"shu" poems
we got a goldfish,
for my little boy.
a tank, some coloured grit, three plants not two,
must practise goldfish fung shu.
all the water testing guff
and of course a filter.
a sunken ship
and a treasure chest .
we paid the pirate...
and took our ***** home.
so we set Bruce.
( for that was the name chosen).
up in pride of place on sidboard.
the list, above,
was positioned after meetings of commision. water tested to the highest degree,
filter fizzing, wizzing,whirring.
Bruce swam in his bag
in the tank,
for a time as instructed.
then released to a slightly larger freedom.
he swam and swam,
golden scales a flickerin.
we, (that being, mr just about three and his dad)
fed him, watched him poo, and eventually,
read Bruce,
a bedtime tale or two.
one fish, two fish by Dr Suess went down a treat.
the little man then,
was bundled off to bed.
thoughts of Bruce left our heads.
the evening lengthened.
we retired to sleep the sleep, of ignorance it conspired.
for in our planning we forgot one thing.
a devon rex cat,
who has a bath weekly,
a penchant for tuna,
no top to the tank.
so we thank the lord
for Bruce. however,
brief was his reign.
now we introduce
to you....
Murtle the turtle
who has a glass pane,
sitting above her head.
just in case......
the cat likes, turtle soup.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
Well there is 'shine' coming down from the Carolines,
Brothers I haven't seen in quite some time.
Each year we gather here , rain or shine,
it's the gathering, the Meeting time.
We all will stare into the flames,
pass that jug, time and again.
Talk , spit , joke and smoke,
just alot of catching up.
Then the business will be discussed at hand.
What needs to be doing and help where we can.
Dues will be paid and treasure report.
Pass the jug for another snort.
Food will be prepared on that old trusty grill.
Fire will be a blazing to bust down the chill.
Know old Shu is going to bring that guitar out.
Sitting with my Brothers is what it's all about.
Come morning we will all fire up our sleds,
remembering the plans and what had been said.
By noon all that will be left of what happened at all,
is the burning embers and empty jars.
Jan 9, 2011
Jan 9, 2011 at 11:50 AM UTC
I remember the day when you said to me
the beauty of this world is under lock and key.
The ugliness and hatred is all you can see
and once a bird is caged, it'll never again be free.
But all your life you never did try
to spread your wings and learn to fly.
Nor did you look past the grief of war
to see all the peace we've been fighting for.
I remember writing a poem about an orange
though we all know nothing rhymes with orange
and after that I didn't write for a long time
since you said a poem's not a poem if it doesn't rhyme.
But all your life you never had a clue
of how to go above and beyond what's expected of you.
You weren't one of a kind, instead one of few
who settled for average and stuck to what you knew.
I remember sitting down for dinner with you
with my sushi rolls and pork moo-shu
and you said eating ethnic things
will not make me interesting.
But all your life you sat on floors
watching TV when you could be outdoors.
Eating pepperoni pizza and chicken wings,
never trying any new things.
I remember that time when you yelled at me
'cause I failed my first test on geometry.
Your face turned red as you grabbed hold of my head and said
"if you stopped your **** writing you might've passed math instead!"
But all your life you focused too much
on solving equations and numbers and such.
Your math mark went up but your english mark fell,
now you've forgotten how to solve for x and still can't even spell.
I remember when your words used to put me down
and I wore a bag over my head when it should have been a crown.
I thought I was nothing but I was wrong,
I guess I had just been listening to your lies for far too long.
See, all your life you felt insecure
because of the disappointment you felt when you looked in the mirror.
You spent too much time existing that you forgot how to live,
you've been drained of all happiness like flour in a sieve.
I have realized now that I need not feel bad
and no longer will I let your words make me sad.
You're the most ordinary person I ever knew,
and for that I pity you, I really do.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 5:41 PM UTC
Er legt die Nadel auf die Ader
und bittet die Musik herein
zwischen Hals und Unterarm
die Melodie fährt leise ins Gebein
Los! Los! Los!
Bop bop shu bop
Er hat die Augen zugemacht
in seinem Blut tobt eine Schlacht
ein Heer marschiert durch seinen Darm
die Eingeweide werden langsam warm
Los! Los! Los!
