"polyglot" poems
Are migrants proud Australians?
Our nation based on immigration,
One polyglot meld of humanity,
To Australia show fidelity,
Our nation of peaceful tolerance,
People from Earth's shifting sands,
Living here in our Great Southern Land,
Deployment should not be our dance,
Nothing wrong with loyalty,
Patriotism our children's legacy,
---Great Southern Land,
All welcome to be Australians!
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 7:21 PM UTC
I’m a Polyglot Polymath, Microphone’s a Polygraph,
Manners of a Sociopath-Rhymin’ keeps me on the path,
Else I’d be hackin you up like a cannibal,
Pullin the Chianti out-serve you up like Hannibal,
Words heavier than Elephants invading cross the alps,
Under Armour over Body Armour-waistline fulla scalps,
From the Belt o’ the Celt o’ the Schizophrenic Sandman,
You’re triple teamed by -EC- Raps new Xmen.
I broke me chains,some say I went insane,
But it’s simple,all I went and did was grow a brain.
be the Bane of your life,while Mal plays Dark Knight,
A rhyme Super Villain with a verse of Dark Light,
The searchlights on-watch the cockroach scatter,
We speak Dark Matter while your brain gets battered,
batten down the screws-worldviews get skewed,
Mal and Sandman's Positively Mental Attitude.
It’s the original Irish OG rough rugged and ready,
Battling me is futile keep your hands steady,
I’m no pacifist,and if you take the ****
I’ll clap you with a fist like an obelisk,
That’s a grave warning,-global warming,
The Dragon of Eire ,skies look stormy…
Since cassettes and disks I’ve been spittin ****
That makes wannabee’s wanna slit their wrists,
The Sandman’s calling,come in and take a mauling,
Rappin since clappin one two and yes y’allin,
from New Aulins to saint Pauls my kin,
Are gathering for the quickenin,pulse races,air thickenin'
Highlander in a land cruiser,take your teeth out like a dentist
E.C’s BRUISER.
batten down the screws-worldviews get skewed,
by Mal and Sandmans Positively Mental Attitude.
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 1:36 PM UTC
I know how to say
"I love you" in
English and French,
and Spanish and Italian,
and Russian and Bulgarian,
and Arabic and Dothraki
and High Valyrian,
and Klingon,
and in any other language
you ask,
I know how to
write "I love you"
in Gallifreyan and
Tengwar,
I know how to make up
a billion different poems
about my love for you.
But still, it won't make you
love me back. I somehow
was never enough for you.
You keep me awake every night
wondering why you left
and I think it's high time
I started looking up
how to say "I don't hate you",
"I've moved on", "I don't miss you"
and "I am okay" in all these
languages in which
"I love you" didn't matter.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 12:37 PM UTC
Pickled on quixotic tonics
he strives for a polyglot's poise,
balancing plaster peas
at the end of his tippler's tongue.
But the rough-surfaced pearls prickle
his too-ticklish bed of pink,
and gulped down, he administers
only a lessoned indigestion.
Flipping the flop, he prevaricates
himself into the tight-fit corners
of a parallelogram traced
by unsolemn processionals
bedecked in platitudinous finery.
Their porous smirks drip sticky
reminders of a plethora
of previously pernicious exercises
and dampen his fluffy ambition,
prodding procrastinations until
his drunken promise dries out
to become a posthumous wish.
Apr 7, 2010
Apr 7, 2010 at 5:03 PM UTC
When youth was moth, love flowed over us in prismatic waves—systems of romance.
Then came the phoenix of your heart, and everything was a ceiling. I moved clockwise past infinite shadow and onto your wall.
Sorry to wake you. [...] I forgot to tell you something. [...] I'm like the sun or perhaps the moon. And there are times when I know I'll make you sad.
Distant polyglot in its timbres, its psychological profile, and its pulse, it could not sound less like a soundtrack for a search. More like a Middle Eastern funeral.
Stemmed from a shared anxiety over self-definition in an indefinite world, and each of them has searched for answers in the amorphous space between where “you” end and “I” begin.
By turns, august and sweet—revealed a complex stillness, a set of detached passions attempting to rebuild themselves, a desensitized state searching for soul.
I have loved you into oblivion and now move into thin air. Please remember me as a time of day. As long as you can hold your breath, we'll always be together.
Jun 18, 2022
Jun 18, 2022 at 12:30 PM UTC
With a shift inkling, concepts dropped
and I was all of my true name.
I etched in moving water.
I streamed me--water frozen,
water falling, water drifting
as fog, as cloud, I was.
Mini singular
H2O.
My two hydrogen rabbit ears
danced five different ways,
and oxygen laughed and sang
(what a team!)
