"quia" poems
Dear Heart, I think the young impassioned priest
When first he takes from out the hidden shrine
His God imprisoned in the Eucharist,
And eats the bread, and drinks the dreadful wine,
Feels not such awful wonder as I felt
When first my smitten eyes beat full on thee,
And all night long before thy feet I knelt
Till thou wert wearied of Idolatry.
Ah! hadst thou liked me less and loved me more,
Through all those summer days of joy and rain,
I had not now been sorrow’s heritor,
Or stood a lackey in the House of Pain.
Yet, though remorse, youth’s white-faced seneschal,
Tread on my heels with all his retinue,
I am most glad I loved thee—think of all
The suns that go to make one speedwell blue!
3.1k
A Lone Walker nowe Ah!
Intae Theis Murky Naycht
‘Yont Whin-Rock menacin’,
Ewry Wound bygane an’ the Scar
Freish Bluid o’ mine fuelin’,
Lang, lang, IT! the Blacklyn Howr,
Unfathomable, Unearthly,
Verra Guid Fyre wearin’,
Burnan Hye! Gore o’ mine
Awa, awa, IT owre spilled!
Soil o’ Alabaster gravin’,
An’ abön, Great Orrah! a Presence yirr,
Near-hand ay flashin’,
Rumblin’, guid tremblin’,
Lyke a Rhodium-Demon Hyear
Unco! stick-an-stowe towerin’,
An’ a Mirror-Vision ay broo!
O’ Red Gore fuil an’ pruid!
Great Rowth ragin’!
Human nae, nae IT laanger!
Heyne intae Theis Skye-Mirror,
Image o’ mine! nae, nae IT laanger!
Ma Rubye Brooch Micht, och!
Stylle haiwin',
An' wae Veins o’ Deep Lowe imbued,
Ma ain stylle! Glamis’ Orrah! Dearest!
Athwart ma Solitarye Gait
Ays a Storm-Blast fallin’,
An’ wnto me! wnto me noo, IT!
O’er an’ o’er! Carham’s Scyld-Hel Orrah!
Stylle Theis Dangerus! Verra Dangerus, IT!
Highlan’ Thwndir-Rode o’ mine
Intae Theis Guid Kintra whooshin’,
An’ the nae ****** Cauld Landis Micht,
Swaird-Wounded, stylle Ironclad Ah!
Fore’er unco! wi’in Oun Hye Fyre
Thro’ nae croud strollin’,
Ays yf frae Hye Þunor His-sel
The Lone War-Whisper Weel-Gaun!
Wae Thae Verra Woirds o’ Battle-Angyr
Lewdlie! Theis Specular Bluish Fyre o’ mine!
Thus Thwndir-Taukin’:
NUNC IN HOC SIGNO VINCES
QUIA FOCUS TEMPESTATIS MODO EST TIBI
ET VEXILLA FULMINIS PRODEUNT UNIVERSI
IN FERRO CAERULEO SANGUINEQUE
AD TE PICTORUM NOCTE TETRA
ET IN SPECULO RESULTANTE FORMA
THOR GOTHORUM UBI DESCENDET LAETO
AB ULTIMA GLITNIR MAGNO MALLEO
DEUS FLAVUS QUI ALTO FERRO SECURIQUE
TONITRUO INDIGNAM VIAM MALEDIXIT
FULMINIS IGITUR TETRA UMBRA TUA
ALTA FLAMMA CALIGINEA VEXILLAQUE
SUPREMO IGNE OVERMAN ULTOR.
Jan 23, 2021
Jan 23, 2021 at 6:54 AM UTC
lɑːˈ(d)ʒɛs/ noun
magnanimity,
*generosity,
liberality,
munificence,
bountifulness,
beneficence,
altruism,
charity,
kindness,
lavishness,
unselfishness*
pretium est princeps unde redderent, quia munera(1)
τραγική, η τιμή
Σας έκανε να πληρώσετε
για αυτό
tragikí̱ , i̱ timí̱
Sas ékane na pli̱ró̱sete
gia af̱tó(2)
nu ligga död
botten av gropen(3)
nocht, ach le haghaidh an salachar
Chaith mé a chuirtear air(4)
Take your largesse and squeeze it where the sun never sees(5)
We all laid down
just as well
The master cut
the puppet strings
and we all
just
fell....
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 5:51 AM UTC
Luna (Latine Lunae) est terrae sola naturalis satellite. [E] [F] [VIII] licet non amet naturalis satellitis in Systemate Solare est, inter satellites maioribus signis maxima quod ad magnitudinem orbes obiecti (primarium) [g] [a] et post Io satellite Jovis, qui est secundus densa inter densitates satellite cognoscuntur.
