"oldest" poems
A lone child might be settle in being the only one.
But many siblings can describe their many ways of fun.
Whether it's wrestling until it turns into a fight.
To them it seems natural.
To parents it's just not right.
But the strongest bond that they all share.
Is all for one and one for all.
In any battle that affects them.
Then it's a war.
From the oldest down to the youngest.
Yes, you will have the mediator.
The negogiator.
And the fighters amongst them.
But when one is ill in health.
Watch the way they care for them.
All the wars and battles seems to cease.
And their love for them quickly appears.
Yes, siblings.
The love amongst them is thick.
That they worry themselves sometimes into ill health.
But their bond is strong.
Even when they don't get along.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 8:58 AM UTC
Time sails around us,
leaving the present left to rust.
All my love is written below the earth
and spaces between the stars,
in the oldest language.
And we lay on our backs
crushing the grass.
You told me to wait,
but I can't wait forever.
so you said, "come along and travel
among these childlike places with me."
I said I'd follow you as far as to the moon's oldest side.
And then all at once, I'm a child again.
A child who would waste their time playing
in the naked creeks and thought of the unthinkables.
I was always trying to find my way to you
yet I was never scared of getting lost
for I followed the stars you mapped out for me
on the back of an old construction paper
that you scribbled across with stardust.
And on the night of the blue moon
I found you on a piece of paper
written 70 years ago.
you wrote to me telling me to always
keep looking and wait patiently
for the days that are to come.
and wait I did.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC
Just how does one define friendship?
Oh, I already know what the Dictionary says.
It's far more than merely one word, or two.
You could apply many verbs to describe it.
Few, on their own will justice due.
It is more about one's emotional perception,
than a mere sentence of words, though descriptive.
For sure it's a feeling, a strong visceral response
evoked by respect, even love of a thing above all other's.
Friends come in many shapes, sizes and colors.
They can be inanimate or living breathing.
All inspire in us a near electrical resonance of reassurance,
a sense of peace, surely comfort. Maybe it starts with
the rhythmic beating of our own mothers heart,
the sound and vibration of our first true friendship.
A little later her breast and the nourishment it gave,
became our first outer world dearest best companion.
Mother's milk, served warm, sweet and tenderly,
Love's personification.
Yes of course Friendship can be an extension of a
strong lasting bond with other people, yet even more.
Our family's are our closest best friends, if we are lucky.
But what of the others?
I have been befriended by books, movies, dogs and
many other non human living friends, I even have
a old film camera I packed completely around the world,
that I count among my closest companions.
A soft warm favorite wool blanket acquired down in
New Zealand, also fits nicely that same description.
An old bamboo fly rod that belonged to my Father,
Is a friend I would not part with for any amount of dollars.
And less I forget (No pun intended) our memories too are
right there, with the best and oldest of our dearest, lasting friends,
Conjured up at a minutes notice.
And perhaps last of all, (you may have more on your list),
I can not leave out the most important friendship of all,
It's the friendship we have with our selves, to which I'm referring.
For if that very personal friendship is not strong and on going,
It's truly doubtful that we will have, or sustain for long, any others.
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
I want to go on a roadtrip. Away from things that's familiar and safe. I want to get away and break free. Maybe with someone special or maybe all on my own. I want to raid the oldest libraries and read all the books I can to my heart's content. I want to visit museums and coffee shops and ice cream parlors and try everything they have. I want to take a walk to the oldest streets, alone or holding someone's hand, while eating ice cream. I want to explore places. I want to sleep in a tent. I want to sleep under the stars. I want to drive a motorbike. Stop a lot just to appreciate the view, take it all in the beauty before my eyes, breathe fresh air. I want to have polaroid camera and capture everything in the moment. Capture the sunrise and sunset. Capture a boy's wide smile or the old lady's toothless grin or the two lovers' embrace. I want to take pictures of myself smiling from ear to ear. I want to chase the moon and the fog. Spend hours picking strawberries, smelling flowers. I want to throw my hands in the air and dance and feel the wind in my hair. I want to buy souvenirs from each place I go as if the pictures I take are not enough, I want something that will last. I want to meet new people and make new friends. I want to make memories that will forever stay with me.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 6:18 AM UTC
Infinity - The name of the planet where the story takes place.
Eternity - The name of the main Continent where the story takes place.
Darkness - The name of the country where the sins live.
