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Andrew T Hannah Apr 2014
Praeludium in via ...

Vidi heri mane quando ridebam coloribus egregiis,
Eradere auro , trans tabula caeli , tentorium ...
Excelsus super omnes montes mundi mole fratres
Nimborum desertum , ubi non sit humana exsuscitatur .
Et non vidi nobili altitudo futura ...
Bonitas terribilis Vidi , *** indomitus.
Et peregrinare in ea carne existimarem Semel tamen divina ,
Nunc datum est scire , et non confundamur ab eo opus .
Ambulavitque *** Deo, quod nunc facio , et passus est ... accentus
Proditio amor et passionibus , quamvis non recipiat ecclesia ,
Divinitatis naturam , ne occulta omnia confitentur ?
Audis tu solus in universo ab duces ineptum
Ipsos victu pascuntur finguntur mendacii .
Sed ambulavit in vobis, ex ea ipsa mundi redivivi ,
Proelia ante hos annos multos, in carne nostra, amissis vate sacro .
Nos sequi vestigia veterum monumentis, ut ostensum est ;
Quia ex nihilo nati sumus , et adhuc in filiis tuis, ac spatium vivendi ,
Latebunt , quo melius in manifesto , vultus ingenio tegmina.
Ego sum primus , et consilium ... Memini tamen alta urantur
Humanis uti licet , *** aliena michi negotium.
Lorem quid ad ignorantiam et extra ,
Quia vidisti me in tenebris, in ardentem rogum meum .
Si sustinuero , praeire , ubi angeli labuntur ...
Quis autem, si non satis est dedicata piget.
Irrisorie , quoniam ego scio quod salventur , et saepe etiam ,
Post tantum est **** , et sic esset forma in re firmatam ?
Imago Dei , huc ad nos omnes in sanguine ipsius ,
A primis ad ultima, ut alpha et omega, gladius acutus .

Prologus : ( Os meum labitur )

Puer fui servus ad aras tam sacras ,
Hymnis immaculatorum : et absque iniquitate .
Quod *** ipse portabat diadema thons nudus ...
Expositum Spiritus meus, qui intellexi gravitatem.
Quis credit sanctum profanae habitu virtutum
Et illi qui in eo sunt ut carnifices ovis ad occisionem ,
Innocentes cogit induere larvis ad porcellana et operuerunt capita sua ,
Et filii eorum diriperent pueritia , vinctus catenis rudis .
Sicut teenager : ambulans in naturis hominum omnium adprobante ,
Et egressus est a me omnes, qui violatores extiterunt in coinquinatione verebatur .
Angelo fidem reperto cecidi inveni sanctitati
Nomen meum in ea , et curet abluitur dubium inveni .
Venit ad nuptias, et omnes dedi uxorem proditione ,
In solutione huius coniunctionis nostrae et sine intervallo in solitudinem imposuit ?
Traiectus mortalis caro mea reliquit me solum in sanguinem ,
Cor ejus scissum est , absque omni cultu ex ordine funem .
Angelus autem meus et leniat iras mansit dolori
Mea lux, in vigiliis, in nigrum, quod est victa ,
Admonens quia carnis mortalitate ... maxime
Angelus vult me et tremor et durum accepimus.
Et ego factus sum quam ... traumas vitae ac lacrimis
Et dimisit , in specie quae sunt post , veluti a me plagas .
Nox deinde calor intensior saunas percipimus ...
Sicut est mihi in choro , relictum est , nisi ab illo esse extensum ,
Et invicem tradent , et mortalem , ut impunita essent, sed numquam mihi ...
Non tradent ; effundam spiritum meum , et non totum .
FYLACTERIUM creare ex omni me , et oculus innocens ...
Quod amari posco sum ​​ut carbo margarita alba et nigra ;

Section I : Sacrificium Doll

Part I : ( litus sanguinem )

Ne revoces me pupa enim priscis recesserunt cavernam
Sunt inanima appetant , non realis forma in utero ;
A puero bibere rubeam ore exploratores in vastissimam taberna ...
Dum nati psallens FARRATUS agros effusi .
Vadimus ad domum Dei , in plagis , in magna pecunia debetis ...
Hoc non est ad oras Nunc cruore manant strigitu rubra de memoria , polluetur .
Nulla est enim me primus ad ignitionem gloriae ...
Quando autem mens aeterna , in omnibus placentes, causabatur laetitiam .
In stellis ibi verba quae ego volo inauditum revocare,
Quia descendi ita pridem apud venire primum ?
Sollicitus purus fabrica MYSTICUS chaos genitus antiquorum
Mitti expectant limine signa magica.
Interdictum revertatur in carminibus meis , Licinius, ut audacia ,
Quia oblitus est mei fere est: nunc originem , ut tragici.
*** filii bibere, et se abscondunt nati seorsum
*** aquæ in sanguinem, et super triticum, et arefecit fœnum, et humida !
Signum quod venturum est mutare et laboro mentem.
Facies in luna ALLUCINOR in metu torquetur , horror ...
Dumque in fauces manu stare super pectus
Inter ordines diu frumentum umbra nigro ambula
Genus servo meo animas infantium .
Aestas flavescunt, Phoebe caelesti audent .
Mea sola mcestas lupus sonitum audiri potest ,
Et *** feris leo in pontumque moueri relinquere ...
A natura mihi dolet cupio concupivit paradisus reducat .
Vidi terram terror , ut sanguis in sinu
Ater sanguis in terra , quae facit viventia ululare ...
Sicut **** habet stultitia non dicam prava vel !

Part II : ( Crucifixo et Inferorum Animas Excitat)

Nam inertis est gemere pupa altari parato, in sacrificium,
In lapidem calcarium, et in cavernam, ubi sunt wettest fingit arcus !
Un - res sunt, sed etiam *** vivit in vulneribus animae , ut in glaciem ,
In horrore frigoris fictilem , ita *** pedibus non vocavit.
Serpentipedi mucrone subrecto , remittit praecise a pupa in collo ,
Et non potest dici , quia non habet pupa voce clamare.
Puer, et egressus est a tabernam , aspectus eorum quasi a naufragii vile ...
Ut curem hominem a superioribus agentibus , corpus totum mundum.
Infra in concavis locorum asperitate visa petram
Magna voces resonare in tenebras , et vocavit nomen tacuit.
Eripuit animam trahit nauta Multo gregis
Ubi aereum reddet unicuique antiquum signum desideratum .
Et venit ad bibendum aquas illas vitae malis mederi ...
Porcellana , et liberatus a vinculis mortis obscuris sentiat frigore ;
Animas in captivitate , unde nemo mortalium loqui
Sed statim liberavit remotis perforabit clavi ...
Omnis **** , qui dicitur Golgotha ​​, olim in cruce positus .
Omnis autem mulier quoque, ad quod omnes tales sunt tormento
Et facta est , dum consummaretur sacrificium insita primum sic infirma est,
Et intantum ut nisl tot annis perpessi .
Signati post fata diu Quod murus ignis in Terra ,
Stigmatibus ferre posset ita etiam multa futura!
Quod signum erat in manu mea, ut labatur pes meus, et dimittam ...
Tamen adhuc vetera perseverare illusionibus , et non possum excitare multos .
Ego, qui iam tantum conligati Lorem ferrum quid reale,
Factaque est infinita in dolo : Ego sum ​​, et desiderio erat pax.
Nam et ego quod negas , nisi aspera ac rudia mei liberatione ;
Angelus liberavit me , et nunc inter saevus sigillum frangere conantur .

Part III : ( The Return of lux)

Qui a mortuis Surrexit , frigidior , ubi de somno , ultrices in somnis , per
Et obliti sunt intelligentiae invocatum est super sancta miserunt innoxia verba ...
Et inde apud hominem , ut maneat MYSTICUS sequuntur revertamur ,
Ea aetate in inferno commemoratione praeteritorum.
Qui suscitavit eis manum meam , et pugionem eius lumen gloriae,
Relicta meae effercio fluere sanguis subito currere libero.
Ex profundo flamma surgit millennial amisso puella puer ,
Quæ est angeli redivivam sinit luce clarius ostendit .
Et omnis qui non occaecat oculos ad intima ;
Infideles , in momento temporis ponere in obprobrium .
*** stellae ab Diua sacrorum opera voluntatis
Dum coccineum limen transeat , lucem adfert .
Momento enim omnes in caelo et in terris sunt ,
Sicut dies longus tandem inclinatus ante noctem veniat .
In tenebris , claritas multo maiorem et perfectiorem descendit ,
Eorum, qui dum in nomine meo orbata est devium.
Sicut incensum in conspectu angelorum ira animos eorum , occlusum ...
Ferrum IRRETUS texturae talis effugere nequeunt carcerem
Nam quicquid occaecat vidit lucem et scindit
Nisi quia in templis revellens mortalibus irae.
Et , postquam ipsæ fuerint fornicatæ infidelium , ut uoles, petulans ,
Et factum est in excogitando dogma , quod de ratione immemor ?
Horrendum non fides sit , tamen ita fecisse ,
Ante finem exspectent praemia petunt .
*** enim , ut est in paradisum suscipit dereliquerunt ...
Imago autem libertatis quam servitutis et negotio.
Nimia tempus extractam converterat a gladio:
****, ut spectet ad salutem in lucem , caeca lumina sua .

Antiphon alpha :
Quia hoc est ut , barbaris quoque innocentiae gentilitium mendacium vendere ...
Numquid et vos vultis emere , aut aliquam nunc forsitan putas,
Ad sciendum neque rationi consentaneum neque aetate sapientes ...
Quod si non moverent malles *** saltare!
Pleni sunt somnia noctes ; Dies mei tantum ...
Ego ad bis et quem maxime diligebam , in purpura quoque , et aprico occasus .
Ego autem haec imago non ad tangere memoriam tot ,
Qui replet in sanguinem furoris me , et frigidam desiderio finis .
Et considerandum est quod *** in ultima desperatione rerum , in cuius manu mea, equo et pilos in ore gladii ,
Nam ni ita esset, nunquam tamen inde trans familia .
Sed abusus est , ut fuit, et quidem instar caedentes sepem
An ut reliquos omnes transcendunt omnia , amice!
Ego superfui , transfiguravi ascendi in fine est ,
Multo magis quam erat, non plus quam diruere animus .
Sed tamen , quia speravi in solitudinem , ut a somno exsuscitem ancillam meam in flamma ...
Ardet , o superi, ut arbitror , usque uror dissiliunt!
De caelo et magis obscurant vestris, et tridentes, et contritio ,
Audio furorem tympana caelo antiqui gigantes hiemes.
Dii irascantur et ecce valide erutas ,
Uvasque calcantes Angeli hominis Illi autem vinariis ageretur ...
Recordatus sum in omnibus navigantibus battleship galaxies ,
In die ortus nubes inter exaestuans, quod ' vaporem ...
Depopulari Sodomam et Gomorrham, ad contumelias !
Ibi eram: et *** impiis non perire denique gemitu.
Ut illuderet mihi : et populus , quia ego bonus sum male velle ,
A Deo est, quam diu tot mala ferre cogetur .
Ego autem non sum solus , quia multa in eo et detorqueri
Deus remittit, nam adhuc sed non est intellectus ;

Section II : Hostiam de Spider

Part I : ( Rident Primus )

Caelum non egerunt pœnitentiam super ulcus nigrum est furore , et in indignatione, et in iustitia :
Et factus sum caro , quamvis intellectus non mortale .
In antro loca , quæ transivi , et dæmonia multa discurrunt ,
Et locis minus adhuc amor in search of a provocare .
In quo autem in craticiis tectoria atria mea, et thronus fuit stabilis ...
Et super collem , ubi dolorum laborum animae perit labor in mundanis ,
Transcendi vincula et consilio fidelium expectabo laudatur.
Ignis et sulphur et, semper est dextera arderent super altare ?
Ridentem cogo faciem meam : non enim veni , ut velle,
Ut in hora *** iam iuvenem, *** proposito aureum ...
Quæ pro impenso super solidum, pretium quis ,
Qui autem non cognovit , quomodo cupiam sibi solvere ...
Furor solitudinis nascitur ira nascitur ex malitia,
Qui autem contemnunt me , quia sine causa Provocantes me .
Quid est **** , impunitatem , ne quis putaret se excusat ;
Quam sapere , *** culturis tuum: mergi , in balneis , in ardentem .
Loquor de inferno, qui est infidelis nescis ?
Neque enim suis oculis effossis clavorum ...
Loquor cruciatus qui daemonia fecerunt superat .
Primus erit mihi dolor meus *** omnis fera voluntas ut ratio ...
Ut qui me conspui caro quod ambulans ,
Nescis modo larva facies mea , abscondens se.
Attendit ad illa nihil nisi insipientis solis erratur in sonis cantus
Tantum numerus ratus e fratre soror .
Sed in caelestibus quae sine causa nata est incestus est alchemical ?
Habitat in me peccatum occultum compages sǽculo.
Sit mihi vim inter gentes auditus est ABSURDUS musica ...
Spiritus meus qui regit omne simile est genitus.

Part II ( vindicta aurum )

In hortos, in quibus cupiditas sanguis rosaria semina ,
I , in manu eorum , qui esurit Quorum sitit aquam surgit !
In quaerere dilectionis affectum bestiis pavi eget
Quid faciam ut pudeat , habet me non elit .
O **** , quo impune ausu palamque vociferari ,
Quod amor sit ex me credis , et me opus manuum tuarum ,
Ut timidus , et cucurrit ad me latere turba depravari ,
In simulata excellentiam tuam , et ipse te vile animal .
Coniunctio oris linguae quasi telam laqueari
Si fieri potest araneae ; et fugiet a turpis ut octo pedes nidum ...
Et *** jam non calidus humanitatis indignum ,
Cogitans te meliorem quam reliqui descendes !
Ut vitae pretium millies , tibimetipsi .
Creaturam factus sum nocte expectant te aranea heu !
Nolite putare quia ego audirem . utrumque stridens cruris ...
Odium ductor tuus , et equi ejus , et ascensorem ejus .
Et in vestra web Video vos, Quirites immune ungues acuti ,
Ad toxicus venenum , quod oculis non potes, nisi te , octo ...
Ex quo bases Caesios sine timore, et sic primum
Ut dolores tuos comedat vos accendentes ignem caelum ;
Detur paenitentiae venia , quae dicis omnia cogit , ne superare dolores ,
Qui tibi semper, quæ videtur , non est potentia ad non noceat .
Et ascendit ulterius sapere plus pavoris tui ...
Numquam puerile ludibrium ulla facta .
Omnis domus tua dissolutae horologiorum ad socium non est ?
In desertis chaos est gaudium, ut si quod habuerunt.
Surgit in novum ordinem , nemo potest negare chaos genitus locus ,
Dum descendes perdunt, muneribus laesae.

PARS III ( Ultimo Rident)

Et sic videtur quod Angelus se et ante deam
Angelus autem nominis vocare aliquis tenuerit formarum.
Et qui in illis est , maiora sunt, ego saepe ad extraneas ,
Fingunt enim se perfectum , ignorant eorum saevitum ,
Num amor crustacea tam veteri quam in praedam , et mendicum ,
Quod minus quam tuum est , quam sumpsi eaque cibum ...
Est autem tarn coquina sicut clibanus tua vadit et ora
Ipse, ipse est extra te praemium virtutis tuae chores ,
Sicut enim res suo cuidam negotium , qui meretricem ... Lorem ipsum leve,
Putas praemium amaret , et mendicum , falli te .
Quid autem vocatis me alienum **** ... amor est malum , et hoc pudet,
Et similiter anima atque animus , quibus tandem corpus infirmare.
Vides tantum larva ... sub aspectu nisurum
Larva ut me in tenebris tenebris latet .
Circa collum tuum habebis , ut falsae aestimationis pendet a mortuis, et corona ,
Quia sterilis tibi relinquo mundum , Intenta ancillæ.
Consurgitur in excitate de reliquis abire tibi , qui sunt cognati mei
De manibus eorum procul offendant pedes vestri ?
Qui manet in coemeterio quasi mortui
Non tollere incorruptione Nimis tibi dubium .
Hue tacito lachrymis virgines flere ...
Ad mea, et robur , in quo praeda, gregibus rursum super vias hominum ,
Ad eos qui non ineptis metus mutetur ,
Aureus transmutare non magis quam plumbea nocte dies ;
Quod verum est de fine , qui scit ... Alchemist
Magistra rerum artes a me in profundum.
Ágite , quod sum aggressus creatura placet mutare ...
Ut res sunt nostrae demiurgorum lasciva oscula enim calidius ?

Omega Antiphon :
Non est autem in Utopia , non videtur quod ...
Donec ut nosmet ipsos cognoscimus prima quaerimus imaginem .
*** et in sacrificio sui ipsius , a volunt reddi obsequium ...
Qui ad reformandam et divina se , *** Leo renata agnus mitis !
Sicut in Christo, ex parte in qua invocatum est cicatrix, et vulneratus est ...
Sed simplex conversio ad dissimilis vultus nolui .
Memini dolore meo, ut acer et vehemens ...
Donee tantum possum emissus dolor servare sensu caret.
Quomodo potest aedificare paradisum non est, nisi in se mutant ;
Mutare ante mutatum esse non est in medio ; quae est in via .
Qua ad paradisum , et oportet eam, et non deficiunt,
Ne ad caelum, nisi quam nos aedificare illud infernum iniustitiis nos .
Utopia , non ruunt ad genus humanum, nisi a te, tu es qui habitavit ?
Nisi quod est extra omne malum quod in se corrumpunt ,
Manifestum enim est , nisi malum, quod mundatam ab omnibus malis moribus.
Tunc malitia faciatis abstulit senex super pluteo tom .
An non intellegat , quid est salvator ...
*** diceret quod non omne quod simplices filii ingredi
Regnum caelorum , et inde ad delectationem pertinere ...
Et quomodo potes perfrui , si tibi placet , cauillando crudelis ?
*** aurora tempore domini nituntur hominum planeta ...
Numquam imaginandi praecipiet ut discat primum voluntatis.
Non armorum vi , nec inutile mandatum ...
Sed *** modestia , et misericordia ; ergo qui ad cor suum in satietatem,
Gáudii innumerabiles et celebrationibus quae causa ?
Sed animus intendatur dolores peccatum lacus.
Ubi plausus rotundum vt quilibet sensus ?
Modernitatem iocabitur ullum definitum ornare.