Bop bop shu bop
Nichts ist für dich
nichts war für dich
nichts bleibt für dich
für immer
Er nimmt die Nadel von der Ader
die Melodie fährt aus der Haut
Geigen brennen mit Gekreisch
Harfen schneiden sich ins Fleisch
er hat die Augen aufgemacht
doch er ist nicht aufgewacht
Nichts ist für dich
nichts war für dich
nichts bleibt für dich
für immer
-
He lays the needle in the vein
and he asks the music to come inside
between his throat and forearm
the melody travels softly in the bones
Go! Go! Go!
Bop bop shu bop
He has closed his eyes
a battle rages in his blood
an army marches through his bowel
the intestines become warm slowly
Go! Go! Go!
Bop bop shu bop
Nothing is for you
nothing was for you
nothing remains for you
forever
He takes the needle from the vein
the melody travels out of the skin
violins burn with shrieking
harps cut the flesh
he has opened his eyes
but he is not awake
Nothing is for you
nothing was for you
nothing remains for you
forever
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 6:32 AM UTC
i.
Michar, Oer'len-
Lavokri, proment;
ii.
Pravickle gla shoviet
Shoviet crunce du;
zeftar mun acopolli,
vas dae ba-la shu.
iii.
Marantash sodetti
Grasvantas, blinta
Yeshatari klevo's.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane sardua Nagley ( àgapi mou) dedicated
You must read bottom while reading poem for words meanings.
Thanks Brandon. And to all my readers thank you dearly for your support! I thank all of you for your support and kindness and love. Your fellow poet
Brandon Cory Nagley.....
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 9:00 PM UTC
birth
life
death
rebirth
a rim tone’s soft cry (wah-wah)
emerging above a drum-like
basso profundo
chaotic cadence
harmony in vibrato
a singing bowl’s sustain dying
to be born again and again
the universe without and within
inhaled into the mind’s eye
traversing core’s essence
expelled through nostrils
meditation in slow motion
posture strung from rafters
a twisting waist
yin and yang separate
but equal
beautiful lady wrists
synchronized to calm, deep breaths
a diffused gaze focusing
on quiet power inside you
chi strong enough to stop time
as you move within a cylinder of silence
thinking about nothing
each movement with a memory of its own
a life time in yang long form
closing down to wu shu
the universe within and without
and in each breath
birth
life
death
rebirth
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 3:09 PM UTC
... ||| ...
It matters not,
if we're young or old
fair-skinned, or colored
rich or poor...smiling or pouting
our lives...our days are never easy
we either worsen, or lessen our load
each time we make up our minds,
through the choices
we make
:::
in the midst of our daily grind
fashion statements take a big part
with nuances that define our style,
ease and comfort are emphasized
choices range from loud or vibrant
to subdued, or
not too obvious colors...
:::
that morning,
we did tiptoes...and diagonal stretches
leaps.....kicks....slower wu shu, and
other movements....we hopped with
a turn...and then back on the ground,
the world didn't reel...not at all dizzy
no aches from lower extremities
arches were just fine
feet were still feeling light...
:::
i am cool, i am hip
i walk with dapper steps
in pants, skirt or dress
i move with ease
very comfortable
with low cut
:::
most of all, i have no qualms
if i would be standing up to my last step
or, if i would be led to an early fall
i feel confident
when wearing my
yellow
converse sneakers.
:::
it could be a pair of converse
or ordinary sneakers
a size larger, or just right
as long as we feel a calm content
no pricking on the mind and chest
because, we hurt no one
we do what is right
for the good of all
in making choices in life,
shoes, or otherwise
let's do what won't make us reel, or fall down
let there be balance...in heart and mind
let us be steadfast as we
stand on the ground.
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 4, 2017
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 8:59 PM UTC
Sumer, the people of ancient Mesopotamia.
Known to us as nascent humanity;
Spreading across the world quickly,
Like news of a calamity.
They existed thousands of years ago,
A civilisation truly gifted,
Knowledge of whom many of us forgo.
They were but one shade in a kaleidoscope of human presence.
Kings of the Fertile Crescent –
Establishing empires or mastering commerce,
Starting fires or learning to converse.
Mankind in its infancy,
A bloom of activity and artistry.
In our attempts at deciphering our history,
We turn to the relics of their poetry,
Discoveries that are a historian’s ultimate victory.
‘The love song of Shu-Sin’ –
The world’s oldest, known reference to love.
Written thousands of years ago,
Possibly older than we do know.