Chaos - The capital city in the country Darkness.
Tranquility - The name of the country where the virtues live.
Glory - The capital city in the country Tranquility.
Lust - The wife of Greed and the mother of Anger. Lust is a ********** and a **** Her husband Greed is her **** Lust has an affair with Hatred and becomes pregnant. She gives birth to Anger. Lust and Envy are best friends.
Greed - The husband of Lust, the older brother of Envy, and the step father of Anger. Greed is Lust's **** Greed is a **** corrupt politician, gangster, and a ***** businessman. Greed is Pride's right hand man.
Hatred - The father of Anger and Cruelty. Hatred has an affair with Lust. She becomes pregnant and gives birth to Anger. He also has a fling with Envy. She becomes pregnant and gives birth to Cruelty. Hatred rapes Love. Hatred is a terrorist, an assassin, and a cold calculated killer.
Love - The wife of Loyalty, the mother of Kindness, and the older sister of Truth. Love is a humanitarian and a healer. Love is ***** by Hatred.
Loyalty - The husband of Love and the father of Kindness. Loyalty is a soldier and a warrior. He gets revenge on Hatred for ****** Love.
Kindness - The daughter of Love and Loyalty. She is the niece of Truth.
Anger - The son of Lust and Hatred, the stepson of Greed, and the half brother of Cruelty. Anger is best friends with Ignorance.
Faith - The wife of Truth and the mother of Hope.
Hope - The daughter of Faith and Truth.
Pride - The elected commander who rules over all the sins.
Cruelty - The daughter of Envy and Hatred. She is the half sister of Anger.
Envy - The younger sister of Greed and the mother of Cruelty. Envy has a fling with Hatred and becomes pregnant. She gives birth to Cruelty. Envy is best friends with Lust.
Truth - The husband of Faith, the father of Hope, and the younger brother of Love. Truth is the uncle of Kindness. Truth is a soldier and a warrior. He gets revenge on Hatred for ****** Love.
D.E.A.T.H. - A terrorist organization created and operated by Hatred. D.E.A.T.H. stands for Darkness Engulfing All Things Holy.
Knowledge - The younger brother of Understanding and Wisdom.
Understanding - The brother of Wisdom and Knowledge. Understanding is a teacher. He and Mercy have a romantic interest in each other.
Wisdom - The oldest brother of Knowledge and Understanding. Wisdom is the elected commander who rules over all the virtues.
Sloth - The wife of Gluttony and the mother of Ignorance.
Gluttony - The husband of Sloth and the father of Ignorance.
Ignorance - The son of Sloth and Gluttony. Ignorance is best friends with Anger.
S.O.U.L. - A humanitarian organization created and operated by Love. S.O.U.L. stands for sharing our undying love.
Grace - She's a singer, entertainer, and a a performer.
Mercy - She is a member of S.O.U.L. Mercy is best friends with Love. She has a romantic interest in Understanding.
Limbo - A country that's in the middle of the two countries Darkness and Tranquility. Darkness is to the west of Limbo and Tranquility is to the east of Limbo. The country Limbo has a river of blood running down the middle. There is a civil war taking place in the country Limbo.
Deceit - Deceit is a master of disguise. It is a male and and a female. Deceit is a member of D.E.A.T.H.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 1:28 PM UTC
The storm is coming,
and the fisherman from
the house by lighthouse,
the
oldest one on the rocks in the sea.
Is lonely…lonely,
like his boat against the waves,
Splash, splash…
and the old fisherman
continues on his house, the lighthouse.
Where only the fire warms this gray day,
and the old fisherman is going to travel and face the sea,
alone.
-d.a
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 9:44 AM UTC
Oh, the oldest sibling.
Be it your brother.
Be it your sister.
Somewhere in your life you'll be reminded of your parents.
Whether it was your mother.
Or simply your father.
When they speak.
Instantly by the things they say.
You know, who they got them from?
When they tries to be disciplinaries of the rules.
This is when they truly begins to bug you.
That they mostly must put up a defense for a fight.
Or hear they not mom or dad.
And they better lay out with the hands.
Oh, the oldest sibling.
They had a task of responsibilities to hold up.
All young ones know they was the symbol of being the role model.
Used to point out to the young ones.
Wasn't offer to much room to get into trouble.
But when you older.
You soon becomes to love them.
Yes, the oldest.
Who reminds you of so many others?
