"orator" poems
Hymn to Aphrodite
by Sappho
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Immortal Aphrodite, throned in splendor!
Wile-weaving daughter of Zeus, enchantress, and beguiler!
I implore you, dread mistress, discipline me no longer
with love's anguish!
But come to me once again in kindness,
heeding my prayers as you have done before;
O, come Divine One, descend once again from
heaven's golden dominions!
Your chariot yoked to love's consecrated doves,
their multitudinous pinions aflutter,
you once came gliding from the utmost heights, to
the dark-bosomed earth.
Swiftly they came and vanished, leaving you,
O my Goddess, smiling, your face eternally beautiful,
asking me what unfathomable longing compelled me
to cry out.
Asking me what I sought in my hopeless, bewildered desire.
Asking, "Who has harmed you, why are you so alarmed,
my poor Sappho? Whom should
Persuasion summon here?"
"Though today she flees love, soon she will pursue you;
spurning love's gifts, soon she shall return them;
tomorrow she will woo you,
however unwillingly!"
Come to me now, most Holy Aphrodite!
Release me from my heavy heartache and anguish;
grant me all I request, be once again
my ally and protector!
"Hymn to Aphrodite" is the only poem by Sappho of ****** to survive in its entirety. The poem survived intact because it was quoted in full by Dionysus, a Roman orator, in his "On Literary Composition," published around 30 B.C. A number of Sappho's poems mention or are addressed to Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love. It is believed that Sappho may have belonged to a cult that worshiped Aphrodite with songs and poetry. If so, "Hymn to Aphrodite" may have been composed for performance within the cult. We do know that Sappho was held in very high regard. For instance, when Sappho visited Syracuse the residents were so honored they erected a statue to commemorate the occasion! During Sappho's lifetime, coins of ****** were minted with her image. Furthermore, Sappho was called "the Tenth Muse" and the other nine were goddesses. Keywords/Tags: Sapphic, Sappho, ****** translation, ancient Greek, hymn, Aphrodite, Zeus, daughter, immortal, goddess, holy, lady, heaven, enchantress, enchantment, love potion, charm, spell, persuasion, beguiler, beguilement, mistress, discipline, ********** prayer, prayers, chariot, heaven, descent, ally, protector, lust, desire, passion, longing, *** crush, girlfriend, women, grief
Mar 22, 2020
Mar 22, 2020 at 2:51 AM UTC
A wind blows like a wilderness of wolves
A vendetta, an apocalyptic vendetta
In its unpredictable, accidental quality
That swerves images of realization into tragedy
Neglecting all with swift intent upon a fallen fortress
In complected interests of caresses
Neither invited nor encouraged yet displayed
Displayed vividly with exclusive claim to that oppression
That howls by casting itself as a consequence of transgression
Upon a conventional expectation that claims a privileged sense
That persuades without an orator grotesquely amputated shapes
Extending extraordinary artifice as its priceless wealth
But who, yes who, has envy of so rich a nothing
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 12:23 PM UTC
Hymn to Aphrodite
by Sappho (her only complete poem)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Immortal Aphrodite, throned in splendor!
Wile-weaving daughter of Zeus, enchantress, and beguiler!
I implore you, dread mistress, discipline me no longer
with love's anguish!
But come to me once again in kindness,
heeding my prayers as you have done before;
O, come Divine One, descend once again from heaven's
golden dominions!
Your chariot yoked to love's consecrated doves,
their multitudinous pinions aflutter,
you once came gliding from the utmost heights, to
this dark earth.
Swiftly they came and vanished, leaving you,
O my Goddess, smiling, your face eternally beautiful,
asking me what unfathomable longing compelled me
to cry out.
Asking me what I sought in my hopeless, bewildered desire.
Asking, "Who has harmed you, why are you so alarmed,
my poor Sappho? Whom should Persuasion
summon here?"
