"persuasions" poems
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
Clothe yourself in the full armor of God
and be able to withstand the Devil’s schemes;
know that he’s only the father of lies,
looking to destroy your earthly dreams.
Cover yourself with Christ’s Breastplate
of Righteousness and protect your torn heart;
your essence has been purchased for His Kingdom,
meaning that you’re meant… to be set apart.
Gird your waist with the Belt of Truth
and stand firm with integrity and honesty;
don’t allow your flesh’s nature to interfere
with conditions that you need observe and see.
Shod your feet with the Gospel’s peace;
keep from searching for earthly trouble;
instead congregate with the Body of Christ
and focus on your faith becoming redoubled.
The ongoing battle is not with flesh and blood;
wield Faith’s Shield to quench life’s fiery darts.
Remember that the wiles of Satan are limited!
So outmaneuver him with your spiritual smarts.
Put on your Helmet of Salvation,
for the battles are within one’s mind.
Allow the Divine knowledge of The Word
to resonate with your spirit and find…
yourself continually praying in the spirit
and with understanding on all occasions.
Be alert to His transformational messages,
for upholding Godly principles and persuasions.
Resist the Devil now and he will flee;
endeavor to thwart the enemy’s attack;
be strong in the Lord with power of His might;
promises of victory have been already stacked.
For we don’t wage war with human methods and plans.
We use mighty weapons to knock down evil strongholds
and breakdown every proud argument that keeps people
from knowing God… as His Kingdom, continues to unfold.
.
.
.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Eph 2:2, 6:10-20; 1 Thes 5:5-8; Joel 2:12-13; Rom 4:5;
Jam 4:7; 2 Cor 10:3-5
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.amazon.com/Reaching-Towards-His-Unbounded-Glory/dp/1419650513/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie;=UTF8&qid;=1388058560&sr;=1-1&keywords;=reaching+towards+his+unbounded+glory
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2013, All rights reserved.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
Buildings for the most part are boxes square.
But Pentecost circles and spirals,
they turn and burn wild.
Of those who would tame
and make comprehensible any fire--
apt tongues have gone titch titch
and beautiful catch 'til words and music
and parlor diplomacies fortify
much which is untrue.
Fear has no finish, even in our dying.
The path is a cliff edge.
Let us turn, un-adult-like, and strip ourselves
of civilized persuasions. Usher
Earth's children into primordial worlds.
Water shall love and receive us, as it always has.
The naked ground will speak up,
into our touching feet.
Listen to the tongues of the wind.
Unhinge the body, which is you.
Let all creation fly.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 5:11 AM UTC
*Hungered for a taste
of your elixir's essence,
drunken inhalations
of your poetry
a splendiferous whirl
of time & space 'tween
darkly scented moons
and sun's adoration,
blithe starry nights
amidst meditative new
dawn's effervesce,
spirited of the heart,
gleaned in the soul,
yearnings of another
chapter's paradise
universal experiences
etched of hourglass sand,
written upon endlessly
chimerical verses
wildflower gardens drenched
of dandelion's plum wine
swooning under a
hypnotic scripted spell,
intoxicating power
of unchained symphonies
dancing amongst skies'
released euphoria
resonating in a song's
reprised melodies,
breathlessness of delirium's
celestial pauses
in vaporous breezes'
unfurling undulation,
captivated by rhythmic
destiny reverberating in
loins' pleasurable calling
quenched of sacred
offering's quell
transcending earthly
persuasions' rhyme,
let me lick the nectar from
your poesy's insatiable lips,
sweet mercy's healing
captured in rapturous
surrender's reawakening ~*
*Je veux que vous tous,
tu me manques*
Ce que vous manquez de moi?
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 12:05 AM UTC
They line the streets
And on every corner
One "ailment" or the other
A family, sometimes brother and sister.
Crying in a song
Singing with one voice
All covered up in fake injuries
Lamenting about past glories
They line the streets
Crowding every corner
Always a bother
Clinging to our knees
In their deliberately torn dresses
Keep them away from us
Stop them from touching us
With their deceptive illusions
Appealing to our emotions
With empathetic persuasions
And now our money is gone.
