Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nova Flames Apr 2013
sip on this game direct from the tree of knowledge
im trapping in the forest; nocturnal like that owl,
im that black panther, ninja on the prowl
highly melenated, ALL BLACK, no darth vader
highly medicated, NO SNACKs, or now and laters...
never chasing paper nor running for the mayor, haters looking for a savior
its clear they don't love their self
I'M riches in my health, stash crystals in my wealth
if your calcified then you don't feel me like felt
you buckle under pressure why purchase cheap belts?
call me Mr wizard as i place you beneath my spell
unlimited vigor feather light on the scale!
even if i were brail, still no one could touch me.
if life WERE a ***** i bet she'd bee UGLY
non the less that phrase stands uncorrect
13 LOVE 13 Raspect.....
keneth May 2019
do you intend to confuse
in order to know who's more worthy to choose?
because i refuse to be played and be used

just when your perfect time strike
and you decide who you like
if you choose him, pls say sike
yikes
Geovanni Alfaro Oct 2013
Mormons on bikes,
What a Wednesday morning delight?
I'd rather be in bed, getting head, making love to a ****.

*Sike
Matalie Niller May 2012
Yessir I have felonies
and melodies both melancholy and miraculous
paragraphiculous and ridiculous
stole some shows and some thunder
thighs like two day old pudding slap 'em and ride the waves
sike
drink up some dishwasher detergent chased with lead paint
not for the faint of heart just the stupid as ffffffffuuuuuu when under the right noises
and boyses and girlies all singing their swirlies
and twirlin' 'round like pinwheels of tin steel
ten feet off of the ground
hillsides like pill boxes full of coins and coincidences
unmeasured instances of grief and shame without a blame
no face to force hate just mirrors to show fate
and the stars in the sky with their winking teasing ways all
fall to the ground
will be dead within days
but they are not forsaken, maybe only spared
to avoid seeing the moment when sunny didn't share
and all went dark like absence of creation
animation of fears all mixed and respun into dope dubstep
to be grinded and mashed
and spat back up into the trees
The Napkin Poet Oct 2017
Sike me out.
Spit on my toes.
Look for others.

No shame.
Hurricanes are natural.
No apologies in nature.

Right over my head.
Flung into my dreams.
But not all dreams are tangible.

Like you.

Sike me out.
Spit on me.
Make me feel you.
Get up and dance  
Put on those moccasins that make you move from out in France 
Into the Indies then Polynesian isles.
Pour the green skies upon those frozen and dried out. 
Bring gratitude to those whom frequently pout 
And the mission to gain commission
How the mantras from mamas mouth 

Shoot from the sky.
So sly the way we will slip into the nostalgic reminisce 
Lights on the red carpet 
And the set of lies 
Are we doing this? 

We don't mention How Buddha ******. 
Budapest in the name of the most auromatheraputic 
And orginally  
tell the Chinese nike labourers  
who do this. 

Though they suit me, 
I resuit this with prudent force for those law benders 
Of the b.a.r.
We will cough on tough tycoons and yet bow to stars. 

Oh my legend, how far have we looked and have we come 
Jumping out of the Nintendo Nes(t)
We have entertained our self enough  
We've won son.

But find me lagging on a wooden broom 
Brimming on the outskirts of your psyche 
Just when you thought 
Sike you didn't not cite me.

Please bibliograph my flight plan or pattern 
And as you gaze upon the moon I make my second meander on Saturn 
The orbit 

In finding sudden satisfaction with norbit 
I've asked. How bliss is ignorance? 
We blend all the blinding lights of the prism and still white and **** 
Siss 

Disdain on dose dat ain't domestic 
Still ******* kicking and 
My legs are there to test this 

Theory 
and jeering with slack 
I'm looking back. 
I fear the peers of tired whites and blacks 

Those that act that they have nothing to loose 
By continually hitting the snooze 
Oh we will leave you like leaves grounded in the grooves 

These four leaf clues 
Clovers, slipping out of my palms 
Mark you like wolverines claws 
Like jar heads
Jumpin in to the jabber jagged jaw of jaws 

Subservient marine. 
Prate in the truth of those words until you(they) know just what they mean. 
Ya seen? 
Good?
TALLAHASSEE CONTAINS ALLAH to whom I'm truly true blue
as He is the Just, the King, the Watchful, the Father of me & of you
Like 9 dogs eatin' tuna fish I cried for your thigh to comfort me like
the jack breadfruit that comforted Bounty Lieutenant William Bligh
whilst he abstained from Tahitian maidens who were cunningly shy
My big, beautiful mouth that frets & sasses makes me intellectually
superior to everyone except the most idiotic of ******* dumb *****
whose apple cider vinegar becomes unsulfured blackstrap molasses
Remember again old cross firemen, Jesus burned for your arson sin
2,000 years before I wrapped your fat *** around your chinless chin
through hellish dew of frosty equanimity with Gail Fisher as Peggy,
Mannix shaved his dangling loose hairy stems above gay legs leggy
so that he might wiggle folklorical jigs like Haitians do with reggae
Gay-***-whackin' Hillary Clinton humps *** to a disco-***-humpin'
beat from her *** crooked-pants-suited *** to her lezzy-***-toed feet
stuck in turds as Bill sodomizes a mule, **** Hillary can be bought
stuck in pig **** as Billy rapes another, shaky Hillary can be bought
with Kleenex 'cause her honker has 5 pounds of unsought nose snot
that added nothin' to the virulent ****** that I ain't not never caught
On clean teen carpet she munched, slurped & lapped sink drain-like
forcing me to slap her shitless so that she could be a real, sane ****
whose despicable antics I am not morally outraged by, nor annoyed
as this repugnant behavior is directed medically by faux cushingoid
which accounts for her likeness to the puffy-faced star Alison Lloyd
who had something criminally criminal to do when she wasn't doin'
something grimy to fill her cravenously-craven-criminalistical void
that toys with emotions that are not immune to being toyed with on
the weekends that were made for Michelob on my blue hemorrhoid
that toys with emotions that aren't afraid of being toyed with on gay
weekends that were made for Michelob dumped on my hemorrhoid
only 'cause it is something to do when you are not doing something
that could have ended early the cowboyin'-guy-life of William Boyd
whose hoppin,' in the hoppin'-along biz, derived from a secosteroid
Vegetable-hating vegans love pagans & meat-eaters secrete beavers
& Yukio & Yoko Mishima beat to death with a bat old Tom Seavers
after he frittered away his ball-batting career as a raunchy, gay dude
to the tune of 4 original Beatles crooning the god-awful "Hey Jude"
while fat priests ****** nuns & nudists in nudist colonies pray ****
for chapel cameras of the ******* Channel's dude ranch, Play Dude
where the rudest nudists & naturalists, nudely & naturally stay rude
without caring to distinguish betwixt fake night & serious day food
that could throw a self-effacing exhibitionist into a filthy, gay mood
with prelude payload which equates to slaves getting their pay sued
by orthognathical charlatans who worship devil-lovin' Ben Franklin
in his guise as Frenchy Chucky de Gaulle who could send tank men
for forensical strikes targetin' ****** on rivers whereat men bank sin
with a plugged-up ******* called Peter Hamilton, feet or Nam again
in quokka flesh minus 22% over a pig sty or a bacon-oiled ham pen
Even though He maintained amazing Bible-understanding abilities,
Pittsburgh's wall-to-wall ******* gave Jesus the Hill District jiggers
Despite His God given Holy Christian Bible-understandin' abilities,
Pittsburgh's loo-to-loo ******* gave Jesus shaky, Hill District jitters
that ache way too late & shake for a sexily-religious girl who titters
over dead Zhanna Friske's Russian lickspittles & ******* pig-sitters
gettin' one passed normal lesbians with tattoos of sickly zoo critters
that clearly show pederasts of The New York Times ******* shitless
after chalking Marxistical New York Times sources ******* shitless
in Bethlehem stables stabling new stud muffin horses shoed witless
where hippy people with greasy long hair were quite apt to be livin'
clawing about what's issue based vs. character drivel, I mean driven
Ol' Walker McDonald was my very special friend until he ***** me
under a nice fig tree beyond the bitchiest beach of the Sargasso Sea
where he wouldn't quit ****** me despite my sexiest desperate plea
I hollered a lot in a ******-nutty masculine voice but he did not care
about rotten figs that matted my Ellen-degenerated, lezzy-short hair
I told everyone in North Vietnam & Laos that he couldn't he trusted
'cause the 21,798 times he ***** me made me thoroughly disgusted
like there were gigantical nests of bugs up my *** heavily encrusted
in cracks where ****-crop-dusting planes can't dive swoop in dusted
before flying into my inner-sanctum room like old Corrie ten Boom
whose bee-busy life, after her crapping-out death, has yet to resume
in order to beat senseless neo-brutalistical V.A. nursing home abuse
that kills the blood-coagulatin' screams of a cursing gnome papoose
draped across the *** of a ***-rail engineer takin' it up the caboose
to make his gay meaning known to stragglers too lucid to be obtuse
Don't ****** me I'm your amigo, oh yeah I forgot in your final spin
that a plucky slice'd paralyze you forever good on any hot spinal fin
****** ****** at ****** mall: Who's the baddest ****** of them all?
Is it Ringo, or dead George/John, or false/fake ******, Beatle Faul?
I cannot wear no slutty dress because I got a sass-*** dose of P.M.S.
I can't ***** in my slutty dress while I got a bad-*** dose of P.M.S.
My boyfriend's a ***** queer who has been ripped up his ***'s rear
In city pig files they record my criminal-*****-bone record in miles
Here amongst the thoroughly hypnotized, I spank your lard **** red
while you flee with free fleas that fly with flies that are too-well fed
while you flee with 3 free fleas that fly with flies that are overly fed
The traveling mermaid porked & beaned me in the moldy sea green
as P.B.S.'s Fred Rogers fits into a death list of ***, dead codgers we
ruefully mourn the murders of Jack the Ripper's ******-red lodgers
who overtly related homosexually to lesbian heterosex bed-dodgers
on mountain picnics in Pennsylvania where they are fed odd chores
There ain't nothing grim in threading tawny-titted Hawaiian women
before drug-induced comas or with food cramps got from swimmin' Demon Hillary, I Would ****** Everybody Just to Make You Smile
Is this wrong? No, murdering everybody is Scratch's most beautiful
way to say: "I loathe you Bill" in his hottest court of Luciferian trial
A raunchy **** bussed my *** with cerebral palsy quicker than Ajax
scrubbed the crapped-out Admiral William Halsey. I'd mount 1 trull
plain or crunchy too but not when she humps like a Harlem *******
We told everybody deaf 'bout "us" but everybody but "us" was deaf
to our mutant deafness save Harland Sanders & Burger Chef & Jeff
Swallow this sea-warped poker chip to see what can happen while I
moodily tap out Florida flame red maple trees to drain all the sap in
Anita O'Day never curled the nether tufts of Melvin Howard Tormé
because she was a limpless gimp who saw sike-a-***** as girly gay
in the throes of scissor lovin' between Blobert Rake & Huddy Bolly
whose fine, rug-burned legs queered their sapphical, sexoholic folly
that in 1966 farted greasy Earth's real cheeses to slickly **** breezes
as 99 rescue inhalers asphyxiated fatalistically-asthmatical wheezes
I love the ocean. Do you feel the aloof sea spray on your face? That
ain't sea spray. That's a gay *** peeing down on you from the roof.
I like my ******* on caffeine-free diets as they're better controlled I
think, than apes on caffeine-big diets who **** ******* cherry pink
for sea-lovers in iron linkage to twist apart a chewed-on master link
soaked in a tub 93% bigger than a beef washer's blood-washed sink
Let us forgive my unkind words but the dog turds I tracked in aren't
my dog's turds 'cause your ***'s really pretty like that of an angel's
dead cousin, so you must not cream on creamy donuts by the dozen
I will not talk of you in the old past as long as you are able to ****
really fast. The way to hell is lousy with sinners as each part of you
could provide several dinners. Our cherries are nicer than the sweet
cherries in pies. I wish that our 4 eye sockets had 4 cherry-red eyes.
You're so tiny that you stand 'neath my knee at a distance so nice to
bruise my better kidney. Shut up a lot, I told you before. I ain't got a
mistress who did not chronically snore. I could slather your body in
peanut butter from scalp to *** belly like would that jack-*** Kojak
Savalas brother called Telly. How many times have I warned you to
shut up? 3,345 trillion 9 hundred thousand 128? Enough is enough!
I scratched your back while you were reverently praying, just like a
Catholical priest, which is the chief role I'm now piously portraying
Part of me wants to **** you the other doesn't when I was me & you
were so wasn't, when your ****** were floral with dandelions, ever
more gay than those that were Paul Ryan's. After January we'll ****
bleached whales on the beach while I castigate old adulteresses in a
sermon I preach beneath the flickering grand dragon wizard's torch.
God has blessed us with elbows & knees & sharp teeth, only to bite
whoever's sporting deliciously-moist quims that we strive to please
Kicking the **** out of constipation is my preferred realization with prunes, olive oil & herbs from rich soil, for once I'm well you'll see
healthful regularity overtaking me. I'll make your cheery cherry pop
by threading your pretty Barbie bobbin so fast that I can hardly stop
from attaching psychedelical fixations to conundrums psycholytical
No one asleep had ever downed a pickle 'cause the racer who hit 45
wet spots was the women-pleasing racer large Richard **** Trickle
No one awake had ever drowned a pickle because the racer who hit
damp spots was the ****-racing racer, big-stick Richard **** Trickle
No one awake had ever got ******-cell sickle with the racer who hit
87 damp spots, the ***-****-racing racer, ***** Richard **** Trickle
who found that **** babes with keen intellects were tricky to tickle
as ****'ll be doin' Marianne Faithfull with big-ribbed-****** ******
in his British Marxian way with obligatory sledge hammer & sickle
to spread her ******* for shire horse hung Beatle Jimmy Nicol
as Albert Hofmann's 102-year-old L.S.D. schlort is a thrill pickle in
a Swiss lab bobbing dead in *****, unable to pork, **** & ***** all
while Bert Hofmann's 102-year-ol' L.S.D. ******* is a dill pickle in
a Swiss lab bobbin' in *****, unable to poke, sock, cram & stick all
because of contact with a toxical/allergical rose bushy thorn prickle
Some of me's puerile, the other section's a rash, over my nasty belly
is mama, below is a wacky, pinkish ******, while I pile onward real
love from 11 p.m. till the pole star's there, 8 degrees from starboard
several acres from where the **** wipes for my liquor bar are stored
You're brave & you're wise, with my camera I'll capture your thighs
I long for blonde hair of which you've plenty. I want to kiss all of it
before you turn 20. Our Russian passion will pass a fever pitch like
convicts on a chain gang diggin' a ditch. You whistle alluringly like
Lauren Bacall. I wonder, can you do it pulling from Bogart's straw?
Let's eat cookies while we sleep in my million-dollar Blue Bird bus
because I have expensive chocolate chip cookies just for the 2 of us
Tell me the truth, I am dyin' to know. Will you be able to stop when
we go go go? It's very important that you're careful so you don't get
knocked up by a drunken sailor or a window washer or a blind man
with a tin cup. Your pocked *** is really low slung like a green pine
ladder's 1st broken rung. I bang you in the murky morning too early
for lunch 'cause you ain't ½ as **** as Alice from The Brady Bunch
whose meat-hacking with butcher Sam included a knock-out punch
Turn up the gas, I want no damp cell, no moist damsel in **** hell
whose ill virginity is wiped clean by my hellishly-wild *** machine
I love you tall, I love you short in a barrel, beneath a port. You are a
broad. I know it's true. Live up to the crooked contract or I will sue.
Richard F. Burton, extinguish *** Taylor's fiery *** that lit abruptly
in the Golfo de México from B.P.'s unmothered-crack-head-****-gas
I took harmful advice to seize a 1-upped leg man ****-deep in knees
Timmy Durden Feb 2015
Standin' in a car garage
and a bearded guy is checkin the civ.
But I cant help but be glad
Cause its Groundhogs Day