It is a rite of marriage, a recital;
In it lies a passage, one that needs a revival.
It is about a vow that we have now twisted,
An exquisite message that leaves one’s spirit lifted.
The bride promises the following to the groom;
To act as a refuge when all that seems to loom is doom and gloom.
To caress, love, and soothe.
To savour beauty and intimacy,
To be like honey, sweet and smooth.
The king - a man who was thought divine,
A man whose life was valued more than yours or mine,
A man who could eternally wine and dine –
That man was still no sultan to love.
His heart was still in the palms of his beloved,
Their naked frames intertwining, arched and cusped.
His hold on her is not one of force,
Nor a promise of power,
But rather earned in due course,
Like the development of a beautiful flower.
I grieve beyond words when I think
Of how love, nowadays, is on the brink.
The glue that holds life itself together,
Discarded by many, like an ex’s letter.
I look at the eyes of people I’d love to be with,
And in their expression, I discover a graveyard of sad memories.
Scars that feel indelible, past histories -
Souls that look like war-torn territories.
I look at my own eyes in the mirror,
And see a starving spirit, growing thinner.
I see a window for restoration, becoming slimmer.
Sometimes I hopefully wonder – is there a glimmer?
Is there another hungry apparition,
On a desperate search for heavenly admission?
I seem to have forgotten how to love,
And do not know how to rid myself of this condition.
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 7:11 AM UTC
Khalka kayi tanz che pukhto ke shaeeri na kowlay shu
mung musafiran dighaina ilawa sa kowlay shu
Khalko ta owaya che dagha khabara na da
Shaeeri khpl yuba wayi che dee na baghair sa na kowlay shu
-----------------------------------
People believe us not of acquiring Pashto poetry ability
We travellers inherit no other talent or capability
Tell the people tis not what it seems, it's nothing
Expresses the poetry itself, without us it's nothing
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 6:56 AM UTC
Best enjoyed
listening to the B-side of Tom Wait’s
Heart Attack and Vine
The needle pierces the old dusty vinyl; cue anticipation.
An amalgamation of artificial nostalgia and the feeling like
someone carved a six-inch valley in the middle of your skull.
A Gravelgarglingchainsmokeingdevil (God when he’s drunk)
spilling guts at thirty-three revolutions per minute.
And with each screaming note there is not violence, but the
sensational. Tell me about jersey girls and china white.
All I want to do is ride upfront. Light cigarette off of cigarette
and fail in attempts to pronounce the place names (shu•be•na•
cadie, Ko•uchi•bou•guac (when I was a kid I though it was Capital A)).
Maybe real music is found within silhouettes of silence. Standing
on the marsh flats gazing up at the abyss. The stars reign down
over the tide that is coming in the bay and the ice,
cracks and echoes with a natural reverb. I think
I am creature driven and derided by vanity.
Or maybe its just time to flip the record.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 12:57 PM UTC
Kinuha ako sandali upang malaman ang magagandang salita
palakihin ang ulan sa aking bintana
at seksing ngayon ay nasa tub ako na pinipigilan
ang on-sale na Bordeaux na nagkukunwaring
upang maiayos nang maayos ako ay nasa totoong iyon
jazz **** minsan tumatakbo ako sa mga kalye
minsan pinapatakbo nila ako ako ang katawan
ng reyna ng aking hood napunan
may masamang alak masamang gamot mu shu baboy
sakit beats ano pa ang masasabi ko sa iyo
Binubuksan ko ang aking mga naka-istilong binti Nakukuha ko ang aking swagger
pabalik hayaan ang mga lalaking may gintong ngipin na yumuko sa aking mga suso
at ang mga paltos sa aking mga paa ay nagiging kuryente ako
Ako ay isang patch ng damo ang mga mahigpit na ugat
tumawag ka sa bahay o kapatid kung nais mo
Maaari kong guluhin ang iyong mga mata na gumawa ng hip-hop na mamatay muli
Nasa babaeng babaeng **** ako bago ako mag-break
ang leeg ng bote ay ibinuhos ko ng kaunti: Nabagsak ako
Dec 1, 2020
Dec 1, 2020 at 1:59 PM UTC
Fender Mo Shu? Fender Mo Shu!
Scraps pelting me from above- this conversation could take 20 to 30 minutes. Do you have that kind of time available?