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 6:28 AM UTC
Disturbing Behavior
disturbing behavior, is what you'll see from me,
disturbing behavior, is what you'll get from me,
I have only one thing, on this troubled mind,
what next disturbing thing, can this freak show find
obnoxious revealing, of my inner faults and fears,
gentle concealing, of my blow gun darts and spears,
telling you one thing, when I'm meaning something else,
hoping I conceal the truth, releasing my magic spells
cause I am so caught up in me, its all about my wants,
hiding behind my fears, showing artificial fronts
revolting persuasions, is what I try to employ,
persistent evasions, from the truths my ploy,
never giving straight answers, to any questions asked,
have to keep my feelings, yes my fears stay masked
disturbing behavior, is what I'm all about you see,
disturbing behavior, is what you'll always get from me,
there's just one thing, on this troubled mind,
calculating the next disturbing thing in this hollow mind
cause I am so caught up in me, its all about my wants,
hiding behind my fears, showing artificial fronts
David Nelson aka Gomer Lepoet
New song lyrics, get me to the recording booth quickly
Mar 28, 2010
Mar 28, 2010 at 10:00 PM UTC
Your bedroom is always so dark, an empty void.
I could really use this line as a metaphor to describe my heart, but I won't.
I'm not fond of metaphors to tell you the truth, and you never understand them anyway.
Your bedroom is always so dark, but not quite pitch black.
There's an artificial cerulean glow coming from your clock's display, which is a tad large for my taste.
And to be honest, it irritates me some, I like the red alarms quite more.
Your bedroom has a very plain bed, where we like to snuggle.
I curl up with you to intensify my persuasions - it's no secret - and I'm okay with it for now.
I'm usually the spoon and you're the noodle, but we both agree that the pretzel is that much more amazing.
Your bedroom has a very plain bed, on which we amaze each other.
The single blanket we lay under, sometimes over, is covered in me, because of you.
I always laugh a little, and think that you sleep with me every night, even when I'm not in your room.
Dec 10, 2010
Dec 10, 2010 at 9:54 AM UTC
If the quick spirits in your eye
Now languish, and anon must die;
If every sweet, and every grace
Must fly from that forsaken face;
Then, Celia, let us reap our joys,
Ere Time such goodly fruit destroys.
Or if that golden fleece must grow
Forever, free from agèd snow;
If those bright suns must know no shade,
Nor your fresh beauties ever fade;
Then fear not, Celia, to bestow
What, still being gathered, still must grow.
Thus, either Time his sickle brings
In vain, or else in vain his wings.
2.6k
***Fell heal over heads
in love with a poet,
he's mostly a rhyme schemer
likes Poe and his dark Raven,
in actuality, I'd fancy him more if
he were like Pablo Neruda, but I digress
I'm much accurately fashioned after Emily Dickinson
chasing heaven's June bugs toing and froing,
we'd meet at a perfectly superfluous coffee shop
he'll be murmuring elegiac pentameter
I'm simply looking to devour precious words,
we'd argue about abstract destinations,
straight forward persuasions and
premonitions of wayward ink allusions,
some days I want to claw mine own eyes out
amid all that nonsensical alliteration
others, I want to rip out embellishments
of his black heart's magnification,
he mutters tumult under his breath,
states he's abundantly sickly tired of all my
fanatical froufroutant flourished fantasies,
albeit, we're mild mannered artistes
of overstatement and simplification
thus, we continue laying it on thickly
I, with my hyperbolic cuppa tea and honey,
he's all brass tacks, no nonsense black coffee
ultimately, we reservedly seek gratification,
envisioning who functionally makes it first
to a finished line of manifestations's publication,
in eternity's poetic intentions and beyond***
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 9:14 AM UTC
My response to you has always been focused.
This has gladly not been over looked by you.
I have become thoughtlessly biddable and amenable for you, especially in the morning light.
I am consenting, compelled yet not obliged ..........
You have discovered I am nothing but a girl from a circus.
I never tried to hide it. You weren't looking before.
Although I am a fan of amusements, fetes and even frolics, I do refrain from favoring all tricks.