"Though today she flees love, soon she will pursue you;
spurning love's gifts, she soon shall return them;
tomorrow she will woo you,
however unwillingly!"
Come to me now, most Holy Aphrodite!
Release me from my heavy heartache and anguish;
grant me all I request, be once again
my ally and protector!
"Hymn to Aphrodite" is the only poem by Sappho of ****** to survive in its entirety. The poem survived intact because it was quoted in full by Dionysus, a Roman orator, in his "On Literary Composition," published around 30 B.C. A number of Sappho's poems mention or are addressed to Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love. It is believed that Sappho may have belonged to a cult that worshiped Aphrodite with songs and poetry. If so, "Hymn to Aphrodite" may have been composed for performance within the cult. We do know that Sappho was held in very high regard. For instance, when Sappho visited Syracuse the residents were so honored they erected a statue to commemorate the occasion! During Sappho's lifetime, coins of ****** were minted with her image. Furthermore, Sappho was called "the Tenth Muse" and the other nine were goddesses. Keywords/Tags: Sapphic, Sappho, ****** translation, ancient Greek, hymn, Aphrodite, Zeus, daughter, immortal, goddess, holy, lady, heaven, enchantress, enchantment, love potion, charm, spell, persuasion, beguiler, beguilement, mistress, discipline, ********** prayer, prayers, chariot, heaven, descent, ally, protector, lust, desire, passion, longing, *** crush, girlfriend, women, grief
Mar 1, 2020
Mar 1, 2020 at 10:53 PM UTC
#
From an ornate podium
the orator spoke words--
..extraordinarily elaborate ones..
as if,
as if
But those who know..
we who have laid low,
down in to the trenches
as grunts, both outside
and inside
of the wire..
Those who have quietly
done their legwork..
who have accepted their
difficult fate as that borne of
and in to, a training.. an equipping;
lay low,
lay low
. . . .
The throngs
at the foot of the podium--
mesmerized by their own need
to be mesmerized, never even
noticed the children
who in their innocence, peered
out from under the crowd's legs
to better see the 'magnificent' podium..
The oldest of which, ran back to trenches
trying to describe what they saw.
Two of the quiet, unassuming-ones
made their way back to the podium,
and in blocking out the orator's voice,
(which to the knowing,
was as that of a clanging bell..)
Now observed up close, the inner-workings
of the elaborate podium
and sat in wonder of its expenditures--
wrapped around such slipshod, weak
and hastily assembled framework..
And in having become interested in the
structure's groundedness to what one
would hope would be a solid-built
foundation, placed onto solid, earthen ground
They instead gasped as they saw its
legs floating upon nothing..
*"What the **** is holding this thing up..?"*
War-trained and battle-hardened,
they remembered their superiors speaking
in hushed tones that even ****** with all
of his blowhard oratorical ******** at least
had a semblance of the podium's fastenings..
Albeit, partially assembled by our own country's
stupidity within certain provisions brought forth
in the Treaty of Versailles,
but this
but this;
This oratorical misleading of the broken-ones
this empty illusion of a presentation, borne
not from a suffering leading to true regeneration
but instead, a distractive short-cut into the Realms;
This counterfeit substance..
as if borne in power, as if.. as if.
.. But the realms.. they know
It is only those down here on earth, spirit
cloaked within the deceptive misgivings
of the flesh-- so aching to establish itself
apart from the necessary legwork needed
to humbly become a part of Stream's flow:
(borne, solely from the inner Wellspring-- deep
within the bowels of Love's True Ache)..
It is here.. on earth.. that you will find
the reward you seek.. oh wondrous orator,
oh magnificent 'smither' of fine words..
**Your podium, a whitewashed soapbox
floating upon nothing..**
--And therefore meaning nothing
within the Substance-Based parameters
of the Realms.