Section III : sacrificium sui

Part I : ( hortos perditio )

A ziggurat sublatus est , arenosa in calidum lateres , quos coquetis in igne ...
Septem fabulae in caelum, sicut turris Babel ,
Quod in solitudinem, et in
This is how this poem is meant to be read. In it's original form.
Latin is nothing but the purest form of expression when it comes to language.
Hermes Varini Oct 2022
FEODALI SEPTIMA ALTAQVE METALLI AC SOLIS MEA HIC VINDICTA
PROFVNDVM DENVO HVIVS HASTILVDII DICITVR FVLMEN PROFVNDE MEVM
RVBRA IN LAPIDE HIEMIBVSQVE AC MEO IN METALLICO FEVDO
QVIA SICVT AVTEM ALTAS INTRA HASTLVDII MEI FLAMMAS
SCORPIONIS FERRVM ILLVSTRAT SIGNVM AC ARGENTVM LVNAM
ITA FEODALIS MAXIME OVERMAN MEO IN CLYPEO SIVE SPECVLO
ILLVSTRATVR ILLE VIR FEODALE EXTRAMVNDANVS HIC FVLMINE
ET SIC SECVRIS ILLVSTRATIVA ERIT MAGNÆ EX IGNE VLTIONIS
MEO HIC IN CASTELLO MVLTARVM SANGVINE OBSIDIONVM RVBRO

