"sultan" poems
There are three versions of this poem. only one of them is available on the internet. This first version is from the New Yorker in a 1941 issue. It is the earliest version and the one that is quoted all over the internet.
To My Valentine
by Ogden Nash (1902-1971)
More than a catbird hates a cat,
Or a criminal hates a clue,
Or the Axis hates the United States,
That's how much I love you.
I love you more than a duck can swim,
And more than a grapefruit squirts,
I love you more than gin rummy is a bore,
And more than a toothache hurts.
As a shipwrecked sailor hates the sea,
Or a juggler hates a shove,
As a hostess detests unexpected guests,
That's how much you I love.
I love you more than a wasp can sting,
And more than the subway jerks,
I love you as much as a beggar needs a crutch,
And more than a hangnail irks.
I swear to you by the stars above,
And below, if such there be,
As the High Court loathes perjurious oaths,
That's how you're loved by me.
The next version is the lyric of a song from the Broadway musical "One Touch of Venus" (1943) by Ogden Nash, J S Perelman and Kurt Weill. Nash wrote this lyric. It is not on the internet that I could find. I got it from the sheet music.
HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU
More than a catbird hates a cat,
Or a criminal hates a clue,
Or the Axis hates the United States,
That's how much I love you.
As a sailor's sweetheart hates the sea,
Or a juggler hates a shove,
As a wife detests unexpected guests,
That's how much you I love.
I love you more than a wasp can sting,
And more than a hangnail hurts.
I love you more than commercials are a bore,
And more than a grapefruit squirts.
I swear to you by the stars above,
And below, if such there be,
As a bride would resent a blessed event,
That's how you are loved by me.
More than a waitress hates to wait ,
Or a lioness hates the zoo,
Or a batter dislikes those called third strikes,
That's how much I love you.
As much as a lifeguard hates to swim,
Or a writer hates to read,
As Hays office frowns on low cut gowns,
That's how much you I need.
I love you more than a hive can itch,
And more than a chilblain chills.
I yearn for you in an ivy clad igloo,
As a liver yearns for pills.
I swear to you by the stars above,
And below, if such there be,
As a dachshund abhors revolving doors,
That's how you are loved by me.
The third is from the book "Marriage Lines: notes of a student husband" It was published in 1964 and contains a revised version of the poem with a much different ending. This too is not on the internet. I got it from the book.
TO MY VALENTINE
More than a catbird hates a cat,
Or a criminal hates a clue,
Or an odalisque hates the Sultan's mates,
That's how much I love you.
I love you more than a duck can swim,
And more than a grapefruit squirts,
I love you more than commercials are a bore,
And more than a toothache hurts.
As a shipwrecked sailor hates the sea,
Or a juggler hates a shove,
As a hostess detests unexpected guests,
That's how much you I love.
I love you more than a wasp can sting,
And more than the subway jerks,
I love you truer than a toper loves a brewer,
And more than a hangnail irks.
I love you more than a bronco bucks,
Or a Yale man cheers the Blue.
Ask not what is this thing called love;
It's what I'm in with you.
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 2:51 PM UTC
*If I could have you for a night
I’d stop the dawn from bringing light
I’d make the stars stay out and play
And make the moon hold back the day
If I could have you in my arms
I’d unleash my southern charms
I’d unlock every fantasy
And be all that you want of me
If I could have you in my bed
With sweet seduction you’d be fed
I’d give you treats and pleasured sighs
And let you taste of sugared thighs
I’d make you glutton of this feast
Your every whim would be released
I’d let you do just what you will
And let your body taste my thrill
I’d bind you up, and make you crave
And tease your sights and make you slave
Then I would let you conquer me
And stake your claim of victory
I’d bathe your body, lick you dry
In covered dreams I’d let you lie
Then gently I would make you wake
My hungry love to satiate
I’d dance before you, undulate
You’d reach for me, I’d hesitate
I’d belly dance before your eyes
Your harem girl, in veiled disguise
My sultan, I’d be bound to do
just everything you’d want me to
I’d let you take me one more time
In candle light, you'd be just mine
Each moment tasting of divine
My every kiss dipped in sublime
My every touch would bring delight
If I had you for just one night*
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 10:08 AM UTC
The stink of fish on earthen streets
A hot wind blows from ochre hills
Black faces shine with brilliant teeth
Street market ***** doth cure all ills.