Who many of times was more responsible?
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 10:39 AM UTC
There's a candle burning nightly
In the window, on the right
The house has long been empty
But, the candle's there each night
The house in old and ancient
I'm sure it has tales it needs to tell
Like, why the candle's burning
And why the house won't sell
The candle shows up daily
As soon as dusk begins to fall
The drapes are drawn so closely
In each room along the hall
But, in that lonely window
Burns a candle all can see
It's been burning there each evening
Since nineteen forty three
They say the house is haunted
After all, the candle is a clue
Someone lights it nightly
The question asked is who?
The house has been abandoned
No one lives there any more
They say the last survivor
Left in nineteen forty four
The story is as follows
If I get my rumours straight
The house was built around
The year eighteen eighty eight
The family that did own it
When the candle came to light
Were wealthy, and reclusive
And they all kept out of sight
The story goes, their oldest son
Signed up and went to war
He was a pilot in the air force
He shot down 15 planes or more
He was shot down on a mission
But his plane was never found
They never found the wreckage
Where it crashed into the ground
The candle started burning
The day the message came
It's always burning in the window
It's always lit, it's all the same
The candle shows when it is dusk
It goes out just past three
No one knows who lights it
There's no one there to see
Is the candle lit by spirits
Waiting for a missing son
Is it lit to help pass over
To make his journey done
No one knows the exact story
If the plane crashed and he died
But, even in the daylight
People don't pass by on this side
The house is an enigma
Is a ghost there waiting for
A son to come home to them
Marching through the old front door
All I know is that the candle
Has been lit for 60 years
And there's a ghost up there just waiting
Crying quiet , ghostly tears
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC
At the beginning the oldest man sat on the corner
of the garden wall by the road under a vast
walnut tree known to have been there always
he came back in the afternoon to the cave of shade
in his broad black hat black jacket the striped gray
wool trousers once worn only to church in winter
with a cane on either side resting against the stones
he said when your legs have gone all you can do
is to sit this way and be useless I believe God
he said that is what I am doing I am thinking
and things come to me now when nobody else knows them
he was visited by the dazzling of accidents the boy
who caught his hand in the trip hammer and it came out
like cigarette paper the man with both crushed legs
dangling and the woman murdered and his father the blacksmith
forging the iron fence to put around the place
out on the bare slope where she had fallen I could never
be the smith my father was as he always told me
I was good enough you know but I never had
the taste needed for scythe blades sickles kitchen knives
we preferred to use carriage springs to make them from
in the forge outside the barn there and his were sought after
oh when he had sold all he took to the fair the others
could begin I still have the die for stamping the name
of the village in the blade at the end so you could be sure
10.1k
1455
Opinion is a flitting thing,
But Truth, outlasts the Sun—
If then we cannot own them both—
Possess the oldest one—
10.1k
summer in the park
kids hopscotching on pavement
dad checking email
the oldest known song
carved on a lover's tombstone
- “pretty much YOLO”
digital tombstone
her face no longer ages
she is immortal
relaxed at the beach
at home - panicking mother
phone dwells in the lake
so long out of touch
childhood friends reunited
- thank god for Tinder!
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
My whole self offered up.
Raw.
Like a sacrifice on an ancient stone altar.
The oldest and most pure ritual in the world,
of one human soul putting itself completely in the hands of another.
Surrender.
You take me as I am.
As I was.
As I will be.
You have made me yours and I will stop at nothing to bring you peace, happiness, contentment...
anything you ever desire.
This is my purpose.
The answer to all of my whys.
The quiet place that was always...
Home.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 2:38 PM UTC
"lie still and let it wash over you, the was and is and soon to be.
How frightening yet effervescent the next 24 hours. The lust, and musts of future days revert to the ancient past..."
patty m.
><
the irony!
when I am stilled,
the effervescence of me
unbounded, unleashed, and the torrential rain
of words fulfilling and departing from my interior
I am
a Grand Central Station
of trains labelled
"the was and is and soon to be''
all moving in an unscheduled mayhem,
but never crashing. never accidenting,
only accenting my racing against time,
my oldest and fiercest Super Villian,
and one just knows, never can you beat time,
time, that old rascally up his sleeve card magician,
who when shuffling the deck,
he knows
what was,
what is,
and here his red eyes gleam with satisfaction,
soon to be...