The day that finally came
its come before and every year
leaves me with more questions than answers.

Its that shadow and all its mystery
With just a glimpse
were stuck in snow,
and that **** ****** saw it.

Sike its not even a ******
really, a man in a groundhog body.
A warrior,
poet,
and prophet
all wrapped in a bundle of fur
and a tail on his ****.

Punxsutawney Phil is my hero.
Greatest groundhogs day yet
Prepare bloodshed
Im tired of being a thorough bred
All eyes on me
Take heed to words that's said
They hate me
Cuz they aint black like me
Bow down this t h u g
Recognize my game
Bring more flames than end times
Listen to me ******
The world is mine as shine my nine
Anyone who jump see the flat line
Never left the battle grounds
Straight  boot camps
Lived off of food stamps with tramps
Broke the mold now im feelin' bold
**** brothers multiply
Got every ghetto in the nation high
And watch the birds fly
South for the December
Ill make a massacre that'll make ya remember
Yosef been equipped with game
So **** the fame let my ***** hang
These fools aint ready for war
Cuz once i hit it'll no longer be an even score


Now that got yo attention
What these fool know about **** life?
Every playa hata wanna be like
Me the underground ghetto king
This is a rap ghetto blues so ya can cling
Into my raw raps preaching apocalypse
Reachin' in my pockets for mo bullets
So i can empty clips
INTO ya mind fool break the slavery chains
I aint never been a toby
Bow down like ya owe half these *******
Is phony
Claims they ya friends but when ya hit the pen
They blowing in the wind
And **** paris them aint down for us
Got eve ry dumb ***** puttin' up the red white n blue pic
**** them bigots they can *******
Sweatin' my ****
Cuz bringin back that **** ****
Never fall back retraced my steps n now im.back
To where it all begins
Birthed unto this world its daily sin
I cant get a break cuz they aint no fate
I'm just waitin' for right time
To retaliate set my own date date
Sike im machiavelli
Reincarnated as a mack 11
Burn all my enemies til they flesh is cremated
Michael R Burch Feb 2020
This World's Joy: The Best Medieval Poems in Modern English Translations by Michael R. Burch

These are my modern English translations of Middle English and Old English/Anglo-Saxon poems poems by Anonymous, Caedmon, Geoffrey Chaucer, Thomas Campion, Deor, William Dunbar, Godric of Finchale, Charles d'Orleans, Layamon and Sir Thomas Wyatt.




This World's Joy
anonymous Middle English poem, circa 1300
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Winter awakens all my care
as leafless trees grow bare.
For now my sighs are fraught
whenever it enters my thought:
regarding this world's joy,
how everything comes to naught.

[MS. Harl. 2253. f. 49r]

The original Middle English text:

Wynter wakeneth al my care,
Nou this leves waxeth bare.
Ofte y sike ant mourne sare
When hit cometh in my thoht
Of this worldes joie, hou hit goth al to noht.

“This World’s Joy” or “Wynter wakeneth al my care” is one of the earliest surviving winter poems in English literature and an early rhyming poem as well.  Edward Bliss Reed dated the poem to around 1310, around 30 years before the birth of Geoffrey Chaucer, and said it was thought to have been composed in Leominster, Herefordshire. I elected to translate the first stanza as a poem in its own right. Keywords/Tags: Middle English, translation, anonymous, rhyme, rhyming, medieval, lament, lamentation, care, cares, sighs, winter, trees, leafless, bare, barren, barrenness, emptiness, isolation, alienation, joy, joys



How Long the Night
(anonymous Middle English lyric, circa early 13th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

It is pleasant, indeed, while the summer lasts
with the mild pheasants' song …
but now I feel the northern wind's blast—
its severe weather strong.
Alas! Alas! This night seems so long!
And I, because of my momentous wrong
now grieve, mourn and fast.



Sweet Rose of Virtue
by William Dunbar (1460-1525)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Sweet rose of virtue and of gentleness,
delightful lily of youthful wantonness,
richest in bounty and in beauty clear
and in every virtue that is held most dear―
except only that you are merciless.

Into your garden, today, I followed you;
there I saw flowers of freshest hue,
both white and red, delightful to see,
and wholesome herbs, waving resplendently―
yet everywhere, no odor but rue.

I fear that March with his last arctic blast
has slain my fair rose and left her downcast,
whose piteous death does my heart such pain
that I long to plant love's root again―
so comforting her bowering leaves have been.

My translation of "Lament for the Makaris" by William Dunbar appears later on this page.



I Have Labored Sore
(anonymous medieval lyric circa the fifteenth century)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I have labored sore          and suffered death,
so now I rest           and catch my breath.
But I shall come      and call right soon
heaven and earth          and hell to doom.
Then all shall know           both devil and man
just who I was               and what I am.



A Lyke-Wake Dirge
(anonymous medieval lyric circa the 16th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The Lie-Awake Dirge is “the night watch kept over a corpse.”

This one night, this one night,
every night and all;
fire and sleet and candlelight,
and Christ receive thy soul.

When from this earthly life you pass
every night and all,
to confront your past you must come at last,
and Christ receive thy soul.