Luna est in vna *** orbem terrarum, et semper, et faciens facies, *** cis insignis, quae per tenebras inter maria volcanus editis clarus, et veteri crusta impactus crateres prominent. Est enim post solem in coelo et immutari. Quanquam autem id candidissimam, obscurus etiam superficie *** bitumen reflectance fessis tantum leviter superior. Huius temporibus perquam cyclus regularem habere in coelo, quia antiquitus in luna lingua maximus culturae opes, fastos artis fabularis. Producit vim gravitatis luna dies et tempora et levi freta. Nunc de orbita lunae distantia diameter vicibus terra in caelum facit ut fere idem sit qui apparet Solis. Nempe per id fere totum solem lunam eclipsin solis tegere. Hoc simile est de magnitudine visuali fortuitum apparens. Lunaris a terra distantiae lineae sit amet, crescens ad rate of 3,82 ± 0,07 mm per annum, id est, non tamen semper. [IX]
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
Wot’s this ****** Poetry stuff?
It’s all Gobbledygook to me!
As far as I’m concerned you can just stick
Your iamb up your fat pentameter.
Wink.
And I don’t care whether some of it
Is like common speech.
Or clever for being slightly incorrect.
Wink.
So why do lilies have to mean death
When they are nothing but fracking flowers?
What’s with all these virile horses
And apples that are supposed to be bosoms?
They are bladdy animals and fruit
For heaven’s sake!
Nothing more, nothing less.
All this Moon in June stuff.
All these bladdy feelings about your dog dying
And unrequited love.
All sentimental words
And Repetition.
I’d rather read a tome like a car manual:
At least it tells you something
You can use in real life.
Yes, it’s all Vogon Poetry to me.
All pretanticulary epticism from egogargantoid
Arsenburgers who see themtegglers as the interferonical
Ellicopters of the bladdy cosmeticus.
And then there’s TS bladdy Elliot
With his cruel Aprils and his
Hoc ideo non potes legere quia lingua peregrina est.
Vita illius.
And while I’m at it.
Who needs history when we live in the present?
Art is no use whatsoever.
Give me a hammer and a spanner
Any day.
Leave those luvvies to their childlike play
And ballet dancers to their pillockettes.
Opera? Pah. Humpa dumpa.
Leave them Odious Odes to Cleverclogs Keats.
Poetry? No bladdy thanks.
(Written for some Friends.
Winks.
At too great a length
For most).
Paul Butters
© PB 13\7\2023.
Jul 13, 2023
Jul 13, 2023 at 6:50 AM UTC
I said it more last night than I've said it in ages,
Since I was truly in love.
I heard it more last night than I've heard it in ages,
Since she was truly in love.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 3:55 PM UTC
Ceux-ci partent, ceux-là demeurent.
Sous le sombre aquilon, dont les mille voix pleurent,
Poussière et genre humain, tout s'envole à la fois.
Hélas ! le même vent souffle, en l'ombre où nous sommes,
Sur toutes les têtes des hommes,
Sur toutes les feuilles des bois.
Ceux qui restent à ceux qui passent
Disent : - Infortunés ! déjà vos fronts s'effacent.
Quoi ! vous n'entendrez plus la parole et le bruit !
Quoi ! vous ne verrez plus ni le ciel ni les arbres !
Vous allez dormir sous les marbres !
Vous aller tomber dans la nuit ! -
Ceux qui passent à ceux qui restent
Disent : - Vous n'avez rien à vous ! vos pleurs l'attestent !
Pour vous, gloire et bonheur sont des mots décevants,
Dieu donne aux morts les biens réels, les vrais royaumes.
Vivants ! vous êtes des fantômes ;
C'est nous qui sommes les vivants ! -
Février 1843.
507
Os meum apérui
et attráxi spíritum,
quia præcépta tua desiderábam,
monks were assembled in the church
settled in the choir stalls,
the bells tolled from the bell tower,
I stood gazing at the book in my hands
Latin script, plainsong,
her bed was warm,
she hugged me close,
lead my hand to her bush,
the French monk talked of the Psalms,
God's voice scribed there,
Hugh swept the cloister with discernment,
unless I believe I will not
understand Anselm said,
the cloisters were cold in winter,
wind swept through the low walls,
the German monk wrote of the Trinity
his slight limp showed as he walked,
moonlight through the window
as we made love on her bed,
I picked apples in the abbey orchard
placing them in huge bags gently,
Dom Bruno spoke of charity,
not as human love but deeper,
without us God will not
without God we cannot
Augustine said,
fingers in the stoup
we crossed the cross over breast,
in her thighs I made rest.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 3:56 AM UTC
Non dies transit, ut non **** te
Sed, putatis de me?
Numquam erit vere scio,
Quia ego sum non a mente lector
Aut via, possum tamen te amo,
Non possum?
O bene.
Apr 26, 2019
Apr 26, 2019 at 8:46 PM UTC
Magnus honor, magna gloria
Te adamare, omnia creata
judicare transitoria.
Felix anima ac beata
quae de mundo se ipsa cavet
et solatia sola habet
in Te, Redemptor peccata.