#
Mar 22, 2021
Mar 22, 2021 at 3:48 PM UTC
1379
His Mansion in the Pool
The Frog forsakes—
He rises on a Log
And statements makes—
His Auditors two Worlds
Deducting me—
The Orator of April
Is hoarse Today—
His Mittens at his Feet
No Hand hath he—
His eloquence a Bubble
As Fame should be—
Applaud him to discover
To your chagrin
Demosthenes has vanished
In Waters Green—
2.9k
Kerbala I weep bitterly still,
Thousands in numbers for a meagre few to ****
For the injustice meted out 1400 years ago,
To enforce allegiance and satisfy their ego
Kerbala I weep bitterly still,
For the innocent who had done no ill,
Where Hussain stood against injustice and oppression,
Against undue aggression.
Kerbala I weep bitterly still,
Tears of blood my eyes fill,
Where Hussain's seventy-two kinsmen were slain on the scorching sand,
Hardships and cruelties they were ready to withstand,
Denied food and water for three days,
Ready to die in Allah's ways.
Kerbala I weep bitterly still,
My tears continue to spill,
When I listen to the orator,
How Hussain's six month son was denied water,
Instead pierced to death with a three headed arrow,
Which a father from the neck had to withdraw.
How Hussain's brother's hands
were severed and he was killed because he took water from R.Euphrates in a *** for his niece,
A brother who emanated love and peace.
How they battered to death Hussain's eighteen year old son, an exact resemblance of Prophet Muhammed(SAW),
Prime in his youth,a great sorrow
Kerbala I weep bitterly still,
My tears continue to spill
How Hussain was slain,
On the scorching sand,
Without food and water,
With 999 wounds,blood splurting
out of all parts of his body, to be slaughtered,
Forty thousand army raining arrows at him from all directions,
Blood blurring his vision
He, Hussain alone, unable to move a limb,
A target to satisfy their whims
Some threw stones, some pierced spears and others wounded him with axes,
The leader kicked Hussain and tried to slaughter his neck with a blunt knife,
Not that way, you cannot take my life,
And Hussain said,"Let me prostrate before Allah and pray for forgiveness for my people,
Wounded and feeble,
With an inner strength Hussain heaved himself and gave the last Sajda(prostation),
The enemy severed off his head from his body without hesitation.
Hussain kept his promise to his grandfather to sacrifice his head for Islam,
That day the skies, earth and nature wept bitterly for Hussain(Alai Salam).
Who would not?
The tragedy of Kerbala would evoke deep grief even in the heedless.
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
when i'm drinking i always think
the whiskey bottle
to be in a predicament
of the bus stop;
i mean, waiting, for my
eager slurp (god i wish
i could insert an onomatopoeia
right now) -
i ate that body part and even
nozzled it, i mean
i stuck my nose in it
being ripe... you better have
sunday's news to let me forget;
i swear, performing oral
*** on women's genitalia
makes you into an orator...
or perhaps a gardener -
that skin fold sure as **** speaks!
well, better testimony than
abraham circumcising isaac
against holy ordained orders
not to; but then the cat and dog
doing overt-masturbation licking
the **** thing;
yes darling... pooch pooch ouch ooh
now chow ready for a pampering?
munch a moo choo cha cha wee wee?
yeah, get that slobbering *****
filler out of here;
oi! bring bang the blonde comb-over ferret!
i ain't doing the spider dangle
without it!
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 8:14 PM UTC
*Italic drumroll...
imperial cavalcade with Roman horns, eagle standards raised*;
♪ ♫♪♫ ♪♪♫♫♪♪♫♫♪♪♫♫♪
ALL HAIL !
Ye screen-fed sacrificial citizens, seething simpletons and volatile voters:
attend now, with republican fervor, tempered by democratic zeal, to the golden-tongued orator of our epoch, gallant guardian of American greatness, avatar of avarice, the Jeffersonian gentleman, anointed autocrat and Sultan of Swell, windswept Wazir of Wonderful, emissary of towering eminence in empire, The Anti H-Rod: Donald J. TRUMP !
