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Is moeilik om te begryp,
en nie rerig mooi nie.
Dis 'n spoegspat soos 'n herrie-
'n gemmors wat langs die kar staan en bedel.

Dis 'n gemoedsbekakking... ag verskoon tog
verswakking soos die breakdowns innie gossip magazine.
Ag shame , hulle dra ook maar swaar aan society se crimes
en al dai drugs is maar ommie pyn te verlig.

Kyk nounet daar , sterre wat pyn , is seker maar
'n metafoor. Vir wat? Se jy my!
Jy wat my analiseer en dissekteer...
want daar is geen meer sterre wat pyn nie,
die woorde wat rym ennie
ander goeie goed is lankal van alle kleur bevry
in my agterkop waar dit donker is soos
'n land waar hoop 'n feeverhaal is.

Dis te donker om nou te rym,
maar te donker om in te hou...
so ek sny maar die kanker stuk vir stuk uit
en bloei nonsens-ink op die blaai.

Aan die einde is dit nie net die gedig nie.
Dis die ganse wereld wat rym.
Elke herrie en spoegspatter
elke gerookte ster en hartseer kokkedoor
ek , jy - ons almal is 'n gedig.
Ons almal rym...
ons is net te moeilik om te verstaan
en nie altyd mooi nie.
Rook hom uit met
Silwer linte teer
En nikotien
Smoor hom in
ń bredie van
alkahol en kaffiën
Sny hom uit
Met skêr of lem
Verdoof met dwelms
Die bose gees se stem...

Hy krap swaar laserasies
Wat tierstrepe verf
Oor die sagte weefsel
Van my hoof organe
En spring tussen
Sinapse totdat
Impuls ń inhirente
Sindroom word...

Skree. Hy skree. Hy SKREE.
Krap en skree en brand,
Hy brand .... HY BRAND

So Rook hom uit met
Marlboro red
En black mix
Smoor hom in
ń vat van
Russian bear en red bull
Sny hom uit
Met ń dokter se lem
Snuif hom uit in lyntjies
Dis te veel, sy donnerse stem
...
Adasyev Jul 2017
Vítr si za tmy hraje s listy stromů,
kde ve zlato se tma otáčí
a peklo se mazlí s lidma domů,
kde samota líbá na oči.

S bodáky jehličí měsíc splývá
a podlaha pálí jako led,
do průrev střechy souhvězdí zpívá.
Taky můžeš jít spát naposled.

Kocour na uhel černý nocí hoří
a mrtvé maso by rád k ránu sněd
a nachové plachty z odplutých moří
se pnou vstříc pevnině smrti na dohled.

Vítr za tmy si hraje s vlasy stromů
a displeje ve tmě zazáří,
nebe se stáhlo do stínu lomů.
Chceš škrábat sny na bílém polštáři?
Robert Salát Jan 2015
Šest tisíc mil asfaltu a prachu.
Kolik tisíc chlapů vydalo se na tu cestu?
Už dobře poznáš tu hranici strachu,
když blížíš se k proklatýmu městu.

Tam lidi neznaj slitování
a ženský neznaj lásku,
a ty proto nad svítáním
nosíš ocel na opasku.

A tak jedeš dál,
možná najdeš svoje sny.
Seš silnice král,
ale štvou tě pouštní psi.

Snad až si jednou spočineš
na lůžku z kapradin a mechů,
doufám, že pak nalezneš
klid hvězd, co ti poskytujou střechu.
Rowan Aug 2019
Op hierdie aarde, groen en blou
Met torings wat die lug uit grou
In elke huis waar mens dalk bly
Sal ek nooit weer iemand kry soos jy
In wye winkels en krom kerke
In nommers en vergete merke
Waar ryk sweef en arm lei
Sal ek nooit weer iemand kry soos jy
In stede, woude, see en woestyn
In alles, geen, grof en fyn
In luuks, skaars, bont en plein
Sal ek nooit weer iemand kry soos jy
In winter, lente, somer, herfs
Met albei vuur en skadu bederf
Waar ook al maan en son mag skyn
Sal ek nooit weer iemand kry soos jy
Waar sterre sing en sonne lag
Omring met komberse van die nag
Waar ou gode en planete gly
Sal ek nooit weer iemand kry soos jy
In ou legendes en sprokies verhale
In dooie sang en in lewende tale
In woorde wat die hart oop sny
Sal ek nooit weer iemand kry soos jy
In gister se groot verlate vlug
In môre se onmeetbare sug
In die nou wat ons so graag vermy
Sal ek nooit weer iemand kry soos jy
In slaap te dig en drome swart
In die wandel en wonder van die hart
In seer, troos, kwaad en bly
Sal ek nooit weer iemand kry soos jy
Johan Nel Sep 2019
Bo op 'n berg
Met my bobbejaan gedagtes wat terg
Die eggo van my mania skree terug
Wat soek jy hier?

