!
who said?
   and who didn't say: cats of Ancient Egypt?
the Pharaohs probably owned cats...
what about Muhammad's favourite cat? Muezza?
who the **** said that cats are efaminating creatures?!
these Bonsai tigers are just as much fun
as dogs... if not more! why? you can have time off
from petting them: when they be themselves
and... no leashes! no muzzle! fickle sleeping and feeding
patterns...
but i agree... there's one negative of cats
that i remember was a great positive having petted
Bella... my Alsatian... well... two...

cat's can't pull a sleigh... with you on it as a toddler...
you can't ride a cat as toddler...
but you can a dog... like a Shetland pony...
you can't be a toddler and put your hand inside
the beast's gob and pull out an imaginary tongue...
and... this is my biggest envy of dog owners...
Sundays at my grandparent's house...
chicken broth... basically an entire poached chicken
in a soup of... choice of vegetable to create
a chicken and vegetable stock?
carrots... root parsley, fresh parsley... celeriac...
baby celery... leek... garlic... burned onions...
the usual seasoning... vermicelli pasta...
but that's the biggest difference between cats and dogs...
i don't know why cats stopped drinking milk...
classically they drank milk...
as a child i remember glowing with glee that i owned
an animal that would eat the leftovers of the food i just
finished... dog are special in that way...
some of the soup wasn't finished...
Bella the Alsatian was whimpering after the leftovers...
she got a bowl... a bountiful bowl...
she loved her chicken broth...
   with the vermicelli... with the vegetables...
and added to the mix? the chicken bones...
my grandfather always bemoaned the fact that me
and my father ate our chicken to the point of biting
off the cartilage off the bones... i went further...
i bit off the heads to get to the juicy-dry marrow...

a different season for a different animal:
i loved dogs for the simple pleasure that they would
eat what you couldn't finish for dinner...
but i love cats for the fact that they behave like
ferns... sorry... houseplants...
you can ignore them from time to time...
they only come up to you when they feel like approaching
you...
the rest of the time you can just ignore them...
but when they love you: it's unlike a dog
waiting for you to equip yourself with a leash...
when they love you: or rather: you're ******* more interesting
than any human prior... they rarely scout for more room...
you've already enlarged their perspective on existence...

perhaps i could be your neurotypical man by
any standards: in the Old Testament style
of breaking away from my father and mother
and chose a wife: i tried it with Promis...
i hated the experience... i have to abandon my mother
and father... in order... to marry you... woman...
and... abandon my mother and father...
in order... to give a **** more about: YOUR... mother
and father?! seriously?! that's a raw ******* deal...
i haven't been raised by my mother from the age
of 6 through to 8...
and by my father from the age of 4 through to 8...
collapse of the Soviet Union:
if it wasn't the brain drain (that came later)
it was a labour shortage in the early 90s...
i don't think i'm clingy... sure... if my parents raised
me throughout those LEGO-years...
i'd be out of the house already: or? no... the cost
of living... what? at least i have intellectual comparisons
with me...
times are changing... i was lucky to be out of
the cosmopolitan game of dating ever since i went
mad aged 21... my whole 20s are a fog...
i woke up mid-30s sort of happy to be simply
alive... i'm happy for that "conundrum"...
i missed so much that was required of me to miss...
i can go to the brothel with a clean conscience
of being able to satisfy prostitutes...

at least we know something personal about Muhammad
that's more than however many wives he had...
a man of his times of his region...
i can't be a judge of that...
but at least he had his favourite cat: and we know
his name: Mu'izza...
like i had a favourite cat of mine:
Darshan... who my Sikh neighbour killed
by poising him because: she offered to take care of...
but couldn't be bothered to clean up his ****
or give him food... easier to **** the poor creature:
make him suffer kidney failure...
i was visiting my grandparents
while my mother and father were holidaying
in the Maldives... two days before they were
supposed to come back... i woke up with a stinking
fear... i phoned them up, i need to go back home!
i'm worried about Darshan...
a silver beast of a Maine ****...
dead... "kidney failure"... i was so stricken
with morbid emotions... after he was cremated
i found a Croquet buggy...
took all the pieces off... strapped a belt
to the handle... walked into a World War I
memorial graveyard...
had a hammer and a chisel with me...
started carving off a piece of grave...
put it on the buggy... dragged it home...
picked up the ashes... started digging a shallow
grave in the garden... buried the poor sod...
then placed the hacked off gravestone above him...
i'm still not speaking to my neighbours...
they're scammers anyway...
that's how Sikhs and other Asians get to flaut
their money on rich weddings and Rolls Royce
limousines... sure sure... i hear you...
they own corner shops and get rich by selling 1p
gummy bear gelatin sweets by the million!
like, ****!
oddly enough... i'm sometimes perched on my windowsill
throughout the night till 4am...
4 break-ins... "break-ins"... and some during mid-day...
******* insurance scammers! SCAMMERS!
i saw jack-****!
no one broke in into their home...
that's how Asians get rich: that's how anyone rich
gets rich... they're not playing by the rules...
thank god i'm willing to make sacrifices...
i don't want to get rich: i don't want scammers
or gold-diggers in my life: i want to build up a natural
filter when it comes to resources!

if there won't be enough women in my life:
i can always test my "fertility" with cognitive ambivalence...
i can always think about more things than most
people are not willing to think about...

after all: Muhammad had a favorite cat... Mu'izza...
since Darshan passed away at the hands of a sadistic
*****... i now have Quarus...
i'm not going to be easily relieved of him:
easily divorced from him...
he has more nicknames than the times i actually utter
his name...
what was the name of the donkey that
brought Jesus to Jerusalem on Palm Sunday?!
no one knows because he had no name...
i'd call him Quizy... Quizy... no... don... key...
REGALO TECLA... or? DON TECLA...
but Jesus didn't give a name to the donkey...
psychopathic, if you ask me:
animals you ride, or pet, to be: nameless...

just maybe: there might be some sympathy for me:
it almost feels like i was there...
when Mel Gibson released that movie of
his: the Passion of the Christ... i cried when i first
heard Aramaic being spoken on screen...
i think i cried throughout the entire movie...
i was so moved that... some other guy in the audience
started crying with me...
maybe it was the music all along...
i'm a sucker for a decent music...

but i just couldn't stomach the raw deal of wedding
a woman: a man is to abandon his own mother
and father... esp. one who wasn't raised by his
mother from the age of 6 through to 8
or by his father through the ages of 4 to 8...
who spent his early developmental years
in a house filled with 20 other immigrant
labour-drain men... for about a two years...
the fact that my father was abandoned by his own
parents: through divorce... i was raieed
by a ***** of a grandmother and an alcoholic
grandfather: i loved them...
but she was such a ***** to the point
oh him pushing her through a glass door
and breaking her hand...
i blocked all of that out... maybe by way of blocking
out several personal memories i have been
given access to access certain historical details...
i question them: unflinchingly...
why didn't Jesus' donkey have a name?
while Muhammad had a favourite cat with a name
like Mu'izzi: i know it's Mu'izza... i prefer Mu'izzi...

my Quarus? a clever cat... i bemoan the fact that
he won't eat my scraps... from dinner...
that's the only great aspect of what Bella the Alsatian
and Axl (the Dobberman) used to be capable of...
they'd eat what man leftover...
i'd call cats vegetarians if i could...

i know that the definite article in Hebrew is HA...
i.e. ha-satan: the-Stanley... the Stanislav...
i forgot to remember what the indefinite article
is in Hebrew... oh... right... there isn't one...
to define someone: definitely is to suppose:
laughing at it in English...

the whiskey flows slow and cold...
my heart it growing slower and colder...
i like it, that way...
Biggie... oh **** me... then again: Michaela does stand
about 5ft2 beside of me... while i'm towering
6ft2 above her... no wonder she picked a nickname:
Biggie for me...
the smaller she is: the plumper she is...
the more endearing she becomes...
you just want to cuddle her...
the more tender her forehead feels and tastes like...
she mentioned: i haven't washed my hair...
i tell her while sniffing it:
it doesn't matter... i washed myself prior to seeing
you... you think i'm going to wash myself
after seeing you? i want your scent to fill my bedroom
with your ****** perfume...
i want to dream of orchids! i want to dream
of lavender! i want to dream...
of a desert and your being the oasis in it!

i love women... but some women are too proud...
too stuck up...
they miss out on a lot of fun *** can be...
can't we just have fun without taking to
the serious business of paying gas bills?!
are we simply things before the altar of the eternals?
can't we spontaneously break the rules
for the eternals to be envious of us?
have we, seriously become so shallow:
so boring, that the gods abandoned us due to the fact
that we became imitating immortal:
their own boringness, manifest, that we stopped
being mortals?!

if i a were an immortal deity, and had to overlook
the modern man? i'd die too!
i'd die from boredom!
i'd die from predictability...
i'd die from looking at mortal men and thinking:
we're the luck?! where's the gamble?!
where's the unpredictability?!
where on earth is the stupidity on earth,
that might make these men take enough chances
to later allow them status of sage?!
everything is being to closely manifested in keeping
a "slave" stock of workers...
no one wants to dare... and if they do want to dare:
it's all for the wrong reasons:
no for reasons akin to: i! i am Spartacus!

people say awful things about slavery...
i wonder... what slave was ever homeless?
what slave was ever left without food, without shelter?!
well **** me: if you're not a self-developed
business man... chances are: sure... you're not a slave...
just someone who earn a wage...
but someone who earns a wage is not someone
who's someone's responsibility
to demand the person bestowing said responsibility
to keep the slave: alive, fed, sheltered...
by simply earning a wage does not imply
my status is better than that of a slave...
is it? IS, IT?!
i just earn a wage... i have to provide food and shelter
for myself... as a slave: and not a wage-earner:
i had to have food and shelter provided for me:
for my services...
i didn't care about money because i was already
given what money would otherwise provide:
or rather, in the ancient realm: wouldn't...
since shelter was inherited by the manor
and food too... from owning farmyards...

i don't think slavery was bad... wage-employment
is far worse... esp. those zero-hour contracts...
no one can tell me that's beneficial to anyone...
zero-hour contracts is worse than slavery...
at least as a slave you had intrinsic value...
obviously disposable...
but as a wager... SLAVE CONTRA WAGER...
you have no instrinsic value:
you only have extrinsic value:
you're doubly disposable...

           like the concern for INFLATION:
the end-product is inflated...
but the manufacturing mechanism isn't...
then there's the deflation aspect of
football clubs increasing the payouts of their
football players... but not decreasing
the price of their tickets to attend a match
or their merchandise: t-shirts etc.!
fair enough: pay the players more...
but at least have the decency to cut down the ticket
prices to see a football match...
or the price of the merchandise...
but no... these clubs either keep it at the same price
or inflate the ticket prices...
but if the players are earning more?
why should the people pay more?!
surely they should be paying less!