He and I,
old familiar adversaries
addicted to living.
never leave the table,
never leave a *** or
a poem on the felt,
and having always felt,
firm believed,
there will always be one more,
one more gamble, another day,
to write another poem
and turning my cards over
to reveal, to revel,
in my Royal Flush of creativity,
when time, smiling face,
with his
wild card,
**** time,
who trumps me for
it,
in possess of a Five-of-a-Kind(1)
~'
and the new players,
the young poets,
slap me on the back,
saying I had a great run,
but they don't know 'bout my
secret stash,
preprogrammed to appear,
long after these fingers
cease their tangled tango of tap dancing,
my dust,
my lusts and musts
will unstilled yet be
blowing, floating in the
soon to be
so ha!
nml
6:30am
Wed Sep 10
Twenty Twenty Five
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 8:42 AM UTC
Infinity - The name of the planet where the story takes place.
Darkness - The name of the country where the sins live.
Eternity - The name of the main continent where the story takes place.
Chaos - The capital city in the country Darkness.
Tranquility - The name of the country where the virtues live.
Glory - The capital city in the country Tranquility.
Lust - The wife of Greed and the mother of Anger. Lust is a ********** and **** Her husband Greed is her **** Lust has an affair with Hatred and becomes pregnant. She gives birth to Anger. Lust and Envy are best friends.
Greed - The husband of Lust, the older brother of Envy, and the stepfather of Anger. Greed is Lust's **** Greed is a **** corrupt politician, gangster, and a ***** businessman. Greed is Pride's right hand man.
Hatred - The father of Anger and Cruelty. Hatred has an affair with Lust. She becomes pregnant and gives birth to Anger. He also has a fling with Envy. She becomes pregnant and gives birth to Cruelty. Hatred rapes Love. Hatred is a terrorist, an assassin, and a cold calculated killer.
Love - The wife of Loyalty, the mother of Kindness, and the older sister of Truth. Love is a humanitarian and a healer. Love is ***** by Hatred.
Loyalty - The husband of Love and the father of Kindness. Loyalty is a solider and a warrior. He gets revenge on Hatred for ****** Love.
Kindness - The daughter of Love and Loyalty. She is the niece of Truth.
Anger - The son of Lust and Hatred, the stepson of Greed, and the half brother of Cruelty. Anger is best friends with Ignorance.
Faith - The wife of Truth and the mother of Hope.
Hope - The daughter of Faith and Truth.
Pride - The elected commander of all the sins. Pride is a priest.
Cruelty - The daughter of Envy and Hatred. She is the half sister of Anger.
Envy - The younger sister of Greed and the mother of Cruelty. Envy has a fling with Hatred and becomes pregnant. She gives birth to Cruelty. Envy is best friends with Lust.
Truth - The husband of Faith, the father of Hope, and the younger brother of Love. Truth is the uncle of Kindness. Truth is a soldier and a warrior. He gets revenge on Hatred for ****** Love.
D.E.A.T.H. - A terrorist organization created and operated by Hatred. D.E.A.T.H. stands for Darkness Engulfing All Things Holy.
Knowledge - The younger brother of Understanding and Wisdom.
Understanding - The brother of Wisdom and Knowledge. Understanding is a teacher. Understanding has a romantic interest in Mercy.
Wisdom - The oldest brother of Knowledge and Understanding. Wisdom is the elected commander of all the virtues.
Sloth - The wife of Gluttony and the mother of Ignorance.
Gluttony - The husband of Sloth and the father of Ignorance.
Ignorance - The son of Sloth and Gluttony.
S.O.U.L. - A humanitarian organization created and operated by Love. S.O.U.L. stands for Sharing Our Undying Love.
Grace - She's a singer, entertainer, and performer.
Deceit - Deceit is a master of disguise. It is a male and a female. Deceit is a member of D.E.A.T.H.
Misery - An island off the coast of Darkness.
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 6:01 PM UTC
My 2 Cents
“the advocacy of women’s rights on the grounds of political, social, and economic equality to men.”
Let me start by mentioning that I don’t usually get involved with political matters, but in this case, I’d say it’s more of a basic human rights matter.
I’m a man, and I’m a feminist.
I was lucky enough to grow up in a home with three women; my mother and two older sisters. Growing up with them gave me an enormous amount of respect for women, (even though I may have lost a certain amount of socially expected masculinity along the way), and their current lives continue to increase my respect for the opposite gender.