Redness in her plaited hair
Rhythm in her steady tread
A harmony of balance, she carries
Water jars on her head.
A market girl is singing
As she sits among bananas
The drama in her music
Is as dusty as the street,
It fills the air with magic
As it lilts above street chatter
In the atmosphere of Africa
Where new and ancient meet.
The goat boy herds his docile flock
Through camel trains and bales
The steamer tethered at the dock
Announces that she sails
With billowed steam and mournful wail
It echoes through the town
And the planter and his agent
Bargain with a harried frown.
The bleating of the goat herd
And the stench of fish and dung
Is as ordinary as Africa
In the searing mid day sun.
Zanzibar is spices, Zanzibar is Stone.
Club Zanzibar is whiskey on the rocks
Consumed alone
Or shared upon the balcony
In the shadow of a palm
With the turquoise Indian ocean
Reaching out beyond the arm.
Do you see the dhows are sailing?
Do you see the fishing nets?
Do you hear the oarsmen chanting?
Did you see black muscle flex?
Have you watched the dripping sweat
Cascade on alabaster brow?
Have you inhaled the scent of Africa
And allowed it to allow?
Colobus monkeys in the treetops
Narrow lanes in the bazaar
Dull white walls adorn stone buildings
And the rupee is by far
The favorite tenure of the Island
Since the days when slaves were sold
By Arab camel caravaners
Who traded coin for young black gold.
East and west collide in concert
Africa and Asia blend
The Sultan's mix of race and spice
In Zanzibar, beyond lands end.
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
3rd June 2008
Oct 13, 2009
Oct 13, 2009 at 11:06 PM UTC
*Italic drumroll...
imperial cavalcade with Roman horns, eagle standards raised*;
♪ ♫♪♫ ♪♪♫♫♪♪♫♫♪♪♫♫♪
ALL HAIL !
Ye screen-fed sacrificial citizens, seething simpletons and volatile voters:
attend now, with republican fervor, tempered by democratic zeal, to the golden-tongued orator of our epoch, gallant guardian of American greatness, avatar of avarice, the Jeffersonian gentleman, anointed autocrat and Sultan of Swell, windswept Wazir of Wonderful, emissary of towering eminence in empire, The Anti H-Rod: Donald J. TRUMP !
(Plebeians look up from their circus-bread for a second—)
And may Our Sovereign Savior & Almighty God also bless his worthy opponent and adversary *HILLARY ("H-Rod")*
(Patricians murmur, nod; a few salute)
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 5:22 PM UTC
Sinbad’s sea-battered ship was
poised on the edge of annihilation,
The Sultan's brow furrowed with curiosity,
then without warning
Scheherazade stilled her narrative
and lived to see the morning sun.
When the moon and stars next owned the sky,
Sinbad was snatched from the jaws of death
then the saga of Prince Kalandar
seized the king's soul with wonder
but Scheherazade left the tale unfinished
and sang with the birds at dawn.
Rimsky-Korsakoff turned the pages at his desk -
consumed by Scheherazade’s charms
then etched his pen across the waiting staves:
The violin must weave her spell once more
and bassoon and oboe take the prince’s part.
Trombone and trumpet led the martial call
and all the rest enlisted for the cause.
Russian bravura fused with the seductive allure
of exotic tunes born of the dust on the silken road.
A sonic whirlwind filled Saint Paul Church,
as winds and tremolos grew to cyclonic force.
A wall of brass completed Kalandar’s tale.
capped by an exuberant clash of cymbal plates.
The silence yielded to tender violins
chanting a hymn to the princess in all her grace.
Tambourine and winds wove a tapestry
of her debonaire and most virtuous prince.
As the final pizzicato chord faded, the Sultan
turned to Scheherazade with tear-filled eyes
and beheld his immortal princess
and she her valiant and eternal prince
and so it would be as long as night preceded dawn.
She kissed away his tears of joy and whispered in his ear,
“My beloved husband, I will tell you stories forever.
Tomorrow you shall learn of the Feast at Baghdad.”
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 11:27 PM UTC
SAD VALENTINES FOR BREAKFAST
Oh my how red **** struts(thinks he's a sultan)
striding in and out among his harem-scarum hens
talking to themselves
like some lost senile sentimental souls.
Foolish fowl!