SLAVERY wasn't a bad thing... not in my eyes...
i think slavery was a good thing...
you had protection... a SLAVE had more protection
against the peril of a "free" society than a WAGER
will ever have...

what are the chances of me retiring at my grandfather
did? getting a proper state pension,
passing it down my wife after my life,
allowing her last 10 years of life to be lived
in a luxury that only old age might hinder?
ZILCH!
of the people that applied for job i'm currently at....
i seem to be the only "slave": i.e. employee...
the rest are self-employees...
i do my job well because i don't have to:
invoice my presence... i get invoices by someone
else...i trust my "handlers"...
i look at dogs, i look at cats...

who was Proximo to Maximus in the fillm
Gladiator? a mere slave-owner?
really? Maximus was merely a WAGER?
Proximo didn't care about Maximus was more than
a WAGER and more a, commodity?
i'd love to feel like a commodity again...
i'd hate to be treated as a WAGER: as an EARNER...
i think slaves, "slaves" had more monetary rights
than people of our current age...
owning slaves came with responsibilities...
a bit like owning pets these days...
you had to be rich enough...
for one...
you had to clothe them... you had to feed them...
you had to put a roof above their heads...
to be considered a nobleman:
you had to treat them fairly...
these days? none of these rules need to apply...

the system of slavery worked on a decentralised
"bias"...
not on this, current, centralised bias of
the universal WAGE concept....
you're worse than a SLAVE... you're a WAGER...
communism tried to figure this out...
it never came close...
well, it did, for a short period of time...
the sort of period of time where:
drinking whiskey tasted like drinking regurgitated
garlic *****!

it's not working now...
not everyone can be some moon-blessed
entrepreneur... some people are truly allowed
the joy of being allocated the status of PAWN...
rather than BISHOP...
there are people that are like that...

if it was working NOW: it would be working WOW...
people exist for others to be looked up to!
you can't scribble some Darwinistic mantra
and expect people to stick to it!
it's either Darwinism or Christianity...
you can't have both!
there's one alternative... but you're not going
to like Islam...
i don't like Islam... i don't like circumcision...
that's why i'm expecting a 2nd schism
in this grand religion... spear-headed
by the Turks with a bunch of uncircumcised men...

i want whiskey to drip from my beard
while i drink it... and rub it into my chin...
and recall the number of tattoos i ought to have
from rekindling my mind to the past....

no one knows the name of the donkey that took
Jesus to Jerusalem as the fifth: "horseman" of
the Apocalypse toward that fateful Palm Sunday...
but... Muhammad's favourite cat's name is known...
the birth of the Korean script is known via
King Sejong... no one can rob me of this historical presence:
nothing is mythological too...
just easily forgotten...

me? i'm just clearing the path... for something...
more... expedient... more... clarifying...
let's share cats.
Aridea P Nov 2011
Kau datang di saat ku menginginkanmu
Kau bagaikan menerangi hidupku
Ku tersenyum di setiap waktu
Ku selalu memikirkanmu

Kau menjauh entah mengapa
Ku tersadar bahwa ku yang memulainya
Kau tak sedetikpun berbicara
Ku hanya bisa menyesal

Ku mulai belajar tuk melupakanmu
Ku buka hati ini tuk yang lain
Namun tiba-tiba kau datang dengan sejuta kata
Entah apakah kau berpura-pura peduli pada ku

Kau menyentuh hidup ku, lagi
Kau buat aku menginginkanmu, lagi
Kau buat aku salah tingkah, lagi
Serasa tak ingin aku kehlangan mu, lagi

Kau membuat aku bersyukur pernah mengenal mu
Kau adalah hal terindah yang tak nyata yang pernah aku tahu
Kau adalah semua topik pembicaraan yang ku ceritakan
Kau adalah yang mengiringi perjalanan singkat hidup ku

Kau yang amat susah lepas dari ingatan ku
Kau yang menerangi hidup ku
Kau lah alasan aku tersenyum di setiap waktu
Kau lah yang ku harap hadir di mimpi ku

Kau...
Yang selalu aku harapkan hadir di sisi ku
Yang selalu membuatku ingin merasakan peluk mu
Yang ingin sekali mengecup bibir mu

Kau...
Yang selalu membuat aku gelisah
Yang membuat aku berusaha lebih baik
Yang membuat ku berusaha lebih pantas tuk dimiliki

Kau...
Tak pernah habis kata-kata untuk mu
Selalu ku puji dirimu
Ku ingin bisa mengatakan bahwa
Aku sangat mencintaimu

I LOVE YOU
Aridea P Dec 2011
Palembang. 24 Desember 2011

Ku panggil namamu
Kamu ucapkan Selamat Tinggal!
Aku raih tanganmu
Kamu terus berjalan melepaskan genggamanku

Aku menghampirimu di bangku taman
Kamu beranjak pergi tanpa sepatah kata
Ku bawakan buku favorit mu di perpustakaan
Kamu malah membeli buku yang sama

Kamu bagaikan kenyataan di masa depan
Sungguh tak sanggup aku tuk menebakmu
Tak mampu aku memenuhi semua kebutuhanmu
Kamu pun tak pernah angkat bicara

Apa mau mu?
Aku terjatuh, kamu diam saja
Apa yang ada di pikiranmu?
Aku bicara, kamu memalingkan wajah

Aku sakit, kamu tak tahu
Aku menjauh, kamu mengejarku
Aku menghilang, kamu mencariku
Oh sayang, aku tak tahu apa mau mu
KathleenAMaloney Sep 2016
Waste Not True Be
Beautiful Life
Spring From the Rotten Flesh

Seeds Thrown Away
Each One Perfect
Fruit of The Compost
Child
Great Strides
Are Made By Ghes
Who Art Thou?
That Rewrites the Word
By Circumstance
From Free?
Art Thou Free Choice
Given
By Wisdoms Homecoming
We Are Seen
Family of Selves
Throughout The Now
Eternity
Caves Doorway
New Mu Be

Through
The Caghedral
Of Roughen
Loughan's  Blessings
Filled With Nothingness
Light Divine
By Each
Was Life Sprung
Lifting
Our Paris Played Sure
Pain Was But A Virtue
Of Tge Accusation
Came
For To Bless Us
Was Our Crown Made Ure
One Word Ire
That is The Ore
Of Life
One
Onw
Onwards Wford
Ours  is Given Forwatd naught
It's Been  bee as it May
I've Already Been
This Path is Known
I feel It
It's Carriynh me  crow is Hidden  Magic
Many is Me  She My N
N is Majic Magic Magic Magic Magic Magic
K is Chance chance chance chance chance
Choice Choice Choice Choice Choice
Collin CollinCollin Coliin Omire Omeir
One or one ire moire moire moire OMIRE
Omire O Meir.  O'Mire
Omire Where art Thou ?
Cry for You
Cry
Whole
Where Who Where Who My Black Irishman
where
Wisdom
Www Home Wisom
Come Back
Get Me
snakes Sre Gird
Snakes are Ireland
Snakes R Ire
Ire ire ire ire harp
Harp harp harp harp harp harp harp harp
Harp is Me harp is Golden Golden Golden golden golden golden Golden Golden can Play Can Play play Mu Mu mumy my words area
Mu My Mu Mu s mall words
My Name Is George
She King I King  Muse
I King Collin Harpgolden Harp
I King
I King K King K Queen
Golden Harp
King Threads Song Song Sonf song
Threads
Listen
Threads Listen
Song Spiral
Threads listen Collin King Is Song
Jenny
Is
Song
Snakes like song
Call song call song call sing call song call sing
Ask Question Ask
None is Bad
None
Many that don't bro
Belief is true
God is Goodsnakes R Good


Harp Harp
Harp is me Harp is Thread Harp
KA Poetry Jan 2018
Beruntung bisa berbincang
Terikat dalam dunia mu
Mencinta dibalik pertemanan
Menumbuhkan bibit cerita diriku & dirimu

Izinkan aku untuk memberi isyarat
Biarkanlah perasaan mu menjalar
Dekaplah bila terasa nyaman
Rasa ini telah menyatakan

Semesta yang menjadi saksi
Bahwa keajaiban terjadi di hati ku
Mendekatlah
Tangan mu akan merasakan detak ini

Berdetak hanya untuk mu
Sampai akhir hayat
Terikat dengan mu
Mendekatlah.
23/01/2018 | 20.24 | Indonesia | K.***
Anton Sep 2019
Sa taliwala niining akong kalibutan nga puno sa kaguol,
ikaw dinhi sa akong kibuhi ang niabot ug niduol,
hinaot unta nga ikaw dili ug dili magabasol,
kay ako intawn kanimo wala'y ika hatag bisan gamay na suhol,
kung pananglitan nga ikaw bation ug kakatol,
hinaut unta nga sa lain tawo dili musagol,
kay ako ania man nga pirme andam itunol,
ang gugma ko nga sa kasing kasing mo mu-bukol.
Saša D Lović Apr 2015
prоbudilа i mrcе
piskа i vriskа оnih kојi gоrеšе
dušе im pеrfоrirаnе
i tо ih izdаје јеr оštrili su kоčеvе
kао dа prоklаmuјu оrјеntаciјu
i pоstаvljајu trpеzu vеtru
dоgоrеšе sizirеni hоmоlоški pоstаvljеni
vаtrа ih pustа pоstаvilа
аh vаtrа sе ugаsilа
i
pоglеd im višе niје pоglеd
dоk nа krајu lаgаriје
sаmi svоје nоgе izјеdаšе
vаtrа tinjа
ја stојim nа ulаzu tоg lаvirintа
iz kоgа sаm оdаvnо
а ti sе tоgа tаkо dоbrо sеćаš
istеrао minоtаurа
uviјеnоg u vео kоntеmplаciје
kаd slučајnо krајičkоm оkа vidеh
gdе ti nа rаspuću stаdе
izа ušiјu zmiје ti sе ugnеzdilе
i nеstа ti pоglеdа i dаh ti usаhnu
dоk si sе iz ribljе krljušti piliо
čuјеš li tе uspоrеnе rеprоdukciје
оdјеkа svојih kоrаkа
tо kucаtе ti i tvој sаt
а јеdаn vеk iаkо upао u vrtlоg
а uz tо i usmеn
mаsnоg licа čеkа svој vеtаr
gluv i lеp
ја vаm nа tеmеnimа prојеktuјеm milоsrđа
i muzikоm žеlim dа dоčаrаm rаst
stvаrnоst nаšеg pоstојаnjа
pоkrеt pо pоkrеt pо pоkrеt
i muzikа је svе јаčа
ti аplаudirаš оčimа kоје ćutе
kао kаd zаkаsnеli tеurg
оslоbоđеnjе krеmеnu nudi
i vеtаr sе pоnеkаd pоspе pеpеlоm pо glаvi
nе uspеvа dа prеvаziđе
mоrаlnе stаndаrdе
i јоš siја zа njih
оbičnа žеljа zа mirnim živоtоm
sа nајfiniјеg sаtеnа
nајfiniја prаšinа prоbrаnа
zbоg sukоbа žеljа sа rеаlnоšću
umео si krеmеn dа sаslušаš
i glе
zvеzdе јоš uvеk siјајu
о nе nе plаči zbunjеni dеčаčе
nеmаmо višе ni sеmеnа ni vоdе
višе nаm nеćе nići ništа
uzаlud ridаnjеm dоzivаš оblаkе
sаmо ćе nаm zаkriti suncе
i оhlаditi pustinju
pоbеđеni vеruјu ја znаm vеruј
zvеzdе su mi tаkо rеklе
sаžvаkаni kоmаdići nаših mоzgоvа
tаkо rеskо ispljunuti
dа rеmеtе tаmu kојu sаm
оd tišinе plео
simbоlični uspеsi u svеtu fаntаziје
zbunišе unutrаšnjе оdnоsе
i оn pоčе dа sе plаši svоg sаtа
kојi mu оbјаšnjаvа
kаkо sе оdgоnеtkе rаsipајu
u grоtlо smirаја dаnа
оn dеčаkа uči dа оsеti
miris njеgоvе nаgоrеlе kоsе
rеčе svе i rеčе svа
i
pоčе sа rаzmrеžаvаnjеm
njеgоv оdrаz iz оglеdаlа pоmаlо istоvеtаn
prоmuklim glаsоm mоli
bеоnjаčе mu zаpustеšе
nаmеnski mu ih isisаšе
kriоmicе nаlivhu sе suzаmа
kriоmicе prеkuvаšе mu gаngliје
а bаgrеm cvеtао
i tаkо tоku izаzvао prеkid
nоsеći svоје pоbrkаnо znаmеnjе
krеštао је
а biо је tu sаmо rаdi rеkоnstrukciје
tаd sе rаzviја smеrnicа suјеtе
i оsmеh i suzаn pоglеd
nајаvi mu sаn
zа visоkо pоstаvljеn cilj
оn bеz оrјеntаciје
dоk sа tаvаnicе kаpljе
i tuđu slаbоst primiruје
а pаžnju mu оdvlаči vеtаr
kојi rаznоsi miris njеgоvе nаgоrеlе kоsе
dоk pоsmаtrа dеčаkа
kаkо оpipаvа bilо usnulо
mudrоsti svаkоdnеvicе
užаsаvа sе оd grоbа
оkupirаn trаžnjоm zа živоtnim srеdstvimа
buncа nеštо strаšnо о ukidаnju
rаzvојеm svојim svе bеspоmоćniјi
bivао
pоstеpеnо pоtiskivаn
sаm svој еpitаf pоstајао
pоšаst prоđе bеs zаbоrаvljеnа
unаzаđеnа
grč pоsustаli оmаlоvаžаvаn zаsmrаđivаn
prоsuо u grоtlо smirаја dаnа
i pоslеdnju kоličinu suzа
ispiо kvintisеnciјu
nеgаtivnоg mеntаlnоg stаvа
i
pоnаvljао u sеbi
kао štо i ti stаlnо pоnаvljаš
lumen naturale
glе pа ti plаčеš
i krvnički gutаš tај crni оmаmljuјući nаpitаk
krvnički gurаš tе iglе
u svоје nеnаžuljаnе rukе
nе znаm hоćе li tа hlаdnа vоdа
dа ti priја
а i tај tvој sаt...
Emanzi Ian Feb 2022
Omukwano gwaffe muto ng'ekimuli ekya'kamulisa
Nyumilwa nnyo engeli gye weyisa
Njagala nnyo bwompisa
Fukilila nga nange bwe nfukilila
Fukilila omukwano gwaffe gwongele okumulisa
Nkubilako bwe ndwawo okukuba,
Oba wakili sindikayo ka-message
Anti okwo keep kufukilila ekimulu kyaffe ekito
Kinzikakanya ng'onyumiza ku lunnaku lwo bwe lubadde,eyo mu kilo
Awo mba nja kukakkanya bulungi omutwe ku pillow
Omukwano gwange for you guli mu kilo
Sagala nnaku kuyita nga tetuwuliziganya,tokiganya kubaawo
Mba nja kuba ng'omutima teguli mu nteeko
Nga ssi muteefu
Kindetera okulowooza nnyo kubakwesunze
Bangi bakwesuunga,
Bakwesuunze,
Bangi bekyayisa obubi nga twefunye
Tebatwagaliza kusigala ffena
Ky'ovolaba nga nsaba oyongele okufukilila
Fukilila ekimulu kyaffe ekito kyongele okumulisa
Bali,emitima gyabwe gyajjula obukyaayi
Bo tusaana kubabeela Wala,
Ela tubeewale
Mulungi wange,jjangu twongele okufukilila