My indulgence in foolery is a sport I plan to employ for a while yet.
Do I care for you to join me and see if I can defy your desire for extracurricular activities, as well as being your carer?
Is this a task a clown would pretend was a harmless challenge.
Perhaps not, perhaps so.
My roots are raw and loyal to the art of play.
I need you to know this and hold it.
A Spanish fly will not be able to satisfy my ears alone?
Sincerity can be a sharp business sometimes.
Obedience to attachment brings around a credulous familiarity thus a dependency
It could easily keep me awake to stare at many moons
It hasn't.
You have seen me stumble and look at you gingerly more than once now
You are not even delicate but you can be shrewd even when you struggle with expectation.
There is a soberness about your beauty I find pleasingly magnetic.
When you leave me alone without your mighty graze
I without question appreciate and yearn for your persuasions and rough tenderness.
Your actions maybe more savory in the afternoons
compared with your visits to my buoyant dreams but you do kindly hold open doors.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 2:21 PM UTC
There is something about the way a feather hits the ground that sounds surprisingly similar to glass breaking and there are so many things I need to tell you but the words all dance in my head behind a mental block and they swirl with songs about broken boughs and fallen cradles and realizing this hits me harder than the day you realize that Ring Around The Rosie is about the Black Plague (I'm sorry for ever telling you that you were the childhood innocence I always wanted) but I suppose nothing can ever be as pure as a pair of turtle doves and I always imagined myself as a pigeon cooing at your feet while you sprinkle your affection like bread crumbs — always plentiful but always in your control — and I am always cooing, cooing for you, cooing even if you wrung my neck like your hands when you are nervous and you are always clipping my wings with those persuasions to keep me around and incapable of flying away or even imagining a home anywhere unless it is perched on either of your broad shoulders and I accept that; I have never been a songbird with anything lovely to croon about and while smoothing out my feathers I know why the caged birds sings and it's because all the birds that cry get their necks broken.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC
A yellowing leaf,
Meditating on
never ending "AUM",
the boom created by
mountain winds
incessantly blow,
happily hallucinates
a world altogether new
somewhere, not ever known.
Persuasions of a breeze,
with the caressing words of a Guru
makes it gently let go the branch
and bravely claim freedom
from the grief bequeathed for life,
a pain, constant reminder
of transience of life--
From the low hanging branch
of a fig tree on a wintry hill,
the leaf somersaults to a valley below
painted in psychedelic colors,
a territory unknown
It's
falling
falling
falling
to
what it thought
a
sea
of
o b l i v i o n
But
in amazement find, the sea is all-knowing
absolute--------consciousness------------bliss
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 11:34 AM UTC
Her supple and shapely silhouette rests submissively
as the luster upon the soft satin sheets arouses
sensual images of salaciousness beneath the sheen surface
My empty yet enduring eyes slowly engage the darkness
eager to embark upon the elusive lines energizing the elation
as a sojourning moon entices her to endear
Her excelling exuberance... exploited on exhalation
exposing her explicitly; exemplifying the excerpt
of an exonerated experience as the moonlight expires
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 2:33 AM UTC
In a cold world that fell to the persuasions of a crown
Their lights went out aside the other way
Feeling a primal wish of renown
They looked up into the sky
To find a brighter day
It was said that they pulled a string along the ages
Dipped cautiously into the stars above
Slipped open the locks on cages
Filled everything that could be felt inside
With love
A drift of a thousand years had cursed them with a fate
Bitten into everything they had become
Yet when filled with love’s update
The sweetest glances filled their hearts
And they succumbed
Constrained like trees they waited, bending in the wind
Truthfully their hearts never bowed
Into the fields they were born once again
Tall and straight, free and proud
Released were they
From the crown
Nov 19, 2010
Nov 19, 2010 at 4:14 AM UTC
I’m in love with the black leather lily
Sequin rose: she was looking so good
That rock’n’roll woman
Singing on a countryside stage