FEODALIS IMAGO HOC EX SPECVLO DVELLI MEA

SIVE

ΔEYPO TO ΔE EMON EIΔΩΛON AYΘIΣ
ΠYΡΦOΡΩ ΚAΤΟΠΤΡΩ KAI EN TH ΜAΧΗ

AC FEODALE MEO SI OVERMAN FVLMINE HOC IN DVELLO

FEODALES CVM FERRO HIC MEÆ SANGVINEO TERRÆ

ALTE EX IGNE NVNC ET IRA CVM RVBRA CANO IN SPECVLO CHALYBE MEA

FEODALIS SIT MAXIME OVERMAN AC SANGVINE HVIVS CÆRVLEO IGNIS

MEO IN HASTLVDII HOC CHALYBE SPECVLO FVLMINE DIGNVS

AC FEODALEM CVM PLAGAM HASTA IMAGINIS THORACATÆ ACCIPIEBAM MEÆ

PRIMORDIALIS EX FVLMINE CONDITIO OVERMAN ET IGNEM FERENS RVBRVM

EX FEODALE CVM IRA MEA NECNON FLAMMA HIC RVBRA

FEVDI NIHILO SECVS HIC TONITRVO CVM VOCE MEI

DE FEVDO FVLMINIS IN FIDE RVBRIS MEO

FEODALE HIC MEA VEHEMENTER FORTITVDO OVERMAN HOC NOMINE ALTA FVLMINE

DE FEVDO MEO HOSTIVM MEORVM ET MEA CVM SPATHA PROFVNDE RVBRO IN SANGVINE TINCTO

FEDODORVM FVLMINE RECVRSVS POTENTIÆ HIC MEORVM AD SIDERA ALTO

FEODALIS OBSCVRATA MEA CVM VMBRA HOC FVLMINE PROFVNDA NOCTIS REFVLGENS LVNA

AD FEVDIS LONGE CVM MANSIT VINDEX OBSCVRVS OCCVLTVSQVE DIRECTVS ET FEODALI SOLI

ET FEODALE ARIETIS HOC SIGNO SATVRNO CVM PLANETA SPLENDENDO

FEVDO AC PROFVNDE RVRBA NE ÆRVGONE CVM SECVRIS SED SANGVINE MEO

ET FEVDA CVM MEA HOSTES SINE TRIVMPHO ADORIVNTVR MEI

FEODALE OVERMAN EX SPECVLO CHALIBE ILLE DOMINVS VLTORQVE HIC MEO IN DVELLO

FEODALEM IN VVLNERE SIVE VLYSSEI SANGVINEO TENEBIT LAMINAM

QVA RE

FVLMINE MEO RECVRSVS POTENTIÆ

EX FEVDO MEO AC HASTILVDII INDE FVLMINE RVBRO

GRÆCA HIC CVM VOCE SIVE FVLMINE SPATHAQVE ALTA

ΠANTH KAI ΠANTAXOY KATOΠTPΩ THΣ AΣΠIΔOΣ

EΞ TOY ΠYPOΣ TO EMON EIΔΩΛON O OVERMAN

ΩΣ ΠPOΣ TON ΔE TITANA H ΠΕPIOXH EΣTIN

ΠPOOΔOΣ KAI ΔE KAI ΓONIMOΣ ΣTAΣIΣ ΩΔE

QVA RE DENVO

THΔE O ΔE ΑIΟΛΟΒΡOΝΤΗΣ ΒΑΣΙΛΕYΣ OY

EΠI TΩ ΘPONΩ TΩN ΔE AΣTEPOΠΩN NYN

OY TO KRATOΣ KAI H BIA TOY ΔE PYROΣ

QVA RE MEO FVLMINE EX HASTILVDIO DENVM

NEMO VIR EST VIR NOMINE HOC ALTO

DONEC SPATHA SCVTOQVE CEPERIT AC PERCVSSERIT MVLTA

SIC RVBRO OVERMAN DIXIT MIHI SIVE TO EMON EIΔΩΛON FVLMINE

FEODALE CHALIBE HIC IN SPECVLO ET IGNEO HOC CVM SIGILLO

QVA RE DENVO

HASTILVDII CÆRVLEO HOC CVM IGNE DEMVM MEI

OVERMAN REX HIC SPECVLO SIVE PVGNÆ SCVTO SPATHAQVE MEÆ ILLE

ET SIT QVOD EST IN SE EX OVERMAN REGE FVLMINE

MEA DEINDE IN SPECVLO SVA METALLICA MANVS OMNIPOTENS SPATHA

QVA RE DENVO

MEO HIC CVM SCVTO SIVE CLARISSIMO FVLMINE CHALIBEQVE DVELLI SPECVLO MEI

VBI EST IMAGO FEODALE FVLMINE MEA HOC IN DVELLO CVM PVGNAE ROSA

STAT FEODALIS OVERMAN TO ΔE EIΔΩΛON GRÆCO CVM NOMINE MEO HIC EX FEVDO

ET CVM MVLIER FORMOSA SOLE AMICTA HOC LOCO HILDEGARDA NOMINE MEA

AC INTRA FLAMMAS SENSVALIS PRÆSENS ILLA DENVO HOC LOCO PHVLCHERRIMA ALTAS

FEODALE ANTE CARNALEM NOSTRAM CONIVCTIONEM ANTE LVCIS ADVENTVM IGNE SACRO

DEINDE FVLMINE OVERMAN DENVO NOMINE MEO

FEVDA CVM MEA AC IGNEA CVM MEA MAXIME SECVRE EGO

COMES IV DE ARMANHAC ET DVX DE MONFORTZ ARMATIS ADORIVNTVR EQVIS

FEODALIVM SPATHA RVBRA CVM SANGVINE QVA RE HOSTIVM MEA

AD FEVDI SIDERA MEI POTENTIA SECVREQVE

ESSE SIVE POTENTIA EST OVERMAN

ET CVM EGO SPATHÆ MEÆ FVLMINE HOSTES MEOS

SICVT FEODALE ALTAQVE IRA CVM MEA

GERALDVS DE PLASAC ET WILLELMVS DE ARTENSA CVM GIDEON DEGLEMIS SCOTVS

ET PETRVS DE COLSORN ET GERALDVS DE JORNAC

AC MARTIS ÆNOBARDVS TREVIRENSIS COMES RAPAX IMPLACABILISQVE

GENTES QVI MAGNAM IN EAMDEM ACCEDEBANT INFAMIAM

ET GAVBERTVS DE MARTEL ET PETRVS GVIDONIS DE AVTAFORT ÆQVALITER

IRA CVM MEA METALLICO EX FEVDO

ET PETRVS DE ESPARTINAC CVM RAMNALDVS MALMIROS ET GOFERIVS DE VIGENOR

AC DEMVM BERTRANDVS ET AVDEBERTVS COMITES FEODALE IN TERRA

EGO SPATHA SCVTOQVE IN FVLMINE CVM DICO ALIQVID HOC DVELLO ADIBAM

EST OVERMAN REX QVI VERE DICITVR IN SPECVLO MAXIME VLTOR

RVBRA DRACONIS SEPTEM CAPITIBVS HAC IN SPIRALE ILLE CAVDA

FEODALIS VIDEX QVI MAGNAM HISTORIÆ DONAVIT POTENTIAM HOC SCVTO SIVE METALLICO SPECVLO

FEVDORVM EX IRA MEORVM CVM FEODALE HAC VISIONE MEA HIC FVLMINE MAXIME DISTINCTA

FEODALEM APVD CASTELLVM DE RIBEIRAC HOC TEMPORE IN MANV PRIORIS ARCHAMBAVDI INDIGNA

FEODALE MEA CVM SPATHA VEXILLAQVE FEVDI HIC MEI EX FVLMINE CRVORE RVBRA

FEODALIS METALLICVS DEINDE EGO AMICTVS AC RELVCENS CHALIBE HOC RVBRA IN SANGVINE PVGNA

FEODALE MEMORIA SPATHAQVE CONTRA HIC REMINISCOR

GERALDVS DE SALIS ET AVDEBERTVS DE BIGORRHA DECANVS NOMINE GRIFAGNVS HIC INDIGNE

ET GVIDVS DE MONTAGNAC MARTINAS SIMVL VLGERIVS DE VRGEL ABBAS INFAMIÆ ILLE CVSTOS

ET ARCHAMBAVDVS DE TRAHINAC ET AMLARDVS VICECOMES DE CONBORN ANNO MCLXXVIII

AC DENVO EGO WISIGOTHORVM GENERE SECVRE MEA REMINISCOR

FEVDI HOC IN DVELLO EGO ARMATVS DEMVM MEI CONTRA ITERIVS DE WARO

EST SPECVLVM CORPVS FVLMINE DIAPHANVM AD RECIPIENDVM DISPOSITVM PERSONAM OVERMAN NOMINE MEAM

EX CHALIBE EI RAPRÆSENTATAM HOC CVM MEO EXTRAMVNDANO CRVORE AC RVBRO IN FEVDO

FEODALE MEA HAC SPATHA VBI HELIAS DE AIENNO ET GERALDVS ET GAVFRIDVS DE TELLOL

PARCITE HOSTES MEI NVNC PROCEDERE HOC MEO MINIMVM IN DVELLO

FEVDA DE SICARDVS RASA CVM RAIMVNDVS DE AVINHO ILLIC TONITRVO VICI ET GOLFERIVS DE LA TOR

FEODALIS EST OVERMAN DENVO FVLMINE IMAGO SIVE TO EIΔΩΛON RVBRO

SECVNDVM ESSE AC SECVNDVM RATIONEM MEA HIC METALLICA

ET IGNIS ACTVS DEMVM INTER OMNIA ILLE VINDEX PERFECTISSIMVS

FEVDORVM ATQVE EX IGNE MEORVM ALTO

QVOD VERVM SICVT OVERMAN EST FVLMINE
SEMEL EST FVLMINE SEMPER VERVM

AC VTRVM POSSIT SEMPER TONITRVO OMNE QVOD HOC IN TONITRVO POSSIT ILLE VLTOR

FEVDORVM ATQVE EX IGNE MEORVM ALTO

QVIDEM PRIMVS STATVS AD OVERMAN ASCRIBITVR
AD ESSE SICVT POTENTIÆ ESSE SECVNDVS

ET TERTIVS MVTATIONI IN POTENTIA INCREMENTO TOTALITER MEO EX SPECVLO DVELLO

QVA RE EX FEVDO MEA MAXIMA IRA MEO

SIT PER OVERMAN FEODALEM VLTOREM FORMA
EX IGNE HAC VINDICTAQVE MAXIME LIVIDA

EX FEDVDORVM ATQVE IRA MEORVM

MVTATIO SIVE REVOLVTIO SIVE POTENTIÆ INCREMENTVM AD INFINITVM IGNEVM

FEODALE CVM FVLMINE EST OVERMAN

QVA RE DENVO

FEODALE CVM MODO VOCEQVE DENVO

OVERMAN EST MAXIME OVERMAN

SIVE

FEVDIS VERVS VIR EXTRAMVNDANVS AC VNICVS REX VINDEXQVE SVPREMVS

FEODALE SICVT MEO FROFVNDE HIC EX IGNE ADHVC

AC FEODALE HIC STAT AC VINCIT IN PERSONA OVERMAN NOMINE

FEODALIS SPATHA HARMONICA POTENTIÆ ET FORTITVDINIS TRIAS MEA

FEODALES SIVE FACTA AC CONCEPTIO AC PRINCIPIVM MAXIME IGNEVM

EX FEVDO REVOLVVNT HISTORIÆ CVM ÆTATES ET TEMPORA

DE FEVDIS SIVE IN POTENTIÆ RECVRSV DRACONIS RVBRIS IGNE SPIRÆ

FEVDORVM EX FVLMINE O ΔE ΟYΡΟΒOΡΟΣ HIC HASTA SCVTOQVE MEO

SIVE MEO DE FEVDO

FEODALEM SERPENS QVI SVAM DEVORAT SINE FINE CAVDAM

AC CVM FEODALE HIC EX MEO SIGILLO VOCE SEPTIMA IGNEO LIBRI

FEODALIS MEI ANNO MCLXXXVII SANGVINIS ALTI

ET FELIX HIC MAXIME VICTOR FVLMEN RECVRSV MEVS

SIVE MERIDIE HASTILVDII ALTO HAC CVM MEA HORA

IN TEMPLO SPATHA DICO VOS HOSTES MEIS ALBO

HVIVS EX FVLMINE HASTILVDII AC MEO HOC IN SPECVLO

FEODALEM SPATHAM CVM DESTRINGO MEAM HOSTIVM HIC SANGVINE RVBRAM

EX SPECVLO OCCVLTI FVLMINE MANIFESTATIO SIVE ΦAINEIN AC KPYΦIΩΣ OVERMAN

SIVE REMOTA AB OCCVLTIS ERVMPIT ILLE TONITRVS NATVRA AC TO ΦAΣΜΑ SVIS

FEODALE HIC FVLMINE AC HASTA MEA SCVTOQVE

SEPTEM CAPITIBVS APPAREAT DRACO

SIVE

FEODALIS O ΔE ΔΡAΚΩΝ APOCALYPSEOS RVBER

DE FEVDIS ALTE MEIS AC MEÆ HAC IGNEA CVM PROPHETIA TONITRVOQVE VLTIONIS

RVBRVM IN CERTAMINE RIVELATVR OVERMAN NOMINE SIGNVM

FEODALES ÆQVO CVM ADORIOR BELLATORES IN MEMORIA AC VVLNERIBVS

SPATHA SCVTOQVE IN OVERMAN SVPREMA ESSENTIA

FEVDORVM HOC IN TEMPORE HASTILVDII ALTO

STAT METALLICA MEA FVLMINIS PERSONA IGNEA CERTAMINIS ROSA

FEODALIBVS HIS SPATHIS INTRA PVGNÆ FORMAM AC CÆDIS

FEVDALEM SCVTO TO EIΔΩΛON POLITISSIMO CHALIBE CONSPICOR ILLEM RECVRRENTEM

VIDICEM ILLEM SIVE IMAGIMEM MEAM HOC IN HASTILVIDIO HIC METALLICAM

EX FEVDO MEO GRÆCO CVM NOMINE METALLICO AC MEA CVM HASTA

KEPAYNOΣ EI Ω OVERMAN

AΛHΘΩΣ TO ΠYP TΩN ΔE TITANΩN

KEPAYNOΣ EI Ω OVERMAN

O ΠYPΩ TA ONTA ΣYΣTHΣAMENOΣ

KEPAYNOΣ EI Ω OVERMAN

OY TO ΠYP TEΛEITAI IΔIAIΣ ΔYNAMEΣI

KEPAYNOΣ EI Ω OVERMAN

TO ΔE ΠΡΩΤΟΝ ΚΙΝΟYΝ THΣ IΣTOPIAΣ

KEPAYNOΣ EI Ω OVERMAN

O ΔE IΣXYPOTEPOΣ ΠAΣHΣ ΔYNAMEΩΣ

KEPAYNOΣ EI Ω OVERMAN

O KPEITTΩN TΩN ΔE KEPAYNΩN

KAI TΩN EΠAINΩN ΩΣAYTΩΣ

KEPAYNOΣ EI Ω OVERMAN

H HΛIΩ ΛΑΜΠΡA KAI ΦΑΕΙΝH AΣΠIΣ

QVIA

DE FEVDO AC SVB HOC TEMPORE SEPTIMO CVM WANDALIS NOMINE GENTIBVS

DESTRVCTIO OCCASVS EST OVERMAN FVLMINE

FEODALIS HOC IN SCVTO SIVE DVELLI SPECVLO MEI

ATQVE

FEODALIVM TERRARVM HIC NOMINE AC INTERCESSIO MEA EX FVLMINIS SIGNO RVBRIS

SVPREMVS INDE RECVRRENS POTENTIÆ INCREMENTO OVERMAN VINDEX

REX SIVE AΝΑΞ HOC IN HASTILVDIO GRÆCO CVM APOFTHEGMA MEO

FEODALI MEIS HIC FERRO AC HASTA VINDICTÆ

EX IGNEO MEO HASTILVDIO PLANETA MARTIS HIC NOMINE RVBRO

FEODALIS OVERMAN SIVE METALLICVS MEA HASTA SCVTOQVE IMAGO IN SPECVLO

VINDEX ILLE DEORVM HABET IN SE IGNEAM CVM FVLMINE NATVRAM SVPREMVS

QVA RE DENVO

FEODALE FVLMINE HAC TERRA IGNEA EX SOLE NIHILO SECVS FEODORVM METALLICO

SIC MEO DEFINITVR OVERMAN SPECVLO ILLE VINDEX QVI MAIOR EST QVAM SVBSTANTIA VIRI MAGNVS

FEVDI MEI IRA MAXIME NVNC ALTA ET SANGVINE MEO CÆRVLEO SEMPER

AC CASTELLO MEO CVM VEXILLA VENTIS RVBRA HIC HIEMIS

TALIS COMPOSITIONIS STAT SPECVLVM NOMINE QVALIS EX CHALIBE MEVS MIHI OVERMAN VINDEX

EX FEVDO QVA RE DEMVM MEO

FEODORVM FVLMINE MEORVM AC CASTELLI MEI RVBRA VEXILLA DENVO

FEODALE MEA CVM VOCE DENVO VOS MEIS SPATHA HOSTES IPSA

AC DE FEVDO HIC MALEDICTIONE VENTIS HOC TONITRVO MEI MAXIME ALTA

MAXIMA RATIO FVLMINE AC ACVMEN MVTATIONE MEVM

BERSERKR SVÁ GYLÐIR ÞAR MEÐR ATGANGA JAFN-SNIMMA

SIVE PLENILVNIO LVPVS

FEODALIS CVM SPECVLVM VINCIT SIVE CHALIBE POLITISSIMO DVELLI SCVTVM MEI

AC IGNEO SANGVINE CVM MEO HIC VVLNEREQVE FEODALE HOC DVELLO

PVRISSIMVS EST OVERMAN ALTO IN NATVRIS SVIVS FVLMINE AC RVBRO

FEVDA MEA CVM THOR DEVS SECVRE MALLEOQVE LAVDAT PROFVNDE ILLE FLAVVS

IMMIXTVS STAT ILLE NONNVLLIS ACCIDENTIBVS SINE ELEMENTALI MATERIA VLTOR SVPREMVS

FEODALIBVS VEXILLIS REGIS CVM PRODEVNT FVLMINIS OVERMAN NOMINE

STAT MAXIME FVLMINE CORPORALITER AC MAXIMA MEA CVM IGNEA NATVRA HOC SPECVLO PVGNÆ

FEODALIS MEVS CVM TRIVMPHVS EX IGNE AGIT PROFVNDO SANGVINIS MEI

AC NEC MIRERIS DE HOC HOSTES MEIS SPATHA RVBRA MEA VEXILLAQVE ET DRACONIS

MAGIS CERTE QVAM ALTERIVS HOC LOCO SANGVINIS ELEMENTI

FEODALIBVS EX MEO CASTELLO DENVO SANGVINE VOSTRO CVM TVRRIS TINCTO

QVA RE DENVO

FEODALE CVM VOCE EX CIVITATE VBI DRACONES SVNT ET SEPTEM TRIONES THVLE HIC NOMINE

FEODALIS NEMO ME HOC LOCO LACESSIT PROCVL IMPVNE SPATHA

AC FEODALIVM SECVRE SIVE FVLMINE TERRARVM SANGVINE TINCTARVM EX MEA VINDICTA VOSTRO

NVNC PRODIT DRACONIS MEVS A SEPTEMPTRIONE RVBRIS ORDO

FEVDIS MEIS CVM RVBER BELLI FVLMEN AC RECVRSVS DONABANT POTENTIÆ LAVDES

FEODALIS ERGO OVERMAN HABET IN SE FVLMINIS NATVRAM EX SPECVLO PVGNÆ

FEODALE RECVRSVS MEA FVLMINE ET VIRTVTE ALTA SIVE IRA

FEODALE HIC IN SPECVLO SIVE DVELLI SCVTO CHALIBE MEI FVLMINE POLITISSIMO EX FVLMINE

TΩ ΔE EIΔΩΛΩ ENTAYΘA

EX FEVDO MEO DENVO GRÆCO ET RVBRA HAC IN LAPIDE IGNE INSCRIPTA

FEODALE NECNON HIC ET NVNC SAPIENTIA CVM VOCE LAVDIS

INTRA HASTILVDII MEI ANTIQVO CVM NOBILI NOMINE FLAMMAS AC MEA CASTRA

NVNC PONO TALIS COMPOSITIONIS SPECVLVM FIERI ET FORMÆ POLITISSIMO FERRO MARTIS PLANETÆ

QVOD TOTA COMBVSTIBILIS FIAT IGNEA VNA LVX ITA QVOD FEODALE MODO

APPOSITVM CASTELLI VEL OPPIDI VEL CIVITATE ALIQVA SINE FINE OPPOSITVM COMBVRAT EVM

FEODALE MODO SIC OVERMAN DIXIT MIHI HOC DVELLI SPECVLO MEA SPATHAQVE

SIVE TO ΕIΔΩΛΟΝ PROFVNDE EX IGNE FLAMMAQVE ILLE MEVS

FEVDORVM MEORVM HAC DEMVM CVM VOCE FVLMINE GRÆCORVM MAXIME PROFVNDA

AEI H ΜHΝΙΣ ΤΩΝ ΔE ΘΕΩΝ O ΔE OVERMAN EΣTIN

THΣ ΔE ΠOΛEΩΣ TΩN IΕΡAΚΩΝ OY O ΤΙΜΩΡOΣ

AYΘIΣ KAI ΔE ΩΣTE IΕΡAΚΩΝ ΠOΛIΣ

FEVDA HIC PRODEVNT RVBRA EX VEXILLA MEA BELLI ALTAQVE VENTO MALEDICTIONIS MEÆ ALTO

IN QVO FEODORVM FVLMINE MEORVM

FEODALE SANGVNIS SIGNO MEI HOC IGNE DVELLI RVBRO

VIRTVTES CONVERTVNTVR ELEMENTORVM AD FINEM

QVI STAT OVERMAN NOMINE IN INCREMENTO SIVE EX FLAMMIS POTENTIÆ RECVRSV

FEVDI MEI SIVE CASTELLI LAPIDE MAGNA AC MVLTIS OBSIDIONIBVS RVBRA

SICVT ATRAHENDVM EST ADAMANTE FERRVM SICVT AD OVERMAN POTENTIA DENVO IN INCREMENTO

FEVDO AC SCVTO CHALIBE DENVO POLITISSIMO SIVE SPECVLO HAC IN PVGNA MEO

VBI OVERMAN REX MIHI APPAREAT SIVE IMAGO TOTALITER SVPREMVS MEA

STAT MAIORITAS IN OVERMAN EX FVLMINE ALTORIVM RESPECTV ETIVM MAGNA

FEVDORVM ALTA MEA CVM CONCORDIA VEXILLAQVE DENVM

FEODALE MEA HIC SPATHA CVM POLITISSIMO CHALIBE MEÆ PVGNÆ HIC SCVTO

AC FEODALIS CVM SEPTIMA QVOQVE MEA HORA APOCALYPSEOS RVBRÆ ALTA

IDCIRCO H OYΣIA SIVE ESSENTIA TONITRVO OVERMAN EST FVLMINE

EXTRAMVNDANVS VIR ILLE CAVSA QVÆ MAXIME ESSE DEDIT VNICVS

ILLE REX H OYΣIΩΣIΣ FVLMINE NOMINE MEO HOC IN HASTILVDIO

NECNON YΦIΣTAΣΘAI VINDEX ILLE IN HASTILVDII SPECVLO MEI METALLICVS

QVA RE

VT IAM EX FVLMINE VOCIS FEODALE DIXI

EST OVERMAN FVLMINIS SVBSTANTIA MEA A QVO ESSE OMNIVM PROFICISCITVR

FEODALE CVM VOCE NECNON ALTA VENTO MEA HIC VEXILLAQVE

ET SIT MEA TRANSMVTATIO AD OVERMAN POLITISSIMO CHALIBE SCVTO SIVE SPECVLO CÆRVLEA

FEODALE OCCVLTO PLANETA CHALIBE POLITISSIMO NECNON EX FVLMINE

QVIA FEVDALE MEO CVM SANGVINE INSVPER

FEVDORVM VLTIO AC VEXILLA CASTELLI SVPER TVRRES DRACONE MEI RVBRA

PVGNÆ PVLCRITVDO IGNE NOCTIS OBSCVRÆ

VBI PARTA MEÆ SPATHAE SVNT MAXIME MVNERA

FEVDVM CVM MEVM HOSTES NON OCCVPANT MEI ARMIS

FEODALIS IVSTITIA SIVE OVERMAN

AC EX FEVDO IGNEO MEO

FEODALIS PRVDENTIA SIVE OVERMAN

AC EX FEVDO IGNEO MEO

FEODALIS FORTITVDO SIVE OVERMAN

AC EX FEVDO IGNEO MEO

FEODALIS TEMPERANTIA SIVE OVERMAN

AC EX FEVDO IGNEO MEO

FEODALIS FIDES MAXIMA IN OVERMAN SIVE POTENTIA

AC EX FEVDO IGNEO MEO

FEODALIS SPES SIVE HAVD SPES

SED FEODALIS VOLVNTAS RVBRA POTENTIÆ

AD OVERMAN IGNE CVM ANTIQVO SEMPER DIRECTA

AC EX FEVDO IGNEO MEO

FEODALIS PRINCIPIVM IN FVLMINE OVERMAN NOMINE EX CHALYBE

AC EX FEVDO IGNEO MEO

FEODALIS FINIS SIVE FEODORVM VINDICTA RVBRORVM

AC FVLMINE DEMVM EX MEO FEVDO IGNEA MEA SPATHAQVE

FEODALE MEO EQVO MAXIME ARMATO CVM HASTA BAIART NOMINE ALBOQVE

STAT OVERMAN PROFVNDE

COMPOSITVS ILLE RVBRO AC TERRÆ FVLMINE SIVE VINDEX IMMORTALIS ET REX

DE FEVDO METALLICA EX ANIMA CORPOREQVE HOC PVGNÆ SPECVLO SIVE SCVTO

FEVDI MAXIMA EX VLTIONE ET GOTHORVM ET QVADORVM ET LANGOBARDORVM MEI

DICVNTVR HIC OVERMAN ET VALIDVS VIR SANGVINE

A MATERIA AC MAGNITVDINE SEPARATI POTENTIÆ

ET DVPLEX SIT NVNC IMAGO OVERMAN NOMINE MEA RVBRO IGNEQVE

FEODALE HIC ETIAM GRÆCA CVM VOCE AD SIDERA FVLMINE DIRECTA

TO EMON EIΔΩΛON KAI ΔE TO EMON ΕIΔΟΣ

ENTAYΘA ΣYN TΩ ΔE EΓXEIPIΔIΩ

KATOΠTPΩ KAI ΔE ΚΕΡΑΥΝΩ TΩN ΘΕΩN

AΔEΩΣ O ΔE OVERMAN AΝΑΞ

ET FEVDVM RESVRGIT NVNC MEVM HOC SANGVINIS LOCO MIHI VNICVM SPATHA

QVOAD

MAGNA CVM IRA EX FEVDIS DE MONTSEGVR MEIS CATHARORVM HIC NOMINE

FEODALE MEO IN HASTILVDIO ET PROFVNDE PRÆTERA

STAT FINIS ID FVLIMINE CERTEQVE

IN QVO EX OVERMAN

FODALEM AD NOCTEM REGE ILLE VINDICE MEO HOC IN SPECVLO

ET CVM SOLE FEVDI MEI AC MEA HIC CAREVLEA CVM DVELLI HASTA

PRINCIPIVM MAGNVM FVLMINE FEODALE CVM DENVO NOMINE

MAXIME NON QVIESCIT

POTENTIÆ MEO HIC ET NVNC RECVRSV IN FEODALE ATQVE VNIVERSALE

AC FEODALIS MAIORITAS SIVE POTENTIÆ VOLVNTAS ATQVE RECVRSVS AD OVERMAN FVLMINE

EX FEODO MEO MVLTIS CVM OBSIDIONIBVS NOCTIS FVLMINE MEÆ RVBRO

NON POSSIT QVOVIS MODO SINE OVERMAN EXISTERE SVBSTANTIA

FEVDALE HOC IN LOCO AC HAC SAXOSA IN INSCRIPTIONE ITERVM

NVNC AD SIDERA ALTA CVM FLAMMA AC TONITRVO MEA IPSA VOX

MANABAT CHALIBIS PLANETA MEVS OCCVLTAM POTENTIAM ILLIC OCCVLTVS

FEODALIS ATQVE DENVO FVLMINIS GRÆCORVM VOCE IPSIVS

AC RVBRO MAXIME HOC METALLICO MEO IN HASTILVDIO

ΩΣ EΦHN EΓENETO OYN

OΛΩΣ ΔIA THN ΔE EMHN ΜΟΝΟΜΑΧIAN

EΞ TOY ΔE KEPAYNOY EΚΕI ΚAΤΩ EN CKYΘIAI

TO ΔE ΣYΜΒΟΛΟΝ THΣ EMHΣ TIMΩPIAΣ
ΔIA THEΣ BAPEIAΣ ΦΩΝHΣ TOY ΔE ΠYPOΣ
ΔEYPO EMH ΦΩΝH O ΔE OVERMAN AΝAΞ EΣTIN
EN TΩ ΔE KYANEΩ BAΘEI Ω HΔIΣTH ΔYNAMIΣ

FEVDI MEI HIC CONCORDIA AC DENVO HOC IN HASTILVDIO

FVLMINE ΔIA TO EIΔΩΛON AVT OVERMAN AVT NIHIL PVGNÆ ALTVM

FEODALE DVELLI CÆRVLEO IN SCVTO CHALIBE POLITISSIMO SIVE SPECVLO SANGVINE MEO

QVA RE CVM FEODALE MEA IRA DEMVM

FEODALIS OVERMAN NVNC PRODIT HASTILVDII EX FVLMINE MEI CVM IGNEA ROSA

MEA DEINDE CVM SECVRE HIC INCISA INSCRIPTIONE LAPIDE GERMANICA DVELLI

NU DÆGEHWELC SWĀ HÆÐA BEÐEÞ BRYNEWELMUM,

QVA RE

FEODALE CVM ARGENTEO DE AQVINO CALICE AMARIORE SVPRA FLAMMAS REGIONIS

VBI RICARDVS IPSE DVX AC GAVCERAN DVRTZ HOC IN FEODALE TEMPORE MEO SIMVL

OBSCVRAS EX IGNE FEODALES DONAVERANT FALCONIS MIHI VEXILLAS

QVA RE DE FEVDO MEO

ET SANGVINE SIVE SEPTEM CAPITIBVS NECTAR DRACONI

FEODALE RVBRÆ EX IGNE DENVO NOMINE APOCALYPSEOS ARMIS CONCORDIAQVE

FEVDORVM CVM ALTA DENVO ARMA TERGO HIC MEORVM

FEVDA CVM SANGVINE PROFVNDE VBI LVCENT HAC DEMVM TERRA IGNEO MEA

H ΔE EMH ΚΥΛΙΞ ΔIA THN EΠIΦANEIAN

KAI ΔE KAI ΦΩNH AΛHΘΩΣ

G. R. A. I. L.

SIVE FEODALE FVLMINE AC FEVDIS CVM MEIS CÆRVLEO

GRATE REX AQVITANIÆ IGNE LIBER

SIVE

EX FEVDO CVM FOEDERE SACRALIS IGNIS MEO

FEODALE IN POTENTÆ RECVRSCV SIVE FVLMINE ANVLO

MEO IN SPECVLO SANGVINE CHALIBE POLITISSIMO SIVE SCVTO ET FEVDI

AC DENVO FEODALE CVM ANAGRAMMATE HIC EX IGNE ALTO

V. X. D.

SIVE EX FEVDO MEO

FEODALIVM ET SANGVINE PROFVNDE HOSTIVM TINCTO MEORVM

VINDEX XYSTO DÆMON

SIVE EX FEVDO MEO AC EX FLAMMAS FEVDI ALTAS MEI CVM IGNE ALTO RVBRAS

AC FEODALE ALTA SANGVINE CVM VOCE ET GRÆCORVM

O ΔE OVERMAN

TO EMON ΔAIMΩN AEI

FVLMINE AC SPECVLO SIVE TΩ EIΔΩΛΩ

SIVE EX FEVDO DENVM MEO

ET FEODALE CVM VOCE HIC GERMANICA

AB MEO EX FVLMINE FEVDO PROXIMA MAXIME

ŌFER-MANNES GECWED

QVIA

FEVDORVM CVM DENVO MEORVM IRA

REDDE MIHI POTENTIAM SPATHA OVERMAN NOMINE AC RENOVATIONEM SANGVINIS FVLMINE

FEODALIS VBI VOX IPSA SCVTO RESVRGIT ALTA IMPERIALIS AQVILÆ FVLMINE EX THVLE

FEVDO INSVPER MEO VEXILLA GERMANICO CVM PRODEVNT SAXONES QVADIQVE GENTES

FEODALE DENVM MEA VENTIS VOX A SEPTENTRIONE ATQVE EX FEVDO MEO ALTA

HWÆR NIHTES SWĀ WITODLIC ANDSWARODE WRÆCEND-WILDĒOR!

ÞÆR SĊĒAWERE WÆS HĒAH-EALD BEALDE SWĀ MĪN DREOR,

HWÆR ON WANRE NIHT ÁSCÍNEÞ SWĀ ŌFER-MANNES GÚÐWÉRIG HLĒOR!

ÞÆR UNDER HERE-GRĪMAN SWĀ ANDSWARODE NORÐAN-HREÓH,

HWÆR DÆGSCIELDE ÆÐELCUND ŌFER-MANN OFERCYMÞ, SWĀ ĪSERN-FEORH!

ÞÆR HEAÐUFÝRUM GIET BÆLÞRACUM ÆRNDE SWĀ MĪN RĒOD-EOH,

HWÆR BORDHREÓÐAN SWĀ NU MĪN LĪĠETU-WRECEND, SWIÞE SWĀ IC DRĒOH!

ÞÆR CWEALMCUMUM FÝRDRACUM ÆTĪEWDE SWĀ WUNDOR-BLĒOH,

HWÆR SWĀ SE ŌFER-MANNES RĒOD LĪEĠDRACA GIET ĀSÆĠDE ON HŌH!

EIΔΩΛΩ OVERMAN.
Set in A.D. 1187, and propounded in monumental characters, as engraved in the rock, this epic of mine in Classical Latin, Ancient Greek, Anglo-Saxon and Old Norse tells of a superhuman clash between two knights who are in fact the same person. The alliteration focuses on the roots "FEODAL-" and "FEVD-" indicating "feudal" and "feud", as repeated with different declensions. From one single mirror battle action, chief philosophical notions of mine thus surface, all centered on my notion of Overman, alongside various historical and metaphysical symbols, as the Grail itself (“G. R. A. I. L.”, as an anagram, with an added meaning). The title EIΔΩΛΩ OVERMAN reads "The Overman through the Image" ("EIΔΩΛΩ" instrumental dative of the neuter "TO EIΔΩΛON", "image", also "phantom", "spectre" and "wraith", depending on textual circumstances). My own Return of Power event is mentioned ("MVTATIO SIVE REVOLVTIO SIVE POTENTIÆ INCREMENTVM AD INFINITVM IGNEVM"). An influence can be noticed from the song of Bertran De Born († 1140-1215 ca.) "Bem Platz lo Gais Temps de Pascor".

TO EMON EIΔΩΛON KAI ΔE TO EMON ΕIΔΟΣ
ENTAYΘA ΣYN TΩ ΔE EΓXEIPIΔIΩ
KATOΠTPΩ KAI ΔE ΚΕΡΑΥΝΩ TΩN ΘΕΩN
AΔEΩΣ O ΔE OVERMAN AΝΑΞ

reads:

My own Image and my Demeanour,
Here, with the Dagger,
Through the Mirror, and the Thunderbolt of the Gods,
Boldly the Overman, the Ruler (“AΝΑΞ”, also “King”, Latin “DVX”).

while

NEMO VIR EST VIR NOMINE HOC ALTO
DONEC SPATHA SCVTOQVE CEPERIT AC PERCVSSERIT MVLTA

SIC RVBRO OVERMAN DIXIT MIHI SIVE TO EMON EIΔΩΛON FVLMINE

FEODALE CHALIBE HIC IN SPECVLO ET IGNEO HOC CVM SIGILLO

No Man ("VIR", also “Hero”) is a Man with a High Name called (worthy of this Name)
Until with the Sword and the Shield has received and given many Blows,
This, through the Red Thunderbolt, the Overman, as my own Wraith (Image), has told me
Here, into the Feudal Mirror of Steel, and with this Seal of Fire.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017
i can only recommend that, when reading a piece of journalism, you have a book of poetry handy... gathas & sophia are in no conflict, but sure as well the resentment between gathas & diurn is best settled by reading a newspaper, with a book of poetry at hand.

i never drink to anticipate a precipitation of
words -
  i write in a non-anticipatory air -
   just like i believe in an impersonal god -
so sieve the madmen from the madmen,
and arrive at the authentic man.
              i drink, that's no surprise -
the surprise is:
    give me something worth reading
written by a sober man...
         hell, you find a dozen, you have yourself
a little party akin to christianity.
     i know that in a drinking session i'll
have a few words gushing from my silence,
i don't write these observations from
the heart: i pull them, right out, from my ***...
   as i usually compliment a day,
looking at the **** just excused from my body,
lucky for me to note:
red wine does wonders for digestion -
        the plump **** akin to just enough
fibre being digested...
  who would have thought that red wine
does miracles to a **** about to be ******* out.
one worthwhile observation thought,
in the chaos of language that is god,
the first child - gathas -
       the second child - sophia -
    the twins - vera & simi -
           and the 5th child - *diurn
...
it only takes the the child named
diurn to bypass the squabbling of
ancient pleads for affection between
gathas & sophia -
          just have a book of poetry handy
when reading a newspaper article...
  philosophy is akin to poetry,
with a standard of paragraph -
          let's just say that poetry is:
philosophy - without a claustrophobia
and leisurely allowing enough
            space, to make no man myopic.
what came after diurn is best believed
as offshoot strands of *******...
         most likely encompassing
   dei: sine septem, sine mensis,
  sine annus, sine decas, sine vivo.

after all, diurn married the nymph
oblivi -
               you only learn to forget
a day, when someone decides that you
must remember it...
                deliberately...
       to remember such a day is to
enlarge its purpose, its importance...
as they say -
     videor est plus quam actum per se
ex fide dignus,
    plus nihil decipio, curo statera,
    quando curo id, alibi
-
to appear is more than being an act in
      itself, out of authenticity: nothing more
than a deception worth minding,
             when minding it, elsewhere;
yes, i know, it's pig latin -
   then again, pig latin is what you get -
i still have the right to complain -
educated in a roman catholic school,
   that was too lazy to teach its students latin?!
so much for the so called "roman catholic"
school teaching the mother tongue -
   maybe that's why i never took
confirmation -
hey, baptism i was a babe,
   by first communion i was somewhat unaware
of things, but when confirmation came?
technically i was "born" a catholic,
but unlike richard dawkins...
                       i haven't been confirmed...
that book by the german author
about the gnostics -
                    that book: hooked me...
after all, the most interesting people in
christianity are the gnostics -
            i love that: surd-g 'nostics -
        'nomes whenever i grind the grr and
manage to be a linguo heretic and do add
the G - Gnome...
            Gnostic -      dia 'nostic? what's
the diagnosis on this chap, dr. hauzer?!
like i said, i know i will drink and write a poem,
obviously the quality is debatable -
but i never pull a poem out from my heart,
i prefer the ***...
           as a recurrent thought occurred -
  i'm still trying to smuggle in diacritical marks
into english, seems it would be easier
to smuggle in a dozen or so afghani sardines
or a tonne of tobacco from the ukraine -
     i first tried it with the german eszett -
   to be fused at the beginning of an english
word:
   e.g. not soma, when in fact ßtatic -
         not seemingly, when in fact ßmouldering -
     not satire, when in fact ßtrict...
not supposedly, when in fact ßpam...
          not sister, when in fact ßquare -
          but the english won't buy smuggling
diacritical marks, like i said,
sooner to smuggle a dozen afghani sardines
than a single diacritical mark.
SøułSurvivør May 2015
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I'm sure sorry for the
erratic way I read on site