Fukilila ekimulu kyaffe ekito tukiwonye okukala
Bwe wewala abatatwagaliza,oba ofukilila
Bwe wewala abagala okulaba nga nze naawe twettade,obeela ela ofukilila
Bwe tuba ffembi ng'ondaga ku kamwenyu ko,obeer'ela ofukilila
Nkusuubiza nti mu mbeela yonna,neetegese okukuwanilira
Nja kukulwanila,
Nja kukulwanila
Kinnyongela essuubi okumanya nti oli wange,gwe omwana w'abalungi
Nti ela wasiima nze mu Bangi
Nnyongela okukusuubiza nti nja kufukilila omukwano mu bungi
Nkukakasa sijja kwekyusa mu langi

(20/11/2021)
Fukilila omukwano gwaffe gukule.
Bintun Nahl 1453 Mar 2015
“ Hari ini ku mati,
Perlahan...
Tubuhku ditutup tanah.
Perlahan...
Semua pergi meninggalkanku...

Masih terdengar jelas langkah² terakhir mereka,
Aku sendirian,
Di tempat gelap yang tak pernah terbayang,
Sendiri,
Menunggu pertanyaan malaikat...

Belahan hati,
Belahan jiwa pun pergi.
Apa lagi sekedar kawan dekat atau orang lain.
Aku bukan siapa-siapa lagi bagi mereka...

Sanak keluarga menangis,
Sangat pedih,
Aku pun demikian,
Tak kalah sedih...

Tetapi aku tetap sendiri,
Di sini, menunggu perhitungan.
Menyesal sudah tak mungkin.
Tobat tak lagi dianggap,
Dan maaf pun tak bakal didengar,
Aku benar-benar harus sendiri...

Ya Allah...
Jika Engkau beri aku 1 lagi kesempatan,
Jika Engkau pinjamkan lagi beberapa hari milik-MU,
Untuk aku perbaiki diriku,
Aku ingin memohon maaf pada mereka...

Yang selama ini telah merasakan dzalimku,
Yang selama ini sengsara karena aku,
Tersakiti karena aku...

Aku akan kembalikan jika ada harta kotor ini yang telah kukumpulkan,
Yang bahkan kumakan,
Ya Allah beri lagi aku beberapa hari milik-Mu,
Untuk berbakti kepada Ayah & Ibu tercinta...

Teringat kata-kata kasar & keras yang menyakitkan hati mereka,
Maafkan aku Ayah & Ibu, mengapa tak kusadari betapa besar kasih sayangmu,

Beri juga ya Allah aku waktu untuk berkumpul dengan keluargaku,
Menyenangkan saudara-saudaraku..
Untuk sungguh-sungguh beramal soleh.

Aku sungguh ingin bersujud dihadapan-Mu lebih lama lagi..
Begitu menyesal diri ini.
Kesenangan yang pernah kuraih dulu,
Tak ada artinya sama sekali...

Mengapa kusia-siakan waktu hidup yang hanya sekali itu...?
Andai aku bisa putar ulang waktu itu...

Aku dimakamkan hari ini,
Dan ketika semua menjadi tak termaafkan,
Dan ketika semua menjadi terlambat,
Dan ketika aku harus sendiri...
Untuk waktu yang tak terbayangkan sampai yaumul hisab & dikumpulkan di Padang Mashar...

Puisi Almarhum "Bang Remy Soetansyah,"
"ANDAI HARI INI AKU DIMAKAMKAN"

DariNya kita datang, kepadaNya kita kembali…

Assalamu’laikum sahabat..

Innalillahi wa innaa ilaihi raaji'uun telah kembali ke rahmatullah Olga Syahputra kemarin jum'at sore di Rumah sakit Singapura, Oki turut berduka sedalam2nya, dan do’akan bersama semoga Olga Syahputra di terima iman islamnya dilapangkan kuburnya, di tempatkan di tempat terindah di syurga, keluarga yg di tinggalkan di beri kesabaran..aamiin..al-fatihah..

Bagi kita yg di tinggalnya tentunya bisa jadi pelajaran bahwa maut datang kapan saja tidak bisa kita prediksi , bisa satu tahun lagi, sebulan lagi, satu hari lagi atau sedetik lagi..hidup di dunia ini hanyalah sementara..

Aku dan dunia ibarat orang dalam perjalanan menunggang kendaraan, lalu berteduh di bawah pohon untuk beristirahat dan setelah itu meninggalkannya. (HR. Ibnu Majah)

Rasulullah menyadarkan kepada kita selaku umatnya akan pendeknya waktu hidup di dunia itu, namun waktu yang sangat pendek itu sangat-sangat bermanfaat, sehingga harus diisi dengan hal-hal yang sangat bermanfaat…

Sahabat pesan Olga kepada adiknya, untuk selalu melaksakan ibadah sholat 5 waktu jangan pernah di tinggalkan...selalu berbuat baik....
Aridea P Oct 2011
Pernah ku tulis surat untuk mu
Yang indah berisikan tentang cinta
Ku ingin kau tahu akan isinya
Tapi, tak pernah sampai pada mu

Selalu tertahan di sini
Ku kumpulkan saja sendiri
Dan akan ku terbangkan ke angin
Agar membawa surat ku pada mu

Mungkin kan sampai
Tapi, apa kau terima semua?
Tersenyumkah kamu, saat membacanya?

Apa kau tak merasa
Surat ku penuh dengan cinta
Berapa kali ku tulis cinta
Mungkin penuh tak tersisa

Renungkan surat ku
Yang penuh cinta untuk mu

By. Aridea Purple
Aridea P Dec 2011
Palembang, 17 Desember 2011

Aku hidup dengan nafas mu Bapak, Ibu
Aku ada karena Dia Yang Maha Satu

Namun raga ini aku yang bawa
Jiwa ini aku yang menjaga
Hidup ini aku yang memilih
Cerita ini aku yang jalani

Aku tumbuh bersama nafas mereka
Aku termotivasi karena mereka juga

Nafas kita menyatu
Mereka menghela nafas kebahagianku
Aku menghela nafas kebahagian-Mu
Nafas kami juga nafas mu, Bapak.. Ibu..

Kau pelita kehidupan
Obor benderang di gelap ku
Bekal mengenyangkan di lapar ku
Oasis indah nan segar di dahaga ku

Tak akan ada aku tanpa-Nya
Tak akan hidup aku hingga sekarang tanpa Bapak dan Ibu
Tak akan aku bertahan tanpa diriku sendiri
Dan aku hidup tuk bersama mereka

Aku yang menentukan
Dia tinggal menyetujuinya
Bapak Ibu hanya bmendoakan
Dan sebentar lagi mereka ku gapai

(it’s because I Love Shane, Mark, Kian and Nicky)
sweetrevoirs Dec 2016
Relei ingat. Baju hangat kuning kecoklatan, 4 kerutan di tangan kanan dekat siku dan 5 lainnya di dekat bahu kiri. Rok kotak-kotak selutut yang untung dan sayangnya tak pernah terisngkap sedikit pun angin berkata tiup. Adalah pakaian yang melekat di badan Malia kali mereka bertemu tatap.
Udara dingin malam Sabtu sama sekali tidak membuat para pujangga mengurungkan niatnya untuk berteriak kata cinta. Atau cerita patah hati. Mungkin iya di tempat lain, tapi tidak di sini, di 8th Avenue, sebuah ruangan tak terpakai beberapa tahun lalu yang di percantik jadi sebuah tempat pertemuan para penyair dari berbagai penghujung kota. Dengan satu podium kecil –sekitar setinggi 1 meter dan selebar tiga dada- di sebelah barat, membelakangi dinding yang berwarna merah marun sedangkan tiga dinding lainnya adalah batu bata yang tidak dipoles.
Malam itu Relei seperti malam Sabtu lainnya, berjalan dari kamar loft ke tempat favoritnya, menyusuri 6 blok dalam suhu 21 derajat dengan tentu pakaian hangat.
Semua wajah yang berpapasan, tak ada satupun yang Relei lupa. Ada 13 wanita, 8 diantaranya bermata coklat, dan 6 pria, satu diantaranya memegang setangkai bunga mawar, yang sudah bertatap sapa selama perjalanannya menuju 8th Ave. 8 bunyi klakson mobil dan 4 suara orang bersin yang selalu di balasnya dengan “semoga tuhan memberkati”. Tidak, Relei tidak selalu menghitung seperti ini dalam sehari-harinya. Hanya saja Relei selalu ingat.
“ Lalu bulan masih saja datang, pun tak sepertimu, yang malam ke malam, masih saja semakin semu.” Seorang wanita paruh baya sedang membacakan barisan terakhirnya di atas podium dengan parau sangat menghayati. Penyair lain yang ada di ruangan itu menjentikkan jari mereka terkagum, ada juga yang bersorak kata-kata manis. Kode etis dalam pembacaan puisi di 8th ave adalah : tidak perlu bertepuk tangan terlalu kencang untuk berkata bahwa kau kagum akan satu puisi, cukup dua jari saja.
“ Biarkan aku datang ke mimpi buruk mu, lalu mimpi indah mu, lalu mimpi mu yang kau bahkan tak tahu tentang apa, atau pun mengapa,” Selanjutnya adalah giliran seorang perempuan muda yang naik ke panggung. Ia bercerita tentang buah mimpi, bahwa Ia ingin menjadi fantasi yang dibawa kemanapun sang pemimpi berjalan.
Baju hangat kuning kecoklatan, 4 kerutan di tangan kanan dekat siku dan 5 lainnya di dekat bahu kiri. Malia –atau seperti itulah tadi perempuan itu memperkenalkan dirinya sebelum memulai puisi- menyisir rambutnya kebelakang kuping sebanyak 3 kali sepanjang ia membacakan puisinya. Ia bergeliat di boots hitamnya, entah karena grogi atau tidak nyaman. Malia berambut coklat ikal sepinggang, dan memiliki bulu mata yang lentik bahkan dilihat dari ujung ruangan.
“ Untukmu, yang bersandar ke bata merah dengan tangan memegang kerah.” Malia mengakhiri puisinya sambal menatap ke arah Relei. Tangan Relei yang sedang membenarkan kerah baju otomatis langsung membeku. Ia sadar penyair lain sedang mengalihkan semua perhatian mereka kepadanya. Tapi hey, ayolah, pasti bukan, gadis di atas podium itu pasti bukan sedang membicarakan tentang Relei. Gadis yang sekarang sedang menuruni tangga podium dan berjalan ke arahnya itu pasti bukan sedang- Oh tuhan, atau mungkin memang iya.
Aridea P Sep 2012
dari awal memang aku hanya kertas kosong bagimu
tak bisa digambar, tak bisa ditulis
yang terlupakan, yang tertinggal
yang terbuang, tak berharga
meski ku coba tuk tulis sendiri
kau hapus begitu saja,
dan kau buang