... and I just met Larry Cherry @ the local carnival stand. His old frame stands at half tilt and his feeble bones creak as he swings the 10lb hammer down to connect up to the chime prize. Ding! zip zap sounds resonate as his eyes wide shut contemplate his success, and then it was over.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 12:41 PM UTC
how beautiful is my life?
when my friends are here?
.........HAN SHU!
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 4:46 PM UTC
birth
life
death
rebirth
a rim tone’s soft cry (wah-wah)
emerging above a drum-like
basso profundo
chaotic cadence
harmony in vibrato
a singing bowl’s sustain dying
to be born again and again
the universe without and within
inhaled into the mind’s eye
traversing core’s essence
expelled through nostrils
meditation in slow motion
posture strung from rafters
a twisting waist
yin and yang separate
but equal
beautiful lady wrists
synchronized to calm, deep breaths
a diffused gaze focusing
on quiet power inside you
chi strong enough to stop time
as you move within a cylinder of silence
thinking about nothing
each movement with a memory of its own
a life time in yang long form
closing down to wu shu
the universe within and without
and in each breath
birth
life
death
rebirth
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 3:09 PM UTC
It’s twelve past midnight
My eyes still won’t shu
My head still wander around
I can feel the emptiness of the space around me
My cup of coffee sits in front of me telling
Why won’t you rest?
My folks are sleeping tightly with their beds Still here at the dining room laying down thoughts. The ticking of the clock fills the air and the lound engine that hovers over our heads.
My eyes hurt but still it know no shutting Now my head is on a stranded isle of strangers star gazing
It looks above above a blanket of stars with lady moon
With a man below with his fiddle playing tunes and croons.
Cold air chills my bones
I seek comfort from my warm coffee and the taste bittersweet yet flowery in the soul. Through the twisted sheets of words and it’s intricate weaves I found comfort in me.
I feel like sinking into oblivion and felt that no one will look for me.
But the more I paddled to float I sunk into deep nothingness
Is someone out there who wants to join me?
My head filled with thoughts
I wish I could put it into brine so someday I could eat it up and remember it.
Thoughts fill my lungs and breathe out words so silent even my ears can’t hear.
A gentle tune from my clarinet croons my dazed head
And felt my shoulder hang low
My weary heart started to beat slow
My body felt a stand still and my eyes gently clasped shut.
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 6:23 PM UTC
I am like all other fools;
Nothing broke my heart.
My spine of brittle woven sticks
Cracked under nothing.
My lungs gave out under
Years of whistling
"Shu-Shu, Xu-Xu,
Xu-ni-de."
They had breathed in too many daydreams
And real air calcified them with the shock
Of finding it all had been delusion.
A life of smiling at babies and dogs and buttercups
Left me unprepared for their destruction
And my own ruin.
It was my own fault that I was abandoned
In the face of a tsunami of stormclouds
Barreling out of the Western sky:
The last sigh of a sun that goes there
Each day
To die.
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 7:13 AM UTC
Live
right in front of
You
shu
du
ku
Like a 747 lifting the air beneath your body
volume
an ***** with one key that sounds like 88
though you didn't know anything about the count itself
It was the sense that everything was there
And you cried as if everyone
you
shu
du
ku
knew
had died
you started pointing at each echo
there
did you see it?
you exclaimed
exclaimed
to no one except those you wanted to join you
they would know
they saw it
Like
Youshuduku
That wasn't your name when you arrived
They found you anyway
You didn't know they were looking
it was an arrangement of your feelings
They weren't afraid of the new pattern
what did they have to lose?
It's not as if they considered losing at all
but what if they had?
you see
it doesn't really matter does it?
it's your party now anyway
whether you steal the *****
or the feeling in the air
or stick a brush into a goo of the red stickiness
do it
then trace the path all the way back on your face
don't bother to leave
the doors have no knobs
there is no need for a lock
you haven't decided to leave anyway
because your body is a new kind of a
a new kind of a
kind of a
of a
a
rhythm
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 11:28 PM UTC
Plum rain halts, river's still, sails fall
Isle's near, smoke's clear, wild **** soughs
By the dock, fishermen sing an old tune
I am home, far from Land of Shu
A dream, a song, two scores fly by
In a monk's thatched hut, I hear
the rain impinges upon the earth
May 11, 2020
May 11, 2020 at 10:05 PM UTC