Sundried, as the clock struck noon,
I found my feet and I stood.
I built myself of basaltic rock.
Tower of Babel--polyglot soundings
in cyclic revision spoke intelligence,
spirals I was
Inverted, I apt dived down.
In transition, I grew rounded
hollowing.
I inverted. I apt dived down
and in my transitions,
I grew rounded and hollowing.
I was Earth. I was Center.
Was Sun at Earth Center
where timeless pinpoint passages
snatched me home again.
O, boundlessness.
I have no name.
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 5:51 PM UTC
Come, Friend.
I'll show you around the house and tell you all the trivial things that remind me of her.
(Here in the hallway)
These stacked, empty shoeboxes,
That I now keep my poems in,
These bare walls that I suppose,
She could make a better use of,
(In the living room)
This monochrome vintage tv,
That she'd have thrown out,
My books lying haphazardly on the table,
That she'd have cleared up,
My guitar that hasn't been restrung for 7 months,
The pictures of Dutch tulip fields,
The multilingual posters on the wall behind the TV,
Like a pretentious polyglot,
(Now,the kitchen)
And this bitter fragrance of tea leaves,
This divine scent of cardamom,
Rising from a hot cup of tea,
The rattle of kettles,
These dying rose petals,
Parmesan and cheddar,
The cheesier the better,
All of that pickled food,
According to my mood,
The battle of spices,
Those gingerbread slices,
Everything-
Everything reminds me of her.
"She's but a figment of your imagination,friend."
She's but a figment of my imagination, friend?
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 6:32 AM UTC
They swarm around their polyglot guide
trying to catch her savoured words
to match her stories with their myths
and the histories of Old England.
Here painted living statues pose
frozen til some money's paid
like mercenary seaside slot machines.
No place for the camera shy
no space for passers-by
no peace for older eyes
who seek their place in winter's light.
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 6:55 AM UTC
This is the struggle, the writings in my mind every night.
The *"cannot ******* sleep".*
This is the "get to know u better my dear Borderline".
This is the genius, the craziness.
This is my self-therapy. The "I don’t wanna take my meds and I need to if I wanna be normal"
This is me typing, and talking in english only so I don’t have to listen to my self-thougts in spanish telling me ****
"Isto me está a falar e escrever em Português, só para não ter que ouvir a minha mente conversando comigo em Inglês e Espanhol dizendo coisas desagradáveis"
This is the Linguist, the Polyglot. This is the Mexican, the German, the citizen of Oceania.
The suicidal. The teaser. The lover. The wife. The translator. The ****** The poet. The soon-to-be-a lawyer.
This is the world looked through the eyes of a Borderline patient.
Random Thoughts. Just to keep my mind occupied, avoiding suicide, again, not because I don’t want to live in this beautiful earth again, but just to ******* shout out the voice inside my mind.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 5:39 PM UTC
In youth,
Love expressed is mother tongue,
But in age wise love is polyglot.
Words of youthful love are hot,
While in age intricate talk ensues.
Youthful love does natures bidding,
But in age love is free to love itself,
And thus be one shared by two.
Aug 29, 2010
Aug 29, 2010 at 12:23 PM UTC
born was this day -
the king of the kings
the monarch of the south
the lord of the war elephants
the nightmare of the enemies
the upholder of the righteousness
the fervent patriot of the nation
established had he -
the mightiest empire of the renaissance
the kingdoms that don’t know dearth
the cities with surplus rubies and diamonds
the villages with flourishing greenery and jubilance
the sites with fascinating monuments
the territories with impenetrable borders
known was he as -
the ambidextrous sword fighter
the indomitable malla wrestler
the maven of the fine arts
the polyglot patron of the five languages
the prudent administrator and strategist
the paragon of an ideal ruler
been had he –
the hope of the people
the savior of the Hindu culture
the beacon among his contemporaries
the generous and the inclusive king
the valiant frontline military general
the esteemed scholar and poet
ended had he –
the atrocities on the peasants
the societal repression on the women
the ludicrous taxes on the residents
the brutal conquests of the invaders
the pernicious rituals in the communities
the chaos and disunity among the kingdoms
left has he -
the fear in the evil
the legacy of his deeds
the stories of his glorious reign
the prolific heritage sites to the people
the spectacular literary upsurge
the inspiration for the united India
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 1:54 AM UTC
You, like Nabokov, are also a polyglot!
An intellectual with French roots, and how nice
That “Pozner’ programme’s again truly lot,
And which year you’ve been on the screen with us.
You’re as an ideal for ladies:
You’re Alain Delon’s Russian pattern.
Your youth’s fuse can’t be extinguished nowadays.