Doused in pink and blue light
I’m once bitten
But twice aggressive
I’m hungry and I’m craving
I don’t have a record
Of either the rock’n’roll
Or cell block persuasions
But I’ll be doing my time
Somewhere soon
Love bites on my neck
Imaginary and sensual
I know what I want
And I know how to get it
But I can’t seem to kick myself off
And there’s no one who clicks
And there’s no one who would meet
My tongue with their tongue
Let alone my voice, with their notes
I’m looking for something
I wouldn’t call it rare
But I’m questioning the scarcity
I want something stimulating
Intellectually and sexually
By the look in your eye
So clueless and vacant
I know that I’m not going to find it
Any time soon
There’s a feeling that I’m chasing
The humming and the strumming
Of a sanctified guitar
And the lips of a poet
Which aren’t mine
It’s electric and eclectic
A bohemian mind
But I’m stuck in suburbia
Lipstick swatches
On the back of my hand
A trio of matte hues
But the one I wear
With a virginal kiss
The colour’s called
Girl next door
But I haven’t been
The girl next door for a while now
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 3:32 AM UTC
---
in the
caverns
of my heart
darker
are the
persuasions
of mystery
toiling upwards
moist candle
in my
feeble hand
barely perceived
stalagtites
and
stalagmites
loom like
the open maw
of dragons
*breathing
steam*
soulsurvivor
(c) 5/24/2015
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 4:28 AM UTC
"Let me do it for the many worlds I simultaneously exist
as birds and bees, beasts of pray, majestic tree or tiny organism
human beings of diverse persuasions , male , female, inhabiting
in parallel time lines, sinner and saint seeking salvation together"
He delves deep in the heart of blue, fathomless, abyss, a country new
where meanings differ, voices are petering to the valley of silence.
The rivers are silver bands, mountain peaks soft pillows,
the clouds sheets fresh and crisp, spread gently over
the undulating water bed of seas, so inviting, soporific,
fire lovingly ripens the fruits of temptation that hangs from branches,
drink the bubbly white wine of rain pouring in to your cup,
breezes are nice silk, towels to dry one softly
after sweating too much, when ends the frenzied search
through the mazes, for each other, in the play ground of
wolves and panthers, friendly beyond belief.
Day and night, one comes to know are made from the same cloth,
wearing a day easy is difficult as evening comes closer,
it gets soiled, however careful one is, needs to stuff it in a container
the dark sea, tame like a bucketful of water, it takes so long to clean.
Morning, time to wear the new dress, embark on a new day again
we are men and women here, creatures of circumstances, in disguises
don't ever pretend there is a world real, and you exist here just for fun
like a fish coming up for air, now he surfaces with a sly happy smile.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC
kind blue water, turning reluctantly black
by dark night's persuasions,
fallen yellow moon melt in to it
embracing swiftly changing waves,
curious fish, swimming up to it
from depths hoping to get a bit of moon splash,
drama of life,continues, changing players
moment after moment...
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 8:43 PM UTC
This moon pulls,
it tugs at my strings,
it convinces my heart
to break free of its cage
because these bones contain.
Its a promise,
a romantic persuasion,
a new idea,
it excites my heart,
makes it want to join
in the happy jubilee
of the moon and its connection to me.
My heart cant fly,
if it escaped it would shatter,
its slivers scattered across the earth.
sure,
it would cause new life to grow
where the pieces had fallen
but I would be left empty,
with a broken cage,
with worn out strings,
with nothing left for me,
so ill keep it contained,
until the next moon sings,
to see what this next moon brings.
I'll keep the moons joy to me
for fear of its manipulation
of my hearts deepest persuasions.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 10:38 PM UTC
I look into the mirror.
What have I done?
Swayed by subtle persuasions
Of my founding fathers;
I've allowed them to shape me
Into some distorted replica
Of everyone else.
I am an American girl.
A mirror image
Of the ideal human being
Blankly returns my gaze.
I am an American girl.
I am growing her long hair,
I am painting her face,
I am grinning her shiny-peach-juice smile.
"Lovely, lovely, lovely," I whisper.
I am an American girl.
Nothing but a confined chameleon,
Resting on a tree branch constructed of
Magazines,
9-o-clock television,
And reality shows.
I know reality,
Or at least I used to.