My oldest sister is leaving to study abroad at Oxford in less than a week to major in philosophy. Philosophy. She also graduated high school with a 4.0 and was involved in power lifting competitions and is enlisted in ROTC. Simply put, she’s an animal. She’s worked hard her entire life and I’d hate to see a world that put that hard work to waste.
My other sister is working three jobs to pay her way through college and is planning to major in psychology. I’m always envious of her work ethic and level of commitment to not only her education, but to her friends and family as well.
My mother has been my backbone since I was a child. She was always the one I turned to in times of trouble, and continues to be. She works hard everyday, while going through mentally straining marriage problems, and comes home and still asks me about my day. She has given me nothing but unconditional love for my entire existence.
For these reasons, it boggles my mind why anyone would ever be anti-feminism. I am genuinely confused as to why, because their bodies are different, women get less privileges, respect, opportunities, and even money. I just don’t get it.
I am also disgusted that women are seen by most men as walking ****** organs. l will admit genuine guilt to using the number scale to “rate” women. It’s something I grew up with, but now it sickens me. Assigning a number to a woman based on your misguided views on how she should look, whether you would **** her, is something I find repulsive. There’s nothing wrong with admiring the opposite *** but no one gives a **** about your stupid opinion, especially the woman.
I hope someday if I ever have a daughter that she will have the privilege of living in a country of gender equality, tolerance, and open-mindedness.
Anyway, I just wanted to put my two cents in.
I am a man.
I am a feminist.
Peace.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
where solar lips are parted
and crescent ******* hardened
cobalt fire licks your name off its oldest breath
this ****** hollow bends its neck through thermal skies and sand
scarlet waves of heat off your (sweet ancestral) hand
come inside, the door is open. the answer's always yes
Medusa’s gaze would turn to sand
if she knew the stony glories spanned
within rock candy walls ablaze
flood plains carry hydrogen freight
from your abyss' collapsing weight
the broken ***** flowers rusting in the haze
long stem bows in the cut orchestral
steal blood from the times ancestral
the ink has spilled and left a stain
under folded layers of skin
that the mirror reflects from views within
your eyes are naked lights, innumerable and plain.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
Mirror
by Kajal Ahmad, a Kurdish poet
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My era’s obscuring mirror
shattered
because it magnified the small
and made the great seem insignificant.
Dictators and monsters filled its contours.
Now when I breathe
its jagged shards pierce my heart
and instead of sweat
I exude glass.
Keywords/Tags: Kajal Ahmad, Kurd, Kurdish, translation, mirror, shattered, magnified, dictators, monsters, jagged, shards, sweat, perspire, leak, bleed, extrude, protrude, glass
The Lonely Earth
by Kajal Ahmad
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
The pale celestial bodies
never bid her "Good morning! "
nor do the creative stars
kiss her.
Earth, where so many tender persuasions and roses lie interred,
might expire for the lack of a glance, or an odor.
She's a lonely dusty orb,
so very lonely! , as she observes the moon's patchwork attire
knowing the sun's an imposter
who sears with rays he has stolen for himself
and who looks down on the moon and earth like lodgers.
Kurds are Birds
by Kajal Ahmad
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Per the latest scientific classification, Kurds
now belong to a species of bird!
This is why,
traveling across the torn, fraying pages of history,
they are nomads recognized by their caravans.
Yes, Kurds are birds! And,
even worse, when
there's nowhere left to nest, no refuge from their pain,
they turn to the illusion of traveling again
between the warm and arctic sectors of their homeland.
So I don't think it strange Kurds can fly but not land.
They wander from region to region
never realizing their dreams
of settling,
of forming a colony, of nesting.
No, they never settle down long enough
to visit Rumi and inquire about his health,
or to bow down deeply in the gust-
stirred dust,
like Nali.
Bi Havre (“Together”)
possibly the oldest Kurdish poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I want us to be together:
we would eat together,
climb the mountain together,
sing songs together, songs of love,
songs from the heart, sung from above.
I want us to have one heart, together.
Many words in this ancient poem are in doubt, so I have excerpted what I grok to be the central meaning.
And because Kajal mentioned Rumi, here are my translations of Rumi:
Raise your words, not their volume.
Rain grows flowers, not thunder.
—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Birdsong
by Rumi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Birdsong relieves
my deepest griefs:
now I'm just as ecstatic as they,
but with nothing to say!