They lay eggs for gentlemen
and kids on long hot summer holidays
they hide their eggs like broken hearts
like old love letter secrets
safe in unseen places.
But see Auntie Nellie willy-nilly as a fox
stalk the chickens and expose them
cruel as the NEWS OF THE WORLD.
See her raid the haystacks
(backseat of the old car)
rain rusting machinery
her apron pregnant and precious with
the warm and brown gift of eggs.
Red **** crows loud against the morning marigolds
while children's voices babble sleepily into wide awakefulness
love letter secrets staining their lips
sad valentines for breakfast.
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 3:37 PM UTC
Before the Dawn Of Agriculture men like ME where slapped into the shadow of ****** shame but now who needs muscles or chiseled chins, great size or strength, a lover’s passion or a manly countenance ‘cause for ten thousandyears now I can persecute any female for infidelity towards ME and hold paternity privilege over MY biological children because we exceptional farmers invented marriage to destroy human sexuality by enslaving women with MY property for *** so I no longer need to share or compete or settle for an alpha males’ sloppy seconds within foraging groups that are forced to share what they carry with them instead of our enforced legal couplings that takes the innocent, primal pleasure and mystery out of *** by connectingshtooping to birth thanks to dirt MY dirt MY very own thousand acres of seeded soil littered with pens full of MY trapped sheep, cattle, goats and pigs which means I can pork any female I fancy and destroy any man who thwarts MY desire as simply as the bulls I castrate into submission to easily herd into MY slaughterhouses that feed all the inferior people no longerdependent on their hunting and gathering skills but on ME to stay alive so not only am I not considered a sociopath by hoarding food but am praised at harvest time like a ********* Babe Ruth hero because I have legally claimed and legally ***** those precious few life giving inches of topsoil with rotating crops and extended grasslands that exhausts and shrinks the earth, MY earth MY reign of forcing agricultural workers to bend over in the fields, stupidly exposing hairless backs to sun poisoning instead of their protective hunters’ heads of hair harvesting MY food that shrinks the testicles of everyone who is forced to feed on the cheap calories of MY industrialized plants and animals that lowers fertility, but who needs big ***** anymore when you don’t have to **** larger animals in order to survive or attract females with your superior physical attributes proving I am the social parasite Sultan of Swat who grows fat on the food I’ve seized by stealingPaleo land in the name of government protected ownership.
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 8:43 AM UTC
.
these are things that make me Sad:..
imagining how sad that Powder must be...
...after Labor day.
imagining how sad rabecca Black must be...
...on Wednesday.
imagining how sad quasiModo would be...
...in Gattaca.
imagining how sad rosie oDonnel would be...
...in Ethiopia.
imagining how sad benjamin Button woulda been..
...in Neverland.
imagining how sad sleeping Beauty would be...
...finally waking Up........n seeing meDusa.
imagining how scared free ***** must be...
...of sunshine aQuarium.
imagining how scared jimmy Neutron would be...
...in sleepy Hollow.
imagining how scared that Pingping musta been...
...of Sultan.
imagining how scared that Avatars woulda been...
...of ******
imagining how scared that Petrified wood would be...
...of paul Bunyan. (Dumb xD)
imagining how scared
six jodie Fosters would be
in a Panic room with seven Hannibals.
imaging how bad trig Palin would be...
...at Trigonometry. (too Much..)
imagining how bad epiLeptic children are...
...at Laser tag.
imagining how bad steven Hawking would be...
...at Roller derby.
imagining how bad that Rainman woulda been...
...at Rain dancing.
imaginging how bad helen Keller woulda been...
...at Karaoke.
imagining how bad desiree Jennings musta been...
...at Hopscotch.
imaginging how effortlessly,
robin willams was Acting...
...in will Hunting.
too Soon?...
...Oh........Sorry.
"Thats okay...
...its not your Fault."
Thanks babe.
.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 7:44 PM UTC
Here, from the king's mountain view;
here, from the wild dream come true;
feast like a Sultan, I do,
on treasures and Flesh, never few;
but I,
I would
wish it
all away
if I
thought I'd
loose you
just one day.
The Devil and his had me down,
in love with dark side I'd found.
Dabbling all the way down,
up to my neck, soon to drown;
but you changed that all for me,
lifted me up, turned me 'round.
So I; I; I; I;
I would,
I would,
I would,
wish
this
all
a-
way.