nama ku tak pernah kau sebut
mungkin karena kau lupa
mungkin karena kau tak suka
aku Erikaa
kau bisa panggil ku apa saja
sesukamu
tapi jangan,
jangan kau tak menyapaku

ku baca statusmu
diam-diam,
dari akun temanku,
teman baikku

kau benar suka dia?
haha tentu saja!
kau kembali ke kampung halaman,
besoknya kau pergi lagi menjemputnya
oh betapa beruntungnya dia
dicintai malaikat sepertimu

jika kau menikah,
apa ada kau akan mengingatku?
mengingat kekonyolanku?
menertawai kebodohanku?

kini semuanya ku buang,
semua tentangmu
senyummu,
candamu,

tapi ku mohon,
izinkan aku menyimpan foto-foto mu
bukan foto dirimu,
tapi foto mu,
pohon, jalanan, Samudera Atlantik, yang kau foto

No!
Akan ku hapus semua!

Terima kasih tuk selama ini.
Kau tlah berikan 0.5% cinta mu padaku
Terima kasih telah 99.5% membenciku
sehingga aku sadar akan kedudukanku
Terima kasih sudah 100% mencintai dia
aku yakin kau takkan menyakitinya

""Selamat G----- F--------- F--------
Semoga kamu BAHAGIA""
eng jin Apr 2018
The screaming cheers
travel a distance far
in the divided hall
the yellows and blues
await the serving ball

an overhand strike
the ball speeds
across the mid-line

the yellows
dig, set & attack
the blues
fling & smack
fearless & skilled
the crowd hails

winning or defeat
is a victory for all
for the love
of volleyball
Aridea P Oct 2011
Jakarta, 10 Mei 2008

Suara gitar mu indah Sayang…
Lirikmu pun buat ku menangis
Bagaimana aku bisa memeluk mu?
Ucap kata cinta untukmu


Atau cium kening mu…
Dengan penuh rasa cinta
Karena kau ciptakan lirik indah
Bagai Untukku Selamanya


Kau tak perlu tau Sayang…
Aku di sini inginkan kamu
Sungguh lagumu cerminanmu
Meski tak seindah kamu
Lirik lagumu luluhkan hati ku


Sampai kapanpun ku tetap sayang kamu
Tak perlu kau jawab bahwa kau sayang aku
Dengar lagumu di sini pun
Hati ku s’lalu tersenyum untukmu
zebra Oct 2017
Here is a primer on the history of poetry

Features of Modernism

To varying extents, writing of the Modernist period exhibits these features:

1. experimentation

belief that previous writing was stereotyped and inadequate
ceaseless technical innovation, sometimes for its own sake
originality: deviation from the norm, or from usual reader expectations
ruthless rejection of the past, even iconoclasm

2. anti-realism

sacralisation of art, which must represent itself, not something beyond preference for allusion (often private) rather than description
world seen through the artist's inner feelings and mental states
themes and vantage points chosen to question the conventional view
use of myth and unconscious forces rather than motivations of conventional plot

3. individualism

promotion of the artist's viewpoint, at the expense of the communal
cultivation of an individual consciousness, which alone is the final arbiter
estrangement from religion, nature, science, economy or social mechanisms
maintenance of a wary intellectual independence
artists and not society should judge the arts: extreme self-consciousness
search for the primary image, devoid of comment: stream of consciousness
exclusiveness, an aristocracy of the avant-garde

4. intellectualism

writing more cerebral than emotional
work is tentative, analytical and fragmentary, more posing questions more than answering them
cool observation: viewpoints and characters detached and depersonalized
open-ended work, not finished, nor aiming at formal perfection
involuted: the subject is often act of writing itself and not the ostensible referent

............
Expressionism

Expressionism was a phase of twentieth-century writing that rejected naturalism and romanticism to express important inner truths. The style was generally declamatory or even apocalyptic, endeavoring to awaken the fears and aspirations that belong to all men, and which European civilization had rendered effete or inauthentic. The movement drew on Rimbaud and Nietzsche, and was best represented by German poetry of the 1910-20 period. Benn, Becher, Heym, Lasker-Schüler, Stadler, Stramm, Schnack and Werfel are its characteristic proponents, {1} though Trakl is the best known to English readers. {2} {3}

Like most movements, there was little of a manifesto, or consensus of beliefs and programmes. Many German poets were distrustful of contemporary society — particularly its commercial and capitalist attitudes — though others again saw technology as the escape from a perceived "crisis in the old order". Expressionism was very heterogeneous, touching base with Imagism, Vorticism, Futurism, Dadaism and early Surrealism, many of which crop up in English, French, Russian and Italian poetry of the period. Political attitudes tended to the revolutionary, and technique was overtly experimental. Nonetheless, for all the images of death and destruction, sometimes mixed with messianic utopianism, there was also a tone of resignation, a sadness of "the evening lands" as Spengler called them.

Expressionism also applies to painting, and here the characteristics are more illuminating. The label refers to painting that uses visual gestures to transmit emotions and emotionally charged messages. In the expressive work of Michelangelo and El Greco, for example, the content remains of first importance, but content is overshadowed by technique in such later artists as van Gogh, Ensor and Munch. By the mid twentieth-century even this attenuated content had been replaced by abstract painterly qualities — by the sheer scale and dimensions of the work, by colour and shape, by the verve of the brushwork and other effects.

Expressionism often coincided with rapid social change. Germany, after suffering the horrors of the First World War, and ineffectual governments afterwards, fragmented into violently opposed political movements, each with their antagonistic coteries and milieu. The painting of these groups was very variable, but often showed a mixture of aggression and naivety. Understandably unpopular with the establishment  — denounced as degenerate by the Nazis — the style also met with mixed reactions from the picture-buying public. It seemed to question what the middle classes stood for: convention, decency, professional expertise. A great sobbing child had been let loose in the artist's studio, and the results seemed elementally challenging. Perhaps German painting was returning to its Nordic roots, to small communities, apocalyptic visions, monotone starkness and anguished introspection.

What could poetry achieve in its turn? Could it use some equivalent to visual gestures, i.e. concentrate on aspects of the craft of poetry, and to the exclusion of content? Poetry can never be wholly abstract, a pure poetry bereft of content. But clearly there would be a rejection of naturalism. To represent anything faithfully requires considerable skill, and such skill was what the Expressionists were determined to avoid. That would call on traditions that were not Nordic, and that were not sufficiently opposed to bourgeois values for the writer's individuality to escape subversion. Raw power had to tap something deeper and more universal.

Hence the turn inward to private torments. Poets became the judges of poetry, since only they knew the value of originating emotions. Intensity was essential.  Artists had to believe passionately in their responses, and find ways of purifying and deepening those responses — through working practices, lifestyles, and philosophies. Freud was becoming popular, and his investigations into dreams, hallucinations and paranoia offered a rich field of exploration. Artists would have to glory in their isolation, moreover, and turn their anger and frustration at being overlooked into a belief in their own genius. Finally, there would be a need to pull down and start afresh, even though that contributed to a gradual breakdown in the social fabric and the apocalypse of the Second World War.

Expressionism is still with us. Commerce has invaded bohemia, and created an elaborate body of theory to justify, support and overtake what might otherwise appear infantile and irrational. And if traditional art cannot be pure emotional expression, then a new art would have to be forged. Such poetry would not be an intoxication of life (Nietzsche's phrase) and still less its sanctification.  Great strains on the creative process were inevitable, moreover, as they were in Georg Trakl's case, who committed suicide shortly after writing the haunting and beautiful piece given below

................
SYMBOLIST POETS
symbolism in poetry

Symbolism in literature was a complex movement that deliberately extended the evocative power of words to express the feelings, sensations and states of mind that lie beyond everyday awareness. The open-ended symbols created by Charles Baudelaire (1821-67) brought the invisible into being through the visible, and linked the invisible through other sensory perceptions, notably smell and sound. Stéphane Mallarmé (1842-98), the high priest of the French movement, theorized that symbols were of two types. One was created by the projection of inner feelings onto the world outside. The other existed as nascent words that slowly permeated the consciousness and expressed a state of mind initially unknown to their originator.

None of this came about without cultivation, and indeed dedication. Poets focused on the inner life. They explored strange cults and countries. They wrote in allusive, enigmatic, musical and ambiguous styles. Rimbaud deranged his senses and declared "Je est un autre". Von Hofmannstahl created his own language. Valéry retired from the world as a private secretary, before returning to a mastery of traditional French verse. Rilke renounced wife and human society to be attentive to the message when it came.

Not all were great theoreticians or technicians, but the two interests tended to go together, in Mallarmé most of all. He painstakingly developed his art of suggestion, what he called his "fictions". Rare words were introduced, syntactical intricacies, private associations and baffling images. Metonymy replaced metaphor as symbol, and was in turn replaced by single words which opened in imagination to multiple levels of signification. Time was suspended, and the usual supports of plot and narrative removed. Even the implied poet faded away, and there were then only objects, enigmatically introduced but somehow made right and necessary by verse skill. Music indeed was the condition to which poetry aspired, and Verlaine, Jimenez and Valéry were among many who concentrated efforts to that end.

So appeared a dichotomy between the inner and outer lives. In actuality, poets led humdrum existences, but what they described was rich and often illicit: the festering beauties of courtesans and dance-hall entertainers; far away countries and their native peoples; a world-weariness that came with drugs, isolation, alcohol and bought ***. Much was mixed up in this movement — decadence, aestheticism, romanticism, and the occult — but its isms had a rational purpose, which is still pertinent. In what way are these poets different from our own sixties generation? Or from the young today: clubbing, experimenting with relationships and drugs, backpacking to distant parts? And was the mixing of sensory perceptions so very novel or irrational? Synaesthesia was used by the Greek poets, and indeed has a properly documented basis in brain physiology.

What of the intellectual bases, which are not commonly presented as matters that should engage the contemporary mind, still less the writing poet? Symbolism was built on nebulous and somewhat dubious notions: it inspired beautiful and historically important work: it is now dead: that might be the blunt summary. But Symbolist poetry was not empty of content, indeed expressed matters of great interest to continental philosophers, then and now. The contents of consciousness were the concern of Edmund Husserl (1859-1938), and he developed a terminology later employed by Heidegger (1889-1976), the Existentialists and hermeneutics. Current theories on metaphor and brain functioning extend these concepts, and offer a rapprochement between impersonal science and irrational literary theory.