(Plebeians look up from their circus-bread for a second—)
And may Our Sovereign Savior & Almighty God also bless his worthy opponent and adversary *HILLARY ("H-Rod")*
(Patricians murmur, nod; a few salute)
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 5:22 PM UTC
Orator,
fiction-teller,
great commander in chief;
So noble your quest of
Re-election,
Presenting pretty political poetry
But we don’t mind
Lie to me
As you lead me
Oh, noble politician,
Credibility only expected in consumer ability
Priorities
Great Chess Player
Moving pawns, perpetual playing
Limitless supply of sacrifices
Die for your country, he says,
That’s patriotism!
The most patriotic of them all
I shall,
hold down the fort
On my,
Noble quest of forming fictitious fantasies
American supremacy, idiocracy
Stand beside her, and guide her, through the night till she reaches he target on sight
Responsibility? Don’t be silly
Scapegoat culture is the reality
Get in line for the American Dream,
That’s it, fall in line,
On the horizon
Ill wait, I’ve got Verizon
Do you hear me now?
Hook me in, turn me off, drug me up and let me down
I’m numb anyway
Its all in the promotion
Mass manipulation, solicitation
Don’t worry we can fix you, quick fix, step right up
Too fat? Too fast? Too slow”
Throw these back – now your on a right track
Tune in-turn off- tranquilized
Text, tweet, technology
Whatever you do
Just
Don’t
Think (rise for the pledge)
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC
Shepard Leopard print not calligraphy double "L's" lively as llamas lily roll roots lull underwater dreams felt from the events of hypnotized by the words of the orator, an ores rating is the basis of the all purpose flowering behind the veil, human as satiated, red as sunsets lewd as an anagram of wed rings marry Saturn on this mourning of the death of time, rocks felt sediment may ties tan in the Sun pelts peeled layered in the wind steaming serpentine smokes coils in the sky Clouds the equipment of the buster Organs play louder than church hymns reigns power blood men straighten in their pews at the sound of the root of all evil the mouth of the whale begging for the message more "S's" in saliva drool without one of Oh now bow before the bow arc in the Know a Self flooded urge elevated surfaced by the pit of the concrete, open your abstract the path leopard prints in the mud escape the boar snarling winters Solar is the limit speed time for the Scarab dry enough for the role of matter being dense as ****** In no sense cures us from our aged protractor, human after all is how I robot rock.
I am earth breathing fire hearing wind moving water beneath my meat eating feet. I stare through the ghost riding I am Equine the warship of the Poised den at landings end I devour funnel cakes within the three circles, I merge the warmth and cool blending the reflections with its shadow commanding paddle cyclical backstroke the Frog's moment chosen amp powered transition form and fathom an alternate realm, I dropped a meteor on a puddle world displacing half of all livin; Lanced a Wasp's nest as a Dragoon steals an egg as a test.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
The artist strokes his canvas
His hues and tints of beauty
The orator of his creation
The perfect task of impression
Like a beam of sunlight
Rainbows illuminate
Glory and splendor appear
His vision is revelation
Mar 26, 2011
Mar 26, 2011 at 8:34 PM UTC
Kites float to the troposphere
Ozone stability unchained
Orator's manifestos have failed us
Latent content fools men
H-A-A-R-P
Distraction from The Real
Fractured and failing systems, **** off
Manufactured citizens
Gods of emergence survive
Jaded culture-heads walk to death
Faithful science suffocates
Juxtaposed on the annals of reason
Oceans reach the mountaintop, our last safe haven.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 3:34 PM UTC
pasty white ghosts haunt
the corpse blue cornfields of Iowa
whispering wisps of smoke
shimmering shadows of the past
setting the pace for the rat race
that is the 2016 U.S. Presidential Election
senators billionaires doctors
frauds liars fools
campaigning for selection in an
archaic and outdated
form of governance
witness the spectacle
the orgastic worship