If you ever donated socks and shoes,
every night and all,
sit right down and slip yours on,
and Christ receive thy soul.

But if you never helped your brother,
every night and all,
walk barefoot through the flames of hell,
and Christ receive thy soul.

If ever you shared your food and drink,
every night and all,
the fire will never make you shrink,
and Christ receive thy soul.

But if you never helped your brother,
every night and all,
walk starving through the black abyss,
and Christ receive thy soul.

This one night, this one night,
every night and all;
fire and sleet and candlelight,
and Christ receive thy soul.



Excerpt from “Ubi Sunt Qui Ante Nos Fuerunt?”
(anonymous Middle English poem, circa 1275)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Where are the men who came before us,
who led hounds and hawks to the hunt,
who commanded fields and woods?
Where are the elegant ladies in their boudoirs
who braided gold through their hair
and had such fair complexions?

Once eating and drinking gladdened their hearts;
they enjoyed their games;
men bowed before them;
they bore themselves loftily …
But then, in an eye’s twinkling,
they were gone.

Where now are their songs and their laughter,
the trains of their dresses,
the arrogance of their entrances and exits,
their hawks and their hounds?
All their joy has vanished;
their “well” has come to “oh, well”
and to many dark days …



"Now skruketh rose and lylie flour" is an early Middle English poem that gives a hint of things to come, in terms of meter and rhyme …

Now skruketh rose and lylie flour
(anonymous Middle English lyric, circa 11th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Now the rose and the lily skyward flower,
That will bear for awhile that sweet savor:
In summer, that sweet tide;
There is no queen so stark in her power
Nor any lady so bright in her bower
That Death shall not summon and guide;
But whoever forgoes lust, in heavenly bliss will abide
With his thoughts on Jesus anon, thralled at his side.

skruketh = break forth, burst open; stour = strong, stern, hardy; tharled = thralled?, made a serf?, bound?



Fowles in the Frith
(anonymous Middle English lyric, circa 13th-14th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The fowls in the forest,
the fishes in the flood
and I must go mad:
such sorrow I've had
for beasts of bone and blood!

Sounds like an early animal rights activist! The use of "and" is intriguing … is the poet saying that his walks in the woods drive him mad because he's also a "beast of bone and blood" facing a similar fate? I must note, however, that this is my personal interpretation. The poem has "beste" and the poet may have meant "for the best of bone and blood" meaning some unidentified person, presumably.



Westron Wynde
(anonymous Middle English lyric, found in a partbook circa 1530 AD, but perhaps written earlier)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Western wind, when will you blow,
bringing the drizzling rain?
Christ, that my love were in my arms,
and I in my bed again!

The original poem has "the smalle rayne down can rayne" which suggests a drizzle or mist.



Pity Mary
(anonymous Middle English lyric, circa early 13th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Now the sun passes under the wood:
I rue, Mary, thy face—fair, good.
Now the sun passes under the tree:
I rue, Mary, thy son and thee.

In the poem above, note how "wood" and "tree" invoke the cross while "sun" and "son" seem to invoke each other. Sun-day is also Son-day, to Christians. The anonymous poet who wrote the poem above may have been been punning the words "sun" and "son." The poem is also known as "Now Goeth Sun Under Wood" and "Now Go'th Sun Under Wood."



I am of Ireland
(anonymous Medieval Irish lyric, circa 13th-14th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I am of Ireland,
and of the holy realm of Ireland.
Gentlefolk, I pray thee:
for the sake of saintly charity,
come dance with me
in Ireland!



Whan the turuf is thy tour
(anonymous Middle English lyric, circa the 13th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

1.
When the turf is your tower
and the pit is your bower,
your pale white skin and throat
shall be sullen worms’ to note.
What help to you, then,
was all your worldly hope?

2.
When the turf is your tower
and the grave is your bower,
your pale white throat and skin
worm-eaten from within …
what hope of my help then?

The second translation leans more to the "lover's complaint" and carpe diem genres, with the poet pointing out to his prospective lover that by denying him her favors she make take her virtue to the grave where worms will end her virginity in macabre fashion. This poem may be an ancient precursor of poems like Andrew Marvell's "To His Coy Mistress."



Ech day me comëth tydinges thre
(anonymous Middle English lyric, circa the 13th to 14th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Each day I’m plagued by three doles,
These gargantuan weights on my soul:
First, that I must somehow exit this fen.
Second, that I cannot know when.
And yet it’s the third that torments me so,
Because I don't know where the hell I will go!



Ich have y-don al myn youth
(anonymous Middle English lyric, circa the 13th to 14th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I have done it all my youth:
Often, often, and often!
I have loved long and yearned zealously …
And oh what grief it has brought me!



GEOFFREY CHAUCER

Three Roundels by Geoffrey Chaucer

I. Merciles Beaute ("Merciless Beauty")
by Geoffrey Chaucer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Your eyes slay me suddenly;
their beauty I cannot sustain,
they wound me so, through my heart keen.

Unless your words heal me hastily,
my heart's wound will remain green;
for your eyes slay me suddenly;
their beauty I cannot sustain.

By all truth, I tell you faithfully
that you are of life and death my queen;
for at my death this truth shall be seen:
your eyes slay me suddenly;
their beauty I cannot sustain,
they wound me so, through my heart keen.



II. Rejection
by Geoffrey Chaucer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Your beauty from your heart has so erased
Pity, that it’s useless to complain;
For Pride now holds your mercy by a chain.

I'm guiltless, yet my sentence has been cast.
I tell you truly, needless now to feign,—
Your beauty from your heart has so erased
Pity, that it’s useless to complain.

Alas, that Nature in your face compassed
Such beauty, that no man may hope attain
To mercy, though he perish from the pain;
Your beauty from your heart has so erased
Pity, that it’s useless to complain;
For Pride now holds your mercy by a chain.



III. Escape
by Geoffrey Chaucer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Since I’m escaped from Love and yet still fat,
I never plan to be in his prison lean;
Since I am free, I count it not a bean.

He may question me and counter this and that;
I care not: I will answer just as I mean.
Since I’m escaped from Love and yet still fat,
I never plan to be in his prison lean.

Love strikes me from his roster, short and flat,
And he is struck from my books, just as clean,
Forevermore; there is no other mean.
Since I’m escaped from Love and yet still fat,
I never plan to be in his prison lean;
Since I am free, I count it not a bean.



Welcome, Summer
by Geoffrey Chaucer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Now welcome, Summer, with your sun so soft,
since you’ve banished Winter with her icy weather
and driven away her long nights’ frosts.
Saint Valentine, in the heavens aloft,
the songbirds sing your praises together!

Now welcome, Summer, with your sun so soft,
since you’ve banished Winter with her icy weather.

We have good cause to rejoice, not scoff,
since love’s in the air, and also in the heather,
whenever we find such blissful warmth, together.

Now welcome, Summer, with your sun so soft,
since you’ve banished Winter with her icy weather
and driven away her long nights’ frosts.



CHARLES D'ORLEANS

Rondel: Your Smiling Mouth
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/moderniz  ation by Michael R. Burch

Your smiling mouth and laughing eyes, bright gray,
Your ample ******* and slender arms’ twin chains,
Your hands so smooth, each finger straight and plain,
Your little feet—please, what more can I say?

It is my fetish when you’re far away
To muse on these and thus to soothe my pain—
Your smiling mouth and laughing eyes, bright gray,
Your ample ******* and slender arms’ twin chains.

So would I beg you, if I only may,
To see such sights as I before have seen,
Because my fetish pleases me. Obscene?
I’ll be obsessed until my dying day
By your sweet smiling mouth and eyes, bright gray,
Your ample ******* and slender arms’ twin chains!



Spring
by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/moderniz  ation by Michael R. Burch

Young lovers,
greeting the spring
fling themselves downhill,
making cobblestones ring
with their wild leaps and arcs,
like ecstatic sparks
struck from coal.

What is their brazen goal?

They grab at whatever passes,
so we can only hazard guesses.
But they rear like prancing steeds
raked by brilliant spurs of need,
Young lovers.



Oft in My Thought
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/moderniz  ation by Michael R. Burch

So often in my busy mind I sought,
    Around the advent of the fledgling year,
For something pretty that I really ought
    To give my lady dear;
    But that sweet thought's been wrested from me, clear,
        Since death, alas, has sealed her under clay
    And robbed the world of all that's precious here―
         God keep her soul, I can no better say.

For me to keep my manner and my thought
    Acceptable, as suits my age's hour?
While proving that I never once forgot
    Her worth? It tests my power!
    I serve her now with masses and with prayer;
        For it would be a shame for me to stray
    Far from my faith, when my time's drawing near—
         God keep her soul, I can no better say.

Now earthly profits fail, since all is lost
    And the cost of everything became so dear;
Therefore, O Lord, who rules the higher host,
    Take my good deeds, as many as there are,
    And crown her, Lord, above in your bright sphere,
        As heaven's truest maid! And may I say:
    Most good, most fair, most likely to bring cheer—
         God keep her soul, I can no better say.

When I praise her, or hear her praises raised,
I recall how recently she brought me pleasure;
    Then my heart floods like an overflowing bay
And makes me wish to dress for my own bier—
    God keep her soul, I can no better say.



Winter has cast his cloak away
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/moderniz  ation by Michael R. Burch

Winter has cast his cloak away
of wind and cold and chilling rain
to dress in embroidered light again:
the light of day—bright, festive, gay!
Each bird and beast, without delay,
in its own tongue, sings this refrain:
"Winter has cast his cloak away!"
Brooks, fountains, rivers, streams at play,
wear, with their summer livery,
bright beads of silver jewelry.
All the Earth has a new and fresh display:
Winter has cast his cloak away!

This rondeau was set to music by Debussy in his Trois chansons de France.



The year lays down his mantle cold
by Charles d’Orleans (1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/moderniz  ation by Michael R. Burch

The year lays down his mantle cold
of wind, chill rain and bitter air,
and now goes clad in clothes of gold
of smiling suns and seasons fair,
while birds and beasts of wood and fold
now with each cry and song declare:
"The year lays down his mantle cold!"
All brooks, springs, rivers, seaward rolled,
now pleasant summer livery wear
with silver beads embroidered where
the world puts off its raiment old.
The year lays down his mantle cold.



Fair Lady Without Peer
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Fair Lady, without peer, my plea,
Is that your grace will pardon me,
Since I implore, on bended knee.
No longer can I, privately,
Keep this from you: my deep distress,
When only you can comfort me,
For I consider you my only mistress.