Please universe,
rehearse
your poetry
through me!
Apr 1, 2020
Apr 1, 2020 at 3:00 AM UTC
A wild man is not a boyfriend, he is a force.
Can you love me in the blinding heat of a birthing star, when I shower warmth on distant moons?
Can you love me in the hole of the cosmic Black, where no one can reach me? Not even you?
Can you love me then too?
Can you love me when I drag buffalo skulls through the dirt for days, to the rhythm of an ancient drum?
Will you love me if my beard hides the scars in my heart, from battles I cannot explain?
WIll you love me when I lack courage, when I am defeated, when I won’t let you patch my wounds?
WIll you trust me when I smell of sweetgrass and sage, and when I stink of whiskey and sweat?
When I drink from the cup and play in astral light, will you anchor me to Home?
What happens when my words don’t work, and I can speak with only my eyes?
Can you love me enough to let me go, without asking me where I’ll be?
I am no poodle to lay groomed on a leash at your feet. I am the wolf that fetches the bones of truth.
A wild man is not a boyfriend. He’s not built for animal husbandry. He is a force. He is a cause for an effect. He is a mission.
Are you afraid to let me inside you? Not just my flesh, but my soul. The wild man is neither burglar or vandal. I will not take anything from you. I will not trample on sprouting seeds or pick flowers as a trophy. I am the sun on flooded fields and the fire for tangled webs.
Don’t be scared, lover, mother, maiden, crone. Take me as I am.
Even if I have the power to destroy worlds, I will not destroy you.
A wild man is a protector. A father. A warrior for all that is good.
When the chaos seeks to obliterate you, sheering your flesh from bone, I will hold all the pieces together in love, until you are ready to reassemble.
When your seas boil, and your winds throw cars at corn fields, I will wait patiently for you to catch my eye, so that both of us can laugh.
When Hell opens up the fiery gates, and sends all the cosmos against you… I plant my heels deep in the ground. I lay my shield low. My sword is sharp then, my love. The steel sings sweetly. With a smile, Hoka Hey! My last breath a farewell kiss. Today is a good day to die.
For ours is the oldest love affair. The greatest story ever told. Cupid and Psyche, Shiva and Shakti, You and I.
Same same but different. Would we have it any other way?
A wild man is not a boyfriend. He is a force.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC
Me, I play the piano
said one
me, I play the violin
said another
me the harp, me the banjo
me the cello
me the bagpipes, me the flute
and me, a rattle.
And they talked talked
talked about what they played.
No music was heard
everyone talked
talked talked
and no one played
but in a corner one man remained silent:
"And you, Sir, who remain silent and say nothing,
what instrument do you play?"
the musicians asked him.
"Me, I play the barrel *****
and I also play the knife,"
said the man who until now
had said absolutely nothing
and then he advanced knife in hand
and killed all the musicians
and played the barrel *****
and his music was so true
and so lively and so pretty
that the daughter of the house’s owner
came out from under the piano
where she lay bored to sleep
and said:
"Me, I played hoop
ball, chase
I played hopscotch
I played with a pail
I played with a shovel
I played house
I played tag
I played with my dolls
I played with a parasol
I played with my little brother
with my little sister
I played cops
and robbers
but that’s over over over
I want to play assassin
I want to play the barrel *****
And the man took the little girl by the hand
and they went into towns
into houses, into gardens
and killed as many people as possible
after which they married
and had many children.
But
the oldest learned piano
the second, violin
the third, harp
the fourth, the rattle
the fifth, cello
and they all took to talking talking
talking talking talking
so that no more music was heard
and all was set to begin again!
7.2k
this kids,
is how you do it
in the mid of the dark hours,
when two am is your new oldest friend
when sleep, your oldest old one,
left town on the midnight train,
taking your peace of mind
though she is far away
lost in dream-thoughts caught,
but only twelve inches close,
granting you an unasked permission,
you ok to stroke her hair,
undisturbing her, yet comforting yourself,
every voice in your temple'd altar praying,
one glorious chorus godly chant:
Oh Lord, what would I do without her?
and you stroke her hair and are saved.
2:51am
May 2014
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 2:56 AM UTC
I am told,
You think I am too old,
I am more precious than gold.
If you listen to me,
I will take you to a wonderful world;
I'm supposed to be oral,
speaking
of
myths,
legends,
fantasy,
and the supernatural.