And the audience welcomes in you a hero then!
If only Nabokov were living!
Then you would play chess together with him,
And in welcome and again coming spring,
You would collect butterflies just for him!
But the epoch’s consciences are passing away
In silence—who’s the next, we don’t know, will leave,
It looks as if we were in war every day,
Unfortunately, we’re losing someone coming to grief.
How many outstanding people have died,
How few outstanding people have remained,
So prosper to the envious out of spite,
Live long—bringing us happiness being great.
{04.03.2020}
Владимиру Владимировичу Познеру
Вы – как Набоков: тоже полиглот!
Интеллигент с французскими корнями.
Как хорошо, что Вы (который год!)
В Программе «Познер» на экране - с нами!
Для многих женщин Вы как идеал:
Ален Делон российского покроя!
Неугасим в Вас юности запал,
И зритель в Вас приветствует Героя!
Эх, если бы Набоков был живой!
Вы с ним тогда бы в шахматы сыграли!
И вместе – наступающей весной –
Ему бы новых бабочек собрали!
Но совести Эпохи в тишине
Уходят. И кто следующий – не знаем…
Мы каждый день как будто на войне:
Кого-то, к сожалению, теряем:
Так много выдающихся ушло,
Так мало выдающихся осталось.
Так здравствуйте завистникам на зло!
Живите долго – в этом наша радость!
{04.03.2020}
Translator - I. Toporov
May 10, 2020
May 10, 2020 at 11:27 AM UTC
Six tongues in my mouth
Six minds in my mind
Six knives in my back
Six bullets.
Each tongue wants its turn
Each mind wants its way
Each knife wants a hand
To pull it.
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 5:06 PM UTC
I.
As you survey this marble hall
And cast your eye around the wall,
Consider the polyglot graffiti.
I personally find them far from pretty.
- That last line could have been more spectacular
Had I indulged in the vernacular,
But I thought it best, at this seat(!) of learning
to give my phrase a more modest turning.
II.
We would sit here and read with pride
the words we’d written up inside,
and when the caretaker rubbed them out,
we didn’t scream, we didn’t shout,
but knuckled down like Oxford men
to write graffiti up again.
So now the Taylor’s rarest, if not best,
this manuscript’s its only palimpsest.
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 12:53 PM UTC
so here's some things about me,
there's nothing special you see.
really but i don't know why,
i judge when one never lie.
what i find it so amusing,
is some music that's rocking.
love to play the piano,
freaked when playing solo.
you can say i'm a polyglot,
though some words i forgot.
i am terrified of insects,
or any matter in that acts.
oh don't you just love foods,
never fail to cheer my moods.
guess that's a wrap,
sorry if i left any gap.
say if you want to talk,
drop them in my inbox.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 4:34 PM UTC
Six tongues in my mouth
Six minds in my mind
Six knives in my back
Six bullets.
Each tongue wants its turn
Each mind wants its way
Each knife wants a hand
To pull it.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 4:21 PM UTC
It's a matter of taste in one
in several it's an art
funny don't you think
to be a silly little polyglot
I struggle with one
so why do I torture myself with more
learning slowly but surely
becoming a naughty little polyglot
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
Said an aging linguist named Flynn,
"I hardly know how to begin.
The words I once used
Now make me confused;
I forget which language they're in."
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 10:06 PM UTC
I write poetry, least that’s my aim;
enjoy the challenge: think it a game.
Although some follow rigid rules
I tend to think that’s for fools,
and break them as and when it suits.
This is one of the literary pursuits
which I enjoy, for it suits me well,
as fans of mine will often tell.
Others of a different persausion find,
I’m possessed of a deviant mind.
When a phrase or a single word
I’ve used, is seemingly absurd -
perceived within my poetic lines,
you should take note of subtle signs,
for you’ll find my intent oft changes direction.
It's best you read my words with circumspection;
knowing all may not be as it first appears,
when perceived rationale ostensibly disappears.
When this leaves the reader wondering “What?”
Further reading suggests that what they’ve got
are random meanderings of a Polyglot,
or a deviant wordsmith, like as not!
But it’s my way as a perverse Poet,
possessing some acumen, and subtle wit,
who uses allusive methods to lead
and delude, those who blindly read
each word as though twas cast in stone!
Be aware, every word used, I hone
keenly to achieve my desired effect!
Being critical of all the words I select,
is vital that each one fulfills my aim.
Being pernickety, is to me, a game
that fulfills a purpose. By this exercise
I achieve satisfaction, and can fantasize
about reactions I might possibly receive!
Ergo!! My purpose, is simply to deceive!
Rhymer. July 10th, 2018.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 2:20 PM UTC