"sumer" poems
(for Nietzche, who cowers behind art.)
The world calls the conquered ******
to remember that the sun every night yearns
to rise, to rise, to rise
when there is no guarantee, no promise, no sure thing.
Yet still it yearns
to rise, to rise, to rise.
The world called Canaanites ******
while they traded and toiled along the shores
of land promised to the aged heretic of Sumer,
whose wife could give only love.
The world called Hebrews ******
while they raised Pharoah tombs
Provided respite from the eastern chariots
Stubborn in refusal of the living gods
Drinking only Eloheim's bitter grape
That provides brief respite from his decrees
When delving deep in one's cups.
The world called Britons ******
When flogged Boudicea fought and fought and finally fell
To Roman spear and gladius
When Angles and Saxons raided then stayed
When Cromwell climbed the pale cliffs
The world called the Iberians, Gauls and Teutons ******
when Caesar crossed the Rubicon
Pax Romana for Citizens born
Land for the wealthy, voting rights too
Taxes and tithes from their toil.
The world called the Khoikhoi of South Africa ******
From the VOC to fatal Apartheid
Up rose a man
The heart of the land
A man named Nelson Mandela.
The world called the Viet Minh ******
from Can Vong to Dien Bien Phu
'till they slogged howitzers above
to reign Napoleonic terror below.
And to them it was just
The American War
After the world called them
Vietnamese.
The world calls the conquered ******
to remember that the sun every day yearns
to rise, to rise, to rise
When there is no guarantee, no promise, no sure thing
yet still it yearns
to rise, to rise, to rise
'though it never watches its own rising
undoing raiment of fading embers
swimming naked in the royal blue
bathing all with daily newborn naked glory
chasing the celestial tidal tease
that seems to wander where it please
reminding that all are born free
but can grow into ignorance
and be called ******
Seek truths
that hold in unity;
that provide nourishment
beneath the lash
allowing one
to rise, to rise, to rise.
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 9:01 AM UTC
All is revealed.
Look at my photo.
You see the solitary Adirondack.
So oft writ, it is almost yours,
From which I ply my craft.
Sentinel, overlooking the bay,
Looking for poem invaders,
Need prisoners to do the hard labor,
For I am on duty, elsewhere, peripatetically,
A new tour of duty to family.
See the coffee mug,
The contents, a warm hug,
For though it sumer still,
The sky and breeze beg to differ.
I think time is nigh,
To close this chapter,
A few itinerant thots yet rumbling,
But the rush is gone, like my contented season.
Wise men do not deny perception,
Grown cold, my warm invitation,
Perhaps, I injusticed you with repetition,
But I left you a motet for comfort.
And hints of an address,
In case some enchanted evening....
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 10:41 AM UTC
I
Once Mr. Daddy Long-legs,
Dressed in brown and gray,
Walked about upon the sands
Upon a sumer's day;
And there among the pebbles,
When the wind was rather cold,
He met with Mr. Floppy Fly,
All dressed in blue and gold.
And as it was too soon to dine,
They drank some Periwinkle-wine,
And played an hour or two, or more,
At battlecock and shuttledore.
II
Said Mr. Daddy Long-legs
To Mr. Floppy Fly,
'Why do you never come to court?
I wish you'd tell me why.
All gold and shine, in dress so fine,
You'd quite delight the court.
Why do you never go at all?
I really think you ought!
And if you went, you'd see such sights!
Such rugs! Such jugs! and candle-lights!
And more than all, the King and Queen,
One in red, and one in green!'
III
'O Mr. Daddy Long-legs,'
Said Mr. Floppy Fly,
'It's true I never go to court,
And I will tell you why.
If I had six long legs like yours,
At once I'd go to court!
But oh! I can't, because my legs
Are so extremely short.
And I'm afraid the King and Queen
(One in red, and one in green)
Would say aloud, "You are not fit,
You Fly, to come to court a bit!"'
IV
'O Mr. Daddy Long-legs,'
Said Mr. Floppy Fly,
'I wish you'd sing one little song!
One mumbian melody!