I have trouble keeping on
an even keel

Either i am too depressed
to read, or I'm hyper
and write and read
a blue streak

Please bear with me!
I will catch up on my
reading if I can!
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
it’s not everyday you get to end a 7 year psychosis
when redecorating your room to it’s “original” crimson,
having had such a simple symptom as
brain cell membranes breaking and oozing blood out,
to be misdiagnosed as mentally insane,
and when in need of help from the haemorrhage
not driven to the hospital due to the lack of *******
of having proceeded with the deed but forgetting the onslaught of law
in favour of the hurt party... well...what can you do?
move on, as i’m trying, had it been naturally based
on genetic chronology / genealogy i would have suffered in vain...
but i’m brimming with a hate for islam, and there’s nothing
to do but calm the quasi-communist protestors
in the western lands... ******* calm down... you’ll get
your freedom of speech... once you stop trying to censor vocabulary...
there’s no point learning a language if it becomes
politicised and you tell me to block vowels or consonants
in a non-kabbalistic way (which i’ll come to):
so yeah, a 7 year psychosis over a needle in a haystack...
gives me the shivers...
the many times i thought about killing someone
and feeding the emotions with not doing the act...
so many times i was almost skeletally biased to churn the
marrow haemoglobin into tendon stressor action of taking
the knife and doing halal or kosher with someone...
many a times...as many a times i saw crucifixions in edinburgh
not knowing it was going to happen in syria,
and that night when a muslim tried to mug me
in brick lane breaking down in the street of revellers
kneeling in tears screaming a prayer with tears in my eyes
of only one word: allah.
so i started redecorating my room, crimson is back from
hospital white... my bookshelf is rearranged...
on the left on the top shelf fictional books i either read
or didn’t bother to read because of the movies...
to the right on the shelf psychiatric and philosophical books...
the next shelf is a poetry “corner,” well it elongates beyond the corner...
and it’s split by a dictionary with the right bit of the shelf filled
with english poetry and some literature that’s poetic, and french,
the dictionary is planted to segregate the poetry books,
to the left of the dictionary is a book of greek myths
(did you know all greek theology is derived from the new testament
and not from the testament of orpheus or hercules or Perseus?),
then a book on meditative kabblah... then polish books of poetry.
so i rearranged the room, but i also lodged
an essayist’s book on melancholia, a book on depression
a book on an intro. to jung and a book on
schizophrenia lodged between these massive collections:
to the left all the art books... to the right all the books concerning chemistry...
so the books in between can’t really be seen.
as of today i woke with a p.s. from dreams, or a p.s. in dreams,
i woke and imagined myself talking to my mother
about the identity of al-dajjal... the false messiah,
within the conscious realm i just said the words out of the window:
fool you fool me, when mecca / medina become west of paris / london,
i’ll accept riyadh to be east of tehran / new delhi...
then we'll marginalise plateau east with copernican east
via the stars, and wander aimlessly trying to copper-fill
the sun at sunset...
he (muhammad) said the man would be of his nation,
and he said so with a warning...
but ibn saud got away weighing in at 160kg, diabetic and a brawler
with the stomach, the decadent of all that choose either sugary decadence
or some other form of mental instability in the chosen trade of stolen organs.
me? i keep my sanity with the tetragrammaton, cipher this:
this numerology *******, and it is ******* will not do...
enter platonic forms:
y is so so much more than just 25...
what will you see through y with the number 25?
what? nothing, dry brute that i am...
Y represent 3 dimensional space...
the first h is not important given the second h... which is deja vu,
which is less than what malachi insisted with the fractioned god of
the fractioned “elijah” reincarnated...
deja vu can be explained with science as one of the brain’s tricks
to sense this familiarity of seeing an elephant and acknowledging
the five blind men touching it up for comparative jokes,
the W... well... at least it’s not M... given that the trigonometric cosine continuum
begins at 1.... god is one... ring a bell? well better that than
beginning with the trigonometric sine continuum, which begins with 0...
forget numerology... numbers and letters aren’t related...
forget the dogmatism of rabbis - it makes no sense to say a = 1, b = 2 etc.
and then take a word like ape, and say: ‘ah, a = 1, p = 16 and e = 5; by god!
that’s a kabbalistic synonymity of the word... pea!’
where’s the jolly green giant when you need him, eh?
just look at what a phonetic symbol represents...
like secondary darwinism of a primate hissing to alert the presence
of a snake... past darwinism... past drawing antelopes
in french caves... in the realm of abstract phoneticism that
gave us the cognitive genesis... and made as... dare i say... a bit myopic
in a solipsistic sense.
p.s. ah... what are the newspapers saying?
slapstick humour is one of the prime causes of dementia? huh?!
yes, prime minister... is satire comedy?
how the hell can yes, prime minister be categorised as satire
if it uses canned laughter?
see that bloke over there... doing the omnivore pelican dance?
he joked so readily and active that he created authentic laughter...
don’t know where your satire is going... but it certainly left me gagging
for a springroll.
now now... absurdist comedy is too oxbridge for me...
kings and gentlemen get educated in either st. andrew’s or edinburgh...
we laugh at ourselves.
alt. to canned laughter, given that "canned laughter"
is reserved for the authentic laughter of the crowd
at a live show? what's the antonym of canned laughter
in televised satire? picky laughter... i.e. only one person
in an schoolroom of 30 gets the joke, apart from the comedian...
that lonely everest ha ha... ooh chills, frozen prawns in gravy.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
that's 3 weeks without a keyboard,
that's 3 weeks on a dual-detox -
         that's that: roughly: antagonism
of: once upon a time...
           there can only be one Hans Andersen,
and as the story goes: ol' granny
   passed on the tales, without which:
no talk of posterity, and seances at
the theatre; alternatively: what if Kierkegård
opted for opera, rather than theatre?
    well: horrid is the task of dropping names,
as if being a village idiot, in that
capacity: giving directions... no such thing!
  nonetheless: a horrid task...
3 weeks... without this horrid world-entanglement...
amphetamines in the wild west,
                   and yet... everything slows down...
that's 3 weeks without such ''luxury''...
    and would you believe it?
3 weeks went by: in a blink of an eye.
             strange, or what 21st century writers
fail to recognise: the ******* canvas has changed!
any-single-one-of-them bothered to scrutinise
this new canvas? anyone?
     ah yes, it's still in its adolescence -
it's still: Dostoyevsky, scuttering in the grand
dungeon: that's the Moscow underground.
             the canvas! the canvas!
                             and indeed, if this be some
bellowing horn, from the depths of some forsaken
place... i'll go into the street, and sabotage
civilisation with graffiti...
                     then again: i have the least
expectations, such that capitalism works...
poetry... and what investment have you made?
nil, or almost nil... evidently: zilch!
      ah, but to have invested in canvases,
a studio, paints, brushes... see... no one sees
investment in poetry: primarily because the poet
has done the minimal...
            unless of course it turns out to ****
with a hot poker something once resembling
nations... which now resides in the insane asylum
(even though those, have been abolished)
                           , nation - ooh! what a ***** word!
the left irksome sometimes uses it:
in theory: the nation-state...
                        and then there's the resurgence of
ancient Greece... in a sing-along:
maybe 'cos i'm a Londoner... brother! brother!
Athenian! Athenian!
                                       but we are born into
a Spartan wedlock... no one really bothers to
**** our gob with Shakespeare...
    then again that is the schizophrenia (alias
dualism) in humanity... thus, to be frank,
psychiatry can be congratulated, it has provided
one useful term... and i will use it, over and over again,
in a non-symptomatic way, because, i find,
it stands, as if the Olympic Graeae (Zeus, Poseidon
and Hades) eating the carcass of some inhabitant
of Tartarus...
                               evidently: tartar steak...
doubly evident: tartars, or the remnants of mongols,
settled in crimea, and elsewhere in the Ukraine...
   tartar                      tra-ta-ta-ta... ku ku ryku!
a ja fu! krecha! a ja znow... fu!       radowitą
uprzejmość... skłaniam...  
    or what i call: rising spontaneously from the depths...
polymaths applauded, the tribunal resides in
bilingualism... trenches... history... perspectives
and current affairs... wicker man media...
                        so... an example of pedantry?
ó....               that's an orthographic dignitary -
        an aesthetic muddle... as is
c-ha                               contending with samo-ha...
     ch                            came from antagonism of
cz                                   which was later antagonised
by č               in česka.... say that: hen party
bound to Prague... in the Czech republic...
                                          ch      k..­.
i am, quiet frankly... standing at the feet of the tower
of babel... and i'm looking up, and i see
correlations, and i see decimal marks,
which, when given enough geography,
can seem like England and the isles,
       and central Europe...
    Iberia? phantom of Seneca...
  eureka! let's begin, once again...
  why is there a continuum beginning with
Plato and Aristotle?
                                           we could become
reasonable people... told to deal with madmen...
we could claim beginnings with Seneca...
and Cicero...
                      and why? the Romans loved poetry...
the Greeks antagonised Homer...
            the Romans loved Horace, Virgil,
                           Ovid... perhaps we should really forget
beginning with Plato and Aristotle...
       the former has become a church,
the latter a dentist's assistant (minus the ancients'
concept of a joke).
                      evidently i have to finish off reading
Seneca... his educational letters to Lucilius....
      moralising ******* that he was, thus, perhaps
a nibble at Cicero? but i must say:
                           it has to begin somewhere,
so not necessarily in stale-bread Athens...
                      and having such perspectives helps
in claiming casual conversation?
   assuredly - if it doesn't involve talking about
the weather...
                                which is always a great mystery
   if it's given enough aurora.
   onto the mystery of dialectics,
as discovered by Alfred Jarry in his Faustroll
Pataphysics contraband...
                                                nag­ging agreement...
nodding without approval... (chapter 10) -
beginning with αληθη λεγεις εφη
        (you speak the truth, he replies) -
   and ending with ως δoκεì
                              (how true that seems)...
and then some dub-step...
        know nothing dROP! boom! jiggy jiggy,
get the rhythm.
   as i always find it hard to look at
    diacritical arithmetic...
                                  given the following
represent a prolonging: hangman:
       å, ā and ä...
                             esp. in Finnish -
stratum: hedningarna täss on nainen.
                        rolling yarn, plateau, two dips;
and i will never say something profound...
i'll just say something no one else has said,
benefit of the doubt? somewhere, someone,
                                      kneels at the same altar.
  such are the distinction - invaders from the
north, and invaders from the south...
                                           even with
crusading Golgotha mann -
the times? many bats, supers, spiders,
but not enough readings of thomas mann...
                              easily befallen into prune-nosed
high-airs... it comes with the diet of literature...
   unfortunately.
                              and with yet another book:
i have burried yet another living person
i could have had a beer with, and conversed.
it always happens, every time i read a book
i have to attend a funeral... by reading a book
i have burried someone alive...
                          shame, in all frankness...
    i will sit in a congested train, touch a breathing
body, and consecrate the touch with
a warring genuflect - harbringer of a Teutonic
passion for initiation: a komtur's slap across the cheek.
   chequers played with passions...
           and some have to be approached like
caged animals, their vocabulary as cages,
                and the whole world before them:
cageless!
             some have indeed become so encrusted in
their daily: routine, that it would take a zoologist
(thrice oh, begs some sort of diacritical marking)
rather than a psychologist to understand them...
    like the darting dupes they are, enshrined in
20% gratis! smile! have a nice day! boxing day sales!
all but pleasantries, fathoming the grave.
   stiff vocab and all other kinds of perfume...
                           a king and his charlatan knights,
who are merely ditto-heads.
                  and not of this world, afresh -
among the nimble hands prior to birth -
surely there is: more grandeour in birth
   that entry via a ******...
                            the greatest pain of ****...
and when the ancient treaty was signed
under the name: Augustus Cesarean - or
recommended for a need of aristocracy -
    it was, for a time, the mana magnetism:
and such was the rule of poetry:
rather than a crown, donned the laurel leaves...
donned the laurel leaves...
    and such was the covenant from ancient
foes when trying to assimilate the Jew...
three kings from Babylon,
                         the child in Egypt...
          no good tides from Nazareth...
         a crown of myrrh - later overshadowed
by dogmatic sprechen, simpler: thorns...
yella things... or rzepak, Essex is filled with it...
rzepak... so why bother adding a dot above
the z, when you get capricious and use rz to
denote the same?! thus a science:
voiced retroflex fricative... Stalingrad!
                       can you really stomach this kind
of jargon? if it wasn't for science fiction:
science would be twice removed from gott ist tot,
*******' worth of pondering, given the close
proximity rhyme... nothing that rhymes should
ever be taken seriously, it should be hymnal!
                         Horatio! mein lyre!
   mein Guinness leier! rabbi krähe -
     and they deem that ****** white when talking:
thinking? i'd prefer Cezanne in real life -
   maggot wriggling and all...
                                          as much eroticism
as bound to a dog slobbering its testicles:
which means ****-all in an almighty stance
   for a dollop of halleluyah in Nepal.
well: pretty talk, pretty pretty pretty: i feel pretty,
oh so butter-fly-e.
                                    2 week stance,
***** in autumn... but so many Swiss hues
coming from the same concentration of decay!
shweet!  zeit-ser!        and that's me talking
kindergarten german: innovation begins with
a fork and a spoon, should the tongue come to it...
            i see a poem,
i see something worth bugging... c.i.a.,
f.b.i., hannibal's lecture in Florence, Venice for
the rats... bugging... shoving...
  shovelling... necro grounding, rattling...
    windy via north... Icelandic...
drums along incisors of abstract gallop:
violins... fringes of the mustang... airy airy...
all regresses toward the Vulgate...
         like ****, like said, and the only pristine
stress comes with vanilla ice-cream,
or a medium-rare beef ****! hmph!
                         fa fa fa excesses with that hurling
puff...
                      and i did finish Kant's
critique of pure reason... minus two calendars...
but, so help me god, the 2nd volume was hiding
under some corner...
                           thus, from transcendental methodology
came plump apricots, plums and pears...
             sweet decay fruit baron...
              and it's called sugars in the intricacy of pulp...
lazily grown, dangling on that caricature of
a formerly known: full crop of wheat-crude fringe.
    2 years... honest to god!
         but so many books in between...
i was given a recommendation...
i cited it already... kraszewski's magnum opus...
29 books...
                       although that's history fictionalised...
but nonetheless, it really was about
     the cossack uprising in the 17th century...
   and it was, as i once said, something i can forgive
sienkiewicz - the film version,
as in: i will not read a book once it has been adapted
to a movie... it's self-evident that too many
people have read a piece of work and are gagging
for a conversation... but where's the playground?
           ******* cherades!
  chinese whispers and a Manchurian candidate!
  i thought as much.
                          and whenever it's not a preplaned
escapade, what becomes of the day?
     was it always about a stance for carpe diem?
  syllables: di                em.
                            carpe is said with more lubricant.
corpus diem. well, that's an alternative, however
you care to think about it.
                and whenever you care to think about,
the proof is there: mishandling misnomers:
poets as tattoo artists... although no one sees the ink,
signatures on a reader's brian (purposively altered,
toward a Michael Jackon he-he, and other:
albino castratos the church venerates!)...
   that's 3 weeks in a catholic country...
  3 weeks... if only the football was better,
      i'd be called Juan Sanchez...
               but, evidently, the football is bad...
     so it's catholicism on par with a sleeping inquisition...
no one really expected Monty Python to conjure
that one... because it never really took place,
not until a trans-generational exodus
postscript 2004... once western brothels were exhausted,
and the Arab started ******* a hippo...
              then it was all about lakes and rivers
and Las Vegas 2.0 in Dubai!
                     you say quack... i say:
                                                    easy target.
and they did receive a blessing from Allah...
enough ink to write out Dante's revision of the Koran,
and some Al-Sha'ke'pir to write a play called:
the Merchant of Mecca.
  last time i heard, when the reformation was
plauging Christendom, no one invited the Arabs...
these days i think the little Lutherans of Islam
watched too many historical movies...
me? pick up a crucifix and march to Jerusalem?
  and is that going to translate into:
   blame the populists! blame the nationalists!
it's like watching a circus... why is the Islamic
reformation asking for third party associates?
                  i was happy listening to
the klinik... albums: eat your heart out...
time + plague...
                             once again: the world narrative
gags for enough people to conjure up
     a placebo solipsism... and that's placebo
with a squiggly prefix (meaning? how far
that ambiguity will take you) - ~placebo...
well: since existentialists were bores...
it's about time to head for Scandinavia
   and ask: is that " ''                 for passing on
an inheritance, or better still: ripe for
acknowledging ambiguity?
                          and if you can shove this
  into your daily narrative... you better be
a connaisseur of chinese antiques...
                frailty... then again, theres: ******;
well hell yeah *****'h, it's a murky underwold
after all.
                     and yes: that's called a petting word...
some say hombre, and we'll all be amigos
and muskateers at the end of the story.
                                    finally... i feel like i'm writing
a poem that i'll never end...
              why? it was supposed to be about
how John Casimir of Sweden championed
  the crown away from his brother Prince Charles
(volume 1)...
                      the bishop of Breslau...
a recluse... couldn't ride a horse...
    then again: nothing worthy imitation...
beginning with a donkey...
                               the transfiguration of palms
into whips... 2000 years later
talk of Hercules is madness... that other bit?
complete sanity.
                              well... if that be the case...
the book is there... i signed it, 2nd volume of
Kant's critique...
  
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        an oak... in a forest of pine...
an oak in pine wood...

then onto the wood of sighs:

aH aH aH aH aH aH aH aH
aH aH aH aH aH aH aH aH
aH aH aH aH aH aH aH aH
aH aH aH aH aH aH aH aH
aH aH aH aH aH aH aH aH
aH aH aH aH aH aH aH aH
aH aH aH aH aH aH aH aH
          (somehow the surd escapes,
and later morphs into, but prior to)

a short script: variation on MW...

      pears' worth of blunting runes:
opulance s and ᛋ - versus z,
    congregation minor: the interchange, ß,
buttocks and *****, minus phantoms of erotica.
yet, taking into account trigonometry...
sine (genesis 0), and cosine (genesis 1),
or            M                                   W
(no Jew would dare believe the Latins have
the second 'alf of the proof: that loophole of all
things qab-cannibal-mystic - cravat donning
mystique - a flit's worth of sharpening,
or dental grit... flappy tongue,
flabby oyster, lazing for a crab's palette)...
so?

1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0
1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0
1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0
1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0
1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0
1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0
1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0

of course there's an
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
the torso of stars of the constellation of scorpio is dying, it's weakening; the venomous scorpion tail still shines brightly, and the pliers are bright enough to see even with immediate light pollution: but no street lamp shines brighter than the stars, even the the distance disparity, and indeed if the last constellation of the zodiac becomes dim, i'll begin to worry.

i was given three christmas presents this year,
the third i can't immediately remember
but the first two i can:
two houses side by side,
one had twelve black bin bags and one orange
recycling bag for collection -
the other had a skip in its driveway
with a sign in the skip:
PLEASE TAKE YOUR DOG ****
FROM MY SKIP AND NEVER DUMP
IT HERE AGAIN!
ah... the third present, it's january
and i'm walking without gloves,
in converse, with a short sleeve shirt
and a hoodie and nothing else:
newspaper "dialectics" section writers
say northern england floods of recently
are not due to global warming...
i wonder how much this writer gets paid
to say the floods were caused by orangutan farts,
or the dairy factories of ukrainian methane punch
politics; i really do wonder...
i guess newtonian physics' principles
died with einstein's theories
stuck in the deep end of einstein's parabolas
of solid objects dipped into: speed of light
indeed, it gains momentum because it travels
via parabolas rather than straight lines,
hence the parabolic acceleration: up-down
up-down trigonometry linear functions of
either sine or cosine... the third trigonometric
allowance i cannot explain but it doesn't really
matter when it comes to what i'm trying to say:
relativity of immersion as a sinking into:
time relative to space means it equates at some point,
either death as a point of departure
or life as a point of constant engagement -
and as for those who say the theory is too difficult
and your interpretation of a theory in a different
medium is stupid... well... do the mathematics,
my mathematical + and = are equivalent to adjectives
and verbs (e.g.).
no, what really bothers me with this problem
of the global warming debate is the synchronised
activation of denial with doubt missing,
if it can't be doubted (cause & effect), and if
nothing is to be done about it... the only solution
is to deny it: block a punch... get a tsunami back.
it's bothersome on two levels...
english as the language of globalisation (
not exactly the old lingua franca), but rather
the encircling language, the language of constraints,
lingua amplexa / lingua stasus quo, hardly a language
of trade, a language of monotone -chromatic politics...
is very prone to bombastic expressions:
it has not philosophical narrative in the sense
of a book of philosophy - it merely ushers in
a maxim to stop any philosophical narration or dialogue.
on another level though, it's immersion in darwinism,
educational darwinism of post-colonialism is horrid,
if all that scientific positivism was the zenith of science
between the 18th and 19th centuries, the nadir
came with darwinism... because with science being
tricked to encapsulated popular imagination
the greater proportion of the populace had the easiest
of accesses to a scientific theory (aristotle kept in
the **** in the dark all this time), an with a popularised
imagining of darwinism hell broke free in the 20th
century... indeed darwinism killed off scientific positivism,
and by doing so... all noble and human ideals died
with it... came the mechanisation of society,
the death of the rural life, a detachment from nature
as man took to live above nature rather than parallel with it;
and the new zenith that's the zeitgeist of today?
humanistic negativism, humanistic negativism...
the death of the novel, the death of an interest in
philosophy in the english speaking world...
take as you like...
but when you're a sensitive drinker as i am,
and you watch the 2014 film *i origins
and don't cry...
well... then i guess anaesthetics won't work
when your heart can't feel the calm good apathy
with your many stage frights concerning your
next ingenious plot-line over a little hurt or a little
scare... not courageous enough to hurt the one
that hurt you, but simply passing the hurt onto
a stranger.

p.s. YOU RENTED THE ******* SKIP!
       AND DOG **** IS NOT REALLY ASBESTOS!
Mujhe pyar karne do,
Mujhe apne dil me utarne do,
Mujhe jina hain bus tere liye,
Mujhe ab had se gujarne do,
Mujhe pyar karne do......