When you listen to me,
Then you'll know,
How I become young,
How I live so long.
I am who I am.
Everyone knows me
and
all
the children love me.
I am not a lie,
In me you can find the truth,
That roots
you
To
Your Past
and
To
The Orgin
Because,
It's me, the oxygen,
That
Cultures breath,
And
The nitrogen,
With which THEY fly
Deep
In a blue sea,
Like a White Dove,
Like a Magical Butterfly,
And
With which They dive
High
in a Blue Sky
Like an Incredible fish,
Like a Blue Whale,
in a Fairytale.
I have no specific author,
You can be my author.
I have no specific time,
For all times are mine.
I had lived in your Heart
An Art.
I had had only listeners
Until I was put in a Book.
I was Invisible,
But
Now you can see me if you look,
Or
GUESS what?
I am Unseen,
Though you think that's me on that screen.
That's not me,
For I have always been...
A Mystery,
That speaks
Of
Happiness
And
Misery,
Of
Kindness
And
Treachery,
Of
Poverty
And
Luxury,
Of
Honesty
And
Trickery,
Of
Freedom
And
Slavery,
So
please,
Hurry
And
Listen to me,
Before you go to any cinema or library.
For I am
The oldest Teacher
And
The honest Preacher.
I think you know me well now,
So ask Grandma how?
When you wish to MEET me.
I can be for you a guide
And take you to another side,
I can make your world wide.
If you follow me, Child!
I can take you to the Woods,
I can take you to the wild.
In which
Animals
Talk
And
Trees
Walk.
And
In which
A Witch
Has
Hooves ,
And
An Ant
Wears
Gloves,
And
In Which
A Wolf
Sings,
And
A Horse
Has
Wings,
And
In Which
A kingdom,
And
Many other Bewitching Gems
Of
Wisdom.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
~~~
“To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.” Henri Bergson
well in that case,
I’m either the most immature teen here,
or Rip Van Winkle
the re-creation process is six, nearly seven,
decades long (you thot days, ha, no way),
can’t recall the last name
I called myself
the delving, the researching, the forgetting,
the fifty first dates of no short term memory,
the checkdown, throwback Thursday of
did I write that?
no recollect, the pretense of
prehensile strength to touch
you and me simultaneously
might, could be true,
if you claim I authored it,
ok with me and all that
life taught me this,
the one who oft hangs around
very young kids
learns a lot,
and soon recognizes
maturity indeed endless
but not senseless
just a poem-of-the-day process
indeed
every sense says the minute difference
between this morning and this approaching midnight,
an opportunity to grow up, stand straighter, uprighter,
write down my failures one more time,
cause that is the sterling hallmark impressed upon
thyself, ourselves,
that is genuine maturity,
the courageous wisdom to start all over again
the clock has transgressed,
moving past
the 12:00am digits,
which for cause
makes me giddy,
it’s permission to write a new one,
of course,
maturely thinking I still got one within,
a newbie, an aged day-old brand new baby,
a poem,
of course
god bless, I’m all grown n’ growled up,
with wisdom to know I don’t got nada,
but own the immature youthful courage of maturity,
to keep on trying, endlessly,
being your obedient-servant
~~~
*p.s. this is kind of love poem of thanksgivings,
a love poem with no misgivings,
a thank you for the fragments of sharing -
hold so dear,
the best reason to mature,
the best reason to change,
the best reason to write
right now, here comes the mojo
my newest oldest friend,
reminding for the last and first time
that I’m all growed,
using the bigliest words I’ve known
to say baby, hey baby,
good night good morning
write us a poem,
a thank you note,
from one who blessedly forgets his name,
day in and year out*
For that guy,
you, that ancient kid,
That poet-in-retrograde
so rewrite the title, a refresh,
are you immature enough to write?
1:12am
~for the crew~
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 1:28 AM UTC
Whan the turuf is thy tour
anonymous Middle English poem, circa the 13th century AD
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
When the turf is your tower
and the pit is your bower,
your pale white skin and throat
only sullen worms shall note.
What help unto you, then
was all your worldly hope?
***
Original Middle English text:
Whan the turuf is thy tour,
And thy pit is thy bour,
Thy fel and thy whitë throtë
Shullen wormës to notë.
What helpëth thee thennë
Al the worildë wennë?