You used to sing so awful well
In former days gone by,
But now you never sing at all;
I wish you'd tell me why:
For if you would, the silvery sound
Would please the shrimps and cockles round,
And all the ***** would gladly come
To hear you sing, "Ah, hum di Hum"!'
V
Said Mr. Daddy Long-legs,
'I can never sing again!
And if you wish, I'll tell you why,
Although it gives me pain.
For years I cannot hum a bit,
Or sing the smallest song;
And this the dreadful reason is,
My legs are grown too long!
My six long legs, all here and there,
Oppress my ***** with despair;
And if I stand, or lie, or sit,
I cannot sing one little bit!'
VI
So Mr. Daddy Long-legs
And Mr. Floppy Fly
Sat down in silence by the sea,
And gazed upon the sky.
They said, 'This is a dreadful thing!
The world has all gone wrong,
Since one has legs too short by half,
The other much too long!
One never more can go to court,
Because his legs have grown too short;
The other cannot sing a song,
Because his legs have grown too long!'
2.2k
Temple Hymn 22: an Excerpt
to the Sirara Temple of Nanshe
by Enheduanna (circa 2285-2250 BCE)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
O, house, you wild cow!
Made to conjure signs of the Divine!
You arise, beautiful to behold,
bedecked for your Mistress!
Enheduanna, the daughter of the famous King Saragon the Great of Akkad, is the first ancient writer whose name remains known today. She appears to be the first named poet in human history and the first known author of prayers and hymns. Enheduanna, who lived circa 2285-2250 BCE, is also one of the first women we know by name. She was high priestess of the goddess Inanna (Ishtar/Astarte/Aphrodite) and the moon god Nanna (Sin) in the Sumerian city-state of Ur. Keywords/Tags: Enheduanna, translation, Sirara, Nanshe, Akkad, Sumer, Ur, Sumerian temple hymns
Apr 3, 2020
Apr 3, 2020 at 6:02 AM UTC
In dusty fields of summer’s end,
Ancient fallow place from time,
Once was myth it did begin…
In writing, trade, language, rhyme.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 1:46 PM UTC
Temple Hymn 17: an Excerpt
to the Badtibira Temple of Dumuzi
by Enheduanna (circa 2285-2250 BCE)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
O, house of jeweled lapis illuminating the radiant bed
in the peace-inducing palace of our Lady of the Steppe!
Enheduanna, the daughter of King Sargon the Great of Akkad, is the first ancient writer whose name remains known today. She appears to be the first named poet in human history and the first known author of prayers and hymns. Enheduanna, who lived circa 2285-2250 BCE, is one of the first women we know by name. She was high priestess of the goddess Inanna (Ishtar/Astarte/Aphrodite) and the moon god Nanna (Sin) in the Sumerian city-state of Ur. Keywords/Tags: Enheduanna, translation, Badtibira, Dumuzi, Akkad, Sumer, Ur, Sumerian temple hymns
Apr 3, 2020
Apr 3, 2020 at 5:57 AM UTC
Evolution, not revolution. This is the potential
that lies ahead for humanity and its home, Earth.
In my forthcoming novel, LOVE AND LOVERS,
I lay out the path our world can choose to take
to ensure well-being and peace for us all. Since
the sixth millennium BC when Sumer was founded,
mankind has gone in the wrong direction, resulting
not in unity, but in disunity. Concomitantly,
humanity has become increasingly fractured: wars,
more wars, then even more wars, until we find
ourselves now on the cusp of extinction. LOVE
AND LOVERS will remind us we are one, that
sharing begets peace while aggrandizement ends
in killing, ****** death. Poets, it strikes me,
are particularly sensitive to these truths. I look
forward to sharing them with all of you, as well
as with the rest of the world, with the promise
of LOVE AND LOVERS.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
May 14, 2023
May 14, 2023 at 1:24 AM UTC
Is this raining sumer ending into september
With the bang of thunder coaxing the
Eight ball into the felts green exit rolling down the tubes of
Las vegas like red boxcars rolling away with
All the cash.
I hope so
I want our team to play
And shake cans of raineer
Beer in the pinical moments
Sucess.