Ishq ik aisi bimari hain,
Jo sabke dil par bhari hain,
Mujhe ab aansoo bankar
apne aankhon me chhalakane do,
Mujhe pyar karne do.......

Tujhe haque hain meri puri zindagi par,
Mujhe ab dil bankar,
Apne sine me dharkane do,
Mujhe pyar karne do,
Mujhe pyar karne do......
Copyright© Shashank K Dwivedi
Web- skdisro.weebly.com
email-shashankdwivedi.edu@gmail.com
Follow me on Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/skdisro
Joseph Sopholaus Dec 2020
Sine arte
A satire against modernity in the arts

O modern beast our captive arts release,
The laws of Nature wished your reign to cease.
What beauties does this modern art restores
By turning vestals young to Russian ******.
How strange the painter draws his new reforms 5
Reducing Nature’s shapes to foggy forms.
All, I may add, by rambling thoughts conceived
If Nature’s order’s razed the goal’s achieved.
‘‘What then?’’ A tasteless judge if dared to ask,
To which the answer wears pretentious mask: 10
‘‘Dear Sir! ’Tis art, all ***** mere symbols made,
And *****, though crude, denotes the father’s shade’’
Go Man admire the fruits of twisted state,
Interpret ***** as something deeply great.
Let ***** Cupid stab his precious heart 15
To make our poesy more interesting art.
Let Cyrus wreck the might of Shakespeare’s throne,
And use her tongue to lick his hallowed stone.
Thus, give the verses blank to frenzied beasts,
Or let Rihanna burn Miltonic seats. 20
A simple critic might her craft enjoy,
But witty minds oft do their gift employ.
New Cornus comes with broken tools to teach
Yet none can bear to hear postmoderns preach.
They mumble days upon the wage and race 25
For them the world’s a strife, that is the case.
Jowlough May 2016
Dumaan saglit sa bilihan ng damit
Kahit sakto ang dala ay aking pinilit
Pagkat pawis ay malala dahil mainit
Sa pagkikitang ito lahat ay sulit.

Sa harap ng salamin maiging sinipat
Kung okay ang buhok at marapat
Konting talsik ng pabango sa kwelyo
Hindi muna ko maninigarilyo.

Upang ako'y perpekto sa pagdating
Lahat ay maayos sa iyong paningin,
hinahanap hanap ang 'yong awitin
Ng boses **** maliit ako'y bitin.

Nagmamadali at baka mahuli
Ayokong maghintay ka aking binibini
Kahit hasel sa lahat basta dumating
Sinira ang ipon para may pang sine.

Kamusta ka na? Kumain ka na ba?
Unti unting pinaplano ang sasabihin.
Sa paglalakad ako'y napapaisip
Ano ang uunahin, saan papupuntahin

Sa di kalayuan aking nakita
Maamo at maaliwalas **** mukha
Sabay nagising sa katotohanan
Sa noo ko ay biglang pinawisan.

Nang biglang nauntog sa totoo
Na ito ay panaginip lamang
Hawak ang lakas ng loob
Napalunok at parang..

Nabilaukan sa pagkakita
Sa kamay **** may humawak
Sa di bandang kalayuan
Pumatak ang luha ng uwak

At sabay bati ng kamusta
Habang hagkan ka at yapos
Ako ay kinakain ng sistema
Ng matinding pagseselos

At binalewala ang pagpapakilala
Sa kasama mo'y ikaw'y hinayaan
Sigaw ng puso'y nagaklas
Batid na "Dapat ako ang nandiyan".
Shrivastva MK May 2015
Mujhe pyar karne do,
Mujhe apne dil me utarne do,
Mujhe jina hain bus tere liye,
Mujhe ab had se gujarne do,
Mujhe pyar karne do......

Ishq ik aisi bimari hain,
Jo sabke dil par bhari hain,
Mujhe ab aansoo bankar
apne aankhon me chhalakane do,
Mujhe pyar karne do.......

Tujhe haque hain meri puri zindagi par,
Mujhe ab dil bankar,
Apne sine me dharkane do,
Mujhe pyar karne do,
Mujhe pyar karne do......
Prabhu Iyer Sep 2013
My heart rate, sine wave usually, goes
sine squared when I see you,
sine cubed when I approach you,
woh, Dirac-delta when I hear you!

How do I heal this singularity?
Now how do I extract the real part
from your complex valued smile at me?
Euler says, it all goes in circles anyways.

So, I decide to cast a phasor P
that intersects the line H bisecting
your heart plane, such that H · P  = 0.
Can Cupid tell dot product from cross?
Some fun verse here: the mathematics of teen love...!

For those not very mathematically inclined:

1. Dirac delta - there's a good animation on this page: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dirac_delta_function

2. Now Euler's relation and vector products, how do I put it...well,  you've just got to know them!!
In response to a sardonic essay written in the recent Saturday Nation by Proffessor Ekara Kabaji, wryly  disregarding the position of Kwani in the global literary movement within and without Kenya , I beg to be permitted a leeway  to observe that any literature, orature, music,drama,cyborature,prisnorature,wallorature,streetorature , sculptor  or painting can effortlessly thrive and off course it has been thriving without professors of  literature, but the reverse is not possible as a proffessor of literature cannot be when literature is not there. Facts in support of this position are bare and readily available in the history of world literature, why they may not be seen is perhaps the blurring effects from tor like protuberant irrelevance of professors of literature in a given literary civilization.
A starting point is that literature exists as a people’s subculture, it can be written or not written like the case of orature which survive as an educative and aesthetic value stored in the collective memory of the given people. The people to be pillars of this collectivity of the memory are not differentiated by academic ranking for superlativity of any reason, but they are simply a people of that place, that community, that time, that heritage, that era and that collective experience. Writing it down is an option, but novels and other written matter is not a sine qua non for existence of literature in such situations. This is not a bolekaja of literature as Proffessor Ekara Kabaji would readily put, but it is a stretch towards realism that it is only people’s condition that creates literature. Poverty, slavery, colonialism, ***, marriage, circumcision, migration, or any other conditions experienced as collective experience of the people is stored or even stowed away in the collective memory of the people as their literature. Literature does not come from idealistic imagination of an educated person.
Historical experience of written literature informs us that the good novels, prose, drama and poetry were written before human society had people known as professors of literature. I want you my dear reader and You-Tube audience to reflect on the Cantos of Dante Alighieri in Italy, novels of Geoffrey Chaucer in England, Herman Melville and his Moby **** in Americas, poetry of Omar khwarisim in Persia, Homeric epics of Odyssey in Greece and the Makonde sculptures of Africa and finally link your reflections to Romesh Tulsi who grafted the Indian epic poetry of Ramayana and Mahabharata. At least you must realize that in those days literature was good, full of charm, very aesthetic and superbly entertaining. This leads to a re-justification that, weapon of theory is not useful in literature. University taught theories of literature have helped not in the growth of literature as compared to the role played by folk culture.
Keen observation will lead you dear reader, down to revelations that; professors of literature squarely depend on the thespic work of the people who are not substantially educated to make a living. Let me share with you the story about Dr. Tom Odhiambo who went to University of Witwasterand in South Africa for post graduate studies in literature only to do his Doctoral research on books of David G Maillu. Maillu is a Kenyan writer, he did not finish his second year of secondary school education but he has been successfully writing poetry and prose for the past three decades. His successful romantic work is After 4.30, probably sarcasm against Kenyan office capitalism, while his eclectic, philosophical and scholarly work is the Broken Drum. Maillu has many other works on his name. But the point is that Dr. Odhiambo now teaches at University of Nairobi in the capacity of senior lecturer in Literature. What makes him to put food on the table is the effort of un-educated person in the name of David Maillu. Dr.Odhiambo himself has not written any book we can mention him for, apart from regular literary journalism he is often involved in on the platforms of the Literary discourse in the Kenyan Saturday Nation which are in turn regular Harangues and ripostes among literature teachers at the University of Nairobi, the likes of Dr Siundu, Proffessor wanjala Chris and Evans Mwangi just but to mention by not being oblivious to professors; Indangasi and Shitanda.
No study has yet been done to establish the role of university professors on growth of African literature. One is overdue. Results may be positive role on negative role, myself I contemplate negative role. Especially when I reflect on how the African literati reacted on the publication of Amos Tutuola’s book The Palm Wine Drinkard. The reactions were more disparaging than appreciative. Taban Lo Liyong reacted to this book by calling Amos Tutuola the son of Zinjathropus as well as taking a self styled intellectual responsibility in form of writing a more  schooled version of this book; Taking Wisdom up the Palm Tree. Nigerians of Igbo (Tutuola being a Yoruba) nation cowed from being associated with the book as it had shamefully broken English, broken grammar etc. Wole Soyinka had a blemished stand, but it is only Achebe who came out forthrightly to appreciate the book in its efforts to Africanize English for the purpose of African literature. Courtesy of Igbo wisdom. But in a nutshell, what had happened is that Amos Tutuola had taken a plunge to contribute towards written literature in Africa.
One more contemplated result from the research about professors and African literature can be that apart from their role of criticism, professors write very boring books. A ready point of reference is deliberate and reasonless obscurantism taken Wole Soyinka in all of his books, Soyinka’s books are difficult to understand, sombre, without humour and not capable to entertain an average reader. In fact Wole Soyinka has been writing for himself but not for the people. No common man can quote Soyinka the way Achebe’s Things Fall Apart is quoted. Achebe wrote Things Fall Apart when he had not began his graduate studies. However, he did not escape the obvious mistake of professors to become obscure in the Anthills of the Savanna, the book he wrote when he had become a proffessor. This is on a sharp contrast to entertaining effectiveness, simplicity and thematic diversity of Captain Elechi Amadi, Amadi who studied chemistry but not literature. He does not have a second degree, but his books from the Concubine, The great Ponds, and Sunset in the Biafra and Isibiru are as spellbinding as their counterparts in Russia.
Kenyan scenario has Ngugi wa Thiongio, he displayed eminence in his first two books; Weep not Child and The River Between. These ones he wrote when he was not yet educated, as he was still an undergraduate student at Makerere University. But later on Ngugi became a victim of prosaic socialism, an ideology that warped his literary imagination only to put him in a paradoxical situation as an African communist who works in America as an English teacher at Irvine University. His other outcrops are misuse of Mau Mau as a literary springboard and campaigning for use of Kikuyu dialect of the Gema languages to become literary Lingua Franca in Kenya. Such efforts of Ngugi are only a disservice to Kenyan literature in particular and African literature collectively. Ngugi having been a student of Caribbean literature has failed to borrow from global literary behaviour of Vitian S. Naipaul.  Ngugi’s position also contrasts sharply with Meja Mwangi whose urban folksy literature swollen with diversity in themes has remained spellbinding entertainers.
The world’s literary thirsty has never failed to get palatable quenching from the works of Harriet Bechetor Stowe, Robert Louis Stevenson, Shakespeare, Alice Munro, Octavio Paz, Pablo Neruda, John Steinbeck, Garcia Guarbriel Marguez,Salman Rushdie, Lenrie Peters, Cyprian Ekwenzi, Nikolai Gogol,I mean the list is as long as the road from Kaduna to Cape town. Contribution of these writers to global literature has been and is still critical. Literature could not be without them. Surprisingly, most of them are not trained in literature; they don’t have a diploma or a degree in literature, but some have won literature Nobel Prize and other prizes. Alfred Nobel himself the author of a classical novella, The Nemesis, does not have University education in literature. What else can we say apart from acceding to the truth that literature can blossom without professors, the Vis-à-vis an obvious and stark impossibility.
Sha Aug 2015
You may be the sine qua non in my every breathing.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
i don't know why i found redemption in the tetragrammaton, sure, my mother cared for two elderly jewish ladies, one escaped the Holocaust (surname Roßhandler) and the other of established English rooting (surname Rockman... thanks to her, upon completing my g.c.s.e. exams i got a complete collection of Bernard Shaw's plays) - but i find it there, ping-pong salvation every time, translating it akin to arithmetic: 1 + 1 = 2 is very much akin to Y              H            W          H, which i started calling the perfect chirality - chiral meaning non-superimposable:
                                       A                      &                  E, i too ventured to call the double H dualism a déjà vu - but i know see them as vantage points, more electrons and quantum physics than protons and neutrons - well, it ****** well fits the schematic: sine (M) and cosine (W) - sure, crude, but i'm not looking at the geometry of the mouth... language on the base of pure optics... and no, not necessarily adjective noun compounds for emphasis to argue a point, just easily an easily accessed point of reference...     so quantum physics calls it the non-independent ontology of electrons: a. particles (Y, centre 0 on the x, y, z graphs - apart from the heliocentric and the geocentric models, here's another one of similar causality)... and b. waves (W, the formerly stated trigonometry suggestion) - and hence the two vantage points bound to H... apart from Adam and Eve lodged in between... which suggests that the geocentric analogy of electrons is bound to electrons behaving like waves... while the heliocentric analogy of electrons is bound to electrons behaving like particles: microcosm Copernicus blah blah; well, more like pseudo-Aristarchus of Samos.

20th century literature is, quiet literally
something akin to the cave paintings at
Lascaux - big brother isn't watching -
nor is the publishing old guard -
i just find it unreal that so much rests upon
the internet these days, the people have no
idea what power has been granted them,
they petty the use of the internet with
their earthly squabbles of a marketplace,
while, running parallel: the lost infatuation
with democracy as necessary organisation -
turns out it's unnecessary organisation:
because we ain't go anything better -
hence political disillusionment - rampant in
what western society deems the pinnacle
and the Libra of a fine balancing act -
religiously? that famous: "mystery of lawlessness"?
that's the internet - imagine a time when you
could bypass some publisher, some adherent
to a state doctrine, when you could turn poetry
into physics, not the waffle of metaphysical Keats
waiting for a kettle to turn into a volcano
or a whistling horse, but to turn the dial to
point at the reality of things:
quantum physics (derived from quanta,
a variation of datum: particularity of input
energy) gave poets breathing space,
metaphysics became shadowy, Hades like
learning, obscure and all the more necessary
to build-up its strength while puritan physicists
lost their sway of power with the fears of
the atom bomb and all things quantum -
so while the physicists became dazzled with
all things quantum, the metaphysics took off...
entombed in an apathetic (without pathos)
subjectivity: a calm heart, much more than an
embracing heart - yes, i am aware that i have my
wacko moments of feeling, but this ticker is
made of stone - and that usually means a chaotic
thinking process, spontaneity being the key
in involving yourself with real-life narratives
then never suppose a character study: what you see,
is what you get: my sanity plateau?
talk about music rather than make poetry musical,
it's a pale shade of red or blue when you
have guitars and orchestras and the poet,
a voice in the wilderness - nothing but pins dropping
to exemplify the talk... i don't understand
the need for poetry being a kindred of musicology,
i don't understand rhyme, i don't understand
being conscious of poetic prescriptions of technique
very much akin to language's artefact minded
grammar: noun
                                v. poetry's pun
grammar's verb
                                       poetry's metaphor... etc.
my deviation? being an adherent toward music,
and returning poetry back to its true purpose:
puritan narrations - not conscious of what's
expected, or what defines the art,
very much the beginning of cubism and later
innovations in art, i just can't stand rhyming poetry -
it's too conscious of itself by what it's defined by,
we have learned of a new subjectivity:
the unconscious - we might as well exploit it
while objectivity gets crushed into bewilderment
by quantum physics -
thus said: i feel like i'm a dervish spinning
counter-clockwise in a chaos of tornadoes spinning
clockwise while listening to two songs:
tool's *right in two
- and muse's stockholm syndrome:
i can't be bothered translating the feelings
entombed in these two songs with a rhyme...
poetry should be less stuffy than it already is...
it should be a statement of the supreme effort: freedom.
all of this? spurred on by rereading passages from
Jung's gegenwart und zukunft (1957), alter:
          the undiscovered self (1958) -
it's seemingly odd (but not too odd) that books
written by psychiatrists are more popular than
philosophy books in the anglophile culture -
as already stated, i can't read philosophy in english -
maybe this is why psychiatric literature is so easily
accessible in this tongue, what with the self-help
movement, it the grandest prescription that no pill
(unless it's a sleeping pill) can be prescribed -
i'd say, if you want to read philosophy in english,
i'd start off by reading a book from psychiatry -
Jung is by far more adaptable than Freud
(Freud's for the rich people who have ***
written on their foreheads in permanent ink -
        and: daddy didn't care, mama was
                                     struggling feminist who
     forgot to breastfeed me) -
       but of course the 1960s Scottish superstar
(who drank, rightly so) from Glasgow: Laing.
well, sure, the Hungarian Szasz (shash, not sas,
or zaz... shish kebab... it ain't the difficult) -
impromptu deviation: what's funny about Heidegger?
he says: you need to study Aristotle for 15 years
to get him... and that's very much true for him also...
two years... TWO YEARS it took me to read his book.
that's what's interesting about this book,
a literary anorexic, in at 79 grams (pages) -
the interesting point? in physics, there are things
that are not independent of observation -
i like that conundrum, the mere idea of it is titillating -
running joke for the past two years: ***** ***** tat for tat
months later -
                          well... i'm not the one trying to
dress you up in a straitjacket with a label: this is poetry...
can't see **** for miles with how i write.
so there's a purpose, some things are depending on
being observed - which is a good thing, which means
that this world could not be independently sustainable -
its dependency on existing lies akin to our
desire to be independent of it - so all the religious
blah blah means something - even after 3 years
of rigorous studies in chemistry i come back into
humanism with a furore of agitating religious paraphernalia -
mind you, i do have a scientific approach toward
language - grammar and algebra combined -
meaning? certain words have become post-grammatical,
i.e. algebraic - not categorised as nouns or otherwise,
but as algebraic signatures: primarily because no one
really knows what to do with them, apart from
church yoga, standardised: e.g. x = god,
            i = y                  and the                  world = z,
predictably transcending the casual use of language
when shopping for cheese in a Parisian grocery store...
err... je ma'pel gorgon, avoir vous fromage?
nope, took to English too much - i was learning French
in primary school, but i had an existential crisis
aged 9 or 10... my brain refused to learn another language
after having just learned one from scratch -
                               the mute in class soon turned into
an avaricious reader... so parallel to my life, i now hear
stories about children being diagnosed with depression...
try being thrown into the deep-end of the pool
with your former development using a language
automatically, into having to learn the language without
no major influence of a teaching authority...
                                  no wonder the accent game
   sort of imploded and i started speaking sometimes tosh,
sometimes posh, and sometimes east London oh'rite?
                             ale casem tes jak rolnik -
                            owszem, czasem jak mieszczanin też.
Breeze-Mist Dec 2016
Can I just forget this year
That started off so fine
I just hope that by next year
I'll have a better time

With all the fighting on the news
In Damascan streets
Makes me wonder how we can
Reject the survivors we meet

Between Brexit and the election
We keep on splitting apart
And all of the hateful ones
Feel free to threaten our hearts

Zika rode in behind ebola
Two crisies on end
All of the panic caused by it
Hardly helps people make amends

The Olympics were pretty great
But still pretty spotty
With bacterial bays, alge filled pools
And the antics of Ryan Lochtie

The globe's heat keeps rising on
Wreaking havoc on our climate
With polar ice melting, it grates
That people don't get science

My favorite sci fi heroes died
Those people who inspired
Those who gave us so much hope
Just suddenly expired

The local subway's been a mess:
It keeps catching on fire
After three times, it just seems
That we can't fix a wire

My brain seems to be getting worse
At being normal or sane
Somedays I just want to run
And dissolve into the rain

I ended my relationship
Of over a year
And lost touch with some friends
Whom I once held so dear

School just keeps getting harder
(Not too shocking to find)
But my Girl Scout and school projects
Might just fry my mind

My mom and I are getting to
A rough patch in our ways
And hiding my intrests from my 'rents
Takes so much of my days

My social circle only gets
Harder and harder to track
And my family's stories sound like soaps
Even though we have each other's backs

So can I just forget this year
Make it all fade away
Can I just go back to sleep
And face '16 another day

So can I just forget this year
Just please make it all end
And maybe in 2017
I'll be able to start again
Since no one knows the words to the song, I made up my own version to sing at midnight.
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2017
once upon a wrote


here and there, in fables and tales,
some in no guile and others
in chancier disguises,
some sine-known and some sign-unknown,
some dead in stillbirth,
some penned these words,
some a few decades old,
some of but a moment ago eyelash distant,
making me think that
someday I will scribe,
cobble some truths and
some falsehoods into one
leaping heaping melting scoop,
letting you decide,
which for better,
which for worse...