This powerful love demands, I fear,
That I confess things openly,
Since to your service I came here
And my helpless eyes were forced to see
Such beauty gods and angels cheer,
Which brought me joy in such excess
That I became your servant, gladly,
For I consider you my only mistress.

Please grant me this great gift most dear:
to be your vassal, willingly.
May it please you that, now, year by year,
I shall serve you as my only Liege.
I bend the knee here—true, sincere—
Unfit to beg one royal kiss,
Although none other offers cheer,
For I consider you my only mistress.



Chanson: Let Him Refrain from Loving, Who Can
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Let him refrain from loving, who can.
I can no longer hover.
I must become a lover.
What will become of me, I know not.

Although I’ve heard the distant thought
that those who love all suffer,
I must become a lover.
I can no longer refrain.

My heart must risk almost certain pain
and trust in Beauty, however distraught.
For if a man does not love, then what?
Let him refrain from loving, who can.



Her Beauty
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Her beauty, to the world so plain,
Still intimately held my heart in thrall
And so established her sole reign:
She was, of Good, the cascading fountain.
Thus of my Love, lost recently,
I say, while weeping bitterly:
“We cleave to this strange world in vain.”

In ages past when angels fell
The world grew darker with the stain
Of their dear blood, then became hell
While poets wept a tearful strain.
Yet, to his dark and drear domain
Death took his victims, piteously,
So that we bards write bitterly:
“We cleave to this strange world in vain.”

Death comes to claim our angels, all,
as well we know, and spares no pain.
Over our pleasures, Death casts his pall,
Then without joy we “living” remain.
Death treats all Love with such disdain!
What use is this world? For it seems to me,
It has neither Love, nor Pity.
Thus “We cleave to this strange world in vain.”



Chanson: The Summer's Heralds
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The Summer’s heralds bring a dear
Sweet season of soft-falling showers
And carpet fields once brown and sere
With lush green grasses and fresh flowers.

Now over gleaming lawns appear
The bright sun-dappled lengthening hours.

The Summer’s heralds bring a dear
Sweet season of soft-falling showers.

Faint hearts once chained by sullen fear
No longer shiver, tremble, cower.
North winds no longer storm and glower.
For winter has no business here.



Traitorous Eye
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Traitorous eye, what’s new?
What lewd pranks do you have in view?
Without civil warning, you spy,
And no one ever knows why!

Who understands anything you do?
You’re rash and crass in your boldness too,
And your lewdness is hard to subdue.
Change your crude ways, can’t you?

Traitorous eye, what’s new?
You should be beaten through and through
With a stripling birch strap or two.
Traitorous eye, what’s new?
What lewd pranks do have you in view?



SIR THOMAS WYATT

“Whoso List to Hunt” has an alternate title, “The Lover Despairing to Attain Unto His Lady’s Grace Relinquisheth the Pursuit” and is commonly believed to have been written for Anne Boleyn, who married King Henry VIII only to be beheaded at his command when she failed to produce a male heir. (Ouch, talk about male chauvinism!)

Whoever Longs to Hunt
by Sir Thomas Wyatt
loose translation/interpretation/moderniz  ation by Michael R. Burch

Whoever longs to hunt, I know the deer;
but as for me, alas!, I may no more.
This vain pursuit has left me so bone-sore
I'm one of those who falters, at the rear.
Yet friend, how can I draw my anguished mind
away from the doe?
                                   Thus, as she flees before
me, fainting I follow.
                                     I must leave off, therefore,
since in a net I seek to hold the wind.

Whoever seeks her out,
                                          I relieve of any doubt,
that he, like me, must spend his time in vain.
For graven with diamonds, set in letters plain,
these words appear, her fair neck ringed about:
Touch me not, for Caesar's I am,
And wild to hold, though I seem tame.



Brut, an excerpt
by Layamon, circa 1100 AD
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Now he stands on a hill overlooking the Avon,
seeing steel fishes girded with swords in the stream,
their swimming days done,
their scales a-gleam like gold-plated shields,
their fish-spines floating like shattered spears.



Wulf and Eadwacer
(Old English poem circa 960-990 AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My people pursue him like crippled prey.
They'll rip him apart if he approaches their pack.
We are so different!

Wulf's on one island; I'm on another.
His island's a fortress, fastened by fens.
Here, bloodthirsty curs howl for carnage.
They'll rip him apart if he approaches their pack.
We are so different!

My thoughts pursued Wulf like panting hounds.
Whenever it rained, as I wept,
the bold warrior came; he took me in his arms:
good feelings, to a point, but the end loathsome!
Wulf, O, my Wulf, my ache for you
has made me sick; your infrequent visits
have left me famished, deprived of real meat!
Do you hear, Eadwacer? Watchdog!
A wolf has borne our wretched whelp to the woods.
One can easily sever what never was one:
our song together.



Cædmon's Hymn (Old English circa 658-680 AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Come, let us honour      heaven-kingdom's Guardian,
the might of the Architect      and his mind-plans,
the work of the Glory-Father.      First he, the Everlasting Lord,
established      the foundation of wonders.
Then he, the Primeval Poet,      created heaven as a roof
for the sons of men,      Holy Creator,
Maker of mankind.      Then he, the Eternal Entity,
afterwards made men middle-earth:      Master Almighty!



A Proverb from Winfred's Time
anonymous Old English poem, circa 757-786 AD
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

1.
The procrastinator puts off purpose,
never initiates anything marvelous,
never succeeds, dies dead alone.

2.
The late-deed-doer delays glory-striving,
never indulges daring dreams,
never succeeds, dies dead alone.

3.
Often the deed-dodger avoids ventures,
never succeeds, dies dead alone.



Franks Casket Runes
anonymous Old English poems, circa 700 AD
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The fish flooded the shore-cliffs;
the sea-king wept when he swam onto the shingle:
whale's bone.

Romulus and Remus, twin brothers weaned in Rome
by a she-wolf, far from their native land.



"The Leiden Riddle" is an Old English translation of Aldhelm's Latin riddle Lorica ("Corselet").

The Leiden Riddle
anonymous Old English riddle poem, circa 700 AD
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The dank earth birthed me from her icy womb.
I know I was not fashioned from woolen fleeces;
nor was I skillfully spun from skeins;
I have neither warp nor weft;
no thread thrums through me in the thrashing loom;
nor do whirring shuttles rattle me;
nor does the weaver's rod assail me;
nor did silkworms spin me like skillfull fates
into curious golden embroidery.
And yet heroes still call me an excellent coat.
Nor do I fear the dread arrows' flights,
however eagerly they leap from their quivers.

Solution: a coat of mail.



If you see a busker singing for tips, you're seeing someone carrying on an Anglo-Saxon tradition that goes back to the days of Beowulf …

He sits with his harp at his thane's feet,
Earning his hire, his rewards of rings,
Sweeping the strings with his skillful nail;
Hall-thanes smile at the sweet song he sings.
—"Fortunes of Men" loose translation by Michael R. Burch



Deor's Lament
(Anglo Saxon poem, circa 10th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Weland knew the agony of exile.
That indomitable smith was wracked by grief.
He endured countless troubles:
sorrows were his only companions
in his frozen island dungeon
after Nithad had fettered him,
many strong-but-supple sinew-bonds
binding the better man.
   That passed away; this also may.

Beadohild mourned her brothers' deaths
but even more, her own sad state
once she discovered herself with child.
She predicted nothing good could come of it.
   That passed away; this also may.

We have heard that the Geat's moans for Matilda,
his lady, were limitless,
that his sorrowful love for her
robbed him of regretless sleep.
   That passed away; this also may.

For thirty winters Theodric ruled
the Mæring stronghold with an iron hand;
many knew this and moaned.
   That passed away; this also may.

We have also heard of Ermanaric's wolfish ways,
of how he held wide sway in the realm of the Goths.
He was a grim king! Many a warrior sat,
full of cares and maladies of the mind,
wishing constantly that his kingdom might be overthrown.
   That passed away; this also may.

If a man sits long enough, sorrowful and anxious,
bereft of joy, his mind constantly darkening,
soon it seems to him that his troubles are endless.
Then he must consider that the wise Lord
often moves through the earth
granting some men honor, glory and fame,
but others only shame and hardship.
This I will say for myself:
that for awhile I was the Heodeninga's scop,
dear to my lord. My name was Deor.
For many winters I held a fine office,
faithfully serving a just lord. But now Heorrenda
a man skilful in songs, has received the estate
the protector of warriors gave me.
   That passed away; this also may.



The Wife's Lament
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I draw these words from deep wells of my grief,
care-worn, unutterably sad.
I can recount woes I've borne since birth,
present and past, never more than now.
I have won, from my exile-paths, only pain.

First, my lord forsook his folk, left,
crossed the seas' tumult, far from our people.
Since then, I've known
wrenching dawn-griefs, dark mournings … oh where,
where can he be?

Then I, too, left—a lonely, lordless refugee,
full of unaccountable desires!
But the man's kinsmen schemed secretly
to estrange us, divide us, keep us apart,
across earth's wide kingdom, and my heart broke.

Then my lord spoke:
"Take up residence here."
I had few friends in this unknown, cheerless
region, none close.
Christ, I felt lost!

Then I thought I had found a well-matched man –
one meant for me,
but unfortunately he
was ill-starred and blind, with a devious mind,
full of murderous intentions, plotting some crime!

Before God we
vowed never to part, not till kingdom come, never!
But now that's all changed, forever –
our friendship done, severed.
I must hear, far and near, contempt for my husband.

So other men bade me, "Go, live in the grove,
beneath the great oaks, in an earth-cave, alone."
In this ancient cave-dwelling I am lost and oppressed –
the valleys are dark, the hills immense,
and this cruel-briared enclosure—an arid abode!

The injustice assails me—my lord's absence!
On earth there are lovers who share the same bed
while I pass through life dead in this dark abscess
where I wilt, summer days unable to rest
or forget the sorrows of my life's hard lot.

A young woman must always be
stern, hard-of-heart, unmoved,
opposing breast-cares and her heartaches' legions.
She must appear cheerful
even in a tumult of grief.

Like a criminal exiled to a far-off land,
moaning beneath insurmountable cliffs,
my weary-minded love, drenched by wild storms
and caught in the clutches of anguish,
is reminded constantly of our former happiness.

Woe be it to them who abide in longing.



The Husband's Message
anonymous Old English poem, circa 960-990 AD
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

See, I unseal myself for your eyes only!
I sprang from a seed to a sapling,
waxed great in a wood,
                           was given knowledge,
was ordered across saltstreams in ships
where I stiffened my spine, standing tall,
till, entering the halls of heroes,
                   I honored my manly Lord.