And spray broken chalk conversations after
We harpoon the no 7 whales with our maple
Mcdermits. A universe of of black hole eight *****
Will mark are sucess in the end
When we shatter the rack like
The uviverses biggest bang
The sound creating the foot note
Of imtimidation after sinking melodic
Rythems and strokes in to
The corner pockets surrender.
This is how we win
This is the unicorns
Hope
We are and will
Become
One of the silver dollars
On the glorified bar.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 5:30 AM UTC
Sumer, Winter
shine, or rain,
Doesn't matter
its all the same.
Miles are miles.
They have nothing to say.
Littered with sweat;
Haunted by pain
Our backs are broken
Knees begin to give out
Blister upon blister;
yet none fall out
We are to tired to gripe,
so onward we roam
into the night.
For all of our troubles;
all of our plight
Its just another day
that burdens no ones mind.
Thankless tasks
that consume our lives
If only we knew
When we signed those lines.
Birthdays,
Christmas,
Turkey dinner,
Weddings,
and funerals
replaced by miles,
burnt out bodies,
and restless hearts
For What?
We stare at other soldiers
and wonder why,
we alone
are bastardized.
After all,
does god not love the Infantry?
Nay...
****** fools are we
It will never change.
It is
as it always will be.
A few good men
herded
straight to the butcher.
Paraded
like cattle.
Its funny though.
Given a second chance
I'd still wear my blue chord
Standing again an Infantryman.
For all of the ****
For all of the take
I'd rather be a broken *******
than a *****
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 7:41 PM UTC
How ironic that one would take it seriously
With this new sincerity hanging so precariously
Satirical words, balanced in a peculiar fashion
Overtly reminiscent of a post-modern passion
And you, who read this, please be aware
To all other poets I simply cannot compare
Proletariat boy with too much time to spare
With this piece it's time that I declare
My mind is in a sullen state of disrepair
Always be aware, that I was never here.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 4:58 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
Sumer is icumen in
a modern English translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This is an update of an old classic for those of us who suffer with hay fever and other allergies ...
Sumer is icumen in
Lhude sing achu!
Groweth sed
And bloweth hed
And buyeth med?
Cuccu!
Keywords/Tags: spring, summer, hay fever, seeds, pollen, med, meds, medicine, achoo, stuffy, nose, blowing, ragweed, congestion
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 5:21 AM UTC
At least they roll the credits slowly--
I mean, at the end of DOWNTON ABBEY,
the hundreds who worked their butts off
so you and I could see the stars on screen.
We human beings have been delusional
for millennia. Pharaohs, emperors, kings,
presidents, not to mention tycoons, millionaires--
now billionaires--and "prominent" people
from all walks of life, those who attended
Eton and Andover, the Ivies and Oxbridge
thinking as though they are inherently
better--superior, as it were--to all others
when, in truth, all human beings--indeed,
all creations--share the same divinity.
What a grand illusion it has been, Civilization,
from Sumer to the present! Willl we ever see
truth? Will we ever know that we are all one?
Or will we all perish from catastrophic
climate change or nuclear holocaust before
we achieve enlightenment?
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jan 2, 2022
Jan 2, 2022 at 1:59 AM UTC
trombones play dead jazz
as zombies phone home during
witching hour curfews
and soccer dads in loafers,
some how broke through
haunted ghost tombs.
the dirt, wearing wolf pants
raising me errant,
giving no deserved praise,
in the moon light
of the circled days
where life controls the tides
as kids surf the waves.
solar senses showing
sensitive minds lending lenses,
deliberately shining intensive
like jackolanterns enshrined in crypts
prescribed a limit by times decision
only the most on point physics exist when
lonely kids knowing
the sky's distance is just myth
hacking schemes bent on ending happiness
as it seems, this rent exists to hassle us
remaining skeptical when it comes
to syndicates of master trusts
stick a curly crazy straw in the red sea
slurp up all the kelp and the dead things,
a young witches getting all messy.
soon, a consumer's real dream in Sumer
concedes hands free to a banshee bloomer
fleshed out as pure steam, still streams
of blood flow filth stinking like sewers
smelled by cheaters
spreading tricks for treats
like ticks with diseases
throughout suburbia
disturbing macabres
echoing curses reverbed from past times.