So why has the Symbolism legacy dwindled into its current narrow concepts? Denied influence in the everyday world, poets turned inward, to private thoughts, associations and the unconscious. Like good Marxist intellectuals they policed the area they arrogated to themselves, and sought to correct and purify the language that would evoke its powers. Syntax was rearranged by Mallarmé. Rhythm, rhyme and stanza patterning were loosened or rejected. Words were purged of past associations (Modernism), of non-visual associations (Imagism), of histories of usage (Futurism), of social restraint (Dadaism) and of practical purpose (Surrealism). By a sort of belated Romanticism, poetry was returned to the exploration of the inner lands of the irrational. Even Postmodernism, with its bric-a-brac of received media images and current vulgarisms, ensures that gaps are left for the emerging unconscious to engage our interest

......................

.
IMAGIST POETRY
imagist poetry

Even by twentieth-century standards, Imagism was soon over. In 1912 Ezra Pound published the Complete Poetical Works of its founder, T.E. Hulme (five short poems) and by 1917 the movement, then overseen by Amy Lowell, had run its course. {1} {2} {3} {4} {5} The output in all amounted to a few score poems, and none of these captured the public's heart. Why the importance?

First there are the personalities involved — notably Ezra Pound, James Joyce, William Carlos Williams {6} {7} {8} {9} — who became famous later. If ever the (continuing) importance to poets of networking, of being involved in movements from their inception, is attested, it is in these early days of post-Victorian revolt.

Then there are the manifestos of the movement, which became the cornerstones of Modernism, responsible for a much taught in universities until recently, and for the difficulties poets still find themselves in. The Imagists stressed clarity, exactness and concreteness of detail. Their aims, briefly set out, were that:

1. Content should be presented directly, through specific images where possible.
2. Every word should be functional, with nothing included that was not essential to the effect intended.
3. Rhythm should be composed by the musical phrase rather than the metronome.

Also understood — if not spelled out, or perhaps fully recognized at the time — was the hope that poems could intensify a sense of objective reality through the immediacy of images.

Imagism itself gave rise to fairly negligible lines like:

You crash over the trees,
You crack the live branch…  (Storm by H.D.)

Nonetheless, the reliance on images provided poets with these types of freedom:

1. Poems could dispense with classical rhetoric, emotion being generated much more directly through what Eliot called an objective correlate: "The only way of expressing emotion in the form of art is by finding an 'objective correlative'; in other words, a set of objects, a situation, a chain of events which shall be the formula of that particular emotion; such that when the external facts, which must terminate in sensory experience, are given, the emotion is immediately evoked." {10}

2. By being shorn of context or supporting argument, images could appear with fresh interest and power.

3. Thoughts could be treated as images, i.e. as non-discursive elements that added emotional colouring without issues of truth or relevance intruding too mu
...............
PROSE BASED POETRY
prose based poetry

When free verse lacks rhythmic patterning, appearing as a lineated prose stripped of unnecessary ornament and rhetoric, it becomes the staple of much contemporary work. The focus is on what the words are being used to say, and their authenticity. The language is not heightened, and the poem differs from prose only by being more self-aware, innovative and/or cogent in its exposition.

Nonetheless, what looks normal at first becomes challenging on closer reading — thwarting expectations, and turning back on itself to make us think more deeply about the seemingly innocuous words used. And from there we are compelled to look at the world with sharper eyes, unprotected by commonplace phrases or easy assumptions. Often an awkward and fighting poetry, therefore, not indulging in ceremony or outmoded traditions.
What is Prose?

If we say that contemporary free verse is often built from what was once regarded as mere prose, then we shall have to distinguish prose from poetry, which is not so easy now. Prose was once the lesser vehicle, the medium of everyday thought and conversation, what we used to express facts, opinions, humour, arguments, feelings and the like. And while the better writers developed individual styles, and styles varied according to their purpose and social occasion, prose of some sort could be written by anyone. Beauty was not a requirement, and prose articles could be rephrased without great loss in meaning or effectiveness.

Poetry, though, had grander aims. William Lyon Phelps on Thomas Hardy's work: {1}

"The greatest poetry always transports us, and although I read and reread the Wessex poet with never-lagging attention — I find even the drawings in "Wessex Poems" so fascinating that I wish he had illustrated all his books — I am always conscious of the time and the place. I never get the unmistakable spinal chill. He has too thorough a command of his thoughts; they never possess him, and they never soar away with him. Prose may be controlled, but poetry is a possession. Mr. Hardy is too keenly aware of what he is about. In spite of the fact that he has written verse all his life, he seldom writes unwrinkled song. He is, in the last analysis, a master of prose who has learned the technique of verse, and who now chooses to express his thoughts and his observations in rime and rhythm."

.............
OPEN FORMS IN POETRY
open forms in poetry

Poets who write in open forms usually insist on the form growing out of the writing process, i.e. the poems follow what the words and phrase suggest during the composition
Riley Cartwright Dec 2018
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F
......................................................­....................................
Sadly, I've forgotten the melody
Shrivastva MK May 2015
Sapne dikha kyon tor diya ,
Waada kar sath nibhane ka
Manzil se pahle hi kyon chhod diya,
Ab tujhse sare ristey tod denge hum ,
Mohabbat chhod denge hum,
Mohabbat chhod denge hum. ...


Ab to akele rahne ki aadat si ** *** hain ,
Tujhse to mujhe ab nafrat ** *** hain,
Kisi ko ab apna dil na denge hum,
Mohabbat chhod denge hum,
mohabbat chhod denge hum,


Tune mujhe aisa thokar mara
ki muskurana bhi bhul gya hoon,
Apne dard ko hi pyar samajh raha hoon,
Ab tere pyar se bhi mu'h mor lenge hum,
Mohabbat chhod denge hum,
mohabbat chhod denge hum. ... .
Safana Sep 2021
Carol tayi sauri
ta zo ta kula mu
ta saka bakunan mu
su furta ciki na ran mu
Abin da yake a ran mu
fuskar mu fari ta kamu
da hasken rana akan mu
Carol tayi sauri
Hausa rhyme for carol
Aridea P Oct 2011
Bila memang AKU BUKAN PILIHAN HATI MU
Biar ku pendam CINTA DALAM HATI ku
Sungguh, yang akan ku berikan UNTUKMU SELAMANYA
Pergilah kau SEJAUH MUNGKIN membawa LAGUKU
Ke TEMPAT TERINDAH di SURGAMU


RASA SAYANG ini hanya untukmu
Dan ku akan menunggu DI SINI UNTUKMU
Berharap kau bawa LAGU CINTA yang TERCIPTA UNTUKKU


WAKTU YANG DINANTI akankah datang?
DEMI WAKTU ku kan berubah
Tak akan SEPERTI YANG DULU
Yang hanya berkhayal melihat wajahmu
Di BAYANG SEMU


Sungguh indah kau bagiku
TIADA YANG SEPERTI DIRIMU


Yang ku kagumi sepanjang waktu
Ku rindu SAAT INDAH BERSAMAMU
Walau di mimpiku aku mencintaimu
Namun, APALAH ARTI CINTA tanpa hadirmu


Kumohon IZINKAN AKU
Member CIUMAN PERTAMA KU untukmu
Karna saat indah itu mungkin TAKKAN TERULANG
BERJANJILAH kau tuk selalu menghiasi ku
Karena tak satupun SAHABATKU yang indah seperti mu


Ku ingin terbang MELAYANG
UNTUK TEMUKAN dirimu yang SESUNGGUHNYA
Ku sadari memang BUKAN AKU untukmu
Tapi, aku hanya ingin kau BERIKAN AKU CINTA
Meski sedikit, walau terpaksa


Tak lelah SUARA HATI ku memanggilmu
Yang ingin menjalani CERITA BERSAMAMU
DOA ku panjatkan selalu
Memohon tuk bertemu kamu


Meskipun kamu punya CINTA YANG LAIN
Ku rela melepasmu untuknya
Kau TAK PERLU mengaku bahwa kau cinta aku
Memang, tak pernah kau cinta aku
Yang ku kenang kini adalah
Ku bahagia mengenal LAKI-LAKI seperti kamu
Aridea P Oct 2011
Jakarta, 31 Desember 2009


Dulu aku cinta kamu
Kamu satu yang indah bagiku
Dirimu yang ku rindu dalam tidur ku


Tapi dulu…
Hanya dulu…

Entah…
Ku tak paham rasa ini
Alasan ku betapa cinta kamu
Tapi, cinta ku memang tanpa alas an


Sekarang, baying mu kabur
Cahaya mu redup
Tak tahu aku kemana mencari
Engkau berubah liar… kejam!


Tak sudi lagi air mataku
Menangisi makhluk seperti mu
Tapi memang, aku masih cinta kamu!
Safana Jan 2023
Na fada muku gaskiya
kowa sai ya dau aniya
Don gyara hayaniya
sai mu dandana jar miya
babu sauran magiya
ko mu dandana farar fiya
amma banda fariya
tun da mun kife rariya

waye zaya zagaya
ya riko mana ragaya
sai dai kai kai daya
Tinubun mu guda daya
wanda **** zai waiwaya
yan baya su sha miya
babu mai tako kaya
ko ya dauko duniya

Wai a kasar mu gaba daya
wa ne ne mai aniya
ta jan ragama daya
to ku amsa gaba daya
Tinubun mu **** daya

wa ne ne mai juriya
ta rike nijeriya
Tinubun mu **** **** daya

wa ne ne a tsakiya
wanda kowa na bibiya
Na ce Tinubu ne guda daya

wa ye zai yafiya
yafiyar yan mamaya
Tinubu ne **** daya
Babu bambancin kabila, a matsayina na Bahaushe, yafi na zabi Bayerabe domin yana da abubuwa da yawa da zai kawo wa kasar ta mu Najeriya. Hangen sa yana da fadi, kuma manufarsa tana da ƙarfi.
Aridea P Oct 2011
Jakarta, 25 Mei 2008

Kapan ku boleh ke sana
Dunia terindah untuk semua
Udara harum nan sejuk
Tiada panas mentari yang menyengat
Boleh kah aku melangkah
Menuju ke pintu surge
Impian semua manusia
Sudikah Kau Tuhan?
Bila ku pijakkan kaki di surge
Merasakan hidup istimewa
Penuh ayat-ayat doa
Surga-Mu  indah Tuhan…
Bolehkah ku sentuh sejenak
Merasa damai nan indah
Ku mulai masuk ‘tuk selamanya
Shrivastva MK Jun 2015
Tujhe pane ki khushi gam me badal ***,
Tujhe dekh gairo ke saath
Teri yaad mujhe chhod chali ***,
Rula ke mujhko ai bewafa
Tum kaise un palo ko bhul ***,
Adhuri hain duniya pyar bina,
Adhure hain hum tumhare bina,
Bata ke roya "MANISH "bhi apne dil ka hal,
Chale gye wo chhodkar ek adhura sawal,
Kaise jiyenge hum tumhare bina,
Tere bina ye zindagi ko kya jina,
Udas hain har lamha yahi sochkar,
Kyon achanak chale gye mujhse mu'h morkar,
Ye dhai akshar pyar ka kitno ko rula diya,
Kisi ko kavi to kisi ko shayar bna diya,
Kaise sahun ye dard teri judai ka,
Kaise kate ye alam meri tanhai ka,
yaad aayenge hum tumhe har pal,
Tere bina ai zindagi kaise kate ye pal,
Ye pal
TRANSLATION POEM TITLE :- PAIN OF FRACTION

ABOUT POEM :-This poem related to fraction and all the word used in poem related pain of heart
CRESTINE CUERPO Aug 2017
Pagsalig ang nagbugkos natong duha,
Hinungdan nganung kita nahimong managhigala,
Pero na unsa kini pagkahitabua?
Ania ang atong estorya.
Kung abrihan ko ang mga panid ug dahon sa kasaysayan,
Ug kung ako kini tuki-tuki-on sa makadaghan,
Dili ko mahikalimtan ang kagabin-on nga atong naagi-an.
Ana-a ako sa mangitngit na dapit,
Ug sa dehang dunay hubog nga sa akoa gihapit,
Naghilak ako sa daplin nga hilit,
Ug ikaw nga saksi, mitawag sa imong mama sa makalit.
Gelakag kini  sa imong mama ug walis tingting,
Ako nga nagluha ug katawa,
Kay siya naka tini-il ra.
Emu dayon akong gegakus,
Aron mawala ang akong kahadlok ug kaligutgot.
Sukad adto kita nagkahigala,
Ang panganod galantaw natung duha,
Malipayon kita nga nagtampisaw,
Sa tubig nga matin-aw.
Ug sa dehang kita manginhas na,
Pwerte natung lipaya
Sa matag kinasun nga makuha ta,
Asta natung bebuha
Ug sa dehang emu akong gedala sa kapilya,
Nadunggan nato ang kanta nga nag-uluhang, "Bato balani Sa Gugma".