Now I stand here on this ship’s deck,
an emissary ordered to inform you
of the love my Lord feels for you.
I have no fear forecasting his heart steadfast,
his honor bright, his word true.

He who bade me come carved this letter
and entreats you to recall, clad in your finery,
what you promised each other many years before,
mindful of his treasure-laden promises.

He reminds you how, in those distant days,
witty words were pledged by you both
in the mead-halls and homesteads:
how he would be Lord of the lands
you would inhabit together
while forging a lasting love.

Alas, a vendetta drove him far from his feuding tribe,
but now he instructs me to gladly give you notice
that when you hear the returning cuckoo's cry
cascading down warming coastal cliffs,
come over the sea! Let no man hinder your course.

He earnestly urges you: Out! To sea!
Away to the sea, when the circling gulls
hover over the ship that conveys you to him!

Board the ship that you meet there:
sail away seaward to seek your husband,
over the seagulls' range,
                          over the paths of foam.
For over the water, he awaits you.

He cannot conceive, he told me,
how any keener joy could comfort his heart,
nor any greater happiness gladden his soul,
than that a generous God should grant you both
to exchange rings, then give gifts to trusty liege-men,
golden armbands inlaid with gems to faithful followers.

The lands are his, his estates among strangers,
his new abode fair and his followers true,
all hardy heroes, since hence he was driven,
shoved off in his ship from these shore in distress,
steered straightway over the saltstreams, sped over the ocean,
a wave-tossed wanderer winging away.

But now the man has overcome his woes,
outpitted his perils, lives in plenty, lacks no luxury,
has a hoard and horses and friends in the mead-halls.

All the wealth of the earth's great earls
now belongs to my Lord …
                                             He only lacks you.

He would have everything within an earl's having,
if only my Lady will come home to him now,
if only she will do as she swore and honor her vow.



Led By Christ and Mary
by Saint Godric of Finchale (1065-1170)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

By Christ and Saint Mary I was so graciously led
that the earth never felt my bare foot’s tread!

Crist and sainte marie swa on scamel me iledde
þat ic on þis erðe ne silde wid mine bare fote itredie



A Cry to Mary
by Saint Godric of Finchale (1065-1170)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I.
Saintë Marië Virginë,
Mother of Jesus Christ the Nazarenë,
Welcome, shield and help thin Godric,
Fly him off to God’s kingdom rich!

II.
Saintë Marië, Christ’s bower,
****** among Maidens, Motherhood’s flower,
Blot out my sin, fix where I’m flawed,
Elevate me to Bliss with God!



Prayer to St. Nicholas
by Saint Godric of Finchale (1065-1170)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Saint Nicholas, beloved of God,
Build us a house that’s bright and fair;
Watch over us from birth to bier,
Then, Saint Nicholas, bring us safely there!

Sainte Nicholaes godes druð
tymbre us faire scone hus
At þi burth at þi bare
Sainte nicholaes bring vs wel þare



The Rhymed Poem aka The Rhyming Poem and The Riming Poem
anonymous Old English/Anglo-Saxon poem circa 990 AD
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

He who granted me life created this sun
and graciously provided its radiant engine.
I was gladdened with glees, bathed in bright hues,
deluged with joy’s blossoms, sunshine-infused.

Men admired me, feted me with banquet-courses;
we rejoiced in the good life. Gaily bedecked horses
carried me swiftly across plains on joyful rides,
delighting me with their long limbs' thunderous strides.
That world was quickened by earth’s fruits and their flavors!
I cantered under pleasant skies, attended by troops of advisers.
Guests came and went, amusing me with their chatter
as I listened with delight to their witty palaver.

Well-appointed ships glided by in the distance;
when I sailed myself, I was never without guidance.
I was of the highest rank; I lacked for nothing in the hall;
nor did I lack for brave companions; warriors, all,
we strode through castle halls weighed down with gold
won from our service to thanes. We were proud men, and bold.
Wise men praised me; I was omnipotent in battle;
Fate smiled on and protected me; foes fled before me like cattle.
Thus I lived with joy indwelling; faithful retainers surrounded me;
I possessed vast estates; I commanded all my eyes could see;
the earth lay subdued before me; I sat on a princely throne;
the words I sang were charmed; old friendships did not wane …

Those were years rich in gifts and the sounds of happy harp-strings,
when a lasting peace dammed shut the rivers’ sorrowings.
My servants were keen, their harps resonant;
their songs pealed, the sound loud but pleasant;
the music they made melodious, a continual delight;
the castle hall trembled and towered bright.
Courage increased, wealth waxed with my talent;
I gave wise counsel to great lords and enriched the valiant.

My spirit enlarged; my heart rejoiced;
good faith flourished; glory abounded; abundance increased.
I was lavishly supplied with gold; bright gems were circulated …
Till treasure led to treachery and the bonds of friendship constricted.

I was bold in my bright array, noble in my equipage,
my joy princely, my home a happy hermitage.
I protected and led my people;
for many years my life among them was regal;
I was devoted to them and they to me.

But now my heart is troubled, fearful of the fates I see;
disaster seems unavoidable. Someone dear departs in flight by night
who once before was bold. His soul has lost its light.
A secret disease in full growth blooms within his breast,
spreads in different directions. Hostility blossoms in his chest,
in his mind. Bottomless grief assaults the mind's nature
and when penned in, erupts in rupture,
burns eagerly for calamity, runs bitterly about.

The weary man suffers, begins a journey into doubt;
his pain is ceaseless; pain increases his sorrows, destroys his bliss;
his glory ceases; he loses his happiness;
he loses his craft; he no longer burns with desires.
Thus joys here perish, lordships expire;
men lose faith and descend into vice;
infirm faith degenerates into evil’s curse;
faith feebly abandons its high seat and every hour grows worse.

So now the world changes; Fate leaves men lame;
Death pursues hatred and brings men to shame.
The happy clan perishes; the spear rends the marrow;
the evildoer brawls and poisons the arrow;
sorrow devours the city; old age castrates courage;
misery flourishes; wrath desecrates the peerage;
the abyss of sin widens; the treacherous path snakes;
resentment burrows, digs in, wrinkles, engraves;
artificial beauty grows foul;
the summer heat cools;
earthly wealth fails;
enmity rages, cruel, bold;
the might of the world ages, courage grows cold.
Fate wove itself for me and my sentence was given:
that I should dig a grave and seek that grim cavern
men cannot avoid when death comes, arrow-swift,
to seize their lives in his inevitable grasp.
Now night comes at last,
and the way stand clear
for Death to dispossesses me of my my abode here.

When my corpse lies interred and the worms eat my limbs,
whom will Death delight then, with his dark feast and hymns?
Let men’s bones become one,
and then finally, none,
till there’s nothing left here of the evil ones.
But men of good faith will not be destroyed;
the good man will rise, far beyond the Void,
who chastened himself, more often than not,
to avoid bitter sins and that final black Blot.
The good man has hope of a far better end
and remembers the promise of Heaven,
where he’ll experience the mercies of God for his saints,
freed from all sins, dark and depraved,
defended from vices, gloriously saved,
where, happy at last before their cheerful Lord,
men may rejoice in his love forevermore.



Adam Lay Ybounden
(anonymous Medieval English Lyric, circa early 15th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Adam lay bound, bound in a bond;
Four thousand winters, he thought, were not too long.
And all was for an apple, an apple that he took,
As clerics now find written in their book.
But had the apple not been taken, or had it never been,
We'd never have had our Lady, heaven's queen.
So blesséd be the time the apple was taken thus;
Therefore we sing, "God is gracious!"

The poem has also been rendered as "Adam lay i-bounden" and "Adam lay i-bowndyn."



I Sing of a Maiden
(anonymous Medieval English Lyric, circa early 15th century AD)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I sing of a maiden
That is matchless.
The King of all Kings
For her son she chose.

He came also as still
To his mother's breast
As April dew
Falling on the grass.

He came also as still
To his mother's bower
As April dew
Falling on the flower.

He came also as still
To where his mother lay
As April dew
Falling on the spray.

Mother and maiden?
Never one, but she!
Well may such a lady
God's mother be!



Tegner's Drapa
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I heard a voice, that cried,
“Balder the beautiful lies dead, lies dead …”
a voice like the flight of white cranes
intent on a sun sailing high overhead—
but a sun now irretrievably setting.

Then I saw the sun’s corpse
—dead beyond all begetting—
borne through disconsolate skies
as blasts from the Nifel-heim rang out with dread,
“Balder lies dead, our fair Balder lies dead! …”

Lost—the sweet runes of his tongue,
so sweet every lark hushed its singing!
Lost, lost forever—his beautiful face,
the grace of his smile, all the girls’ hearts wild-winging!
O, who ever thought such strange words might be said,
as “Balder lies dead, gentle Balder lies dead! …”



Lament for the Makaris (Makers, or Poets)
by William Dunbar (1460-1525)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

i who enjoyed good health and gladness
am overwhelmed now by life’s terrible sickness
and enfeebled with infirmity …
how the fear of Death dismays me!

our presence here is mere vainglory;
the false world is but transitory;
the flesh is frail; the Fiend runs free …
how the fear of Death dismays me!

the state of man is changeable:
now sound, now sick, now blithe, now dull,
now manic, now devoid of glee …
how the fear of Death dismays me!

no state on earth stands here securely;
as the wild wind shakes the willow tree,
so wavers this world’s vanity …
how the fear of Death dismays me!

Death leads the knights into the field
(unarmored under helm and shield)
sole Victor of each red mêlée …
how the fear of Death dismays me!

that strange, despotic Beast
tears from its mother’s breast
the babe, full of benignity …
how the fear of Death dismays me!

He takes the champion of the hour,
the captain of the highest tower,
the beautiful damsel in her tower …
how the fear of Death dismays me!

He spares no lord for his elegance,
nor clerk for his intelligence;
His dreadful stroke no man can flee …
how the fear of Death dismays me!

artist, magician, scientist,
orator, debater, theologist,
must all conclude, so too, as we:
“how the fear of Death dismays me!”

in medicine the most astute
sawbones and surgeons all fall mute;
they cannot save themselves, or flee …
how the fear of Death dismays me!

i see the Makers among the unsaved;
the greatest of Poets all go to the grave;
He does not spare them their faculty …
how the fear of Death dismays me!

i have seen Him pitilessly devour
our noble Chaucer, poetry’s flower,
and Lydgate and Gower (great Trinity!) …
how the fear of Death dismays me!

since He has taken my brothers all,
i know He will not let me live past the fall;
His next prey will be — poor unfortunate me! …
how the fear of Death dismays me!

there is no remedy for Death;
we all must prepare to relinquish breath
so that after we die, we may be set free
from “the fear of Death dismays me!”