Prayed like a martyr dusk 'til dawn.
Begged like a ****** all night long.
Tempted the Devil with my song,
and got what I wanted all along;
but I,
and I would,
if I could,
then I would
wish it away,
wish it away,
wish it all away;
wanna wish it all away,
no cross that could hold, sway,
or justify kneeling away my Center,
so if I could I would wish it all away
if I thought Tomorrow
would take you away:
you're my peace of Mind,
my Home, my Center;
I'm just tryin' to hold on
one more day.
Dim my eyes;
dim my eyes.
Dim my eyes,
if they should compromise
our fulcrum
if wants and need divide me
then I might as well be
gone-
[Most epic instrumental section in 6 ever]
Shine on forever,
shine on, benevolent Sun.
Shine down upon the broken;
shine until the Two become One.
Shine on forever,
shine on, benevolent Sun.
Shine upon the severed,
shine until the Two become One.
Divided, I'm withering away.
Divided, I'm withering away.
Shine down upon the Many, light our way,
benevolent Sun.
Breathe in union.
Breathe in union.
Breathe in union.
Breathe in union.
Breathe in union.
So,
as one,
survive
another day
in season.
Silence, legion,
save your poison!
Silence, legion,
stay out of my way!
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
it's fascinating how our moods swing
back and forth, from dark to light
from gloomy to cheerful
from suicidal to bubbly
from hate to love
from anxious to calm
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 1:35 PM UTC
I deal in Ultimatums
I am the Scorcher of the Sky
By any other name God
My Dreams sway the movement of the People
Crowned Eternal for all to See
In My right hand , the World
My left, Reality
I conquered the saviors of the People
I've fed on the Blood of Sin's Virginity
I gave them fire and Greed
then showed them how to deconstruct the Seas
these Sacrificial heads roll just for me
I am the Sultan of the Sand
from me Spawned the most decadent brand
bombs and ticks, clocks and rickets
are merely the Product of my Seed
I made the Sun weep blood
I made the Stars shine in ecstasy
I built upon Avalon
I broke the Roman Siege
no Empire on this Earth will stand against me
creation and destruction is my creed
I Am Ego
Bow Before Me
Oct 20, 2010
Oct 20, 2010 at 8:26 PM UTC
I could be playing chess
With the sultan
I could be watching
Cockfighting
I could be waves and blue
And waves and blue
I could be trees of cherry
Blossom red cherry
I could be a princess
Or I could be her prince
I could be voice and sound
Echoes of the past
But instead
Here I am
Here I am
Here I am
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 6:18 PM UTC
Of splendid thrones of gold
or treasures manifold
Of jewelled caskets
or lavish banquets
Of Emirs and rajahs
Of Sultan and Shahs
Of kings and queens
Of rulers and emperors
Of sparkling crowns
or flowing gowns
Of their subservient stewards and obedient pages
Of their stalwart squires and servile knaves
Of poor humble, docile minions
who tended to regal pavilions
And obeisantly carried royal palanquins
Oh and some were real life harlequins
Of castles and palaces
of abounding gold and silver
in ostentatious regal splendour
The sidelined fanning maids in waiting
Yet to me only one thing worth noticing
The minstrels who came to sing
from afar for the queen and king
For I'd rather be a poetess for kings
so to my tunes swayed a kingdom
than I be the king of mere subjects
and be filled with regal boredom!
So I could join ranks of
troubadours
and sing for the king
some folklores.