of solipsistic oligarchs
bloated by their own
sycophantic rhetoric
it's just another form
of all-American
entertainment
each orator's charismatic adage
froths forth from a
throat like a grave
pragmatism throttles hope
as we stoke the fires of
self-indulgence and neglect
the fact that we acquiesced
as another deceiver stole votes
we're choking on placebo pills
every ballot cast is another act of apathy
escapism pleading vainly for a
savior to rescue our sick society but
these hands didn't evolve so we could
collect a representative to lead us
blindly into one fiasco after another
these fingers penned
humanity's symphonies and
these calloused palms have
toiled for years under an apathetic sun
we learned to make love
using our fingertips and
with these fists
we could chart a new path
but only if we raise them in
defiance
our only chance is leaderless resistance
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 12:05 AM UTC
“A demagogue, in the strict signification of the word, is a 'leader of the rabble'.” — James Fenimore Cooper, "On Demagogues"
a political leader who seeks support
by appealing to popular desires &
prejudices rather than by using rational argument;
A demagogue or rabble-rouser is a leader
in a democracy who gains popularity
by exploiting prejudice & ignorance
among the common people, whipping up the passions
of the crowd & shutting down reasoned deliberations;
rabble-rouser, agitator, political agitator,
soapbox orator, firebrand, fomenter, provocateur
"he was drawn into a circle of campus demagogues"
Only in ancient Greece and Rome
was it a leader or orator who espoused
the cause of the common people;
demagogues overturn established customs of political conduct,
or promise or threaten to do so;
demagogues have appeared in democracies
since ancient Athens. They exploit a fundamental
weakness in democracy: because ultimate power
is held by the people, it is possible for the people
to give that power to someone who appeals
to the lowest common denominator
of a large segment of the population;
demagogues usually advocate immediate,
forceful action to address a national crisis
while accusing moderate & thoughtful opponents
of weakness or disloyalty
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 7:44 PM UTC
"Democracy is the lesser of all evils."
Says the Liberal.
The Libertarian.
The Corinthian.
The Macedonian.
The Farrier.
The Squire.
The Stoic.
The Astronomer.
The Ornithologist.
The Eschatologist.
The Augur.
The Retiarius.
The Hoplite.
The Centurion.
The Governor.
The General.
The Senator.
The Orator.
The Assassin.
The Emperor.
The Ferryman.
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 8:54 PM UTC
**** seductive sensual serene super!
Open optimistic orbital original!
Mesmeric moral magnanimous mine!
Emotional exciting empath electric!
Obliging outstanding orator ohh ohh!
Natural naughty neat nice nourishing!
Excellent ****** effusive exceptional!
J.C. honey-tiger 28/05/2019
May 31, 2019
May 31, 2019 at 7:31 AM UTC
The man stood on a box
In the middle of the park,
When people walked by
The old boy would bark
“It’s in the Bible,” he cried.
And some people would ask
What is in the Bible, sir?”
Prepared to take him to task.
“Everything’s in there, friend!”
He answered with a smile
Feeling the people there
Would stay and listen a while.
“Well, that’s an easy answer!”
One of the onlookers said.
“You have left nothing out!”
The orator nodded his head.
“The Bible has answers for you
To any question you can say.
It will be your salvation, sir
No waiting until Judgment Day.
It tells you what to eat and then
Tells you how to choose a wife.
It tells you how to go to heaven
When you reach the end of life.”
The questioner replied, “Yes, sir,
And it tells of women made of salt,
And a fellow who walked on water
Another brought the sun to a halt.
It tells of a boat quite big enough
To have two each of every animal.
And people floating up to the sky.
Don’t you find these things incredible?”
“Not all,” the soapbox man said,
“God can do any holy thing at all.
He has made the planets, the sky,
The heavens and the waterfalls.
God knows everything and he is
Who speaks to you in your heart.”
The onlooker shook his head, said
“So, when does that stuff start?”