Fairest Between Lincoln and Lindsey
(anonymous Middle English poem, circa late 13th century)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

When the nightingale sings, the woods turn green;
Leaf and grass again blossom in April, I know,
Yet love pierces my heart with its spear so keen!
Night and day it drinks my blood. The painful rivulets flow.

I’ve loved all this year. Now I can love no more;
I’ve sighed many a sigh, sweetheart, and yet all seems wrong.
For love is no nearer and that leaves me poor.
Sweet lover, think of me — I’ve loved you so long!



Sumer is icumen in
anonymous Middle English poem, circa 1260 AD
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Sing now cuckoo! Sing, cuckoo!
Sing, cuckoo! Sing now cuckoo!

Summer is a-comin'!
Sing loud, cuckoo!
The seed grows,
The meadow blows,
The woods spring up anew.
Sing, cuckoo!

The ewe bleats for her lamb;
The cows contentedly moo;
The bullock roots;
The billy-goat poots …
Sing merrily, cuckoo!

Cuckoo, cuckoo,
You sing so well, cuckoo!
Never stop, until you're through!



The Maiden Lay in the Wilds
circa the 14th century
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The maiden in the moor lay,
in the moor lay;
seven nights full,
seven nights full,
the maiden in the moor lay,
in the moor lay,
seven nights full and a day.

Sweet was her meat.
But what was her meat?
The primrose and the—
The primrose and the—
Sweet was her meat.
But what was her meat?
The primrose and the violet.

Pure was her drink.
But what was her drink?
The cold waters of the—
The cold waters of the—
Pure was her drink.
But what was her drink?
The cold waters of the well-spring.

Bright was her bower.
But what was her bower?
The red rose and the—
The red rose and the—
Bright was her bower.
But what was her bower?
The red rose and the lily flower.



The World an Illusion
circa 14th century
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This is the sum of wisdom bright:
however things may appear,
life vanishes like birds in flight;
now it’s here, now there.
Nor are we mighty in our “might”—
now on the bench, now on the bier.
However vigilant or wise,
in health it’s death we fear.
However proud and without peer,
no man’s immune to tragedy.
And though we think all’s solid here,
this world is but a fantasy.

The sun’s course we may claim to know:
arises east, sets in the west;
we know which way earth’s rivers flow,
into the seas that fill and crest.
The winds rush here and there, also,
it rains and snows without arrest.
Will it all end? God only knows,
with the wisdom of the Blessed,
while we on earth remain hard-pressed,
all bedraggled, or too dry,
until we vanish, just a guest:
this world is but a fantasy.



Trust Only Yourself
circa the 15th century
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Alas! Deceit lies in trust now,
dubious as Fortune, spinning like a ball,
as brittle when tested as a rotten bough.
He who trusts in trust is ripe for a fall!
Such guile in trust cannot be trusted,
or a man will soon find himself busted.
Therefore, “Be wary of trust!” is my advice.
Trust only yourself and learn to be wise.



See, Here, My Heart
circa the 15th century
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

O, mankind,
please keep in mind
where Passions start:
there you will find
me wholly kind—
see, here, my heart.



How Death Comes
circa the 13th century
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

When my eyes mist
and my ears hiss
and my nose grows cold
as my tongue folds
and my face grows slack
as my lips grow black
and my mouth gapes
as my spit forms lakes
and my hair falls
as my heart stalls
and my hand shake
as my feet quake:
All too late! All too late!
When the bier is at the gate.

Then I shall pass
from bed to floor,
from floor to shroud,
from shroud to bier,
from bier to grave,
the grave closed forever!
Then my house will rest on my nose.
This world’s not worth a farthing, Heaven knows!



Johann Scheffler (1624-1677), also known as Johann Angelus Silesius, was a German Catholic priest and physician, known as a mystic and religious poet. He's a bit later than most of the other poets on this page, but seems to fit in …

Unholy Trinity
by Angelus Silesius
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Man has three enemies:
himself, the world, and the devil.
Of these the first is, by far,
the most irresistible evil.

True Wealth
by Angelus Silesius
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

There is more to being rich
than merely having;
the wealthiest man can lose
everything not worth saving.

The Rose
by Angelus Silesius
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The rose merely blossoms
and never asks why:
heedless of her beauty,
careless of every eye.

The Rose
by Angelus Silesius
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The rose lack “reasons”
and merely sways with the seasons;
she has no ego
but whoever put on such a show?

Eternal Time
by Angelus Silesius
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Eternity is time,
time eternity,
except when we
are determined to "see."

Visions
by Angelus Silesius
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Our souls possess two eyes:
one examines time,
the other visions
eternal and sublime.

Godless
by Angelus Silesius
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

God is absolute Nothingness
beyond our sense of time and place;
the more we try to grasp Him,
The more He flees from our embrace.

The Source
by Angelus Silesius
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Water is pure and clean
when taken at the well-head:
but drink too far from the Source
and you may well end up dead.

Ceaseless Peace
by Angelus Silesius
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Unceasingly you seek
life's ceaseless wavelike motion;
I seek perpetual peace, all storms calmed.
Whose is the wiser notion?

Well Written
by Angelus Silesius
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Friend, cease!
Abandon all pretense!
You must yourself become
the Writing and the Sense.

Worm Food
by Angelus Silesius
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

No worm is buried
so deep within the soil
that God denies it food
as reward for its toil.

Mature Love
by Angelus Silesius
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

New love, like a sparkling wine, soon fizzes.
Mature love, calm and serene, abides.

God's Predicament
by Angelus Silesius
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

God cannot condemn those with whom he would dwell,
or He would have to join them in hell!

Clods
by Angelus Silesius
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

A ruby
is not lovelier
than a dirt clod,
nor an angel
more glorious
than a frog.



The original poem below is based on my teenage misinterpretation of a Latin prayer …

Elegy for a little girl, lost
by Michael R. Burch

… qui laetificat juventutem meam …
She was the joy of my youth,
and now she is gone.
… requiescat in pace …
May she rest in peace.
… amen …
Amen.

I was touched by this Latin prayer, which I discovered in a novel I read as a teenager. I later decided to incorporate it into a poem. From what I now understand, “ad deum qui laetificat juventutem meam” means “to the God who gives joy to my youth,” but I am sticking with my original interpretation: a lament for a little girl at her funeral. The phrase can be traced back to Saint Jerome's translation of Psalm 42 in the Vulgate Latin Bible (circa 385 AD).
This What I Feel like
See I got this thing right..
Hold up, wait, let me think right
See I got this thing right
Where at times it seems like
Everything I do is wrong I cant even blink right
In such deep water I cant even see light
But I still fight, but **** I feel like
Ima be right back in the same **** boat if I chill right
Sinking again in the same **** water so Im still like
The only relaxing Im doing now is when a kneel like
Lord help me through these times, help me feel right
Cuz lord see what Im trying to do is take flight
So wait let me take a deep breathe ima breath right
Get my thoughts together and continue to write
Lol or should I say type
Cuz it seems like
It helps calm the stress in my **** life
So yea heres the deal right
Its hard when I wanna be on the other side and the doors are locked tight
Got all the keys I need, but cant find the right type
And I know when I get through that door the light is so bright
But how long will it take to get through it my entire life?
Sometimes I feel like its pointless, like Im started to lose sight
Its like the wind is blowing, but im flying a steel kite
Im going no where, like Im pedaling one of those gym bikes
I know yall know how I feel right
Oh I know what, ima go get a deal right
Get a record label and go make a mill..sike!
Reality sets in and Im like **** but this is real life
Not some mtv show, all the stars in the lime light
But I am bright, my head is on right
So u know what ima take that next flight
The one flying through success, and landing at happy life
So the next time I sit down to think, to write or type
Ima be off that **** stationary bike
And soaring to the sky, on my fly *** kite
BLitZeD Feb 2016
BIRTH OF AN ANG3L

To keep it real "G"
Any ***** can get it,
I be that ***** that you see dog rocking the fitted.
Sitting with a bottle just chilling an sipping,
I don't give a **** about you,
but ya *****, ya best believe, that I will ******* hit it.
The coke, the ****, the pills, everybody knows that I will ******* flip it.
Ask your hommies dog, they'll tell you just how I kick it,
And when it comes to the gat,
you know imma be the first ***** to load that clip in.
**** that **** back, fire one round ,aim just sick with it.
Leave you on the ground twitching,
With your jaw just spitted and ya dome just dripping.
So step the **** back ******,
Its ******* like you that keep my trigger finger itching.
//
An you know that bullets got so much pull to it your bound to get hit.
One in the front an one to blow your back out a bit, *****.
* BLitZ3D *
Hit the ground so you don't get slumped.
because when you hear that sound, it means the 12 gauge is pumped.
Double barrel get you buried, early funeral.
**** it,
Get the students too,
Columbine,
Watch them run an hide.
Pray to the sky just to find out your GoD is a lie.
Switch that G to an A and you got a ******* Angel inside.
Ferocity of a Bangle with stripes.
50 cal. the velocity's tight.
Once you in sight, ain't no point for resistance,
Despite the distance there is no missing the extinction of your existence.
For instance,
Night terrors caused by night vision make insurgents split second decisions clouded by thought of them envisioning my ballistics incisions coloring there face crimson.
While explosive rounds burn there repulsive frowns up-the-****-side-down.
Scramble to keep there insides in,
but burn from the inside out.
Outcomes always vertical,
Bodies buried down

STORY OF AN ANG3L

He can catch it,
Steel from the ratchet,
Trim his top, **** a tomahawk, Gimme a hatchet,
Maybe a rusty ax, Some gas, And a box of matches,
Add in a Jason mask an ill show you some sad ****.
This is the death of another tag,
Tag ripped
like a soul from a body, sooo...

I'm no longer a SoLDjA,
No longer a GHOSt,
Not even BLitZ3D,
This is OM3Ga AGG3L0s,

Grab the bull by the horns because I got horns like a bull.
Just missing the right side, it was ripped from my skull.
I bear the scares of a warrior, earned in full.
If the horn ain't enough, check the bent up halo.
I play 4 both sides , Stand tall and Creep low.
Quick to burn threw ya, an slow smoking a O.
Always been Alpha, I liked to play that part.
Now i'm out-casted, a choice made in my heart,
Because if u think for a second that bravos made a move,
You didn't stand  a chance from the start.
Every things been planned out.
I dug my own grave an covered it with a ******* tarp,
Only move your making is one into a trap,
Jeronomo
a precaution, to cover my tracks.
A hunter cant hunt whats hunting him back.
The classic story of how opposites attract.