“Whan the turuf is thy tour” may be one of the oldest carpe diem (“seize the day”) poems in the English language, and an ancestor of Andrew Marvell’s “To His Coy Mistress” with its virginity-destroying worms. Keywords/Tags: Middle English, translation, medieval, anonymous, rhyme, rhyming, medieval, lament, complaint, lamentation, turf, tower, pit, bower, skin, throat, worms, note, help, worldly, hope
Feb 28, 2020
Feb 28, 2020 at 2:56 AM UTC
Feel the strengths of vein that hold the whole of your neck!
A life of loose you live on believe
A hope, a Faith even when you barely know a god.
****** juz be like:#OluwaIsInvolved
Your father owns an Estate, even a country built in Gold
The #Street remains a #Paradise
You'll wanna go, even if you have to be named #Devil
You drop your #Pride like it never mattered
To gather a better world
Where you'd be worshiped as #Boss
You chase a #Bigger dream that the oldest in your family won't dare.
Rub-in all pains that attaining #LandNeverPromised would wanna bear
You #Focus , patiently hoping for what is never #Certained
You #Beg your 'Luck' more than the rate you beg your #God
To meet the #One that would bring you the #PayDay of no accountable #Duty
#Legitimacy becomes the most irritating Slogan you'll Cause your brethren that ever utters.
Authority, a #Foe that would stop you from dressing #TooLoud,
Anything you ever #Wished links way back to #Money
#MoneyMustBeMade the only #Pledge that keeps echoing in your brain
A #Brain that works only to unlawfully take from the token of a #Brother
With the #Vengeance-filled mind of eradicating Poverty that denied you of a better #Background,
When you have a #PayDay, you still long for a million more
In a better fold that could last you many more #Lifetime
Then, you pick back the #Pride you allayed for a while so #Long
Now reflect that part of you.
That part, you rebuked a #RichYoungDude earlier on for
Or the #Angelic one you would ever love a #Philanthropist for
Remain on the #LowestKey for 'a now's ' while
To be at the #HighestKey, even under the deepest ground
And keep your #Brain more opened than #YourEyes
While you make the only thing that keep you going as #GodBlessTheHustle
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 3:00 PM UTC
for you, we bundle into the car,
the littlest
(half my brother and twice my nuisance)
and the middlest
(14 going on favorite)
the bitterest
(only girl and pen-in-hand)
and the biggestest
(20 years
of bombastic nonsense)
30 minutes and four cornfields later
he'll start.
"i have to ***
"there's a bottle up there, dad."
"dad, i have to ***
"dad."
"dad."
"dad."
and he's going to *** in that ******* bottle
which will inevitably stay in the car for the remaining 8 and a half hours,
sloshing and yellow
too dangerously close to the color of something
you would actually drink.
the two youngest
will get into some sort of argument
some sort of argument that i will intervene in.
"shut up!" he'll say.
"chill out!" i'll shout.
"you chill out!"
and my father and my stepmother
will eye from the front seat
until one of them turns around
("relax, madeline!" sharply).
and then the oldest
like clockwork
will act like he knows more than he does about something
(my father will just chuckle, but i'll begin, "bullsh-" i'll begin, but my stepmother will hiss,
"madeline!" as if i've killed somebody
even though the 8-year-old curses even worse than i do).
he'll make a face at me
and i'll make a face at him.
the littlest will
inevitably
stomp on my seatbelt about 30 times a second
which i will not be able to stand,
and we'll get into an argument which will turn into me
versus
the whole car
(afterwards, much stewing,
and resentfully cranking my ipod up as loud as it will go).
9 hours and 12 thousand cliff-faces later
we'll get there.
we'll make it.
we'll only be
a little worse for the wear.
we will be swept up by our twelve billion aunts
our nine billion uncles
and our three billion cousins,
like we always are.
someday something will be missing.
first it was your back,
and the postponement,
and eventual cancellation of our trip.
then it was your surgeries
(why weren't they working?)
and then it was a series of words i don't understand
stage
inoperable
3
cancerous mass
lung
malignant
radiation
therapy chemo
you may crumple in
on that blackness inside you,
that's eating you alive
one lung at a time,
pushing,
on your back,
until you can't even stand.
the fabric of our family
is plucked by this
disease.
this is my poem, my plea
for you
and for us,
that you not pull into the blackness,
and that you fight the tumors and the tests
and that you win.
Jul 31, 2012
Jul 31, 2012 at 10:42 AM UTC