“What stuff, sir?” the orator asked.
“The part where God speaks to me.
I haven’t heard a word from God
And I have been listening, you see.
That would be a truly wondrous thing
For this God person to finally do.
But, if God speaks to all of us
Why the hell do we need you?
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
My lips on your lips,
Dainty feet gracing shoulders.
Tasting the divine.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC
You know what they say,
“It’s better to have loved and lost,
than never to have loved at all.”,
but when someone you love leaves you,
that saying feels like the farthest thing from the truth,
she’s less than a meter away from me,
only a sleeping cat separates us on our bed,
but in this moment,
we feel worlds apart,
and we’re both trying to keep our independence,
and neither one of us knows who will break first,
she’s leaving me,
and I can’t think of a more romantic place to leave someone,
we are in a house on a hill in Ubud,
a place so beautiful this could be a Fairy Tale,
but this is no fairy tale,
this is a day dream turned nightmare,
this is the exactly the type of situation,
that’s made me almost give up on love,
like,
why even give all our energy to a person,
when we know the person is just going to go away,
go away like every one before and after,
because everyone goes away,
she’s already gone away,
I felt her leave yesterday,
as she sat chatting to a friend on Messenger,
sometimes someone doesn’t have to say a thing to say “Goodbye”,
sometimes someone can leave you even when they are still in the same room,
she is still here but we both know she’s already gone,
she’s less than a meter away from me,
only a sleeping cat separates us on our bed,
but in this moment,
we feel worlds apart,
and I wonder where she’s headed,
she says back to Melbourne,
but part of me doesn’t believe her,
part of me believes she’s escaping back to Venus,
because she’s not from Melbourne,
and she’d only been there a week when I met her,
and we both know Venus is where she’s really from,
we both know there’s nothing for her in Melbourne,
nothing except for maybe a minimum wage job,
working the the same system she claims to reject,
nothing except a few childhood friends,
high on drugs ready to bring her down,
and I want to tell her all of this,
but she reads English better than she hears it,
so I’d rather write it all out for her,
so that she can take the time to read it,
because even though,
she stumbles with English a bit,
we both speak the language of Love perfectly,
and that is why I wrote her this,
and I want to tell her all of this,
but I’ve never been the best orator,
so I just write it all down because I’m a poet,
and think maybe I’ll send it to her later,
but not now,
because I love her too much to have her stay,
have you ever loved someone so much,
that you just wanted them to go away?
And that is why I say,
maybe I’ll just send it to her later,
but later,
never comes,
life is what happens,
while we are making plans,
there is no future,
there is no past,
there is only,
this exact moment right here,
here,
in this moment,
she’s less than a meter away from me,
only a sleeping cat separates us on our bed,
but we lay worlds apart,
and that is why when they say,
“It’s better to have loved and lost,
than never to have loved at all.”,
I say that saying feels like the farthest thing from the truth…
∆ Aaron La Lux ∆
author of the largest collection of poetry ever published
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 12:33 AM UTC
The coolest,
hippest thing about being
a poet
a writer
an orator
is the ability to invent
words
give them meaning
where no meaning previously
e x i s t e d
give a new word a definition
defined, wrote, spoke
Use them in
verses
sentences
speech
nouns
pronoun
adjective
verb
adverb
and
on
and
on
and
on
the flumbertwimbla (not to be confused with a flumbertwumbla...) was as quick witted and razhnaha as a beginkogojobalu but had none of the charm nor characteristics of the humbajuno. What it lacked in chuggakoocahoo it made up for with it's own take on ickshelllatah. True story.
Oct 2, 2011
Oct 2, 2011 at 10:28 AM UTC
I once wrote myself a poet.
I once claimed musing my medium
and creation complementary.
I failed in contemplation
and mistook my muse for a replenishing source of inspiration.
My fictitious claims clogged my metacarpels
with mismatched scraps of metaphysics
and mistakes written out and expounded without fault,
yet still incorrect in regards to truth.