I am an American girl
Longing to wake
From the American dream.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 8:31 PM UTC
Straddled by a luscious peach
encased in a robust pelvic girdle embrace
the eye dances a slow sensual waltz
step by step reasoning the gossamer finery of petals
balancing in the beauty unsure
of what it really means.
Therein lies the misstery
and kisstory
of sensual persuasions drawn delicately
from an angular birds eye view
of the black iris beauty
incandescently glowing welcome.
How did the artist get her work
drawn so accurately
but from a mirror reflection
posing herself, lights shining
and aroused at the pearl like petals
opening and closing
at every stroke
of a hard brush and bristle.
Well done my beauty.
You have defied my aesthetic thinking
into visual poetic explaining.
Well done
Author Notes
"Black Iris" - by Georgina O Keefe.
The way this delicate Iris is drawn it immediately takes me into wondering how it got its lights and shadows and rich purple-black heads with such clarity. Were there lights reflecting off walls, candlelight dinners and sparkling wines beside the painting? As art it is outstanding, but as a perception it draws me into the lighter side of understanding it.
Most enjoyable trying to gauge its deeper meanings.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
I have extricated foot from mouth on various occasions
Letting fly with all my thoughts on folk and their persuasions
Brain and mouth aren't both in gear when I speak before I think
It sometimes comes out sounding like I've just had a good stiff drink
I sometimes speak without a thought of those who I may hurt
I've been told to reel it in because I can be curt
I promise I will do my best, but, only time will see
I'll make sure that the one I roast...is not in back of me!
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 7:21 AM UTC
Getting lost in your contradictions
In a play of your persuasions
Your endless ammunitions
Such strong piercing penetrations
Detailed in your enumerations
Has become my new addiction
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 10:18 PM UTC
Who's to tell us if this is even right,
we're all so tired but refuse to give up the fight. Why are we all suffering for what we want most, causing our bodies to bleed but never giving up hope.
We all yearn for this unattainable thing we call love.
Does anyone really have it?
Or are we all just grasping at false persuasions that constantly evade the real truth of the whole concept.
Has it ever really existed?
Who's to say what it really is?
After all, it's just a feeling, an empty emotion invented by man.
It used to be pure, love used to be true,
before society got ahold of it and turned it against us.
So we turn our backs on it,
afraid of what it can do with the power we gave it.
And we try to harness it for ourselves,
the power we had to love.
Using and taking all we can get for selfish purposes,
leaving none for the rest.
But we all failed, no one knows how to love.
Not how God wanted us to love.
We toss it around, like money exchanged through countless unclean hands
until we can no longer recognize it.
Hard to tell if it's true or fake,
and I've already made that mistake.
We're all going down unless we can learn to forget how we were raised and grow to accept better days.
Because we can no longer trust genuality, everything is always too good to be true,
even when you have what's best for you.
We feel the need to trade it in and update to the latest trend.
Everyone is always linked in,
growing up wired but still not caring for our neighbors or friends.
We never find ourselves worthy to lend a hand, thinking its below us.
Well I think it's time He showed us how it all will end.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 11:28 PM UTC
~
Towards the tree line
I stare towards the tree line,
misshapen and abstract on my eyes
Fading in autumn’s chill and leafless
emptiness that I still cannot see
Oh it is there, screaming at me,
waving in the wind, calling in birdsong
But my eyes travel more…
a distance well beyond any footpath I’ve taken
Shelved on the high land vistas
now filled with charcoal persuasions
So very far, miles on scaled dotted lines,
asphalt tearing at my soles, untied laces drag
Still I gaze, following my heart into loneliness
Reaching for but a hint of a smile,
a fix-all for that broken heart,
a mosaic sponge to catch your tears…I find none
Tossing a stone, it bounces on fielded diaries,
words of pain scribbled before even a thought
Collections of wishes in a four leaf clover pockets,
brushed of life’s unfairness
If only I could hold you,
safely beneath that frown,
gently with the touch of every meaning,
building a wall to turn back the sorrow
Ivy covered in green temptations
breathing of trust and love,
lingering at locked doors to secure peace
And yet, I can only stare towards the tree line…blind and worthless
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 8:05 PM UTC