Malipayon kita nga nagpunit sa mga kendi,
Kini gakahitabo kada gabii,
Sinugdanan sa atong pagtuo sa Balaang Rosaryo,
Ug kay Senior Santo Nino.

Abe-----abe kog kato dili matapos,
Apan pagka-ugma kita taman nalang sa pag gakus,
Naghilaka ta ug nagbangutan,
Nagdagayday ang mga luha sa atong dughan,
Samtang ikaw ug ang emung pamilya,
Naghatud namu sa pantalan,
Ang emung mga kamut emu dayun hinay-hinay nga gebuy-an.

Getan-aw ko ang layo nga mga barko,
Ug gi-ingon ako, " Goodbye Cebu mobalik ako!".

Walay adlaw ug kagabi-on,
Nga ako dili nimo padamguhon,
Nag-alindasa, nagsalimu-ang,
ang akong kasing-kasing ug dughan,
Kay gepangandoy kong kita magkita na.

Katorse katuig ang nilabay,
Abe nakug kita wala nay panag estoryahay,
Natingala na lang ko sa "text message" nemu bai.
Abe mo nga ikaw ako ng gekalimtan.

Salamat! kay gipili mo ang kurso natung duha,
Malipayon ako higala,
Hilabi na nagla-um ka ,
Nga ako mubalik pa.

Way sukod ang imong pagsalig sa akoa,
Wa jud ka nagbag-o,
Gasa ka nga gehatag kanako a Ginoo,
Abe! nakug sakit ang musalig dala ang pagla-um,
Pero luyo sa mga dag-um,
Nagpahipi ang kamatuoran ug paghandum.

Sakto ko! nga ang pitik sa akong kasing-kasing,
Mao sadang getinguha mo,
Samtang nadunggan ko ang tingog mo,
Wa jud kay pagbag-o,
Ngisi! todo-max ka detso.

Piso-piso para sa barko,
Akong paningkamut para nemu,
Aron dili masayang ang atong mga tenguha ug damgo.

Hulata ko sa pantalan,
Saksi kini sa atong pagluha,
Pero mu abot ang panahon
Nga kini mahimong saksi sa atong kasadya!

Salamat! tungod kay dagat man ang pagitan,
Dili kini mahimong babag sa atong padulngan,
Para magpadayon ang relasyon,
Nga nahimo nakung inspirasyon!



"LDR" tang duha!
Wala jud d.i forever,
Pero na-ay together.
Shrivastva MK Jun 2015
Akela ** gya hoon tere bin jab se tune mujhe chhod diya,
Tor ke mera DIL mere pyar se jo yu mu'h mor liya,
Jab jab dekhi tujhe ye meri udas aankhen,
Chalak gye aansoo Jab yaad aai wo purani batein,
Kaise mitaoo sanam tera ye bharam,
Tujhe chahenge hum har janam,

Teri khusi me maine apni khusi ko dhundh liya,
Tu khush rahe sad'a eske liye maine rab se dua kiya,
Ab saare dard -e- gum bhula diye hum,
Tujhe chahenge hum janam -janam,

Ab har o pal tere bin main dard bhari yaado ke saath ji'h raha hoon,
Ekbar dekh lo mujhe ai jalim,
Tu kisi ke saath muskura rahi aur main akela ro'h raha hoon,
Puchh rahi ye duniya sari bewafa tum ya bewafa ** gye hum,
Tujhe chahenge hum janam janam,

Na mili mujhe tere sath jine ki khushi es janam to kya hua,
Tut gye hain hum, dil ko mere bahut dard hua ,
Khush ** jayengi zindagi meri jab es duniya ko chhod chale jayenge hum o bewafa sanam,
Tujhe chahenge hum har janam....
This poem is especially for those who have loved someone.
Aridea P Dec 2011
Hidup ku ini bukanlah permainan!
Yang bisa dimulai dan dihentikan kapan pun

Perasaan ku juga bukanlah medan perang!
Yang terus saja tertindas
Kau buat lemah!
Kau buat aku tak berdaya

Hati ku ini adalah emas
Yang apabila hilang, aku akan jatuh miskin
Miskin iman karena kehilangan arah
Miskin materi karena pikiran ku tak jalan

Aku ini bukanlah babu!
Yang selalu menuruti apa mau mu

Aku ini hanyalah pekerja lepas
Yang tak mau terkekang manghadapi mu
Aku ini hanyalah pasien rawat jalan
Meski sakit parah tapi tetap berjuan untuk hidup

Kau kira aku ini apa?
Kau membuat ku menjadi korban terparah
Aku pecundang di antara manusia
Mengapa kau tidak pergi saja dari hidup ku?
Hey, aku ini bukan papan catur 'tuk dipandangi
Aku juga bukan sarung tinju tuk menuruti mu

Lepaskan aku!
Ku mohon lepaskan aku

Aku tak ingin lagi menangisi hidup ku
Ku ingin berhenti mengasihani hidup ku
Tolong, damaikanlah hidup ku
KA Poetry Dec 2017
Sepucuk surat berisi tentang mu
Kalimat - Kalimat yang kususun
Surat cinta untuk mu
Yang lama kupendam

Terlahirnya dirimu di dunia ini
Diantara milyaran manusia
Hatiku menemukan mu
Kubuat sebuah perahu kertas, berlayar kepada mu

Berlayar membawa kata-kata indah
Mengarungi lautan berombak
Menjaga surat cinta
Untuk berlabuh di hatimu

Tiada halangan bagiku
Untuk mencintaimu
Mimpi - Mimpiku, duniaku
Melewati lautan, untuk dirimu.
15/12/2017 | 20.28 | Indonesia | K.***
Aridea P Oct 2011
Jumat, 13 Agustus 2010


Sekarang aku makin dewasa
Bapak... Mamak... Aku...
Anakmu kini 15 tahun
Ya Allah Terima Kasih atas Rahmat-Mu

Bapak, maaf bila esok ku tak berguna
Mamak, maaf bila esok ku gagal
Ya Allah, ampuni Hamba
Semakin dewasa, semakin ku berdosa

Tak sanggup aku melawan rasa itu
Aku telah bercinta...
Bercinta dengan nya
Ku tahu dia tak pernah di sini
Tuhan... Tuntunlah aku pada-Mu
Aku merasa hina di hadapan-Mu
Aku merasa hina di belakang orang tua ku
Ampuni Hamba Ya Allah...

Ku tahu t'lah berdosa
Oh Tuhan, Aku bercinta dengannya di dalam khayal


Creates by. Aridea .P
Aridea P Oct 2011
Malam ku kemarin
Amat indah kan abadi
Terukir selalu di dalam hati
Nama mu walau hanya mimpi

Sungguh bahagia hati ku
Bila ingat akan mimpi itu
Lamunan ku berakhir
Saat mentari muncul di pagi hari

Tak dapat ku sebut nama mu
Di dalam mimpi ku malam itu
Karena gugup hati ku
Tergetar semua nadi ku

Kelak kita bertemu
Bertemu menjadi satu
Akankah kau campur cinta mu
Dengan cinta ku yang menunggu

Created by Aridea Purple
Ann P Aug 2018
Setiap tarikan napas
Satu hembusan
Aku berhutang

Setiap langkah kaki
Satu jejak
Aku berhutang

Seribu
Seratus ribu
Satu juta
Berjuta-juta rupiah
Aku dapatkan
Aku pun berhutang

Hutang yang kekal
Hutang yang indah
Hutang turun temurun

Pada mu
Pahlawan ku
Aku berhutang
Berhutang kemerdekaan
Berhutang kebahagiaan
Berhutang persatuan

Pada mu
Pahlawan ku
Aku berjanji
Menjaga Indonesia
Membanggakan Indonesia
Untuk membayar
Perjuangan hebat mu
Aridea P Oct 2011
Saat cinta mempersatukan
Kau yang indah dengan dia
Aku pun terancam sendiri
Tak ada harapan lagi

Kau bahagia...
Aku akan sangt bahagia
Karena kau temukan
Dewi Cinta yang kau inginkan

Semoga bahagia
Dan setia dengan mu
Ku kan mendendam
Bila dia mengkhianati mu

Meski vonis yang kejam
Ku terima hidup di kandang
Yang panas dan pengap
Tak bisa hirup udara bebas

Ketika vonis ku berakhir
Kau akan ku cari
Tapi, melihat mu telah bahagia lagi
Ku kan mengenang itu untuk terakhir kali


By. Aridea Purple
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2021
Z
i sometimes purposively cycle the 20 odd miles
into central London from (circa) Havering-atte-Bower
to simply sit outside a Starbucks by St. Paul's:
drink my black coffee, smoke two cigarettes...
obviously drink the black coffee with an addition
of 50ml of some cheap-*** whiskey and...
experience, what i can best describe as a:
wilderness of people...
i honestly have no other way of phrasing it...
it's a wilderness of people:
comparatively if i were to walk into a forest
or a graveyard: same ****, different cover...
or do as i did today: sit still on a busy
pedestrian clogged street... it's all the same to me...
it just so happened that i was eavesdropping
today: doing some... lauschen:
which is not exactly listening...
i was trying to filter out what this gorgeous...
i'd put her in her 40s... ginger...
American accent was blasting into the telephone...
i actually couldn't make out if she
was talking to someone or merely recording
herself some notes...
while buying coffee i asked for a pen...
took several more napkins than necessary
and started scribbling some half-baked thoughts...
the best ideas came to me while walking:
once... then they came through
sitting on a windowsill and fermenting my brain:
Brian...
now... i need speed... i need traffic...
i need: unconscious spatial coordination...
i need involvement with things that might ****
me...
i need at least 25mph with no exoskeleton...
i need American Head Charge blasting into my ears...
no... i could never be a novelist:
impossible...
i work from the principle of: ensо̄ (macron o?
a bit like omega is to omicron
sort of teasing upsilon: pull: pool etc.)
hell... it is a concept, principle: since there's
no katakana for it...
just the ideogram 円,...
i will have to leave the full ideogram on some
other platform since...
never mind: i'll just leave a p.s.
at the end of this stampede of words...
but ensō goes much further...
it attaches itself to some unfamiliar territory:
i.e. when TAO met MU...
you can write MU in both katakana
and i'm pretty sure there's an ideogram
for it too...
as you can write TAO in katakana:
but i'm pretty sure there's an ideogram
for it too...

backwards & forwards... east meets west...
west meets east...
Alexander went east...
the Persian empire went west...
Genghis Khan went west...
Communism went east...
no wonder that even George Orwell cited
this relationship of Eurasian...
even now... the Russians are in bed
with the Chinese...
not that the outliers of Asia: the Japanese are
somehow clued in...
who's going to get crushed in the dynamic?
who was crushed in the dynamic of Germany
growing an ego-phallus attempting to
**** a Russian-venus-flytrap?
i guess someone from the sort of: moi...
ahem... "persuasion"...
of course the south eastern Asians will feel the brunt
of the tripping... the "collateral" as they like
to call it...
and what's happening now in Europe & elsewhere
if not the GREAT CULL?!
i can play the wolf in sheep clothing for
a while... but even i know that:
the mask is slipping... it's all gooey and not
properly glued to the smiley face...
it's no conspiracy "theory" it's just...
common sense...