I once wrote myself a poet.
Claiming creation was my destruction,
I failed to reminisce with blank pages
and remember our origin,
the original flawed poem posed in prose.
Words met the page before they came to mind,
ink like water,
my vessel was cracked
and I was spilt
before I recognized the filled binders stained,
before I recognized the broken seal leaking.
Emptying my head faster than I could move the pen,
I wrote myself a poet,
the lines were cramped with
messages left between,
I CLAIMED myself a poet,
and all creations were an extension of me.
My destruction was complete.
Flowing like fact,
I was held up by the people
I couldn't help to think of
with the break of every turning page.
Inspiration but desperation to
refill a tank of exhaustion
and minor miscalculation
when hesitation
became the transportation
for that dropping ink.
I once wrote myself a poet.
I once claimed myself a god,
destroying me to find a being
born from the pen
and suckling from a disembodied self
found at the fork of was
and have been,
some body got lost in translation,
the rest
was misplaced during the transition from wrote
to was, and back
to the road I traveled.
I wrote myself a poet,
became one
only to lose myself
to the title.
I rode my self,
a poet to an altar,
though during my final sacrifice
I faltered.
I wrote myself a poet.
I claimed myself creator.
I lost myself to show it,
skirting the opportunity
to prove myself orator,
and now I'm back to
reading between those lines
in hopes of finding
my self.
A poet.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 1:57 AM UTC
Hey, I knew you when you had frosted-tip hair
When you listened to The Smashing Pumpkins
When you were lazy and carefree
And you copied off of me.
Hey, I knew you when you aimlessly wandered the halls
looking for a vending machine and a quarter
When all you had was a backpack and angst
When your car had no bumper and chipped paint
Hey, I know you
Not as this sniveling, disaffected perfection-pusher
Not as some right-winged orator of damnation
Not as this devouring greedy pencil pusher on a pedestal
I want to go back and show you the new you
You, the coward.
What would the you of then think?
Sep 30, 2011
Sep 30, 2011 at 8:47 AM UTC
P
O
E
T
R
Y
Awakens the senses....
Captivates the eye with a unique flair, like a skilled artist on the stage-a great dancer, a supreme actor, an athletic acrobat, an experienced musician, an engaging orator, a gifted singer, a heavenly choir
Entices the nose to imagine the hint of various scents, soothing or disturbing, and often blends different aromas into peculiarity
Touches the heart, mind, soul and skin--when it is spot on, perhaps with shivers, or perhaps with warmth
Teases the tongue to taste the words, salty, sour or sweet, vaguely satisfying, sometimes mystifying
Pounds on the eardrum to listen to its beat, at times, offbeat, at times, in perfect rhythm
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 1:40 PM UTC
1.
It felt like crossing
all things cross, right?
2.
It has been many years since we have walked through that tunnel
and into this land
where the hands of spirits became the wings of ancestors over us
and the quiet inner gust became an orator of truth
Truthteller could you tell me again my name
They have given me so many on the northern journey,
disguised me to be one of the multiple
flickering pixels on a television screen
eyes darker than their own
but who has darker eyes
3.
She is the barefoot daughter of the Pachamama
womxn of many tongues
womxn whose tongue was not cut off
so you hear her sing when the sun comes up
and sway with the blades of grass
onward in the direction of the voices and the wind
and all the things that cry and laugh out loud
4.
They made you cross, too
and at the same time
But they made you forget
about the birds,
the wind,
your name- our name
and the alphabet
5.
silence is the alphabet used to speak truth
6.
They made you forget your name.
Ask them your name as you look up at the sky
cloudy or clear
as children lay silently next to demarcation lines
housed in steel bars
gloomy and lost
ask and listen
to be humbled by your name
7.
The spirits call again
can you hear them now?
back through the tunnel of innocence,
they whisper your name.
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 1:34 AM UTC