"nisi" poems
Tra-la-la-la-la-la-laire—nil nisi divinum stabile
est; caetera fumus—the gondola stopped, the old
palace was there, how charming its grey and pink—
goats and monkeys, with such hair too!—so the
countess passed on until she came through the
little park, where Niobe presented her with a
cabinet, and so departed.
Burbank crossed a little bridge
Descending at a small hotel;
Princess Volupine arrived,
They were together, and he fell.
Defunctive music under sea
Passed seaward with the passing bell
Slowly: the God Hercules
Had left him, that had loved him well.
The horses, under the axletree
Beat up the dawn from Istria
With even feet. Her shuttered barge
Burned on the water all the day.
But this or such was Bleistein’s way:
A saggy bending of the knees
And elbows, with the palms turned out,
Chicago Semite Viennese.
A lustreless protrusive eye
Stares from the protozoic slime
At a perspective of Canaletto.
The smoky candle end of time
Declines. On the Rialto once.
The rats are underneath the piles.
The jew is underneath the lot.
Money in furs. The boatman smiles,
Princess Volupine extends
A meagre, blue-nailed, phthisic hand
To climb the waterstair. Lights, lights,
She entertains Sir Ferdinand
Klein. Who clipped the lion’s wings
And flea’d his **** and pared his claws?
Thought Burbank, meditating on
Time’s ruins, and the seven laws.
3.2k
Broken hearts in pieces on the floor
Then came the slamming of the door.
He didn't even say goodbye.
She felt the emptiness and started to cry.
It's a modern story often told.
Love's burning embers had grown cold.
The fruit of love withered and died.
He put his head in his hands and cried.
Once together they were now alone.
The once proud house was not a home.
The hearts once entwined grew apart.
Neither wanted to look for a brand new start.
He found new love - it wasn't easy.
Then she sent the Decree Nisi.
It was a matter of due course.
The happy marriage ended in divorce.
The world turned in its usual way.
The sun dawned on a brand new day.
the air smelled sweet with fresh clover.
But two lovers cried it's over, it's over.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 9:50 PM UTC
Jam non consilio bonus, sed more eo perductus, ut non tantum
recte facere possim, sed nisi recte facere non possim
(Seneca, Letters 130.10)
Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove;
Thou, who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptations dost set free;
And calm’st the weary strife of frail humanity!
There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them; who, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth:
Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot;
Who do thy work, and know it not:
Oh! if through confidence misplaced
They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast.
Serene will be our days and bright,
And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security.
And they a blissful course may hold
Even now, who, not unwisely bold,
Live in the spirit of this creed;
Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need.
I, loving freedom, and untried;
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,
Too blindly have reposed my trust:
And oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferred
The task, in smoother walks to stray;
But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.
Through no disturbance of my soul,
Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control;
But in the quietness of thought:
Me this unchartered freedom tires;
I feel the weight of chance-desires:
My hopes no more must change their name,
I long for a repose that ever is the same.
Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead’s most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.
To humbler functions, awful Power!
I call thee: I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour;
Oh, let my weakness have an end!
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give;
And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live!
2.4k
Say nothing but good of the dead
As they were once your friends,
Or enemies, it doesn't matter.
In death lies no dishonor.
Say nothing but good of the dead
As they were once fellow workers,
Or leaders, it doesn't matter.
In death lies no classes.
Say nothing but good of the dead
As they were once our slaves,
Or masters, it doesn't matter.
In death lies no races.
Say nothing but good of the dead
Because they were once living people,
People like you and me.
In death they are beloved.
De Mortuis Nil Nisi Bonum
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 9:05 PM UTC
Lautréamont Disco
beckons the neon
to those
travellers of the night
. . . words.
"What's a nice sewing machine
like you..."
asks an umbrella
"...doing on a dissection table
like this?"
Miss Sewing Machine
tells the umbrella fella
"Hop it buster!"
He hops it.
She is looking for
a Sugar Dalí.
A cute de Chirico statue
is getting chatted up
by what I guess is
a poet.
The poet is
getting his face slapped.
The nostalgia
of the Infinite.
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
I had nothing
But time
I could see
The life of
It in all its
Fleeting
Terrible light
Wondering
Had I lived?
Was I the
Object in
Another's story?
Was that all
I ever was?
Could I
Be more?
Nothing but
Time and still
No answer
I had glimpsed
Into the mind
Of eternity
Perhaps the
Mind of god
And found
Nothing but
Silence
Oct 26, 2023
Oct 26, 2023 at 10:54 PM UTC
I’ve reached the age when most of my contemporaries have
kicked the bucket,
turned up their toes,
popped their clogs,
and other such unsavoury activities.
I take every opportunity
to memorialise their lives.
The question I ask myself is:
when I finally pop my clogs,
kick the bucket, and so on
who will provide the tribute to me?
De mortuis nil nisi bonum is the Latin phrase
of Greek invention.
Speak nothing but good of the dead.
I cannot accept this.
What good can I speak of Adolf ******
Osama Bin Laden
or even Senator Joe McCarthy?
Better would be De mortuis nil nisi veritas.
Speak nothing but the truth.