Ek drink uit die rivier
Ek sink my oë in die rooi son
Ek **** alweer
Die donker wolke
Die reën wat kom

Ek laat my gedagtes so dans
Plek tot plek
Gras van Kees
En mens en vlees

Sny deur my
Woede en naaktheid
Die lag van 'n sekere malheid
En die sagtheid van jou moeder ken
En dan meer bring ek twee
Van my na die tafel in 'n oop gesprek
Met my leemtes en my onbeheerbare
Soeke na wat ek herken binne my donker gate
Ek dwaal verlate
In riviere van die samelewing
Die masjien wat liggies trap op ligte wat skyn en verdwyn
In die strate van spoed en bloed
Die woorde uit die bek van die dier
Die ongetemde kwaad van primate
Wat stoei met homself en sy produk en sy bestaan en sy wêreld en sy alles
Tot hy verval en wegkwyn
Verdwyn agter 'n swart gordyn bedoel vir die son en sterre
Waarheid en verlossing
Waar vind ek die antwoord vir alles?
© Johan Nel 2019.09.18 23:38
Mateuš Conrad May 2021
może to nie sny o zębach...
na "niby": może pomoże
metafora...

look here: the old tongue sometimes
pops from beneath the ground
aligned with a mole hill...
a baroque tease of
              effort...

że jest dwadzieścia-sześć perł w angielskim...
a... 32 perł w tym oto polskim...
tyle ile ja mam: czy miałem: zębów...
trzydzieści-asz-dwa...

        fo-ka... seal...the animal...
pieczęć... also seal... the candle wax in red...
bothersome:
the Italians are singing...
perhaps they're singing because
they have words with clear
syllables...
consonant vowel consonant vowel...
mo-rr-eti!
                  
if i were to write all the rulebook
words in katakana like
the japanese juxtapose katakana
with hiragana...

            how ugly the word: dwell...
must look like with no 2 of the 90° eL...
dwel - my my... looks almost Welsh!

but i would sooner be teasing some deutsche...
imagine...
only 100 years from this here: ago...
two ****** writers were having a discussion:
if we're still speaking our tongue down
the line...

and yet... the prospect of immigration
in England... "prospect"...
this adamant desire to integrate...
with the tongues and the babes
sacrificed on the unforgiving altar
of the new-natives...
which aren't even the "eskimos" of these isles...
how "they" will just... cut all ties to...

i kept my own because:
being bilingual is somehow a disability...
bilingual = schizophrenic?
  by that standard of "inquiry": i'm a *******
quadratic!
it's sad for english per se...
this tongue is bleeding miseries of being
hijacked and... beside the brain-drain
from respective sources of race-baiting...
it's sad that it's this odd vanguard of scribble
of graffiti...

translation:
maybe it's not a dream about teeth
on a "maybe"... supposedly...
maybe a metaphor will help me...
that there are 26 pearls in the english tongue
but... 32 pearls in this, e.g. western slavic...
with how many i have: or had: teeth
30-as-many-as-2-more...

i can be owed a sentence for myself to divulge
concerning the natives...
there are still some 'ere...
mind you: before the phenomenon
of the white-flight after the "minorities"
move into the area... the Hebrews are first to flee...
take Gants Hill and the vicinity, for example...

it's impossible to escape a language under
mutation...
some ownership... some less so...
it's a gravitation toward a hollow point...
i will never be able to write down
the sound a sparrow makes...
bogus point of the onomatopoeia...
aligned intelligence
of man, chair and crow...
a chair might creak... there's that knock
on wood...
the crow croaks...
kra-kra is my best estimate...
wasted lettering...

           i will willingly learn some deutsche...
no existential threat on the mother-tongue...
spanish was never going to be undermined..
but lodged between the prussians
and the russians; oh my... lot...
managed to visit Moscow... St. Petersburg...
have a russian **-**-**...
we were young, once, upon, a, time...

blisters of ol' Greek with modifications:
done on the cheap... with Cyrillic...
but when a minority speaks only English...
and... is this... hollow... shell...
race... too lazily they forgot their mothers
and their tongues...
now all this authoritative *******...
can the natives stand in line... first?
maybe i'm the only ****** the only king-rat...
i don't mind the analogy...
i have the fox for a totem-affinity...
and... since... the Brits abhor foxes...
here's to me running with mares!

- how can they feel so "suddenly" present...
when they want to lose their tongue:
"all of a sudden"?
these minorities...
lazy ***** and lassos...
bilingualism is never the option?
traces of a past... most proclaimed in culinary
escapades?
that's it?
seriously?
figures... your language was never undermined
with prospect of extinction...
maybe that's an over-exaggerated assumption...
but... you never know:
can the dead lie?

i'd respect "you" more if you allowed yourself
the retention of your mother's tongue...
i truly would...
beside this... force x **** mechanism
of... "invigoration" of local culture... or lack of...
almost mindless automatons...
out of self-respect... out of purpose that's
memory...
no... english could have been the tongue
of the natives... it could also have been
this pragmatic tong(ue) and gloo
of economic strategies...

it's sad... the minorities "forgot" their mother
tongue... integrate into what?
your skin deep skins' all over the debate...
english is currently... beyond mutated...
it's... having a session in an iron maiden...

- must be an intra-european dynamic...
it's not like the the french language or
spanish... or... would ever be deemed:
"undermined"...
but what, the ****, happened... to those poor
sods come the closure: the folding on
the british empire...
the crow suddenly forgot to usher in  croacking?
the dog suddenly forgot to bark?
your mothers on a ****-pile of:
can't the natives orientate themselves
with their... tongue?
i'm here, expecting "them" to do so...
a gaping wound and some procrastination...
beside the language of the natives:
there's this pragmatic membrane
of focus where: we all... do... "****"...

i have no, or little: therefore...
respect for minorities who chase status
without employing a standard bearer focus
for: keeping the household together...
the tongue... the tongue...
to hell with the whole lot of those
west African *******...
no... they are... just that...
what's your ******* tongue?
at least the darker exemplar of east Africa
retain their sense of humour...
oil 'em up...
ivory beauties... sheen of a shining shmile...

marcus garvey first!
come again... have that sort of ******* argument,
"argument" in Russia...
i see you now...  limbo sinking...
****** forgot to speak his mother's...
i have no respect for you and your....
ink...

angry western serfs of africa'ca'ca...
chain a donkey chain an elephant...
               but feed me, please....
keep me intact... i am the reason for your abandoning
your tongue?
guess it's indistinguishable to even tell apart
a Bulgar from a ****** from a Croat...
this little world of Europe and the faulty imaginings of
some Gweek...

white women's self-lacerations...
*****-please... anyone can become a saint
at the foot of the crucifix...
when they might giggle and kiss the feet
of the crucified 'un...

it's just sad... look at 'em go!
hijacking the english language...
with a net loss of soul of their own sprechen...
it's sad and it's doubly sad
because;
it's not some Beckett complication...
if i were a Camus...
if there was this Algerian oopsy...

no wonder i drifted toward...
Scandinavian folk music...
i'm about to itch a regurgitation for anything
associated with punjabi m.c.:
****! get the mace! get the broom!

how these people "forgot" their native tongue...
it's a sadness that's
de nada: algo - sin embargo...

"you" allowed a Rotherham...
              i'm about to become this...
omni- litany... and father?
for the concern of... girls... weeded?

to tow this amount of stones...
   like a crumpet like a mirage...
like grief most... shifty...
then again... for concern of the natives:
beside the hippy 1970s nostalgia:
once upon a time come Hyde Park... which was
never going to be a Warsaw...

no... that's innit for a please it...
mann-im-der-sardinekönnen:
herr-verstopfen...
                   hier.. jetzt...
       nein rot! nein rot!
hier wir ar!

— The End —