<•>

"No matter that plain words
are my ordinary tools,
With them I shall scribe the small,
Cherish the little, grab the middle,
Simplicity my golden rule,
Write they say,
about what you know best,
Surely in the diurnal motions,
The arc of daily commotion,
Do we not all excel?"

<•>

the reason we say so oft,
in whispers emboldened,

I love you

to our children
is not the utility of
its summarizing brevity

no, no.
it is because
the eloquence of simplicity
supersedes any other poem
any of us could ever write...

<•>

is this craft that chose you,
not defined by machine millimeters,
precision absolute,
curvatures, so eye-pleasing,
they demonstrate no tolerance
for tolerance of the ordinary?

the skill of words, too, cut so fine,
find the  extraordinary within,
refine, refine, refine,
shave away the trite,
the reused,
discard the instant recognition,
unusable

<•>

There are natural toxins in us all,
if you wish to understand the
whys, the reasons,
of the nearness of taking/giving away
what soully belongs to you,
do your own sums,
admit your own truths,
query not the lives of others,
approach the mirror...

<•>

The Truth Burden
is the accursed need obligatory,
the sacred sanctity requisitioned,
when the whenever,
chooses to drop in and upflag the mailbox,
an uninvited invitation,
announcing with precise bluntness,
that precisely now,
is the tool crafted moment
and you fool,
the selected tool

you must render unto Ceaser,
by your own hand,
render your own rendering,
do your own undoing,
go forth and in haste,
will thyself into the cauldron of the
Great Mystery of Creation

you cannot lie in poetry

<•>

come, sit for awhile, in poet's nook,
soft pillows for our hard Adirondack chairs,
situe hard by the bay, if too hot, we'll slow
drift to the sun room of
lace curtains and suicide poems,
still we'll observe the water, the rabbits, the cacophony low,
listening to all the noisier, nosier
creatures asking themselves,
and the trees and leaves,
where did all those poets come from?

<•>

to the interior delve,
via brush or limb,
pen or music,
the exposition, the exploration,
the reconstruction of composing
one's self, creation and destruction
of your own myths

movement of arms and legs,
sparseness of simplicity,
subsidiaries of centricity,
tributaries of complexity

<•>

how cold are the carpenter's hands,
the weather, but an added obstacle,
this heat, makes dying different difficult,
the wood bearing cross requires additional nails
and flesh, for the extra load he's bearing,
when it snows blood in Jerusalem

the whole world can transition
when one man dies and another is risen,
where oh where lies then, the juxtaposition?

there is none, for man is man,
his divine spark, embedded,
to his maker's mark, welded and wedded,
neither snow or sun,
can ever extinguish


<•>

now I ken better distance 'tween
artist and art,
I, a workingman's
daily dallying in simplistic machine craft,
my works deservedly lost in
the water-falling
of the endless also rans

non-nebulous distances.between skies of
Oregon country blue and
the worldy worn asphalt grayed words of
a graying man aging,
then let clarity speak, in plainest harmony,
know my deference’s soars to the high above,
one of us at birth, god gifted,
was not I,
it ain't me babe, but
one of us, his tongue,
like Moses-stung
with a hot coal
of language's divinity


<•>
Simon Monahan Nov 2018
A heart, even a human heart,
And yet much more! A blessing key
Which unlocks all the larger part
Of creation's secret, to be
Fathomed in divinest thoughts, where
Love spoke a single Word which could
Not be writ across one sky, there
Being too small for one who would
Speak galaxies of affection,
Spiralling lazily, with ease
Breathing out (O sweet reflection!)
How the Beloved does so please
The unravelling speaker's heart,
Bright orange nebulae signing
Cosmic sighs of love which betray
Deep fondness, and no small pining
For that sweet soul which holds such sway
While comets with hot flashing tails
Remind how fleeting is matter,
Finitude which entirely pales
Before love's endurance. Clatter
Of crashing asteroids beats loud
The steady pulse in silent space
Of devotion's heartbeat, ne'er proud,
Always humbly ready to place
Itself at the disposal of
Her, and her fair name, love of God
Having joined him to her, his dove,
Beside her e'er his path to trod.
And for lightyears of empty black
Void, the silence is unbroken
For love goes beyond the poor track
Of mere words, largely unspoken,
Of course - for even the bright sun
Burns passionately above cloud
And horizon all mute, for one
Who needs not great clamour and loud
Cries to know that her poor lover's
Attention is all caught up in
Her eyes, that beauty which covers
Her whole person, which he would win
Rather by the constellations’
Subtle grandeur than by any
Of the offal of the nations
All dearly sought by so many
(The trappings of riches and fame)
Yet counted all as dust by her
Whose sweet self and whose most fair name
His soul loves. Supernova blur
Smudges the blinking telescopes
Startled by refulgent glory
Of stars which exceed all the hopes
And dreams of poor mortal story,
Fables myriad each like mist
Are dispelled by the diction true
And truly uttered, the whole list
Of fairy tales by a great new
Reality shown inferior
And usurped, as the things of old
Are by these matters interior
Contrasted; proven less well told
Than love’s murmuring, that sweet breath
Of solar wind across the soul’s
Horizon, and the world's. Grave death,
Blistering hell, and those foul coals
Which stoke the infernal fires are
Not enough to overcome it,
The light of its hope shining far,
By which the dark abyss is lit
And made shallow, all things swallowed
By patient seas of affection,
And sadnesses we once wallowed
In escaping our detection,
As we are cast adrift on this
Placid sea. From a stately ship
Above your lover calls, to bliss
Inviting you - that you may strip
Your heart of pain’s devices, set
Sail for past the sunset's glow, while
He takes, if only you will let
Him, your cares away, your sweet smile
The whole repayment expected.
No mere bridge joins our hearts, my love,
But the Cross, which sees connected
Our green earth and heaven above,
As well as our destinies, God's
Call joining in one location
Our twisting paths, against all odds,
Fate through the grace of vocation
Made sweet by His divine favor.
A second heartbeat where once one
Sounded alone now beats, savor
Recognizable in hard-won
Harmonious sound, for no such
Unity is achieved, nor two
Made one, save by labors, by much
Work attentively done; but you,
Of course, darling, serve as reason
Enough to justify hardships
Beyond these, whether in season
Or out your presence amidships
Making every voyage fairer
Than the last, even through the storms,
Instilling courage ‘gainst terror
And all dread, for the lovely forms
Which your love gently expressed takes
Are balm and tonic against all
Ills, honey for the soul which makes
One unafraid that he should fall,
Knowing, as he does, that you will
Be there to succor every woe -
He can his heart’s contents all spill,
And safely, for you love him so.
For Mary Margaret
D Conors Oct 2010
(O Fortuna! had re-gained popular attention when it was chosen as the theme song for the film, The Omen, the story of a child who was the Anti-Christ.
The entire performance of Orff's Carmina Burana is gripping and spine-chilling. I had the pleasure of watching it from a box seat the the Broward Centre for the Performing Arts back in 1999, played by the Florida Philharmonic (defunct) led by maestro James Judd--it terrified me so much I couldn't sleep for days!-D)

1. O Fortuna (Chorus) (O Fortune)

O Fortuna O Fortune,
velut luna like the moon
statu variabilis, you are changeable,
semper crescis ever waxing
aut decrescis; and waning;
vita detestabilis hateful life
nunc obdurat first oppresses
et tunc curat and then soothes
ludo mentis aciem, as fancy takes it;
egestatem, poverty
potestatem and power
dissolvit ut glaciem. it melts them like ice.
Sors immanis Fate - monstrous
et inanis, and empty,
rota tu volubilis, you whirling wheel,
status malus, you are malevolent,
vana salus well-being is vain
semper dissolubilis, and always fades to nothing,
obumbrata shadowed
et velata and veiled
michi quoque niteris; you plague me too;
nunc per ludum now through the game
dorsum nudum I bring my bare back
fero tui sceleris. to your villainy.
Sors salutis Fate is against me
et virtutis in health
michi nunc contraria, and virtue,
est affectus driven on
et defectus and weighted down,
semper in angaria. always enslaved.
Hac in hora So at this hour
sine mora without delay
corde pulsum tangite; pluck the vibrating strings;
quod per sortem since Fate
sternit fortem, strikes down the strong man,
mecum omnes plangite! everyone weep with me!
____

About:
"Carmina Burana is a scenic cantata composed by Carl Orff in 1935 and 1936. It is based on 24 of the poems found in the medieval collection Carmina Burana. Its full Latin title is Carmina Burana: Cantiones profanæ cantoribus et choris cantandæ comitantibus instrumentis atque imaginibus magicis"

"Orff first encountered the text in John Addington Symonds's 1884 publication Wine, Women and Song, which included English translations of 46 poems from the collection. Michel Hofmann, a young law student and Latin and Greek enthusiast, assisted Orff in the selection and organization of 24 of these poems into a libretto, mostly in Latin verse, with a small amount of Middle High German and Old Provençal. The selection covers a wide range of topics, as familiar in the 13th century as they are in the 21st century: the fickleness of fortune and wealth, the ephemeral nature of life, the joy of the return of Spring, and the pleasures and perils of drinking, gluttony, gambling and lust."
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carmina
Burana_
by Carl Orff
(July 10, 1895(1895-07-10) – March 29, 1982)
Wk kortas Mar 2017
Well, why not me, I reasoned
(No surprise to friends and loved ones,
As I have always considered my time
On this spinning patch of rock
As something of a monument to the value of pragmatism)
But there were still the normal sine-wave vacillation
Between tenuous optimism and odds-driven grim reality,
Fanciful discussions of Chinese herbs and Mexican clinics
And, later still, of time frames and stock transfers,
All the while various folks attired in suits and clinic coats
Debating matters pertaining to the coda of my personal symphony
(Doing so as if yours truly wasn’t even in the room)
Until, deciding my input might be somewhat pertinent, I said
If it’s all the same to you, I would like to go home.

It was, in a sense, like getting back on an old Schwinn
(Fender dented, rubbing on the front tire just the least little bit,
The chain needing oil, grudgingly giving in
To the demands of the crank)
Sitting, unused but inordinately patient, next to the barn,
The whole notion of settling back into a pace you’d forgotten,
Like dialing back a metronome from allegro to andante
Without missing a beat or flubbing a note.
What’s more, there were the sensations you’d never made time for
While under the thumb of daily deadlines and train schedules,
Greeting you like friends you hadn’t seen for twenty years
But started gabbing with as easy as slipping on old jeans:
The scent of the lilacs, overpowering but borderline mystical,
The informal yet precise ballet of the cattails and jewelweed,
The fields of cows that, even though you know it can’t be the case,
Are populated by the same Bessie and Bossie
You taunted and pelted with watermelon as a child
(I have made it a point to proffer my apologies),
The dark, pine-choked hills,
Formidable but accessible, even comforting.
Sometimes, when I am not paying attention,
I catch myself all but tearing up,
And I say to myself, ever so softly,
As not to disturb the squirrels and the wrens,
I had almost forgotten.  Christ forgive me,
I had almost forgotten.



I’d assumed (sometimes, I can be astounded
At the full extent of my own foolishness)
That she would merely take a leave of absence;
She has, after all, an alphabet full of advanced degrees,
A rainmaker’s reputation and the billable hours to match.
Columbia and Harvard Law, after all,
But she grew up down the road just a piece in Ebensburg,
So this is all part and parcel of her as well
Hard coded in the DNA for better or worse, she’ll say,
All the while shaking her head and laughing softly.
Surely you don’t want to stay here, I’ll say,
Boorishly rational in the face of everything
Which would argue to be otherwise,
You’ve read enough Forbes and Fortune;
Altoona is dead, Johnstown is dying,
And she allows that, for a time, coming back
Was the source of some misapprehension on her part,
Until it dawned on her that on those rare occasions
It had occurred to her to glance skyward in mid-town,
She had seen faceless tiles of windows
Sufficient to sheet a Great Pyramid,
An Armageddon’s worth of angels and gargoyles in the cornices,
But she had not, even once, ever seen the stars.
“Nullus enim locus sine genio est.”

  Servius.

“La musique,” says Marmontel, in those “Contes
Moraux” which in all our translations we have insisted upon
calling “Moral Tales,” as if in mockery of their
spirit—”la musique est le seul des talens qui
jouisse de lui-meme: tous les autres veulent des
temoins.” He here confounds the pleasure derivable from
sweet sounds with the capacity for creating them. No more
than any other talent, is that for music susceptible
of complete enjoyment where there is no second party to
appreciate its exercise; and it is only in common with other
talents that it produces effects which may be fully
enjoyed in solitude. The idea which the raconteur has
either failed to entertain clearly, or has sacrificed in its
expression to his national love of point, is
doubtless the very tenable one that the higher order of
music is the most thoroughly estimated when we are
exclusively alone. The proposition in this form will be
admitted at once by those who love the lyre for its own sake
and for its spiritual uses. But there is one pleasure still
within the reach of fallen mortality, and perhaps only one,
which owes even more than does music to the accessory
sentiment of seclusion. I mean the happiness experienced in
the contemplation of natural scenery. In truth, the man who
would behold aright the glory of God upon earth must in
solitude behold that glory. To me at least the presence, not
of human life only, but of life, in any other form than that
of the green things which grow upon the soil and are
voiceless, is a stain upon the landscape, is at war with the
genius of the scene. I love, indeed, to regard the dark
valleys, and the gray rocks, and the waters that silently
smile, and the forests that sigh in uneasy slumbers, and the
proud watchful mountains that look down upon all,—I
love to regard these as themselves but the colossal members
of one vast animate and sentient whole—a whole whose
form (that of the sphere) is the most perfect and most
inclusive of all; whose path is among associate planets;
whose meek handmaiden is the moon; whose mediate sovereign
is the sun; whose life is eternity; whose thought is that of
a god; whose enjoyment is knowledge; whose destinies are
lost in immensity; whose cognizance of ourselves is akin
with our own cognizance of the animalculae which
infest the brain, a being which we in consequence regard as
purely inanimate and material, much in the same manner as
these animalculae must thus regard us.

Our telescopes and our mathematical investigations assure us
on every hand, notwithstanding the cant of the more ignorant
of the priesthood, that space, and therefore that bulk, is
an important consideration in the eyes of the Almighty. The
cycles in which the stars move are those best adapted for
the evolution, without collision, of the greatest possible
number of bodies. The forms of those bodies are accurately
such as within a given surface to include the greatest
possible amount of matter; while the surfaces themselves are
so disposed as to accommodate a denser population than could
be accommodated on the same surfaces otherwise arranged. Nor
is it any argument against bulk being an object with God
that space itself is infinite; for there may be an infinity
of matter to fill it; and since we see clearly that the
endowment of matter with vitality is a principle—
indeed, as far as our judgments extend, the leading
principle in the operations of Deity, it is scarcely logical
to imagine it confined to the regions of the minute, where
we daily trace it, and not extending to those of the august.
As we find cycle within cycle without end, yet all revolving
around one far-distant centre which is the Godhead, may we
not analogically suppose, in the same manner, life within
life, the less within the greater, and all within the Spirit
Divine? In short, we are madly erring through self-esteem in
believing man, in either his temporal or future destinies,
to be of more moment in the universe than that vast “clod of
the valley” which he tills and contemns, and to which he
denies a soul, for no more profound reason than that he does
not behold it in operation.

These fancies, and such as these, have always given to my
meditations among the mountains and the forests, by the
rivers and the ocean, a tinge of what the every-day world
would not fail to term the fantastic. My wanderings amid
such scenes have been many and far-searching, and often
solitary; and the interest with which I have strayed through
many a dim deep valley, or gazed into the reflected heaven
of many a bright lake, has been an interest greatly deepened
by the thought that I have strayed and gazed alone.
What flippant Frenchman was it who said, in allusion to the
well known work of Zimmermann, that “la solitude est une
belle chose; mais il faut quelqu’un pour vous dire que la
solitude est une belle chose”? The epigram cannot be
gainsaid; but the necessity is a thing that does not exist.

It was during one of my lonely journeyings, amid a far
distant region of mountain locked within mountain, and sad
rivers and melancholy tarns writhing or sleeping within all,
that I chanced upon a certain rivulet and island. I came
upon them suddenly in the leafy June, and threw myself upon
the turf beneath the branches of an unknown odorous shrub,
that I might doze as I contemplated the scene. I felt that
thus only should I look upon it, such was the character of
phantasm which it wore.

On all sides, save to the west where the sun was about
sinking, arose the verdant walls of the forest. The little
river which turned sharply in its course, and was thus
immediately lost to sight, seemed to have no exit from its
prison, but to be absorbed by the deep green foliage of the
trees to the east; while in the opposite quarter (so it
appeared to me as I lay at length and glanced upward) there
poured down noiselessly and continuously into the valley a
rich golden and crimson waterfall from the sunset fountains
of the sky.

About midway in the short vista which my dreamy vision took
in, one small circular island, profusely verdured, reposed
upon the ***** of the stream.

So blended bank and shadow there, That each seemed pendulous
in air—

so mirror-like was the glassy water, that it was scarcely
possible to say at what point upon the ***** of the emerald
turf its crystal dominion began. My position enabled me to
include in a single view both the eastern and western
extremities of the islet, and I observed a singularly-marked
difference in their aspects. The latter was all one radiant
harem of garden beauties. It glowed and blushed beneath the
eye of the slant sunlight, and fairly laughed with flowers.
The grass was short, springy, sweet-scented, and Asphodel-
interspersed. The trees were lithe, mirthful, *****, bright,
slender, and graceful, of eastern figure and foliage, with
bark smooth, glossy, and parti-colored. There seemed a deep
sense of life and joy about all, and although no airs blew
from out the heavens, yet everything had motion through the
gentle sweepings to and fro of innumerable butterflies, that
might have been mistaken for tulips with wings.

The other or eastern end of the isle was whelmed in the
blackest shade. A sombre, yet beautiful and peaceful gloom,
here pervaded all things. The trees were dark in color and
mournful in form and attitude— wreathing themselves
into sad, solemn, and spectral shapes, that conveyed ideas
of mortal sorrow and untimely death. The grass wore the deep
tint of the cypress, and the heads of its blades hung
droopingly, and hither and thither among it were many small
unsightly hillocks, low and narrow, and not very long, that
had the aspect of graves, but were not, although over and
all about them the rue and the rosemary clambered. The
shades of the trees fell heavily upon the water, and seemed
to bury itself therein, impregnating the depths of the
element with darkness. I fancied that each shadow, as the
sun descended lower and lower, separated itself sullenly
from the trunk that gave it birth, and thus became absorbed
by the stream, while other shadows issued momently from the
trees, taking the place of their predecessors thus entombed.

This idea having once seized upon my fancy greatly excited
it, and I lost myself forthwith in reverie. “If ever island
were enchanted,” said I to myself, “this is it. This is the
haunt of the few gentle Fays who remain from the wreck of
the race. Are these green tombs theirs?—or do they
yield up their sweet lives as mankind yield up their own? In
dying, do they not rather waste away mournfully, rendering
unto God little by little their existence, as these trees
render up shadow after shadow, exhausting their substance
unto dissolution? What the wasting tree is to the water that
imbibes its shade, growing thus blacker by what it preys
upon, may not the life of the Fay be to the death which
engulfs it?”

As I thus mused, with half-shut eyes, while the sun sank
rapidly to rest, and eddying currents careered round and
round the island, bearing upon their ***** large dazzling
white flakes of the bark of the sycamore, flakes which, in
their multiform positions upon the water, a quick
imagination might have converted into anything it pleased;
while I thus mused, it appeared to me that the form of one
of those very Fays about whom I had been pondering, made its
way slowly into the darkness from out the light at the
western end of the island. She stood ***** in a singularly
fragile canoe, and urged it with the mere phantom of an oar.
While within the influence of the lingering sunbeams, her
attitude seemed indicative of joy, but sorrow deformed it as
she passed within the shade. Slowly she glided along, and at
length rounded the islet and re-entered the region of light.
“The revolution which has just been made by the Fay,”
continued I musingly, “is the cycle of the brief year of her
life. She has floated through her winter and through her
summer. She is a year nearer unto death: for I did not fail
to see that as she came into the shade, her shadow fell from
her, and was swallowed up in the dark water, making its
blackness more black.”