Rex caelestis, Vir doloris,
benedictus sis, quia estis
*** Maria fonte amoris...
Vir doloris, Rex caelestis.
411
Molehills in the monk's graveyard,
I mowed the grass in between stones,
vide humiliatiónem meam et éripe me,
quia legem tuam non sum oblítus,
bell tolled from bell tower,
Dom Peter humble walked
across from cloister to tower,
warm sunshine, clouds passed,
sorrow for sin is indeed necessary,
but it should not be
an endless preoccupation Bernard said,
I tongued her sweet flower
arms outstretched like the Crucified,
see my distress, rescue me,
the mower hummed
in the afternoon sun,
sweat on brow, I wiped away,
Gareth said the limits of language
means the limits of our world
quoting Wittgenstein,
the things that we love
tell us what we are
Thomas said, incense smell
in the church after Mass,
Latin on my tongue bittersweet,
come my love enter me she said,
None office before tea in the garth,
I sipped tea and watched the monks
gather around the trolley
in the afternoon break,
I have not forgotten you law
but have gone beyond sometimes,
George spoke of the cold of winter
how it could break him down,
I kissed her with passion
like one about to drown.
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 12:01 PM UTC
S’il m’était donné de choisir, comme une dernière bouée de sauvetage, au faîte de ma déréliction endémique, entre le pinacle à la française à Fontainebleau et la géhenne à deux encablures de la tour de Pise, je choisirais assurément, sans l’ombre d’un doute, sans l’ombre d’une hésitation, sans un cillement d’yeux, le paradis des hardis réprouvés dans la géhenne toscane.
Géhenne pour géhenne s’il m’était donné de choisir comme compagnons de noble moisissure entre Marie Joseph Rose (1763-1814) et Marie-Louise (1778-1851), j’opterais aussi vite que l’éclair qui zèbre l’oeil ivre des cyclones autistes pour l’épouse d’Henri (1767-1820) aux détriments de la créole impératrice et pour le Grenadien plus que pour le Corse (1769-1821).
Entre la géhenne aux relents de sangliers épicés de gui des druides rôtissant sous les langues de flammes du bûcher de Jeanne la Pucelle (1412-1431) et celle aux humeurs de sang du cochon noir scarifié par Cécile Fatiman (1775-1883) épouse Pierrot (Jean Louis Michel Paul) (1761-1857) qui vécut plus que centenaire, permettez que je préfère un bail de cent et quelques douze ans à vol d’oiseau de Bwa Kayiman.
Sur mon échafaud ce n’est pas Louis Le Dernier l’ex-Seizième (1754-1793) et sa fleur de lys que je pleure mais Boukman Dutty (?- 1791), le Jamaïquain et son cou coupé cloué!
S’il m’était donné de choisir à l’heure de mon dernier mercredi des Cendres entre extrême-onction de poussière boréale aux parfums de lavande et de papier bible et viatique de poussière volcanique aux fumets de soufre et de bay-rhum, ce ne serait aucun sacrifice que de faire libation des tourments d’amour et de feu de cette boue vavalesque des Bains Jaunes car je suis né par la volonté des cyclones de cette poussière rouge et noire à la fois, et de cette poussière kako je ne sortirai que par la force des genèses des cyclones-baïonnettes.
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 3:27 AM UTC
Confiteor Deo omnipotenti.
The old monk black robed
moved side to side down
the cloister a wrecked ship
in the high seas of his age
as the bell tolled for Lauds.
Et vobis fratres and come
she said bring me your soft
spoils bring me to my highest
heaven so I did. Without free
will there can be no sin or
virtue without free will you
are free of all responsibilities
Dom Thomas said to us. Quia
peccavi nimis the young monk
confessed. Belltower seen
above trees from the roadside
and heard further afield than that.
George and I pulling the bells
as we shown the day before.
Cogitatione verbo et opere
et omissione I said in my inner
darkness. Dom Charles twisted
the apple just so and said that
is how it is done.Mea culpa mea
culpa mea maxima culpa having
free will is to be culpable from the
beginning and having free will is
necessary factor for any sinning.
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 8:40 AM UTC
encounters, strangers, gifts that come
I pay it forward, but who’s it from?
credo quia absurdum
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 9:16 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]
We Can’t Take Our Books with Us When We Die
Ecce nova facio omnia. Et dixit mihi: Scribe
quia hic verba fidelissima sunt, et vera.
-Apocalypsis XXI:V
We can’t take our books with us when we die
That reality shouldn’t bother me, but it does:
The copy of The Brothers Karamazov
I carried in Viet-Nam – off to a re-sale shop?
But God is the Word from Whom all blessings flow
And since He is the Word, all our books are His
How foolish of us if we fear that God
Has made no proper arrangements for them
Books are eternal:
Great blessings in paper and ink and page and leaf
For learning and leisure and wisdom and belief
May 8, 2024
May 8, 2024 at 12:21 PM UTC