But, if I had to choose one for my own obituary,
I think I would turn to the late, great Harold Laski,
who coined De mortuis nil nisi bunkum.
I’d be very happy to have nothing but claptrap
talked about me.
after my demise.
At least let there be something written,
be it good,
truth
or codswallop
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 3:34 PM UTC
Tantum tempus temporis
quoniam aliena femina in meo cubiculo dormivit;
ecce illi quantum dulce somnus est.
Quanta etiam libera somnia sunt.
In alia aetate mundum certe rexit
vel optimo regi in matrimonio fideliter ducta est
qui iuxtus flumen psalmos luce lunae scripsit.
**** me iri foras egressum et spatiatum
Nihil occurit hic, nihil umquam fit.
Praeterea si incedat iam volat me narrare;
habeo nihil, praecipue erga quicquid erat.
Viam cepi aviam
qua celeres non superant;
dignis praemia sunt
qui verbum veritatis distinguere possunt.
Hospes solus me docere potuit
praeclaram orem iustitiae contemplari
et videre oculum pro oculo, et dentem pro dente.
Nisi duo homines in mansionem,
Est nullus in viso; verem exspectant,
proinde quasi ver plaustro accederet.
Mundus deleretur ea nocte
sed meae amicae aequum esset;
illa meo cubiculo dormiret *** revenirem.
Meridiano me promoveo
adhuc in obscura parte viae;
in angustos corruere
et constans manere non possum.
Alius mea ore dicit
sed solum meo animo audit,
calcas omnibus etiam tibi feci
quibus tamen careo.
Ego et ego
In creatione quo ingenium alicuius
nec alicui ignoscit nec excolit.
Ego et ego
unus alteri dicit nullus et videre
imaginem meum et vivere possit.
From "Bird's Nest In Your Hair" by Brian Jobe
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 10:03 PM UTC
Nerazgovorljiv
Jutros nisi ni novine kupio
Crni hleb se rasprodao
Kafu vinjak i kiselu nisi naručio
Da nisi možda umro
Ceo se bife pitao
Nerazumnik
Šaputali su
Nesatrt
Smrtima
Neosobit
Nepodešen
Neštedimice
Nerazgranat
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 6:50 PM UTC
No little script
That I have wrought
Could be so perfect
So tightly fraught
With such tones
and Temperament
With your bones
And subtle inference
Yet there you hum
Whilst I write
To catch a crumb
Of your in-finite
Sing a hallow
Gold, cold refrain
So I may swallow
And remain in-sane
For the aria, my dear
Splays my soul
And such, I fear
Might that, be all
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 2:41 PM UTC
Lets write the truth fantastic
one that shadows cannot cast
not fake or made of plastic
something that sings, that lasts
We'll wish ourselves in better light
and then we'll write it down
something from the future's past
a golden thoughtful crown
Only when it's said and done
made and set in stone
revealed to the rising sun
nothing great
achieved
alone
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 6:54 PM UTC
Nisi Dominus Frustra
Scant legible tantra
Muscled marbled muse
Adorned, confused
Standing in Massivity
Before us, behind us.
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 3:28 PM UTC
Alioquin interficiam te.Volo nisi ut furetur anima tua.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 3:12 PM UTC
NISI...become. . . ABSOLUTE
early summer falls across
the lawn...the trees
the bars of a cage
sunlight and shadow
our jailers
our own good selves
and we
the prisoners
of this summer's day
"Shall I compare thee to.."
I laugh to myself
no...I guess not
we forever imprisoned
in sunlight and shadow
an image made real
memory holds us here
trapped in this conceit
sentenced to be who we could never be
and so we sat until
sunlight relinquished
its hold over the world
and so we sat until
darkness swallowed us whole
only our voices visible
only our vices invisible
as always
each the murderer of the other
now no longer
man & wife
I glimpse my face in a fish knife
the decree nisi
still tucked behind
the ormolu clock
the divorce
still eats at my soul
this piece of paper mocking me
and now
the decree absolute
we sit down to our last supper
the cat devours
( I don't tell you that )
the fresh trout
the fresh trout
all dressed up in its dish
like a sacrifice
I shoo the cat away
it snarls at me
"Ticktock!" laughs the clock ormoluly
the cat looks at me
with disdain...scorn
licks lovingly its *****
I cut the cat-chewed bit away
serve up with a too rich sauce
the unseen incident not noticeable
and so after all
I still serve you
before me
you smile your smile
say we should have
"...maybe stayed together after all..?"
too late now I think
to recall
the people we used to be
we different people now
"Time doesn't heal..!" I think
"...Time's a heel!" I secretly smile
I pass the port
a crumb of Stilton still stuck
charmingly upon her chin
"The sunlight on the garden
hardens and grows cold."
I quote MacNeice to the parrot
"We can not catch its minutes..."
the parrot continues and I finish
"...within its nets of gold."
memory still holds me
prisoner in that garden
I watch her taxi pull away
the taxi turns the corner
blinks a right turn
and is gone
back in the kitchen
I let the cat finish
my untouched trout
I flambé the decrees
both nisi and absolute
watch us go up in smoke
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 5:09 AM UTC