An when your attacked,
Like a zombie to a Hashin,
A cat to a rat,
A bat to a rat.
A gangster with a bat to a rat,
22. through the black to land in the back of the rats back for ratting behind your back like a rat,
Call that echo location,
An that rat bagged up in the trash, dispatched naked to an undisclosed destination

DEATH OF AN ANG3L**

I'm Isis
Sike kid
I'm just righteous
All through the night my minds like this
I'm physic
That's right *****
Sights ****
See me within, the lights lit ,
BLitZeD in bliss
Omegas in the mist
Azrael in chains
But lets be real, there all one in the same
Yes, im sane, let me explain
One is like the Joker,
A pocket full of knifes,
The others like Bain
When he beat the **** out of the Dark Knight
Omega is the knife, the moment when Batman looses his life
Omega is the mask,  that regulates the gas just right
Azrael pushes the blade deep from the shade
The gas from within, he causes the haze
BLitZeD is the player, the one this game don't phase
The one that walks in like its nothing and sets the bomb under the stage
Three pieces to a puzzle, together they make the forth
Not until they come as one do you see who really holds the pitch fork
Death Of an Angel,
Take those words and contort
Annie McLaughlin Jan 2016
Red rope lies on the floor
Contemplating, pondering, should I?
Maybe if life were just a bit more
And water didn't run knee-high

So this is what it felt like
For the others as they linger
Oh, but can'st thou call a sike
As the water reaches fingers

The door, glued shut with crimson liquids
Quivers like the thoughts and the doubts
Desperately, impatiently attempt to rid
The water rising to the snout

Red rope hangs on the ceiling.
The things I come up with during math class.
Take a deep breath
In and out
Don’t let them see the real me
In and out
Don’t show your smile
In and out
My chest is rising
In and out
Until I reach the point when I say
In and out
Stop acting like everything is okay!
Put on your sunglasses and hide your ugly little eyes
Kind of like the way everyone tries to hide their lies.

How long will it take,
Before you realize this life isn’t fake.
I wished everything away too soon.
When I was young
I wanted the perfect family,
And a brave courageous father
But we can’t always get what we want, can we?
See I feel like my life is on a script,
Everyone knows me better than myself
And why?
Because I have closed myself off from the world.
Trapped myself in a box and I want out
But I cant!
you see
Its not up to me,
This life, this world,
Its scaring me.
I wanted it to be that when I fall
Angels catch me before I hit the ground,
But instead I am greeted by an alarming thud.
How many people have to die before you realize
That I will not compromise with who I am.
See people with depression are too busy trying to learn ourselves
And everyone else expects us to learn our content
Like a good little boy.
Don’t you see,
This life means everything to me,
You cannot prescribe me pills and medication
To change who the hell I am.
I am proud of me,
So what I get a little sad sometimes,
So what I wonder why I am here.
And all yo
u want me to do is hush
And breathe in and out.
No need for me to shout.
I am nothing
Sike!
I am everything!
depression does not control me
Depression is my cocoon
And I have emerged,
I am ready
To accept who I am,
Do not try to change me,
If you think you can love me than go ahead and try,
But please don’t make me cry,
Depression has a strong grip,
It doesn’t allow me to live,
And makes me feel like I want to die,
This is real.
The more I hide behind a smile
The more I realize that I am not okay.
And yes this poem is strange,
Call me a ******.
But don’t treat me like a mistake, like a typo.
Don’t turn your head when I say I need someone.
I hold out my hand,
But nothing happens.
I bleed out my heart,
Nothing happens.
And all you want me to do is disappear,
There is no one standing in front of the mirror.
So let me write a letter have it start like this,
Depression,
You will not win.
You will not remind me of my past sins.
Depression,
I am greater than you
Depression
You are under my feet
I am in control of my life,
I am helping others no matter the cost,
And how you ask?
What if I told you this poem is for you?
All of you.
Everyone with depression
And even those who don’t have it.
Depression will not win,
It is an outsider and not welcome in my life.
I forbid depression,
I kick it out.
Do not challenge me,
I am the challenger.
When you face me,
You better do it with a smile
This,
Is my time.
I will live my life,
And depression,
You will end.
How you ask?
I will breathe in
And out.
Alina Jan 2019
When being vulnerable
with the one you love
Turns into the bullets
That tear you apart
It's Tampa not ******, you Hillary-******' witch, it's Pensacola not
Pepsi Cola & it's ****-hole Ormond Beach not ***** manned *****!
It's ****-hole Ormond Beach not *****-manned *****, it's Pensacola
not Pepsi Cola & it's Tampa not ****** you Hillary-******* witch!
Tobias Graves May 2013
Breaking our hands apart
In this loud mini-mart
You hate that touch
It’s just too much
Well when will it be enough?
That’s just tough
Pretending to care
I make this one swear
You’ll be taken care of
When will I get this love?
Retrieving this caring hand back from you
Just give me one **** clue
You’re not what I was expecting
Your old soul is not worth resurrecting
What’s with all this mess?
This is just my best guess
We’re too unalike
Thrown into this month long sike
I said that’s it
Enough of this endless pit
- T.G.
Shrinking Violet Jan 2015
There you watch the movies
and you see them, the leads,
holding hands and walking off
into the sunset.
I wonder what it is like
to walk off into the sunset,
to feel like all your worries are going to be
dissipated by the sun's golden heat
and you're gilded and beautiful, heart soft,
and you think: this is as good as it gets
but then all of a sudden someone shouts "Sike!
it's just a movie set"
and then you realise that tan was fake
and the actors never liked each other anyway.
I tell you it makes my heart ache,
those deceiving sunsets by the bay.
Tryin' to write a series of poems based on specific emotions.
Babygirl come over here
 and let me hit you
with a little **** passion
 mouth game blastin'
im long lastin' 
like bubblegum show me ya tongue
 so i can get a taste o what i feel
when im deep in that chocha faa real
 got **** hot butter popcorn
leave ya deeply scorn
 from my love deep strokin'
tongue soakin' 
on ya ******* runnin' circles
around ya belly flex ya back
muscle let me see ya work 
put this **** n so deep
til you fall asleep i aint' a creep
just keepin' it real 
and we can move from the floor
into the livin' room sweep u up like a broom and heres come the boom
sike not fast not slow
Just a nice smooth tempo
 as jodeci singin' in the background 
got ya on ya back now
 now tell me who's the best
Ya hands on my chest
 screamin' my name
finna burn the flame
 ya know how i get down
 smack down lay down
hurt that chocha til ya ****** expressions start to frown **** near drown
 in a puddle of tears 
can't fight the temptations can't resist 
and when ya release the ******
 i reach over and kiss
osculatin' no debatin' 
pound for pound thats just one round?
Tell me how fr3aky u r
N if so tell me are ya still down ??
m i a Jan 2016
Oh my gosh, why are you so quiet?

Ew, look at all of that fat you need to go on a diet!

Is that a pimple on your face?

Love, you're such a disgrace,

I can't believe you even exist in this place;

you're just a kid who has no voice,

you're a waste of oxygen and space,

but it's not like it was your choice

right?

Ha, it's okay- i'm sure you'll be successful one day and make it in life

sike!

Like, you really believed me didn't you?

Honey, you're a failure, it's gonna take some time to sink in

but you'll be okay in the end.

She looks at her reflection in the mirror and says,

**"Maybe you're right"
we all have our negative insecurities, but trust me love you'll always be beautiful to me. <3
Joel Valerio Jun 2015
Send. With the touch of a button intergalactic waves transport emotions at the speed of light, right? Right. From the moment you followed me back all I was thinking of was some double tapping, mackin' no one night stand at least twice, sike. Haha just kidding focused on you I'm knitting.. sewed my heart on my sleeves. But unless I'm an avatar you won't even notice me.
There's no controlling the scrolling multiple options I'm plotting mentally jotting you see my heart throbbing she's sobbing they party we speak optics... delusional paralysis floating though the air I don't care what dimensions you mention, perception perception perception what you see is a reflection of the depths subconsciously time travels rewinded causing relentless stomach ache connections no more writers block universal inceptions from all directions, pensive.
Ralph Dec 2017
Like ****~

With all due respect, I have to object.
It’s like talking to a wall after a simple “out of turn comment.”
Like **** it wasn’t my intention
I apologized sincerely
but you wasn’t having it.
I’ve come to realize that not everyone shares the same humor
But where the hell do you get off thinking that I’m not useful
I gave my advice I shared my thoughts
“Oh, but you don’t know what I’m going through”
Well what the ******* asked me for, huh?
Answer the question, don’t change the subject
Don’t put the blame on me and pretend I’m spose to let you run it;
The sike of course, you can’t act like I don’t know
Like **** you really throwing me under the bus
Cause you knew I was right
You knew what I said hit home
You knew he was using you but you still carried on.
Like ****
How dare you lie to me
How dare you pretend to care
How dare you look at our previous conversations
And say the mutual feelings wasn’t there
You lead me on, you lied.
But it’s okay I moved along
We stopped talking for a while but you came back on some
“hey what’s going on..?”
Like ****.
disease Feb 2015
i wish i could just cut out my tongue because I'm done talking I'm addicted to this pain i wish i didn't have a brain oh wait i don't so i guess its a little  better sike i need to stop falling for theses dikes getting into too many fights staying up too many nights turn off the lights and let me be unless you really love me but who would am i right so shut the **** up and lets fight I'm done trying to bite my tongue and keep quiet because when i do i explode like a bomb and everyday I'm ticking so look at me the wrong way and you will experience a dooms day i got nothing else to say unless you wanna see my dooms day
My skills be swift as a meteor welcome to the tour
Of Yosef ******* rhymes galore left ya sore
Mentality couldn't handle my lyrical gore
From the sky ceiling to the earth floor
I'm makin' splits like lightening fast and frightening
Even lost spirits got the reciting cuz I'm hypin'
Up the baddest brews sip only a few
Still breakin' crews like news worldwide views
Who could do what I do got the power of Goku
And you be sweet as that purple fool in Ginu
Force forget the source took a spiritual course
Once my brain went into REMS registered my consciousness
Like DMs
See him he ain't as intellectual as Eye
Still got curtains over his eyes beat mesmerize
So much so your pours open from the temperature rise
Know wise guys who demise fakers running around with brokers mentality enterprise
I realize I'm aboriginal and so you are you
Well if you was enslaved too?
The system cuz they love to lynch 'em
You know em' the color I'm talking about
But everybody loves to dismiss about
But the truth is lifting veil while tappin' nails
On the table scared of us breaking the sable
See me I'm just an average dude sike I'm a successors
To MF Doom Whoaaa