And again the boat appeared and the Fay, but about the
attitude of the latter there was more of care and
uncertainty and less of elastic joy. She floated again from
out the light and into the gloom (which deepened momently),
and again her shadow fell from her into the ebony water, and
became absorbed into its blackness. And again and again she
made the circuit of the island (while the sun rushed down to
his slumbers), and at each issuing into the light there was
more sorrow about her person, while it grew feebler and far
fainter and more indistinct, and at each passage into the
gloom there fell from her a darker shade, which became
whelmed in a shadow more black. But at length, when the sun
had utterly departed, the Fay, now the mere ghost of her
former self, went disconsolately with her boat into the
region of the ebony flood, and that she issued thence at all
I cannot say, for darkness fell over all things, and I
beheld her magical figure no more.
Those poor, misunderstood teachers,
Counting down days till retirement.
Like grunts in The Nam,
Waiting for a reprieve like it was a
Papal dispensation or a Presidential pardon, or
Last minute stay of execution from the Governor.
Teachers: dying a slow death
On the same lame stage day after day,
Performing amateur comedy,
Hosting their very own Karaoke Club;
Filling barely enough seats in the joint
To crack their daily job satisfaction nut.
The kids who do show up for class are too bored,
Or too apathetic to stay awake,
Heckle you or walk out.
Most teachers hate their jobs.
So many teachers, so many miserable mooks
Wishing they had some other job, any other job,
Like plumber or astronaut,
Mortgage broker or CIA assassin,
The last two with similar personality & career profiles
On The Myers Briggs Type Indicator MBTI® Step I Interpretive Report. Anything’s got to be better than being
Trapped in a 40 by 40 foot box all day,
Stuck in some Dungeons & Dragons classroom
All day with 40 chaotic, evil, teenage
Gary Gygax-ed kids, used to entertainment
Of higher quality and sparkle.
The cardinal sin of teaching:  Thou shalt not be boring!

Teachers complain constantly about how bad the money is,
Having to work almost 185 days a year,
Whining about only getting 8 weeks off in the summer &
Every freaking holiday on earth known to man.
Snap out of it: you get paid what may be one of
The last livable, middle class salaries in America,
Not to mention health and defined retirement benefits, &
You’re still kvetching.
Meanwhile, Good Teachers—
Those deliriously happy few,
That small rare band of subversives,
Maybe you can count them on one hand &
Still feel lucky you had that many—
I’m talking about the good teachers,
Who view teaching as an art form,
Atypical teachers with both brains and heart.
These are the teachers that make the difference.
These are the vital early role models we need
To encounter when we first leave home as toddlers.

I can still hear you, Mr. Feeny:
“I want you to go home this afternoon and open a book! I don’t care what you had otherwise planned, I order you, nay, I command you. Go home and open a book.”
Books are sine qua non.
Good teachers start out by reading a lot of books—
That’s the brain stuff.
It is life lessons of the heart, however,
That really counts,
Stuff they’ve learned the hard way,
The pain they’ve felt personally,
Particularly while young themselves.
That’s where the heart comes from.
And for **** sure they never read about it
In whatever passes for textbooks in
Most graduate schools of education,
Largely lame crap masquerading as academic rigor
In the diploma mills serving the education profession these days.
I taught in 15 high schools across the American southwest &
I’ve known some really breathtakingly dumb,
Essentially illiterate teachers.
Even at the highest institutions of higher learning,
The average educator of teachers is
Rarely known for intellectualism.
With the possible exception of Diane Ravitch,
Jonathan Kozol, Paulo “The Brazilian” Freire--&
Maybe that Marxist hold-out, Eric “Rico” Gutstein--
Instructional staff at most university
Graduate Schools of Education are not
Taken seriously by the rest of the academic faculty.
What was your source of heart, Mr.Kotter?
I can assure you, it was not something you
Picked up at a teacher in-service, Gabe, &
Welcome back, by the way.

If you remember one thing about
Teacher licensing, remember this:
Albert Einstein, at the height of his fame &
Intellectual prowess, could not walk in
Off the street from out-of-state, or
Anywhere else in the universe, &
Qualify for a secondary single subject
Preliminary license to teach physics.
Not in any public high school classroom in
California or in the state of New Mexico.
He simply lacked the requisite education,
Hadn’t taken the plenitude of pedagogic courses,
Expensive college credits in such vital subjects as:
Methods of Teaching Science for Dummies;
Educational Technology for Idiots;
Band Aids & First Aid;
Tae Kwan Do for the Inner City;
Teaching & Testing the Test Takers;
Touchy-Feely 101, 201 & 301;
Understanding Special Kids:
Gifted Kids, Not-so Gifted Kids,
Kids with Attitude & Kids with ADD;
Curriculum Simulacrum;
ELL/Cross-Cultural Learning;
Self-Esteem for the Worthless; &
Last but not least, Foundations of Education:
Sarcasm & Humiliation for Fun & Profit.
And I didn’t even mention taking & passing
That sublimely subtle CBEST or NMTA/NES,
Teacher licensure tests,
Essentially 8th Grade literacy exams
Quite a few applicants take 3 or 4 times
Before earning a passing score.

Blame society?
Blame the parents?
Blame the politicians?
No, teachers:
Blame yourselves.
Similiter et omnes revereantur Diaconos, ut
     mandatum Jesu Christi; et Episcopum, ut Jesum
     Christum, existentem filium Patris; Presbyteros
     autem, ut concilium Dei et conjunctionem
     Apostolorum. Sine his Ecclesia non vocatur; de
     quibus suadeo vos sic habeo.
                              S. Ignatii Ad Trallianos.

     And when this epistle is read among you, cause that
     it be read also in the church of the Laodiceans.


The broad-backed hippopotamus
Rests on his belly in the mud;
Although he seems so firm to us
He is merely flesh and blood.

Flesh and blood is weak and frail,
Susceptible to nervous shock;
While the True Church can never fail
For it is based upon a rock.

The hippo’s feeble steps may err
In compassing material ends,
While the True Church need never stir
To gather in its dividends.

The ‘potamus can never reach
The mango on the mango-tree;
But fruits of pomegranate and peach
Refresh the Church from over sea.

At mating time the hippo’s voice
Betrays inflexions hoarse and odd,
But every week we hear rejoice
The Church, at being one with God.

The hippopotamus’s day
Is passed in sleep; at night he hunts;
God works in a mysterious way—
The Church can sleep and feed at once.

I saw the ‘potamus take wing
Ascending from the damp savannas,
And quiring angels round him sing
The praise of God, in loud hosannas.

Blood of the Lamb shall wash him clean
And him shall heavenly arms enfold,
Among the saints he shall be seen
Performing on a harp of gold.

He shall be washed as white as snow,
By all the martyr’d virgins kist,
While the True Church remains below
Wrapt in the old miasmal mist.
Shrivastva MK Mar 2018
Bachpan ka samay kabhi na lautkar aata ,
Har waqt bus yaadon ka aasma reh jaata ,

Khelte the hum bhi khub dhul ko udel ko,
Maaf kr diye jate hamare sabhi galtiya aur bhul ko,

Jab chaha has lete they ,
Aur jab chaha ro dete they ,

Chhote chhote aankhon me sapne bade hote the,
Na kisi se bair,sare log apne hote the,

Par ab tou aansuo ko chahiye tanhayi ,
Chehre par sirf jhoothi muskaan hai chhayi ,

Zindagi ki tapish mein kab bachpan guzar gaya ,
Kab bachhe se bade ** gye zindagi ki daur mein nazar hi nahi aaya ,


Kya din they chalate they baarish mein nao 
Ab khud ko chupane ke liye sochtey hain kha jao,
 
Na kuch paane ki aasha thi or na kuch khone ka drrrr,
Mast rehte they jaha apni hi dhun idhar udhar,

Koi lauta de bachpan ka sawan
Fir se mehak jayega mere dil ka aangan ,


Khelte they khilone se aaj khud khilona ban gaye ,
Bachpan ke sunhere pal na jaane kha kho gaye,

Maa se lipatne ke  bahane bnate,
Maa ke aanchal ke chav me hi so jate,

Chhote se kadam se saitaniya bde karte the,
Papa Ki pyari daat pr bhi ro dete the,

Jab bhi rota mai,Maa apne sine se laga leti thi,
Sahlake haath sar pr mere muskura deti thi,

Maa ka dudh jaise amrit ka pyala tha,
Sach me hamara bachpan bahut hi nirala tha,

Amrit ka Ek ghut pi kar bhi khush ** jate the,
Duniya ka sabse bda sukh maa ke aanchal me hi pate the,

Yaad hai hume wo khubsurat bachpan ke pal,
Muskura dete hum jab bhi yaad aate wo sunhare bite kal........

4th collab. Poem composed by
Sonia Paruthi & Manish Shrivastva
For sonia Paruthi creations visit
Hellopoetry.com/SoniaParuthi
mac azanes Oct 2017
Minsan nasabi ko nun sa sarili ko,na hindi na ako muling magsusulat pa.
Kasi pag ako humawak ng papel at lapis sa kalagitnaan ng gabi ibig sabihin na hindi ako masaya at nilalamon na ako ng lungkot hanggang awatin na ako ng araw sa umaga at sabihin na pumikit kana.
Pero sandali lang.
Hindi naman ako malungkot at hindi naman hating gabi ngayon. Maingay nga dito at heto ako gising na gising. Sumasabay sa ingay ng mundo.
Magsusulat ako para malaman mo kung ganu ka kahalaga. Yung kahit paulit ulit pa ok lang, kahit na di na tumugma ang mga letra at di ko makuha ang tamang talata.
itutuloy ko na to. Pano nga ba,na ang mga nasulat ko dati ay puro kabiguan at sakit sa damdamin ang tema,pano nga bang ako ay nilalamon ng gabi at awatin ng umaga.
Pano nga bang natapos ang mga araw na akala ko ay buwan na ang magiging araw.
Ou nga nagsimula ang lahat sa salitang di inakala.
Na ang pag ibig natin ay maihahalintulad sa mga eksena nang mga pelikula na hindi pa naipalabas sa sine o pelikula.
Nais ko lang malaman mo at ng mundo na umiikot sa mga masasakit at matatamis na salita kung ganu ka kahalaga.
Kung papaano mo tinapos ang mga gabi at araw na halos di ko na makilala ang aking sarili sa pagpapanggap para lang maging masaya.
Salamat sa pagpapadama ng tunay na kaligayan at halaga. salamat sa tunay na pamilya na iyong dala.
salamat sa mga simpleng bagay na lubos ko na kinasaya at salamat sa pagmamahal na walang katulad at dalisay simula pa nung umpisa.
May mga araw na ako din ay anlulungkot kahit pa tayo na,Hindi dahil may ginawa ka pero naqpapaisip lang talaga ako kung karapatdapat ba talaga ako sa isang katulad mo.
Pero salamat kasi ni minsan di mo pinadama na iba ka,kasi tayo nga naman ay iisa.
Nais ko lang din malaman mo kung ganu ako kasaya,na merong ikaw at ako at darating ang panahon ay ikaw ako at mga bata.
At nasasabik na din akong ikwento sa kanila kung panong ang ikaw ay umakyat sa pinakamatataas na kabundukan ng ating bansa.
Masaya ako na nagawa mo ang mga bagay na iyong pinangarap at aabutin naman nating dalawa ang ating pangarap na maging ISA.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
the users of chinese require a respectable memory of logograms, but then the european languages users require a respectable memory of combinations of a limited number of "logograms", well, indeed limited, in comparison to the chinese range... and in so doing seem to have created a knack, a desire to create iconoclasm, a barrage of excess image crafting, whether in painting or photography, even logos are taken for equal representation among paintings and photographs in terms of being qualified as equals... if there's a quest at hand... it's to find the tetragrammaton in chinese: Y (convergence of three directions), H (the selfish twins of the ego), W (sine & cosine ripples, the ripples of a drop in a lake of a glass of water), and H (the selfless twins of the ego)... something like that - obviously upon interaction, used, the the two pairs of egos become the real dynamism interchanging their coupling... while the Y and W are seemingly constants.*

looking at the many maxims of la rochefoucauld,
so many seem true... but then again too
much truths and not using the Kantian
filter that the categorical imperative is...
and you stumble into custard of a maxim
kaleidoscope... obviously i'm not denying the truths,
but, as Kant pointed out... one truth will do,
the rest as there to be observed as if from-thin-air,
but it's still only one maxim, the ccategorical
imperative spurning you on, all the others do not
provide a vector consistency for you to repeat,
fall back on... i do appreciate the many observations
in la rochefoucauld, but too many maxims
and you do not which to grasp, wrestle with and
utilise to its maximum potential, not one becomes
a vantage point of safety, too many of them
and you're dancing naked under the tree of forbidden
knowledge... making it a bit of a foolery paying
homage to Bacchus... drunk on too much of it...
not really able to incorporate all of it, incorporating
too much of it is hardly strategic, one maxim will do,
a categorical imperative, a strategy of a measured
footpath, one will do...
but apart from that, considering each maxim with
a method i devised... dilution using synonyms...
that old chestnut, king solomon's
Ecclesiastes 1:2... meaningless! meaningless!
utterly meaningless! everything's meaningless!
in another citation the word vanity is used...
now vanity does not necessarily imply meaningless
as the closest synonym... in the latin tongue
vanity (vanus) implies empty... hence my revision
of the cartesian concept of res cogitans (thinking thing)
using res vanus (empty thing)...
if meaningless is given a disruption and a refrained
use, instead using the closer meaning to the latin (empty),
then i can see a better scenario...
everything is empty: emptiness! emptiness! utterly empty!
everything is empty! i find this to be a less pessimistic
conclusion on the matter... after all gravity was empty
prior to newton, who filled it; natural selection was empty
prior to darwin, who filled it; electromagnetic rotary
devices were "empty" / didn't exist until michael faraday
came along... the atmosphere was empty, until
leucippus and democritus came along, later proven
wrong by the supposed non-divisibility of the structures
by otto hahn and fritz strassmann and oppenheimer...
these evaluations suggest that people come across
these empty things, either by direct sensory perception
or through theoretical mingling, and fill them...
there's nothing meaningless as such as stressed by
Ecclesiastes 1:2... things are necessarily empty, in order
to be filled, and that gives meaning to man...
therefore... emptiness!! emptiness!
utterly empty! everything's empty! this, the dilution
using synonymousness as a divergence from
what strict interpretation would provide should
only a limited vocabulary be applied - rather than
an extended vocabulary of a juggling act.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
lessons in graffiti, or the Pinocchio giraffe;
and was the H absolutely necessary
when otherwise asking of a cappuccino
or at your local caf? evidently there was distinction
with the mocha too, but that won't matter,
otherwise the language isn't used... but abused.

lessons in graffiti, or other confectionary products,
while you ooze the shopping experience
on your daily commute,
       *skittels
on brickwork with the origins
of the #, cut short by simply the graffiti tag,
      you wrote tag, without the collective hash,
  not so much noughts and crosses gaming,
or remembering your phone number,
                  here graffiti: or the rekindling of
trademarks in the urban scenic bypass,
or: truly under the bridge.
             writing on money does very little:
but writing on newspapers? that say a lot,
the odd day i write something on a newspaper
review section and feel almighty -
        which is much more than the rage against
the machine instructions are about:
   write a message on a penny, it's still a penny,
write a message on a dollar, it's still a dollar,
but write a message on a newspaper:
you's basically encapsulating shouting at a protest!
() hence the picture.
             r.s. (receptui scriptum):
         i never knew whether the dot belonged in
the ). or the .) part of encapsulation, if that's to be
worded or acutely pill-sized embryo,
that bypasses the oesophagus workout before
the hydrochloric gym acidity.
   how is one to make science human again?
how is one to make science lessened in the Frankenstein
myth and the ostracized ostrich citizens
that scientists very much so, actually are?
       my notes on the matter?
non-existent: i see the feminist movement
i.e. there are more women than men as such
as not a case of **** culture, but as a case of "i'm not
getting any!" call in the Vikings,
mind you, even the supermarket cashier looked
astounded in between Friday and Saturday,
  on Friday a litre of whiskey
    on Saturday a litre of whiskey...
and some men climb the Everest or walk the moon...
while some envision their liver
as a Klitschko - the tetragrammaton exists only
because people made aesthetic suggestions / blunders,
it's a suggestion in the sur- or what's otherwise a surd /
a silent nonetheless inserted atom of sprechen:
like Nietzsche and Klitschko: you say less than you
write... out pops the tetragrammaton -
        if ever Caesar Octavian needed a teacher
my vanity suggests i'd done better teaching him
than Aristotle teaching Alexander, or Seneca teaching
Nero...
                  it's all down to excessive spelling, or
the keeping up of appearances, or simply looking
bizarre, and like in mathematics, there's a remainder,
what yhwh represents is in linguistic terms
as in mathematical terms: what's left over, scraps...
see it differently and it becomes gold:
five fish, two loaves of bread sort of scenario.
                           it's a remainder -
it cannot be eradicated, denied or be left into a limbo
of diminished responsibility
      it's man concern with how language should
look and how painting should feel:
               the fact that we created art from letters
and forgot our concern for art representing forms
is not postmodernism, it's post-Platonism; finally!
of course the s and the z are the crude and the refined
versions of each other via the transition of
being modulated by the chirality enzyme,
          but they're still called zigzag twins -
there's no delta involved akin to one face of a pyramid.
how grand then, to be living in a time
when a single phonetic encoding of sound
transcends into complex meaning:
akin to s and sigma and what's mathematically
the sum / total of constipated matter...
                    strange how the Cartesian model
falters thus,
           the fact that i think is never the ending
causality of my being's summation:
           it's but a summary, but never the summation /
sum - it's never the arithmetically sound answer:
hence the god-implant, or as i said:
the remainder, which i can't erase from the realm
of thought.
                 by the way? no Jew could have wrote as
much about their god as i have:
as said: the crucifixion was worthwhile,
      but there was no question that Latin had
to remain -
                     what was saved was the Latin encoding,
not some puny redemption from doing ****...
**** no! you couldn't create robotics or write
software without Latin: no other encoding has as
many "blank" hula hoops as already provided:
Q, R, o, P, p, A, a, D, d, g, b, B...
        26 x 2? 52 - and of those how many are spies
that we are descended from the gods and can
create our slowly-ascending replicas in robotics?
as the list suggests: 12.
     should i call up St. Peter and the rest to work
out the ******* numbers of correlation in
the framework of mirror / anti?
                      ah, the eagerly waiting public:
speak of the devil... and he shall appear.
      that ****'s been going on since the death of a man
in the year 1900...
           and oh my, the search has been gruelling,
you have Western Europe remembering the 1st
and Eastern Europe trying to not remember the 2nd...
   the name's Mars... while i say: try Moby **** first:
because god knows what's lurking in the depth.
or maybe i got my bearings wrong? maybe language
truly is a statement of Bermuda magnetics
that makes all compasses into twirling ballerinas?
to me? what comes with authenticity is a good joke,
nothing remotely suggesting a seriousness:
or as Wittgenstein said: have a joke, make a joke,
compose everything with a joke in mind -
        oh the fringe minority still have a bargain on
identity in this field, they're brewing their next cup
of tea brown-nosing and fidgeting over how to
answer... oh i'm mad enough to turn on the Mr. Bombastic
attitude, 1L of whiskey in a single night goes a long
way in terms of unwinding and making vocab verbiage,
or counter to that: something worthy of an antique status.
still, a reminder, the yhwh is the Jews' great
present, expressed dutifully in English as equivalent
of the mathematical remainder:
                      only because the diacritical bargain
wasn't met with much approval:
what with the elites wanting to push a global rather than
a solely Mediterranean twist on the plot of how:
a revival?          well... combing back to the ulterior
motive for graffiti, an elitist sport, your handwriting
over printed press rather than Coca Cola sorta similar
on a brick wall: i'm telling you, handwriting is
a bit like wanking these days...
         but isn't it true that when we write we are
sorta becoming radiologists? aren't poems essential
x-rays? am i not simply showing you my bones?
these isn't skeletal? you sure?
and there's me thinking that America is on
the threshold of romanticising the French Revolution,
with the former concern? to reinstate a Polish
state, i.e. the Duchy of Warsaw...
              but it's not really a first world war reparations
injustice while the Germans used money instead
of wood to warm themselves in winter...
no, nothing can be said that would ever appeal
to the fact that the Third ***** was milked:
not even Indiana Jones had a ******* of that horror;
me? i took the best of the ****** affair,
the fully bewildered insurance broker of the zeitgeist:
Heidegger, and yes, i made more apologetics with
him than philosophy: as with an fatal attraction:
be it the bazar flute charmer of the cobra -
this one is bound to sting in the ***.
then another thing hit me, usually an internet
variance off state media... you ever wonder why
very claustrophobic pronoun usage (frequent interchange)
is almost equivalent of brawling with someone?
dreams of Angelique:
                     imagine a scene at a protest (two people):
- i doesn't matter what you think! your opinions are not relevant!
- true, as is the case of: you don't matter with regards
                 to what i think.
anyone spot this concentrated pronoun use
for the purpose of aversed violence via a degradation
emphasis, concerned with defending sported violence
but not social injustice : turned into justified violence?
   (yes, colon as ratio, variant of fractions,
meaning? less comparative literature of the fraction,
   and more divergence of authority within the Libra
of what's necessarily unfair: the whole is no authority
to distribute fairness);
  it's just that i feel the relentless overuse of pronouns
in a confrontation symbolises a need to use the body
rather than the tongue -
when too many pronouns are interchanged
and the repugnant pronoun collectivisation begins
the paranoid "they" and the sane "we" -
            well... Rη-oh! Rη-oh! Rη-oh!     (sheen sheen Mecca
       ism)
                             well hardly ref. to Brazil: rhy ate!
rhy ate!
                see how that tetragrammaton remainder just,
like, plops up like a baby gazelle from the mama
gazelle's ******? plop! and no diapers either.
ah: the cruelty. or as someone said:
  few letters are given geometric status, or at least
something remotely symbolising twins,
but still there are a few:
   m - sine (trigonometry)
   w - cosine (     "              )
  Δ - Pythagoras for short
      LΓ - the right hand
                  and the left hand in the non-superimposable
          categorisation of things
   ψ - the devil's barrister / i.e. a fork
     also 8008135 upside-down on a calculator screen
(insert a weird face) -
   χ - compass convergence, i.e. the point b
        you need to get to from your starting point oh,
and i guess H       for a rugby goal...
             oh hell, only a few phonetic encodings make
it out of blah blah land -
                       and without really wanting
to orientate myself on the origins of things:
i'm getting a suntan basking in all of this
in the immediate sense: actually using it.
                             and to think: we actually think
about what we talk about using only 26 symbols?
that's ****** effective,
                             which is why we were so keen
to spread out encoding system to think / say things.
and why the Chinese felt the greatest pull of gravity
in all of mankind and due to their ideograms
got pulled way way down and just say there:
which enabled them to reproduce on a scale such as
is apparent to us exporting our manual labour to
them: who the hell would want to learn
unit wording when it can be wording units?
       they have words we treat as onomatopoeia
shrapnel -
                   which is why we have enshrined ourselves
to sit on laurel leaves with Mozart:
     if ever us, then never us: linguistic atomists
                                            who perversely dissect
words into, what i can only call: a Lingua Table of
the 26 elements. it's there, it's naked, compared
with the diacritical approach: English is all
and Adam & Eve ready for a voyeuristic spelling
out of realities
- hence the plural:
    there was never one intentional crowd-surfer out
there to make people form cults, plagiarise
and sooner than later: get lost.
Jordan Chacon Apr 2014
The Anglo-Saxon Rune Poem