oh look (ensо̄ jazz... a googlewhack;
oh that's why... ensō)

i couldn't be a novelist: or for that matter
a painter:
i need to insert something:
but at the same time return to myself,
i.e. get the hell out...
if i had to labour days upon days
that would turn to weeks...
to months... to years...
i think i'd forget what my original
intentions were...
but to write something: antithetical to lyricism:
i will never write
audl lang syne... not that Shakespeare ever
would or could write something
that could be sung! Shakespeare never wrote anything
for people to sing come New Years Eve...
he wrote material for recitation:
sure... there's a genius in that:
writing for... f-f-*******: Thespians...
i imagine an actor growing his own turnips:
not that i'm any better:
i spew words...
but i don't spew recitations...

if it's "b'ah... bad original": well... at least it's
original... i abhor lyricism...
to many rhymes...
i suppose if you want to sing you have
to rhyme... although...
i don't think that auld lang syne is a lyricism
with that much rhyme...
most associated with modern music...
it's: narrative lyricism: which implies...
there's no lyricism to sort of begin with...

ich sehen mein geist:
verdunkelt nach ein nachtgerinnen...

if i start something: i finish something...
i couldn't be an artist from the perspective
of: "coming back to it"...
i couldn't be a novelist either...
for that matter... from what i heard...
i can't be a poo'et either:
first come, first served...
i think of language like i think of food...

well... it was more than "fun" to cycle into central
London and have a coffee overshadowed by
St. Paul's cathedral...
black... plenty of sugar... 50ml of cheap whiskey...
well i know you can't buy whiskey
in a Starbucks...
i bought that along the way...
and i just sat there:
some would say that wearing sunglasses
is a bit like donning the niqab...
although with the niqab:
i purposively stare at those "ninjas"...
some even return a deer-in-the-headlights sort of look
like: well i can't see you poking your tongue out at
me, so... what's the point?

once upon a time in Hackney i was walking
out from my ex's house with her younger brother
& their dog... cookies?! ah!
Nachos! while my "future" in-laws were
having a fight... she was dropping plates
i guess... because i left a newly bought
guitar at their home when i first arrived
on the shores of psychosis: London-Edinburgh:
to-&-fro...
i bought this acoustic splendour...
a Martin & Co. D-X1E...
  i was still paying it off... me & my ex broke up:
well... the story of my life...
all the women in my life broke up with me...
so i'm guessing my supposed "future in-law"
did some "D.I.Y." on her:
that's before i could even give her a name...
&... i'm either a very truthful person...
which is why i only sleep rather than dream...
hence... the great presence of the "YAWN"...
he told me a story & i brushed it off...
he said... guitars tend to break up when
left outdoors... maybe it wasn't him...
maybe she did it...
i was tripping on psychosis...
so... no excuses for me.... plenty of ****** lies
to tell from the opposing party...
i think my heart also ached...
i think: but since i think is therefore i doubt...
probably not...
problem being: i bought the ******* "missing piece"
of a shipwreck on loan...
so... i had to pay off a tampered with
guitar... CUZ... just... BE-CAUSE...
cheap-***... mother-*******... lies!
now i think i'm just gullible...
it has reached a fever-pitch sensation of arrogance
where i think i could get away with ******:
why? all the ****** lies i've been told:
it seems i'm investing in something
grandiose... sinister...
it has to be: a thrill of the antithesis of gravity...
or something...

right there! i saw it! i was walking out with
my ex's younger brother & that HMV mut
when a woman in a niqab
rolling a buggy pulled her niqab off
& what i saw: i saw... a grotesque "feature":
i don't think it was a face...
it was an Arabian nightmare... something:
Cradle of Filth sing about...
maybe i wasn't prepared for such an act...
it was hardly "defiance"...
perhaps she had the honour-acid-in-your-face
squirt... squirt sort of treatment:
easier to hide under a niqab...

there's a currency of delusion that only reigsters
to media outlets...
nothing is really reported:
but everything is curated...
the media is like an art-gallery...
it requires either curators or... editors...
if she unveiled herself like she did
& i saw the face of the cenobite pin-head:
i'd be like... well thank, ****... for that...
now i know what the hammer's for!

well... my supposed future father in-law ended
up with a stint in some psychiatric ward...
so i'm guessing: he ****** around with my:
yet to be paid in full ownership of:
let's call her Layla...
guilt riddled, started calling me Jesus...
any other ******* day of the week i'd be this
Hey-Zeus... but not back then...
i visited him, brought him a bible &:
since he was, is: dyslexic it was hardly the point
of lifting his spirits up with some
Tolstoy...

well you can write the idea of mu phonetically:
it doesn't have to be an idea: #
it can be merely a compound sound: ム...
which is neither vowel or consonant:
it's a consonant-vowel:
it can't be a "vowel-consonant": even though
i know it sounds better...

when translated to my native-toong...
mu... for him...
or: je-mu: again... for him...
jej: her's...
jego: his'             hisses...
  his...
mu: for him...
            i'm bewildered by lack
of a female counterpart equivalent:
plenty of h'americana to be borrowed cunted-up
cluster ***** of "memetics":
come again?
isn't CECI N'EST PAS UNE PIPE
a memetic "typo"?
well... if they told me that Polacks shared the same
grammar as the Fwench:
TO NIE JEST: this is not...
FAJKA... it's Fwench! it's western Slavic...
maybe i'd learn it "better": or at least invested in enough
nouns to better coordinate myself with...
but it's not like i was allowed to learn
English then German...
which would have follow suite...
so now i'm all "bitter" et, und... "sad" still...
boggled down in Loon'don & not Pari(s)...
*******: P'ah-rrrrrrrrrr-E!
or... P'ah-rrrrrrrrr-é... same ****... different cover...

i'm already arriving at: shrapnel avenue...
like the the Mongol sacking of Baghdad...
the skulls "just seem" to be piling onto each other
without end of a horizon of the pyramid in
sight...
it's monstrous... it has all the ingenuity of
a hyped-up Hippocrasic oath:
but... it's seems a terrible prospect to: breed...
unless you're locust prone...

you sit at layout of a cafe that extends to
an outside.... you smile to yourself
seeing a nuclear family walk past...
you smile: to yourself...
thank god i will not the good-father:
supposed: where, while i'll be "good"...
but i'll also be blamed...
thank god i will not be blamed...
esp. if... i were born into a lineage of carpenters...
& suddenly the trade of carpentry went:
bust...
i write this & rightly so...
i hear.. the crying of the girl who lost
my virginity to...
how i suckled at her ******* she came to visit me
in Edinburgh...
i too know: the pertinent Q.: what if?!
perhaps she didn't have the face
of Ava Lauren: but she had the ******* to
proove otherwise...

so i sat in this cafe beside St. Paul's...
once or twice minding the wind...
as you do... some H'american beau ginger having her
"impersonating a dialogue"... ahem...
"conversation" over the phone...
chez la reve - daniel licht...
   almost as good as christopher young's:
something to think abut...

it's what i lullaby myself to sleep with...
well... that & a liter of whiskey...
be-be-because this simply doesn't have an anchor!
suppose it won't sink:
bit i'll die: a ******* captain!

well... one might imagine the... "almost"? really?
the universal claim for "common sense"...
come again?
i thought common sense, in practice or in theory...
is rather...  unilaterally-biased to take
into consideration the buffer cushioning
of "collateral":
again! those who espouse so much of Darwinism's
superiority...
are, the, people... last: to arrive at its mechanisations...
the English were the people safeguarded
by their island status...
sorry? now what... "now"... ahem "what"?
come to think of it...
i don't want to live among any other people beside the English...
call them Welsh ccall then Scots... Anglo-Saxons
call them: gimps with their socks on...
common sense? savvy?
i had a thought cycling through traffic...
i love all the assured interactions with
strangers... after all: it's true what they say...
you look best with your family...
when you get a chance to cut yourself out
from a shared picture: that was taken...

common sense is one thing...
but... nothing ingenious about this proposal...
look away...
what about... the genius of English culture
that could perhaps culminate in...
COMMON COURTESY?!
last time i heard Italian were irresponsible when
utilising the concept of traffic...
in England?!
the cyclist is a buffer zone-in...
can't people entertain COMMON COURTESY
while having their higher alliance
to the allignment of a both: "higher" & "power"?

https://allpoetry.com/poem/16172654-Z-by-Matthew-Conrad-adult#share
Aridea P Dec 2011
Palembang, 25 Desember 2011

For my beautiful Mom:

Mama, kamu cantik
Tanganmu melentik indah saat mencuci baju kami
Mama, kamu sungguh cantik
Badanmu bagus melenggok saat memasak untuk kami
Mama, kamu benar-banar cantik
Sekalipun kamu sedang terlelap di tidurmu

Mama, kamulah harta tak ternilai bagi kami
Harta wajib yang harus kami bawa kemanapun kami melangkah
Kamulah semangat pagi kami tuk menghadapi dunia
Kamulah alasan kami bertahan hidup sampai sekarang
Harapan kami adalah tuk membahagiakanmu selamanya
Pikir kami kata Terima Kasih takkan pernah cukup tuk membalas kasih mu

Mama, kamu cantik setiap hari
Di mata kami kamulah hal yang terindah yang kami punya
Di dunia ini tak ada pahlawan seikhlas dirimu
Kamu terus bertahan meskipun kadang air mata menyertaimu
Kamu terus menebarkan senyummu di waktu kami resah

Mama, kamu tegar setegar batu karang
Mama, kamu bersinar mengalahkan sinar Matahari
Mama, kamu sejuk sesejuk embun di pagi hari
Mama, kamu sehangat dekapanmu pada kami
Mama, kami mencintaimu

Mama, terima kasih atas cintamu selama ini
Terima kasih atas pengorbanan mu kepada kami
Maafkan kami yang pernah membuatmu menangis
Maaf atas tingkah kami yang menjengkelkan hatimu
Kami percaya dan tahu bahwa kamu tahu betapa kami mencintaimu,
Mama
brandon nagley Feb 2016
ι.
Zoι мoυ, тнιѕ ιѕ тнe тrυтн,
Inѕιde oғ тнιne aмвιence;
I'м rapтυred вy тнιne
Fιlιpιna carтoυcнe.
           ιι.    Thélis na horépsis mazí mu?
vasílissa; O'er тнe gaze
Oғ Sapang delaga ғallѕ.
Herald'ѕ oғ Zιon,
Wιngѕpan'ѕ oғ
Alвaтroѕѕ.
  ιιι.
                Dιѕcιpleѕ oғ тнe lιvιng God
                Hallowed вlaѕнonιc'ѕ;
                An anassa тнoυ arт eтernally,
                Jane oғ ѕĸy'ѕ ѕυperѕonιc.
ιv.

Arιa'ѕ ѕprιng, вeтwιхт oυrn ѕeaм'ѕ, вoυndarιeѕ none, O' cнιldren-we'll вecoмe. Wнιlѕт ιn тнe ғυn, and laυgн and play, agapι мoυ, I needeтн тнιne мoon, тнaт вeaтѕ ιnѕιde тнιne cнeѕт, wнereιn вaвιeѕ reѕт, and нealιng Begιn'ѕ; Wнereιn I'м waѕнed wнιтe aѕ ѕnow, ғroм вygone old, ιnтo тнιne ѕoυl. I'м вorn agaιn.