While the enemies pistol is shootin'
and the lobbyist still lootin"
Our everyday presence wake up and smell the war incense
See the love to keep fear intense with immense
Nonesense then ask us to repent for the lent
They left on others nations filled with color
Well? It seems like they only attack people similar to Black
But now that you have the facts lets
Get the bumpin' back on track
No locos or rail roads just a dirt road leading the way
To where their souls got taken away
To the crossroads along with skulls and bones
Stolen legacy a representation of brutal democracy
But somehow the black man was made the enemy?
Hidden in the Vatican Rome I'm all alone
Searchin' for destiny but somehow she finds me
Sittin' in the cemetery park with the Buddha sparks
I can't see nothing like an atom to quark
I'm science undefined rewind back to my timeline
Royal ya highness I'm the highest dynasty baby made from the finest Hard fro me to digest
all this knowledge But they stay with ******* stress test oh I guess?
There was this kid in college
pursuing his growth with knowledge
Towards elders he payed his homage
although troubled inside ;

Everyday after classes
fraternities caught em slackin
They told em he should be packin
he should not hold no pride ;

He questioned why they aint like em
they beat em and tried to sike em
Quit often at school he's frightened
out his mind he would go ;

After he called his master
jehovah many don't know off
The holy among the holies  
he would cry for his help ;

Why do you let them do this
they ruthless
Beating me toothless
he knew this but he said nothing
It was all in his plan ;

Walking from class and thinking
he saw em tried to avoid em
They followed to leave em hollow
he was angry inside ;

They smacked em
about the action
One had a bat and swung it
they took his bag and they flung it
He type wanted to die ;

Now months had passed he was enduring the stress
grades declining
Sorrow climbing
wasn't doin his best

Oh how could he achieve
soar and reach for his dreams
When these ******* kept him under
forced a trick up his sleeve ;

It was sunny-
he was bummy as he usually was
He approached em after class
they where they usually was
They had laughed in his face ;
called em broke and a ******
Wasn't laughing for long
since he pulled out the matic ;

Sporadic they started movin
the fear in they faces soothin
He told em you try to run
im puttin lead in you all ;
One pushes his homie forward
while falling hes contemplating
Debating why they had caused this
bullets fly out the gun ;
He wet up the one who fell
they others had tried to scatter
A marksmen right at that moment
he had aimed for they heads ;

Laughing while he had killed em
four out of the five had fallen
The last of em slowly crawling
he walked up to him fast ;
Crouching he looked right at em
he pleaded we were just joking
Fun poking he said he's sorry
Jacob laughed in his face

Last of the fallen bullies
was crying as he was dieing
Delighted the bummy murderer put two in his brain ;

He said look at you now
i will not be destroyed
By the likes of you all
the police had been called ;

The sirens he heard em comin
he figured no sense in runnin
Since god had never responded
**** this life aint my own ;

His eyes had looked upward gazing
he felt his sorrow degrading
Visions of success fading as he let himself go ;

With the gun to his head
tried to finish himself
Heard it click several times
their were no bullets left ;

Now the cops are arriving
his heart was dropping and diving
His bravery was comprising of the bullets he had ;
figured jail was no option
They'd **** em
he couldn't stop em
So thinking quickly decided he would die by the ops ;

Their screaming telling him freeze
no time for buckling knees
He bolted headfirst at cruisers screaming top of his lungs ;

The officers open fire
fulfilling desperate desires
His soul would have raised higher had he tried something else ;

Now wet up he couldn't get up
but happy free from his burdens
His parents died long ago so he had no real regrets ;

DMT danced inside him
it took him to early childhood
Remembered when his parents had been loving him so ;

Toward fire he was descending
escaping is now pretending
While burning he saw the bullies he had sent to this place ;

While tortured they chained together
their skin was hanging and tethered
No laughing no getting over what his life had become ;

No resolve but the truth  
their was no going back
If your seeking revenge
you should prolly relax..
probably the longest **** iv written on here, gomen.
Are you a fairy Daddy like Terry Hanratty? No, I'm daddy-normal
& daddy-hormonal. Can I violently tug on your scruffy beard like a
punk who is weird? No, because I'm not the murderous Ted Bundy
daddy college women in 1973 feared. Will you never come home
Daddy & give ill Mommy her Daddy-thrill-hammer thrill? Never!!!
We can't go there & we can do something with boats in our pockets
'cause heaven's God's door for the sum of 6 ***** & mid-leg sockets
that fall under the underlings whose socks are from cotton-sock kits
for high frequency, amplitude & pulse brassieres made to shock ****
of crude gals schtupping **** males in a kettle of ½-stewed whales


Maiden, mother, crone are the 3 stages of femininity, you vaginitis-
plagued *****, so go back to your age-defying goo, you ***** witch
My tranquil inner peace is ******* with my sedate inner harmony a
lot. The Luzon Pinay with 1 eye ain't the mail-order bride I bought.
I ate the moldy bread knowin' full well what's coming, loose guts &
diarrhea = an annoying disruption to pre-diurnal plumbing function
We must take heart that putrefying, dead folks will make, for living
folks, the rightful decision, though not with mathematical precision
I can't wolf Alpo as it makes me howl, bark & **** wayward stray
******* in heat, whelping in the park-lands of Centralia's burnt park

Impose my will upon the willing, hot chicks with bleary vision into
feeling men hungry for lesbian love at its most sike-a-**** thrilling
Let us not breed insane rumors nor self-diagnose huge brain tumors
in the presence of wall flowers, freaks, flits, sissies & late bloomers
I remember when reliable prostitutes were 3 for a buck or 1 for 35¢
but that was in April '95 before we elected vice prez Michael Pence
You sprayed 10 toes with decarbonizing spray 'cause both your feet
were black-coal carbonated before you left for Guam on Labor Day
as your motherhooded mother motherly mothered you to be ***-gay
Solar cycle 25 I got nothing to hide

Eclipse pictorial scripts  form the Letter C

narrate your soul to me

these prophets

Analyze      

artists

Through the
  Intelliegent  interface the sound they crave degrades those at the rave.

sound speech of the DEAD i wrote it in red

Time travel in my head

  As your  emulating  my lead base  look at your face how do you turn it to gold? Do you know?

You lost your ritual rights

   I can prove who's the nicest tonight

scientific hypothesis you show hate with your fake third eye conscious

The cold wind warms my darkness

you can't claim to be an archer

if your not above all TARGETS

star seeds get ****** they don't cherish the gift

they take the risk

to "ATTEMPT" to defeat  my spirit

remix it 


 feed it  to their young 

 these words got you sprung

second guessing your cunning with the phony style your running,


man but you got to try something!

See that's the mind *******'re lost

YOU CAN'T COPY ME OR RETURN TO A LIFE OF FAKE BALLAST.

Sharpen the dullest  rip my skin off for more notes on all quotes  discovered.

The oracle Cthulu helps me write the unusual

  IT'S NOT LUCRATIVE BECAUSE I REFUSE TO SELL TO THE STUPID- Sike they all in -to  it!
A feeling from a crevice that you didn't know existed, the seed i planted resonated grew and then up lifted. It hungered so i watered it, quenched its thirst for food. You were the blazing sun that gave it light. I am soothed by your sight. Your love for me was crude, i exude no more fight. For the loss of your love meant the loss of my might...Sike^.^
SelinaSharday Apr 2019
So this started in  the month of April and by now I can tell.
You don't  know this thing well.
Patience has embraced  me this day let me just say.
Sometime by May I feel you will give me a lil time.
If not then things should improve by June,
Wait you'll feel June gonna be here way too soon.
Ok I'm sure you got me in July..
By ..July 4th
no  your life might be way too busy fa July..
August then
mmhp oh man it'll be family reunion by then.
So guess we can talk in September.
  September fatigue will still  be the offender.
I mean you can text me from work.
If you can sneak and get on your network.
At lest twice in the morning in October.
Would then be enough to tide me over.
Now by November
A text sometime around Thanksgiving
Will be a blessing.
But if your still too busy .
You better make time for me.
  by Christmas because after December
it'll be a New Year
and I'ma hope by then we still even friends.  
Maybe you felt one text out of the week.  
Is all I should seek.
Just a good morning **** on Mondays.
Yeah maybe you believed that'd  make me care.
Till Thursday is near then a brief chat on Saturday one time.
Would do fine.
Maybe at least by then I'd be feelin so special.
Twice a week in 7 days 10 minutes of chat
yeah she be feelin that.
Your working like a bit over 8 hours a week.
So 1 day with a few minutes for me oweee.
With a hi bae is all you've got..mmm thats so hot.

Sike..not!!! This ain't hot..

By Sharday
time, fatigue, issues, procrastination, less relevant i aint got no time
LeRoy Williams Jun 2019
Baddie brains blown out hick-up pick up picky pick up lines hirried stubbling drained from the gum. Yes tis gum from the stuomuch that you swallowed for month because I just loved the way you ***** ***. I'm sick.
I puked.
I puked?
I started runnning the walts of Conan the quenched dominator beefing with minny mouse for spanking mickey. He sipps mickeys just so you know I'm holy dust, sike. I wish I washed my mouth month before I ate the groomed flappy fingered fizzathered lips of Haley Jade. I wish I had a ******. ****. Nut after nut and after this nut  another nut and a nut a then the knux cause she got the **** crumbling runs rinse me in Faygo cause these Jugglalos have hair I love to get the stow in jars from a far, because I farted. Beanie I ******* farting who started this ******* fricken flame flare Jack Keoroac couldn't spit enough spirts to-at-alley trickling pink pavement funds that freed Zepplin.
Gemini Aug 2018
You left around ‘06
And the wall called my guard is still up with these old bricks
I’m scared to tell a girl their heart is in good hands with me but my emotions in theirs is too slippery they won’t be able to get good grips
I feel more blue than red nowadays I feel like my affiliation belongs to the crips
Hennessy been looking better and better these past couple of days she might get these elite licks
She took my pain away after a few sips
Sike I’ll never fall for these plain Jane girls like French tips
You’d be surprised I’m 20 and haven’t fell for a hoes tricks
You can thank my mother and sisters for the guidance
Thinking you’d come back used to be a big hope in my mind that occurred in wide stints
But before I turn 20 I just wanna say I’m not mad at how your absence made me a hollow man
I’ll never know a mans love so when I tell my future kids that I love them I hope I can get them to understand
I’ll be the embarrassing dad just because I want them to know I’ll forever be apart of their life
I’ve dealt with that sharp pain of wondering if my life would’ve turned out better if you stayed in mine
So I’ll never want my kids to feel the pain of that knife
Again sorry for the long voicemail
Just some last minute thoughts before I turn 20

— The End —