Each line consists of two half-stanzas, following the alliterative verse form of Fornyrðislag, or Old Meter.

Feoh byþ frofur fira gehwylcum;
sceal ðeah manna gehwylc miclun hyt dælan
gif he wile for drihtne domes hleotan.

Ur byþ anmod ond oferhyrned,
felafrecne deor, feohteþ mid hornum
mære morstapa; þæt is modig wuht.

Ðorn byþ ðearle scearp; ðegna gehwylcum
anfeng ys yfyl, ungemetum reþe
manna gehwelcum, ðe him mid resteð.

Os byþ ordfruma ælere spræce,
wisdomes wraþu ond witena frofur
and eorla gehwam eadnys ond tohiht.

Rad byþ on recyde rinca gehwylcum
sefte ond swiþhwæt, ðamðe sitteþ on ufan
meare mægenheardum ofer milpaþas.

Cen byþ cwicera gehwam, cuþ on fyre
blac ond beorhtlic, byrneþ oftust
ðær hi æþelingas inne restaþ.

Gyfu gumena byþ gleng and herenys,
wraþu and wyrþscype and wræcna gehwam
ar and ætwist, ðe byþ oþra leas.

Wenne bruceþ, ðe can weana lyt
sares and sorge and him sylfa hæfþ
blæd and blysse and eac byrga geniht.

Hægl byþ hwitust corna; hwyrft hit of heofones lyfte,
wealcaþ hit windes scura; weorþeþ hit to wætere syððan.

Nyd byþ nearu on breostan; weorþeþ hi þeah oft niþa bearnum
to helpe and to hæle gehwæþre, gif hi his hlystaþ æror.

Is byþ ofereald, ungemetum slidor,
glisnaþ glæshluttur gimmum gelicust,
flor forste geworuht, fæger ansyne.

Ger byÞ gumena hiht, ðonne God læteþ,
halig heofones cyning, hrusan syllan
beorhte bleda beornum ond ðearfum.

Eoh byþ utan unsmeþe treow,
heard hrusan fæst, hyrde fyres,
wyrtrumun underwreþyd, wyn on eþle.

Peorð byþ symble plega and hlehter
wlancum [on middum], ðar wigan sittaþ
on beorsele bliþe ætsomne.

Eolh-secg eard hæfþ oftust on fenne
wexeð on wature, wundaþ grimme,
blode breneð beorna gehwylcne
ðe him ænigne onfeng gedeþ.

Sigel semannum symble biþ on hihte,
ðonne hi hine feriaþ ofer fisces beþ,
oþ hi brimhengest bringeþ to lande.

Tir biþ tacna sum, healdeð trywa wel
wiþ æþelingas; a biþ on færylde
ofer nihta genipu, næfre swiceþ.

Beorc byþ bleda leas, bereþ efne swa ðeah
tanas butan tudder, biþ on telgum wlitig,
heah on helme hrysted fægere,
geloden leafum, lyfte getenge.

Eh byþ for eorlum æþelinga wyn,
hors hofum wlanc, ðær him hæleþ ymb[e]
welege on wicgum wrixlaþ spræce
and biþ unstyllum æfre frofur.

Man byþ on myrgþe his magan leof:
sceal þeah anra gehwylc oðrum swican,
forðum drihten wyle dome sine
þæt earme flæsc eorþan betæcan.

Lagu byþ leodum langsum geþuht,
gif hi sculun neþan on nacan tealtum
and hi sæyþa swyþe bregaþ
and se brimhengest bridles ne gym[eð].

Ing wæs ærest mid East-Denum
gesewen secgun, oþ he siððan est
ofer wæg gewat; wæn æfter ran;
ðus Heardingas ðone hæle nemdun.

Eþel byþ oferleof æghwylcum men,
gif he mot ðær rihtes and gerysena on
brucan on bolde bleadum oftast.

Dæg byþ drihtnes sond, deore mannum,
mære metodes leoht, myrgþ and tohiht
eadgum and earmum, eallum brice.

Ac byþ on eorþan elda bearnum
flæsces fodor, fereþ gelome
ofer ganotes bæþ; garsecg fandaþ
hwæþer ac hæbbe æþele treowe.

Æsc biþ oferheah, eldum dyre
stiþ on staþule, stede rihte hylt,
ðeah him feohtan on firas monige.

Yr byþ æþelinga and eorla gehwæs
wyn and wyrþmynd, byþ on wicge fæger,
fæstlic on færelde, fyrdgeatewa sum.

Iar byþ eafix and ðeah a bruceþ
fodres on foldan, hafaþ fægerne eard
wætre beworpen, ðær he wynnum leofaþ.

Ear byþ egle eorla gehwylcun,
ðonn[e] fæstlice flæsc onginneþ,
hraw colian, hrusan ceosan
blac to gebeddan; bleda gedreosaþ,
wynna gewitaþ, wera geswicaþ

Modern English Translation

Wealth is a comfort to all men;
yet must every man bestow it freely,
if he wish to gain honour in the sight of the Lord.

The aurochs is proud and has great horns;
it is a very savage beast and fights with its horns;
a great ranger of the moors, it is a creature of mettle.

The thorn is exceedingly sharp,
an evil thing for any knight to touch,
uncommonly severe on all who sit among them.

The mouth is the source of all language,
a pillar of wisdom and a comfort to wise men,
a blessing and a joy to every knight.

Riding seems easy to every warrior while he is indoors
and very courageous to him who traverses the high-roads
on the back of a stout horse.

The torch is known to every living man by its pale, bright flame;
it always burns where princes sit within.

Generosity brings credit and honour, which support one's dignity;
it furnishes help and subsistence
to all broken men who are devoid of aught else.

Bliss he enjoys who knows not suffering, sorrow nor anxiety,
and has prosperity and happiness and a good enough house.

Hail is the whitest of grain;
it is whirled from the vault of heaven
and is tossed about by gusts of wind
and then it melts into water.

Trouble is oppressive to the heart;
yet often it proves a source of help and salvation
to the children of men, to everyone who heeds it betimes.

Ice is very cold and immeasurably slippery;
it glistens as clear as glass and most like to gems;
it is a floor wrought by the frost, fair to look upon.

Summer is a joy to men, when God, the holy King of Heaven,
suffers the earth to bring forth shining fruits
for rich and poor alike.

The yew is a tree with rough bark,
hard and fast in the earth, supported by its roots,
a guardian of flame and a joy upon an estate.

Peorth is a source of recreation and amusement to the great,
where warriors sit blithely together in the banqueting-hall.

The Eolh-sedge is mostly to be found in a marsh;
it grows in the water and makes a ghastly wound,
covering with blood every warrior who touches it.

The sun is ever a joy in the hopes of seafarers
when they journey away over the fishes' bath,
until the courser of the deep bears them to land.

Tiw is a guiding star; well does it keep faith with princes;
it is ever on its course over the mists of night and never fails.

The poplar bears no fruit; yet without seed it brings forth suckers,
for it is generated from its leaves.
Splendid are its branches and gloriously adorned
its lofty crown which reaches to the skies.

The horse is a joy to princes in the presence of warriors.
A steed in the pride of its hoofs,
when rich men on horseback bandy words about it;
and it is ever a source of comfort to the restless.

The joyous man is dear to his kinsmen;
yet every man is doomed to fail his fellow,
since the Lord by his decree will commit the vile carrion to the earth.

The ocean seems interminable to men,
if they venture on the rolling bark
and the waves of the sea terrify them
and the courser of the deep heed not its bridle.

Ing was first seen by men among the East-Danes,
till, followed by his chariot,
he departed eastwards over the waves.
So the Heardingas named the hero.

An estate is very dear to every man,
if he can enjoy there in his house
whatever is right and proper in constant prosperity.

Day, the glorious light of the Creator, is sent by the Lord;
it is beloved of men, a source of hope and happiness to rich and poor,
and of service to all.

The oak fattens the flesh of pigs for the children of men.
Often it traverses the gannet's bath,
and the ocean proves whether the oak keeps faith
in honourable fashion.

The ash is exceedingly high and precious to men.
With its sturdy trunk it offers a stubborn resistance,
though attacked by many a man.

Yr is a source of joy and honour to every prince and knight;
it looks well on a horse and is a reliable equipment for a journey.

Iar is a river fish and yet it always feeds on land;
it has a fair abode encompassed by water, where it lives in happiness.

The grave is horrible to every knight,
when the corpse quickly begins to cool
and is laid in the ***** of the dark earth.
Prosperity declines, happiness passes away
and covenants are broken.
Liz Anne Oct 2012
At his very best
He can be anything

He can be kind

He can listen to you
And your every waking whim

He can hear it all

He can do her best to come
When every voice does call

He can't follow you

He can't be the only blame
And take your every swing

He can't save you

He can't soften your fall
When you jump from the ledge

He can't be everything and a friend

Learn through all this you earn
Only his heart of stone
Loose translation of title: {"without anger and fondness"}
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2013
for Angelique, who found it (at) last,
and who, loved it best
--------------------------------------------


first, I read,
thus educated,
became addicted to
the musicality of word~notes,
enamored with
the artistry of
singing language,
the power to
lift, imagine,
evoke, touch
your skin,
so far away, yet
mine thru smoke,
scribed, now
mine to stroke.

explore, uncover,
the secret interiors of
what was placed
inside of
each of us,
at inception,
without exception.

the keys,
the word picks to
unlock the freedom
to be fearful,
yet courageous.

we, start, all of us,
at the same
starting line,
we, all feel
we, all believe in
the primacy,
the rightness of
I.

but then, one must
began to
observe others.
crossed over the boundary
of mine own
preemptive prepositions,
superseded the need to be
superman,
saw different truths
in the eyes
of others.

listened to the soul songs
of the R&B; breezes of
scented strange,
coming to open
ears, nostrils,
eager to learn how
wind chimes sound in
Nepal, Berlin and the Florida Keys.

standing up, stopped lying,
both up and down,
committed to be
uncommitted to the unjust
accursed ego,
rejected the sophistry of
solipsism.

then changed directions.

went back inside
to relish the passion of
pleasure of both
affection and hatred,
receptors on wavelengths
that varied, in sine,
in in side in in the
co of mr. me.

that the only way out,
to responsively accept,
that to close
the distances within,
to realize real synapses
of words,
there was only
the pathway of
the existence of
outward bound.

kindness, warmth
and generosity,
or
cruelty, inhumanity,
utmost selfishness.

needed to choose.

made my-choices.

thus provisioned and endowed,
voyaged to a place
where there was
no cover, no excuses,
only mirrors that exposed
what lay neath every artifice
conjured up by man to
mislead, deceive, and obfuscate.

There, this place,
where I was
neither the smartest,
bravest, saddest, or wisest,
I sat down and said,
said out loud
words directed to
give yourself away,
myself and anyone
who cared to listen:

”my tongue and my eyes are
one and the same,
my fingertips and my voice,
interchangeable,
my combination of words,
special even if not original,
they are as original to me
as the first prior writer and
the next,
who will create them
anew one more tme,
after he, like me,
leaned to
write them effortlessly,
and to
give yourself away...”


with out fear,
I selected a single word,
a solitary glance,
saw the poetry of an
open window's enchantment,
a head lifted momentarily
from a pillow,
then struggled mightily,  
wept for days with no
verbiage to effect,
make visions entrancing,
no skills,
butterfly net
to capture
the magic of
your loving
my signs.

disgusted by mine,
mine mediocrity,
with the greatest
of effort,
mine,
yet, yielded no results

except scraps of phrases,
that I retrieved
from crumpled sheets
that decorated the
wasteland of my first efforts.

took those phrases,
ran them over my tongue,
over and over again,
intrigued by
their lily lilt,
their unity,
the sensuous pleasure they gave.

how one word
coupled a tune,
the notes of this
new contiguous,
contagious alphabet
rang truer than most,
and moreover,
led me to another that
somehow phrased forward,
sallied forth in rhyme,
like those wind chimes,
now making perfect sense
with the one that followed,
from varied places
so distanced, but now one,
and a couplet was born.

of what did I write?
of what I knew.

no complexity,
nor trickery employed,

no matter that plain words
are my ordinary tools,
with them I scribed
the small,
the little,
what I saw.

grabbed the middle,
held onto the
gravity of the center.

simplicity my golden rule.
write they say,
about what you know best.

rely on and in the
diurnal motions,
the arc of
daily commotions,
in which
do we not all excel?

this poem flew
off my fingers,
twenty, thirty,
maybe sixty minutes,
in the skies above
these United States
of mine,
on American Airlines.

one of my
chiefest blessings
that luck threw onto
my punched ticket,
being born here.

was it effortless?

If you sat beside me,
what would u have seen?

flying fingers urgent unbidden,
neither struggling nor stopping
for the chimes were mine,
once I heard the first verse.
but first ringing was give
unto me by a reimer,
asking how,
I write so effortlessly?

the question innocuous sorta and
sorta knot,
a challenge to
my poetic essence.

I looked inward,
to look outward,
started where
all poems start,
in the quiet places
where you and
I think and thought.

unsure of the answer,
began to begin,
sing and sin,
my fingers,
simple secretaries,
transcribing lyrics
that those
selfsame wind chimes
tuned me up,
turned me on
simple thoughts,
simpler truths
herein recorded and
sworn before you,
most writ on this day that
the Americas have chosen
to recall another kind of
explorer, Columbus.

explore, explore
and then again
explore s'mores.
no matter if it is
covered ground,
covered it once more,
till you see that land
differently, colored so
no one has ever seen
them quite your way.

be an ocean pacific,
that cannot be pacified.

relish the chance,
relieve yourself
of that urge to burst,
put on paper,
gift to me and to
everyone else,
so someday,
we can say
together,
we saw *together,

through one
single set of eyes
upon a ship of
foolish words,
a real child born
in a mind!

new places re-discovered,
yet now storied stored,
living in our
Siamese chests,
to forever keep.

PostScript:

"With or without you,
I can't live,
And you give yourself away,
And you give yourself away....
Only to be with you,
But I still haven't found
what I'm looking for..."
U2.
Notes:
October 14th, 2013,
Taking the Northern route,
between the bear and the empired state,
between and over states where
coal is mined, automobiles built.

if you deem these words poetry swells,
I smile, for they are simple product of
waves of looking, seeing out, out,
an oval airplane window
what lay below,
preparing it
for storage
upon your
eyes.
wordvango Dec 2014
a treatise on compatibility this is theoretically
presented
by a linguist with limited trigonometry sense
   and since the heart beats and is 360 degrees
I sought out a tangent to measure her with
    or sine to figure out logically
whether we were compatible
             like functionally
on a straight line or tangentially
    perpendicularly
in degree and cosines or measurement mathematically
similar
then found no co-efficient to portray
her smile
fell out of my array
with nothing else
to equal
her.
Mr E May 2013
Dust did settle soft, upon the bookshelf near the sill
Like Autumn leaves, books scattered the floor
Across the rug of amber golden till
A mahogany desk filled the corner wall
A waste basket still vacant with crumpled rough drafts of previous attempts
Held the memories of good times and bad
Times etched into our memory
To be held onto and carefully nurtured
To fall back on when our world is a rainy set
A warm candle burnt beside lamp, laying so carefully over the desk
Like a balancing act it stood so still
Only for the flame to flicker
Dust did settle soft, upon the bookshelf near the sill
This which sparked my imagination, my head in which to fill
RJ Days Aug 2016
All sorrow is perpendicular occurring
at right angles of tragedy encircling
the grief-stricken with straight edges
only once intersecting across infinite planes—

Don't dare draw the lines between points
or shade the region with limits or curves
because the trajectories of bullets are plotted
on branes intolerant of slightest triangulation

Woe unto the seekers of sine waves
sobbing thinking of filling every trough
believing surely by now we've offered enough
to sate these bloodthirsty Euclidean demons

Cresting won't ever arrive in this course
filled to the brim with asymptotes, cold corollaries
but never spilling over under our sacred
pledge of allegiance to the 2nd Parallel Postulate

No intersections can be admitted with thoughts
& prayers extending outward barely co-planar
serious public policy proposals axiomatic
insistence on the Nirvana Theorem or nothing

A set of all points remains, mutually exclusive
motionless and always incongruent clueless
about their own particular geometries
awaiting radical Pythagorean salvation

Some paradigm we’ve built here though!
Two hundred years of living polygonal hand
to elliptical mouth without tangential reflection
on the unproven flatness of humanspace.
I wrote the first draft of this after Orlando. Insomnia brought me back to finally edit and publish it two months later.
Brian Oarr Mar 2012
We sat in the overlook above the Serpent Mound
in the heat of that garish July afternoon,
sunlight scorching our pallid skin,
like rays through a magnifying glass,
till we could endure no more and
sought the shroud of skyscraper elms ---
halfway houses of leaf, bark and cellulose.
Minutes before we'd signed our names in the visitors book,
like giddy high-schoolers autographing a yearbook,
recording our wayward lover's sojourn
to a site the Hopewell worshipped in celebration of existence.

For what purpose do we worship this ground?
I wondered as we walked beside the curving icon,
that undulated in rolled earthen coils down the *****,
sine-waves loosed from a colossal oscilloscope.
Are these coils symbolic of our future's meandering relationship?
Her exploring hand upon my ****
drew me from thought to evaluation of this unexpected caress.
But for the heat, I'd have shown her what idle foreplay begets!
Great Serpent, this was not Eden's carnal karma
acted out in a second Genesis!
---
though a symbolic egg spews from your mouth.

— The End —