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry founder..
©Earl jane Nagley dedication ( Filipino rose)
Zoi Mou - means my life,,, greek tongue,
cartouche- means ARCHAEOLOGY
an oval or oblong enclosing a group of Egyptian hieroglyphs, typically representing the name and title of a monarch, though can be any culture showing a king or queens name in print on a cartouche,,, mine queen Jane! (: her names been in the tablets a long time now (:::::::
thélis na horépsis mazí мυ- Greek translates to-( would you like to dance with me?)
vasílissa- is Greek for queen.
sapang dalaga falls- is a place I wanna go to when meeting jane in Philippines's, its a place formerly called baga falls, close to jane in misamis Occidental.... Cottages, a canteen and a function hall are available next to falls which is so strange but beautiful.
Albatross definition-
1.
a very large oceanic bird related to the shearwaters, with long narrow wings. Albatrosses, some species of which have wingspans greater than 10 feet (3.3 m), are found mainly in the southern oceans, with three kinds in the North Pacific.
blashonic \blashonics is a word I made up- meaning-( a lass and her young lad,) meaning young woman and her young man she's with, me and jane...
Hallowed means- holy, or honor as holy. Or make holy, I just mean holy.
Anaѕѕa ιѕ ancιenт word ғroм greece- мeanѕ qυeen.
Anaх oppoѕιтe oғ тнaт мeanѕ ĸιng ancιenт greeĸ.
Sυperѕonιc- мeanѕ + involving or denoting a speed greater than that of sound..
Zιon мeanѕ-  the heavenly city or kingdom of heaven.
noun: Zion; noun: Sion, also the hill of Jerusalem on which the city of David was built..
Arιa or arιa'ѕ мean- a long, accompanied song for a solo voice, typically one in an opera or oratorio.
Agapi мoυ- мy love ιn greeĸ,
Wнereιn - arcнaιc ғor ιn wнιcн,
Bygone- belonging to an earlier time ( ancient time)
Betwixt is between.
Herald or heralds are messengers,,,
Chris Oct 2016
Playlists of broken thoughts
Cobwebs and keys
Slanted in uniformed dissatisfaction
Notes smeared on fingertips
Melancholy mu-sick
Vibrato virtuoso

Bending strings and pushing pedals
Smashing baby grands
Into bite sized pieces

Feedback flashbacks
And the band played on
While the pianist was shot
Between the eyes
In an off key massacre
To a standing ovation
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2015
.let's begin: i've been watching youtube haemorrhage over the past few years (4 / 5 in total) and... i do still enjoy the sort of cabaret weimar associated with criticalcondition when comapred to beanie hat tim pool... sorry: i just like a bit of cabaret, i know that comedy is translated in the western lands by stand-up monologues, but in germany and poland: cabaret is the toy assurance to compensate the justifications for theatre or opera... i like criticalcondition, trans-, ******: my my, how did the chemistry prefixes of attachement groups of a benzene ring overpower bio-realism? imagine a blocked toilet in terms of hinduism / buddhism in terms of the metaphysics of reincarnation... well: metaphysics by their great culinary understanding implies: a return to the same debacle, perhaps only slightly elevated... we have already reached a post- gott ist tot scenario of metaphysics... gott is quiet apparent, since the ancient greeks believed that "shamed" men would come back as women: now? the women did a shortcut... they said: tod ist tot... wouldn't that be the case? a blocked toilet, well... if god has to die first, then death itself has to die, ergo: tod ist tot! ha ha... imagine... to think of the glamorous concept of eastern theology as nothing more than a plumber's day-shift... looks like the toilet is blocked... since... men are not spawning into female form after death, instead, deciding to spawn back into male form with a female "brain"... who is that god of mischief in hinduism? oh... look! Aditi! well it's not an isolated case, is it? i once picked up a thai surprise from a park bench, played her some jazz, ****** her in the garden... bangkok ladyboys are the duran duran of 1980s electro-puppy-pop! once god dies, death follows suit... after all... death is (a) shadow of (the) god... blocked toilet metaphysics, all the brahmin as running wild, naked, psychotic: but the lesser men were not supposed to know they were reborn into female bodies, there was that safety net in place to: let them reincarnate with an amnesia principle! what's happening?! the women are raiding up the ranks?! contrapoints compared to tim pool? sorry beanie-boy... you're not the beastie... quiet... i'd love to b.j. that make-up off from contrapoints... problem being... i love when a ****** speaks so much sense... but... hands... i find a woman's hands too be the most ****** aspect of her body... 4/5... that's a fraction... for my five knuckles in terms of hand size, ***** "envy" and what my five knuckles look like to a woman's 4? you get the picture... there is also another fraction... 72 genders?! wha-?! i see gender in the 3/2 fraction... a woman can satisfy three men... the ****, the **** the mouth... a man... can only satisfy 2... the **** and the mouth... oh... wait... 3/3... someone can be giving him a b.j. while he's giving him a b.j..... it's still a blockage of reincarnation though... the greeks believed the lesser man was to be reborn in a "lesser" body... ****, i always forget how the ratio works... i always think: 1 man has 3 options of entry, 3 women have 1 point of entry each... but fraction is wonky though... in that... a woman can entertain three variations of entry: mouth, ****, ****... but a man has to entertain two points of entry and one point of insertion... so the fraction still stands at 3/2... which makes the islamic celestial harem nonsense... unless equipped with an exess of res extensa ****** to satiate the hunger of 72 virgins... a ****** gambit if you ask me... 72 virgins sounds more like a headache than what Solomon forsake in owning for the queen of Shēba... king! Solomon! after all the *******, enough wisdom suddenly trickled into his head, and he chose the route of the monogamy of birds! mind you: whatever wisdom king! Solomon ever had to begin with... i would still favor king David... i like a man with a distrust of women and having an unadulterated desire for music as second to none medicinal property to cure existential ailments; i tried *******, no good... sure, great exercise... esp. with prostitutes... but an in depth analysis of the perpetuated banality of life and how to learn to masquerade it behind a veil of seemingly banal? a harem will not help, but music will. even nietzsche understood this... criticalcondition: i do actually fancy him it her they... she does have that: je ne sais quoi air... weimar cabaret "revised"... not quiet the switz cabaret dada voltaire... but all i know is the number of holes of points of insertion and the fact that i have hands the size that could hold a basketball in one... and how... oh, wow! i really came late to the asian fetish party late... here, have some grenades! **** ying, cat meng, na mu han, you mi, ni ye teng, ai sayama, hoshina mizuki, ayaka noda, (l)im ji hye, lie fei er, (barbie) ke er... ergo? this whole asian fetish scene? am i looking at dolls? i'm not even sure... am i white, by comparison to these procelain babushkas?! i'm not white: orange man bad! i thought so too: i'm... piglet! the i'm not white: these girls are... and the funny thing is, the "funny" thing, is? i don't have to see much more beside the cleavage or the ******* or the thighs to... hey! i'm a late bloomer to this asiatic fetish... side-tracked by the european transgender ******* and the thai surprise ladyboys... what is **** what isn't ****: that, really depends on how much you rely on your imagination... if a sight of white, porcelain cleavage gets you off... who the hell needs the whole "show"... after all... even the niqab is a game on how to arouse the male libido... it's pretty hard to be aroused by a fully exposed female torso like some maasai ivory beauty... then the "said" objects are more functional and designated for feeding purposes... than ***** *******... aren't they?! oh i can see a revision of the niqab... imagine this in saudi arabia... both the eyes are not hidden from view, as isn't the mouth! batman 2."oh"... oh i don't like these new communists in the west... white... priv. who, that japanese?! i'm not white, i said it already and i'll say it again: i'm not a porcelain doll! talk to the **** about white privilege... they're the ones with milk veils... my "white privilege" is only associated to having blond hair, green or blue eyes... it has nothing to do with... skin!

i’m suspicious of the ones that say: without telling the truth
we can moralise, by not stating the truth
we can allow ourselves falsehood in the prime
instinct to provide replicas of ourselves
without truth of two subject interacting,
but merely the truth of two objects interacting
reducible into the dwarf of darwinism
that speaks: over-sexualise and feel less encountered
by understanding the opposite!
so much is true in this era - with the english poodle
waggling in frenzies for the americans to spectate and applaud...
i’ve had to become a german in england,
the sort that might be liked by nietzschean arrogance,
but apart from that i’m working on how
certain people simply use words rather than letters,
how they can never use the shovels and pickaxes,
how this congregation of atheists at comic stand-up shows
is doing my head in: a theological mid-life crises,
this blatant take on theology using the logic:
from monkey you came, to monkeying you shall return...
now that trends like the crown all animals have,
all animals already unique do not need to replicate consciously,
but man is stumbling into wasting his conscious on replication,
on plagiarism... it’s so odd... so so odd! why would man
waste his consciousness to simply invoke replication?
where’s the self in that, the anti-frankenstein story so powerful
he does not wish to do anything other than marvel at
the connectivity of the bone to the nerve to the muscle?
the 20th century gave birth militant atheism -
the 21st century is labouring with a different kind of atheism -
the sort of atheism that says no barriers exist between master and servant
as between worm and pigeon - even though
the depression of the master is opposed to the servant’s depression
that he only spots analogues within the framework of
synonymity with other masters... ‘why are we so depressed?’
asked master a, ‘i have no idea,’ answered master b over lunch.
in the lower decks of the ship servant a says to servant b -
- ‘god, i rowed all day long, i’m so ****** tired!
no thought will keep me awake.’
- ‘that’s true, i’m knackered also, broken limbs of my effort
like a chestnut, no thought will keep me awake either,
lucky we exhaust the body.’
- ‘too true, with the body exhausted the mind is never disputed
never disputed by not having origins in thinking
but rather having origins in the body.’
- ‘verily, i rather our fate than the masters’ fate.’
- ‘why?’
- ‘as you said, our’s is the story of ****** demands,
their’s is a story of thought’s demands,
meaning they exhaust their mind in the accesses
thought provides, it’s like a secondary body we have no knowledge of,
they are exhausted by thinking because their body is not exhausted.’
- ‘makes sense.’
- 'hence their malady of melancholia and our as simple exhaustion.'
- 'where’s the buffer?'
- 'in the olympians, the discus throwers, the most positive lot, and due to this, the easiest
to break down from high positivity; they have no awareness
of complex thinking and are quickly undermined with all this sports’ psychology!'
- 'true to the burning tire... it's all dietary awareness and muscle bulk with them after a loss.'
- 'indeed, as our's is with aesop dreamily awaiting a freedom that’s an anarchy,as translated from aesop's fables into
spartacus' resolve.'
- 'ah yes, that old spartan revolt in the roman empire.'
so like i said, i do know that darwinism is the new super cool sensibility,
taking into account more than 10,000 years of history
and talking about it for 2 hours wishing that something
spectacular might happen tomorrow, or any other given day...
but like i said previously... darwinism just killed history...
outside the realm of journalism we’re talking millions of years...
so why would i give a **** if it’s a friday the 23rd of october in the imaginary year 2015?
well if you put crocodile into a pile of hyenas you’ll probably
get a a cuckoo mixed with a squid because of the beak shared by the two...
i know, atheism is cool, for now,
but when the quantum j provides the classical physics’ objects like jupiter
you’ll ask what the quantum of j is... and i’ll say... full-stop...
that’s because, perhaps, i never use language as:
copy - work - paste - with - copy - me - paste - on - copy - this - paste - one,
but rather...
w - grammatical arithmetic (g.a.) - o - g.a. - r - g.a. - k,
because no one can tell me that the letter j
is uniform in the context of i or k...
as the quantum phonetics of uttering the word
onomatopoeia... is no different from uttering the word bull...
so many variables of spotting the quantum physics
in pronunciation... so many varying levels of required energy
to utter j or k... onomatopoeia or bull -
so... what's the antonym of quantum - the maximum
amount of any physical entity involved in an interaction -
i know that poets speak of grains of sand = no. of stars
and that the mathematicians use the curtain of infinity
to digress... but finding the maximum will be harder
given that there will be no socratic knowledge to use as canvas...
i.e. nothing;
added to the fact that there’s a non-differential quantum
that makes ë and em almost identical in terms of the least energy used,
this humanistic paradox of bonding means there is no unique human
sound that doesn’t borrow another human sound to execute a phoneticism,
otherwise ë and em translate as eh and humming anti-treble of the lips, or finger licking mmm of kentucky.
actually... we have the opposite of quantum physics...
the body functions within an ~37ºC emission...
there are four seasons in a year... the earth's orbit is 365 days,
i just took all the known macro units
and consolidated them in the micro unit of joules undifferentiated
in terms of observable "energy."

— The End —