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 1:55 AM UTC
drown me in the love you never had
funeral for your emotions burned to the ground because all you had left in you was the love i was looking for burning brighter than ever but never seemed to find
because **** it never existed
i painted myself blue and went to visit the bottom of the lake
hoping to find fragments of you
but i ended up choking on all the words you left unsaid
you come swimming in the lake with your new lover every sumer
the lake that is made of nothing but tears and broken hearts and lost love letters
what it'd take for you to come back
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 10:49 PM UTC
(ripped from the sages' pages of the Middle Ages – “Sumer is icumen in”)
Merrily he eats the worms
Pull them from the ground!
Their heads pop up
On them he sups
As they squirm around
Chirp, robin!
The squirrels are eating all the seeds
The cardinal’s head’s a-bobbin’
The doves are cooing
The cows are mooing
Chirp merrily, robin!
Robin, robin
How well you chirp
Now eat the worms and burp!
Burp, burp, burp!
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 11:54 AM UTC
On the day the summer ended, he was full of joy
And he danced of his joy.
He danced, and ran and tumbled on the grass,
And he danced like he never had before.
On the day the summer ended, he was full of life,
And he danced of his life.
He sang, and jumped and spun in the sun,
And the music beat in his heart.
On the day the summer ended, he was full of love,
And he danced of his love.
He wanted everyone to share his love and be with him,
And he danced on and on without thought.
On the day the summer ended, he was full of innocence,
And I danced for his innocence.
I loved him for who he was, free and alive.
And we danced until the summer was gone.
Dec 4, 2010
Dec 4, 2010 at 8:56 AM UTC
Before social stratification (differences in wealth and power versus lack thereof) hunter/gatherers rarely fought. They were all equal and sensed it.
But when groups became big enough, they formed cities like Sumer in Mesopotamia, and concomitantly some people got wealthy and powerful while most did not.
Society, therefore, became, in time, stratified and in more time created superficial distinctions among the people of that city.
Obviously, my commentary is grossly oversimplified, but the point I'm going to make here is spot-on; namely, what has never changed among human beings is the locus of everyone's innate, inviolable worth, which is within each one of us, not without.
But the people of Sumer and other cities that followed were duped by the illusions of wealth and power as being worth, and that led to stratification of different groups based on false premises. And that led to making some groups slaves while the wealthy and powerful remained, they thought, superior.
This was the wrong turn in the fork in the road humanity took.
Humanity thus forgot we all have the same worth, and this inimical illusion only ballooned over millennia.
The right fork we need to find is the one the hunter/gatherers had taken and the whole world needs quickly to take that fork again before we all destroy Earth.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Mar 7, 2021
Mar 7, 2021 at 3:10 AM UTC
A blond boomer
who bloomed
through alchemical
systems, still,
beautiful due to glitches
in chilled engines
racing minds spew products
off assembly lines
***** re-fined
due to one rule:
eye for an aye,
less deemed more,
blessed by design,
each section
means poorer.
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 3:18 AM UTC
Dictionary in hand Bobbies
manned state of the spy craft created
strategic peripheral outposts
a comma dated,
(sans syntax garnered monies) equated
justifiable to build galley ma free
Highland Manor wing - feted
via "FAKE" glitterati
creating surreptitious hated
surveillance monitor ring, which insulated
decked out starry eyed Starship
Enterprise surprise rated,
as an unbelievable well Spock kin
Duplicated Star Trek venerated
popular culture science fiction set piece,
where elderly residents waited
this other worldly architectural phenomenon
didst immediately outshine by alight
year among the original seven wonders
of the world prominant
as a buck toothed over bite
yet, didst camouflage top secret AngloSaxon
incognito missionaries delight
upholding correct language usage,
Thence trumpeting amidst
nonchalant onlookers as excite
mint hinted grammarians with listening devices
some flying unseen
as period size drones taking flight
other more sophisticated
electronic accouterments
dolled, gussied, issued with apostrophe
shaped flower buds scaling height
of cerulean sky, where blinding light
of a solar ellipsis, thus
arousing no discovered night
gallery suspicion during
feted occasion rife with polite
"FAKE" markedly questionable legatees quite
suitable asper The Art Of The Deal during
ribbon cutting ceremony,
and after words right
ting up citations slyly
slipped under windshield wipers
as the madding massed crowdsource,
would take dispersed out of sight
nonetheless echoes plenti chutzpah left
English figures of speech
uttering unstinting (quote unquote)
premature ejaculations,
eh so blandly trite
non-sequitur visited
by thee epic of Gilgamesh
for a dangling participle
during the split infinitive Sumer season
(exclamation point) no more to write!