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 3:37 AM UTC
You ignite the papaya scent
of Zanzibar romances
spiced woods behind ears
seducing the body's non-senses
like kisses enticed from hints
formed in a humid land
kneading your cat pad toes
into my kicked off sandals
soft sinking
warm as sand spreading
on golden embers
smoking like a slow glowing dhow
sailing wine tumblers
spilling Matemwe beach rays
of crystal rain in sunshine
tinkling against my skin
like the random meditation
in wind chimes
tuned by the slight twitch
of Mnemba Atoll frangipani
to unwind my fire
into an isle of leaves
singing sunny
somewhere mysterious
through winding alleyways
we kissed on shady curves
sprung open
on to Stone Town seas
your weather
beaten hair
waving in Forodhani Gardens
showered into labyrinthine storms
travelled blue-black horizons
infused with times
of thunder roaming
lost in alluring plans
mindful I look back to check
your coral stone directions
we swept into an unclipped tent
of Salamah **** Saïd's
eating hot shwarma
like I was the Sultan and you princess
your attractions slipping a cargo off
of precious unguent wet essentials
drying to flow a silken scarf
around Darajani Market thrills
floating in a dark continent
on each kiss to my needy neck
leaning in the white wake
of Zani-bar dreams
which seek
to push the boat out
on your shoulder
once you're moored
on to my arms
longing for you
swaying now
under sweating hot
Gizenga road palms
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC
you are both
the art
& the artist
*every move you make
is painted in color*
you are both
the poem
& the poet
*you speak
in ballads*
***inspired & inspirational
motivated & motivational***
you have purpose
you have drive
you're not scared
you strive
that fire in your soul
the spark in your eyes
enough to set the world ablaze
a mind bound by no limits
a body willing to test new parameters
untethered
never going to surrender
philosophy makes up your very being
your words deserve to be written in volumes
you are
inches away from touching the stars
i suspect you were made of stardust
invaluable, irreplaceable, shining in the night sky
you belong to a different era
& you're not afraid to speak the ancient language
you are from both the future and the past
at the same time
inside you are both fireworks and candlelights
you are a greek statue in a museum
you are a sultan in the ottoman empire
you are both the soldier
and the war
all at once
you
are
a
wonder
& never will I
be able to fathom
the fact that
you
are
mine
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 11:44 AM UTC
FEAR TO PART...
ASIF SULTAN MATTA
Monday, 28th September 2015
Once more the fear engulfed my heart,
the fear to part, ever abides;
The fear, that makes my nights cry
and quivers within me intense tide;
Once more my eyes may leak the tears
And drown my world, wrench dry inside
shivering usual and rest just rare
Is dread of death or love's chide?
forlorn and fearful seems my fate
no one to share no one is guide.
Should I once more console my wits?
snub the dark and show it sky?
passion to stand and zeal to fight,
but heart is chained and hands tied.
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 12:14 PM UTC
Tales of riches in sequins
Like a lavish cloak of red
Swirling around to catch
The soft touch of raw skin
Each begins far away
A swarm of bees you can hear
But cannot see
And draws closer
Capturing your mind
And holding it
In an oscillating state
Between trance and attention
You see the rubies
Wish to steal them yourself
From the merchant
You wish to seek council
From the Grand-Visir
Thwart the wicked Sultan
And trick the Genius
The tales weave from one to another
They are a stream
Dispersing in a delta
But following each small stream
Meeting back at the source
In an unending circle
Of stories large or small
Stories of old men passing by
Of brother princes splitting land
Of merchants voyaging to trade
Of cunning daughters plotting
No corner of the world to far
No event not to be believed
No action too kind
No punishment too severe
No journey too long
No treasure too hidden
These tales are the life within human blood
The life that has no boundaries
And looks only for the sun
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 10:45 PM UTC
So long foggy atmosphere.
Hello reality?
Is this really it?
The life I believed I’d lead was far greater.
The lord of kings,
or the sultan of squat?
A hoard of useless things,
and a chest wound
that was mustered
from a buck shot.
The timing was perfect,
as was the definition,
no,
AMMUNITION
that I tattooed on my chest.
Truth.
"I failed to believe anyone and this is what it got me?"
"What?!"
Man I need to rethink this strategy.
The majesty of thy cunning has left my soul beside itself.
And I beseech your attention, cuz.
Well,
because
I need you now.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 9:38 PM UTC
Colin gardait un jour les vaches de son père ;
Colin n'avait pas de bergère,
Et s'ennuyait tout seul. Le garde sort du bois :
Depuis l'aube, dit-il, je cours dans cette plaine
Après un vieux chevreuil que j'ai manqué deux fois
Et qui m'a mis tout hors d'haleine.
Il vient de passer par là-bas,
Lui répondit Colin : mais, si vous êtes las,
Reposez-vous, gardez mes vaches à ma place,
Et j'irai faire votre chasse ;
Je réponds du chevreuil. - Ma foi, je le veux bien.
Tiens, voilà mon fusil, prends avec toi mon chien,
Va le tuer. Colin s'apprête,
S'arme, appelle Sultan. Sultan, quoiqu'à regret,
Court avec lui vers la forêt.
Le chien bat les buissons ; il va, vient, sent, arrête,
Et voilà le chevreuil... Colin impatient
Tire aussitôt, manque la bête,
Et blesse le pauvre Sultan.
A la suite du chien qui crie,
Colin revient à la prairie.
Il trouve le garde ronflant ;
De vaches, point ; elles étaient volées.
Le malheureux Colin, s'arrachant les cheveux,
Parcourt en gémissant les monts et les vallées ;
Il ne voit rien. Le soir, sans vaches, tout honteux,
Colin retourne chez son père,
Et lui conte en tremblant l'affaire.
Celui-ci, saisissant un bâton de cormier,
Corrige son cher fils de ses folles idées,
Puis lui dit : chacun son métier,
Les vaches seront bien gardées.
1.1k
A Sultan set out on a journey one week,
when back to his harem he did sneak.
It startled his wives,
who scrambled for their lives
and let out a terrified sheik.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 11:15 PM UTC
Beginning in the evergreens,
Where the waters run sweet as wine,
The skies sing out shattering,
The ground spins down below
His marching feet.
One thousand and one years
Left him in the earth,
And raised up Typhon,
Come lightning staff,
Come thunder breath.
Moving through the mountains,
Purpled by the sun,
Floods cutting through the rock,
Come traveling through the caverns,
Through the cloud's rain that tear down.
Eagles eating gods,
And green, green trees stretching hands,
He stumbles through the paths,
Going all martyr in the shades.
Eventually, his progression meets the sun,
That scorches shadows from their place,
Plumes of fire preaching,
Here he finds the meadows,
Melting all gone in the red and stubborn sand.
Oh and there he fights the priests,
Oh and there he summons hell,
From the sun that never dies,
And the seasons never change.
There go I,
Through the paradises of elephants,
(White and rouge)
Palaces of sultans in the sultan shade.
Armageddon heavens twisting,
Where the spindle-bound spires raise.
There go I,
Vagrant feet forging,
The miles in meter
And the deserts in their damnation.
Eventually, the vagrant finds the rivers.
Eventually, there he claims all Moses,
Running wild through these waters,
Cutting heel into valleys pale and pink.
Golden Hordes, and god-kings,
And paisley patterns branded in the eye;
There are the journeys going unhindered,
Where the snow meets the soul.
The vagrant with his body,
Naked in the mind,
Storm by boat in the dead of winter,
Warmed by sails in the dead of spring.
The vagrant going east,
Then around again and west,
There shores of silver,
Horns of plenty fallen found.
One thousand and one years
Gilded in the green,
Fluorescent accents smiling,
Sounds smelting in the foreign forests.
The vagrant meets the sea
After his trials in their numbers,
Blankets thrown up,
White sheets waving,
Clairvoyance in antiquity.
The sea is blue and washing,
The vagrant's eyes are marbled,
As the notes progression goes
The water kisses the air.
Pillars taller than the stars
Stretch to heaven forgetting,
There oceans rising,
And the tranquil music dancing.
Tripped out not wanting,
Rise and risen,
The scavenger surface
And the molten mound.
Poor traveler,
In his vision where all eyes meet,
The savage and sacred nature,
The hurricanes and blissful storms.
Poor traveler,
Not meet your end,
One foot in the grave,
Where a million, million angels
Carry you down.
And poor traveler,
King in concert,
There hills and crevasses crawl to him,
Call to him,
Leave all their pasts searching.
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 8:04 PM UTC
Sumer, the people of ancient Mesopotamia.
Known to us as nascent humanity;
Spreading across the world quickly,
Like news of a calamity.
They existed thousands of years ago,
A civilisation truly gifted,
Knowledge of whom many of us forgo.
They were but one shade in a kaleidoscope of human presence.
Kings of the Fertile Crescent –
Establishing empires or mastering commerce,
Starting fires or learning to converse.
Mankind in its infancy,
A bloom of activity and artistry.
In our attempts at deciphering our history,
We turn to the relics of their poetry,
Discoveries that are a historian’s ultimate victory.
‘The love song of Shu-Sin’ –
The world’s oldest, known reference to love.
Written thousands of years ago,
Possibly older than we do know.
It is a rite of marriage, a recital;
In it lies a passage, one that needs a revival.
It is about a vow that we have now twisted,
An exquisite message that leaves one’s spirit lifted.
The bride promises the following to the groom;
To act as a refuge when all that seems to loom is doom and gloom.
To caress, love, and soothe.
To savour beauty and intimacy,
To be like honey, sweet and smooth.
The king - a man who was thought divine,
A man whose life was valued more than yours or mine,
A man who could eternally wine and dine –
That man was still no sultan to love.
His heart was still in the palms of his beloved,
Their naked frames intertwining, arched and cusped.
His hold on her is not one of force,
Nor a promise of power,
But rather earned in due course,
Like the development of a beautiful flower.
I grieve beyond words when I think
Of how love, nowadays, is on the brink.
The glue that holds life itself together,
Discarded by many, like an ex’s letter.
I look at the eyes of people I’d love to be with,
And in their expression, I discover a graveyard of sad memories.
Scars that feel indelible, past histories -
Souls that look like war-torn territories.
I look at my own eyes in the mirror,
And see a starving spirit, growing thinner.
I see a window for restoration, becoming slimmer.
Sometimes I hopefully wonder – is there a glimmer?
Is there another hungry apparition,
On a desperate search for heavenly admission?
I seem to have forgotten how to love,
And do not know how to rid myself of this condition.
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 7:11 AM UTC
Beaucoup de ces dieux ont péri
C'est sur eux que pleurent les saules
Le grand Pan l'amour Jésus-Christ
Sont bien morts et les chats miaulent
Dans la cour je pleure à Paris
Moi qui sais des lais pour les reines
Les complaintes de mes années
Des hymnes d'esclave aux murènes
La romance du mal aimé
Et des chansons pour les sirènes
L'amour est mort j'en suis tremblant
J'adore de belles idoles
Les souvenirs lui ressemblant
Comme la femme de Mausole
Je reste fidèle et dolent
Je suis fidèle comme un dogue
Au maître le lierre au tronc
Et les Cosaques Zaporogues
Ivrognes pieux et larrons
Aux steppes et au décalogue
Portez comme un joug le Croissant
Qu'interrogent les astrologues
Je suis le Sultan tout-puissant
Ô mes Cosaques Zaporogues
Votre Seigneur éblouissant
Devenez mes sujets fidèles
Leur avait écrit le Sultan
Ils rirent à cette nouvelle
Et répondirent à l'instant
À la lueur d'une chandelle.
907
In you lies Zeus. You’re your own God of thunder.
Striking lighting that Peirce through hearts. I wonder!
The world believe you have it all panned out, it sometimes forget you have blood too
Its notion of you, unintentionally gives a standard as high as mountain
Society views you as fearless, it forgot the boy in you
Asking you to man up and keep your tears,
I ask aren’t they humans too?
My love,
Tune out the cruel noise and listen just to my voice
For you are my king, the Igwe of my clan so I call you EZE
The eyes of the gods in you I find EZENMOR
You are the Ohi of my land so come home to me OHINOYI
The hand that gives never lacks what do you say? ADEIZA!
As a woman I love to dream and I know we have an empire… of which you’re SULTAN
Our sons learn from your steps they are our little YUVRAJ
My audacious husband, an aggrandize doer.
Mighty is the Arm that I find comfort, for you are the most uxorious man I ever met.
A gregarious lover…
For days you find the fog too thick, take a break
Catch your breath
Think again.
Remember you’re Cheesable too
And you are loved with all that comes with it.
@BELLAH
Nov 18, 2022
Nov 18, 2022 at 10:37 AM UTC
Sultan of Swing
He was a rocker and a roller, always had a plan
loved beautiful women, yes he was a full-blooded man
drove a fast fancy car, had plenty of bucks
when times went bad, he'd just say "aw shucks"
a great attitude, he cared about the world
tried giving his time, as causes unfurled
gave freely his money, and offered his mind
yes he was a prince, always so kind
music was his calling, his goddess of life
more passionate with notes, then most with their wife
he would listen and play, and lift his voice to sing
happy dancing feet, he was the Sultan of Swing
whenever a cloud, would pass in front of the Sun
he took it as a challenge, a reason for some fun
a happy little tune, would somehow appear
he would whistle and hum, until resolution was near
rock tunes were great, loud cruising guitars
he'd play anywhere, on the street or in bars
making people smile, was his favorite thing
jazzy dancing feet, he was the Sultan of Swing
Morpheus aka Gomer LePoet
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 5:08 AM UTC