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 2:15 AM UTC
I know this is not out of the blue
But I want to watch the starts with you
Out on a blanket on a warm Sumer night
Nothing more than total delight
Romantic and charming crickets in tune
No one watching us but the man in the moon
Shooting star in the night sky
I see it so clearly in my minds eye
Making a wish on that shooting star
Time spent with you is the best by far
Please take my hand on a warm Sumer night
Cause being alone doesn't feel right
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
walking to work today I realized we'd never have another Christmas
I've been rereading words from when you knew me
from that sumer at the lake
where I heard of your Nita
and how you two became my boys
logically i know you couldn't write at the end,
that you didn't know me
but my heart doesn't care
it didn't hurt when you died
because what awaited
here for you was hell, but today
it hurt
and I missed you like crazy
I hope you know that
how deeply I loved you
and your Nita
and that perhaps you're together
as you were always meant to be
and maybe you'll guide me to my other
for my own life list
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
If all my loves be rivers,
then the landscape of my soul
is ancient Sumer,
a rich soil of sprawling floodland
which feeds my ambitions and my
most potent desires
If all my loves be rivers,
then You, sir, are the arterial causeway
of the whole spraying spigot.
You are the Nile, which overflows and destroys as much as it carries and creates. You are the Yhangtze. You are the Mississippi.
In the middle of your route, you become the dead sea. I feel myself floating against you.
You are all rivers.
But you are not the ONLY river.
And that is why I wonder
about possible paths that might yet
connect me back to you.
Even if you
are not
the river I choose
to paddle.
Somehow
I feel like you are the leafstem
which grows tiny veins
pushing outward on the leaf.
Every line goes back to you.
Yeah.
That's true.
River or leaf
love or not
my canoe comes back
to the love I've sought.
Your love.
You're love.
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 9:38 PM UTC
Summer has came,
And sumer has gone,
Nothing is the same,
It started with love and inspiration,
Yet ended in remorse and devastation,
Funny how just a few months everything can be changed,
Nothing in its place,
For life choose to rearrange,
Yet I remain hopeful just in case,
Maybe youll come home,
Maybe my love will be a bright enough light,
For a path back to me you might be showned,
So I'll keep my heart in your sight,
For you can never be sure,
For what life has in store,
For now I say good night,
Because my jealousy has started a fight,
How ever I love you more then you'll ever know,
And to sleep I'll go.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 11:19 PM UTC
I'm waking up in a distant land
Without a goal I'm going, the wind brings me to the sea
Everywhere he looks at the empty and somewhat grain of sand
The wind is strong and I can’t find a lee.
Ref.
In this foreign time
I feel like I'm a stranger anywhere
I don’t understand the words, everywhere pantomime
The danger is everywhere
In each one of us is hiding
Some sort of, some avenger.
It's not the sun that shines
There is something in the short thunder
I don’t know what to say
And I'm looking for something under
A great dark cloud
I wonder, I wonder
Because I was born at the end of the sumer
Where is my lucky number?
And did I become a hunter?
Let the house be high in the hill
She wants someone to open her door
To fill the empty shore
Does anyone know what's in our core?
The high hill and the air is still cold, cold land,
There will remain a ghost in him until the end.
Ref.
In this foreign time
I feel like I'm a stranger anywhere
I don’t understand the words, everywhere pantomime
The danger is everywhere
In each one of us is hiding
Some sort of, some avenger.
In a wild night, a voice calls a shadow
Which wanders far away
And my spirit runs high and low
Just slowly, quietly in this show
Let it go, let it go, this has started much ago.
Dec 21, 2018
Dec 21, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC