"volk" poems
Met boeke vol helde, soos ek en jy
Potgieter, Trichardt, Smuts, Kruger selfs De LaRey
Almal met die doel, om hul volk te bevry,
Die Afrikaner, uit te brei
Om hul families, van leiding te bevry
Selfs, De LaRey
‘n Lafhart, wou eers nie beklei
Later die held, wat die boere, verder wou lei
Familie man, vader seun broer en gesant
Ja, die mense was ook bang
Maar met passie,
Met drang
Met dit wat slange vang
Het hulle als aangevang
Kyk na jou vriend
Kyk na jou maat
Kyk na die, anderkant die straat
Dis jy, wat hul toekoms baat
Dis jy, wat hul vereen, ou maat
Die Afrikaners, was plesierig
Dit, kan julle glo
Nou gevul, net met gierig
En al hul misnoe
Ja, dit kan julle glo
Waar is ons eendrag
Waar is ons mag
Waar is die dae, toe ons nog lekker kon lag
Waar is ons helde, van vandag
‘n Held, in elkeen wat die taal verstaan
Elkeen, wat n weg vir Afrikaans wil baan
Elk, wat sy man wil staan
vir die taal, wat min verstaan
‘n Kultuur, wat net ons verstaan
‘n Kultuur, so ryk aan helde soos ek en jy
Helde, wat die Afrikaner wil bevry
Helde, wat nie bang is om te baklei
Helde, soos ek en jy!
Oct 23, 2010
Oct 23, 2010 at 2:36 AM UTC
tumeric tucked twixt the members, the digits the fingers the thumbs
it's solivagent aromas
make their home
dormant,
yet retractable;
neutrons
known
many moments to millimeters
the soft rust color fades
oh,
i haven't even noticed the time passing
when will i notice my own grave.
© 2015 Kate Volk
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 1:38 AM UTC
so greed took mankind
with genetics
decomposed from the inside
a sick thought, I thoughts.
... inhale your doom, I thought. change your ways, you ought, I thought.
choke the carcinoma cells.
knee swells, Capricorn.
better go later for assurance of;
Death.
talk to those doctors;feed your own lies,
only to discover
them being drunk off of disguise.
sick conditioned,
The words definition, domestication
of everything
Everything
gratitude gratitude to Pavlov, whose name capitalizes;
a way of nature
creature creator, part of the world's annihilator.
cousin to eugenics we have cosmetics, anesthetics for the mind.
a nice golden walkway for mankind.
inevitably so, We herd along, too dumb to fight what we refuse to know.
Ignorance, etiquette, silence; rhyme.
herbal healing humans; survive.
© 2015 Kate Volk
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 3:07 AM UTC
.*i guess a loss of subscriptions is, somehow, a badge of honor, namely? i somehow managed to attach a screwdriver to my words... why? read below... English women consider motherhood to be a job... how ******* demeaning! gone are the days of womanhood attaining the stature of god, in the Christian methodology of encompassing the pivot of lady Madonna... perhaps a too high peddle-stool? i guess so... i'm not usurping the female status, but elevating a female stature, deeming motherhood an UNESCO status? seems it's too much... for some people... who make it necessary to befriend their shadow, and travel to the hinterlands.*
just your atypical pedantry,
a translator's subscript comment -
who's richard rojcewicz's...
regarding what?
heidegger...
das volk,
and the three derivatives -
volkhaft (populist),
volklich (communal)
und?
völkisch (folkish) -
i'm starting to suspect that
i'm tapping in the all things folk....
unconsciously, favoring folk
music...
see, us central europeans,
we bunch together and share
the most odd similarities -
i never thought that the song
herr mannelig could be translated
from Swedish - as it was
translated into German...
then again... Vikings founded Kiev...
and all these loan-words
of Germanic origin in Polish...
the only Anglo loan-word
that i know of, is, weekend...
hence, das volk, people -
by the way... German has "too many"
definite articles,
and only one ein - or eine -
is that the same rule as in Ęnglish?
i.e. N
in an example,
rather than in a counter example?
two vowels adjacent in separate
word, sitting across from the grand
chasm of... a spacing itch?
but look at German, i never get it...
DAS DIE DER...
is there an aesthetic difference,
and only an aesthetic difference
to mind?
bewildering...
if there is such a thing as a western
civilization...
that sometime
pompous obnoxiousness,
fair enough... no problem:
but learn to hide it,
feel it, rather then feed it...
it's not a question of a civilization,
but more...
an answer to what is less
civilization, and more... a chore...
just like western women,
notably the english women
call motherhood a, "job"...
it's a... wait... a job?
doubt was big in classic philosophy
of the Cartesian schematic...
so no one knows that
the French existentialists
brought in negation,
as the driving force to replace
doubt?
who the hell sees doubt
these days?
either the know it alles -
or the hush-hush crowd...
motherhood is a... job?
well... then i guess, being a man...
western civilization,
by that standard of logic...
can't be anything more...
than a.... ******* chore!
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
100 jaar herrinering
100 mense ween
100 trane val daar
100 druppels reen
van die hemel heen
Dankie vir die reen o God
die plase was so droog
die kommer word nou weggespoel
uit talle boer se oog
oor droewe grond
wat kraak en bars
streel helend hand
loop water vars
oor die mielies, koring
en oor goue hawermout
dans in die wind die jongeling
en skyn opnuut wee goud
die Here het geantwoord
oor wenige gebed
bewys van vooraf weereens
al genade wat hy het
maar wolke breuk, strome spoel
die grond word weer genees
maar spokend, kaal en lenig
sal die kerk weer Sondag wees
onthou jy jou gelofte
my Afrikaner kind
wat nou soos na dood siektes
voor die oe ontbind
**** my woord op nuut
oor die heuwels sal dit reis
tot my volk gaan terugkeer
sal opbrengs , soos geloof,
deur droogtes vergreis
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 1:17 PM UTC
blue bikes and bongos on a teal trap
ponderers pass through so quick
technically tech tonic plates react
as secrets shall swallow all wit
beautiful burdens trickle
between holes in my prance
blushing at my cinnamon pancakes
© 2015 Kate Volk
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
unlike these other migrants -
i remember Ilford,
during the Balkan war,
and the Kosovo refugees -
who didn't bother to remain...
refugees having this superiority
complex over
economic migrants...
somehow victim-hood is
a better economic model
than skilled labor...
i didn't assimilate into
the English culture,
i wasn't spoon-fed this
multicultural ********
where some ******* Somali
could speak down to me
because he was
bown und bwed in
Cuntish Toown...
****** can brown-beat
me down with his
exotica...
up to a point...
i haven't been brain-washed
by some ideology of
assimilation / integration...
i never assimilated
or integrated into the English
"culture"...
i'll let you know...
sprache über kultur -
*meine treue ist zu es ist sprache,
nicht es ist volk,
sogar wenn ich haben
zu sprechen deutsche*!
i was never assimilated or integrated
into the English "kultur"...
i acquired it, and by acquiring it,
i acquired it to deviated from
what was being prescribed...
by a ghost consensus...
i never signed up to some
******* Somali brown-beating me
as some minor, the always inferior,
"eastern", "European"...
not a chance in hell...
*hölle erste,
besagt streit? zweite*!
...and why do you think i'm
seeking escape in tickling German?
i'm not exactly bugging the Ottomans -
after all... one of the Axis powers...
and i love my Turkish barber...
i can't imagine any other ethnicity
to have perfected the trade of
the barber...
who... whittle east African
subsaharan Muslim with no knowledge
of the Saudi slave trade of Bangladeshi
workers?!
mouthing off his over-priced
privilege position in England?!
bingo!
no no no...
i'm not assimilated,
wenn es kommt bezüglich die krone?
mein antwort "bezüglich"
eine krone?
die ich von gott:
ist der ein und erst krone!
i didn't integrate or assimilate
into this "kultur"...
i made a claim for this sprechen...
da ist nicht kultur
außen die zunge!
which is why i have to tease German,
the old father...
of the English tongue...
because?
because i find the English language
plagued...
and i'm puritanical at herz.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 8:53 PM UTC
I saw two young bucks in queue today
running beneath the tracks
harmonic moment hours before dawn
I slowed to let them pass
sweet tunes of bluegrass and coffee
lighter at the ready; click.
adventurous boys, maybe just lost;
wandering towards the fresh ink in the sky,
frost and lights must leave them bewitched
like a buzz of the moments waking,
then smoking whilst driving, towards work.
© 2015 Kate Volk
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
induratize me, just leave that scent behind;
at the doorway it lingers,
whispering faux truths without surprise.
the snow laughs in reflection, glitter haunts a mirror & to say we
see as nothing, we find there's
constant consistency here.
but water is transformation,
repurpose, great ingenuity;
freezing to create sorrow's surface, melting to break deep rests escape
my mother's brain found it incredibly sad,
trickling chemicals tricking bodies into reform,
skirmishing the soul away from the eyes,
to think if I could shake her free.
and that's what a love hath done to me, so i wait for the melt,
to remember my uncertainty
© 2015 Kate Volk
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC
words from water creatures
Slither and glide like smoke
tasting their promises as they roll off the tongue;
so naive, so young.
still,
To break first;
being that breaking dams through an emotion; it'd burst.
The feeling lurks.
Odds too thin, no matter where the deck is cut,
Does the scissors never get the redemption,
To sew shut
© 2015 Kate Volk
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 3:48 AM UTC
Had I pen instead of keyboard I might shred the paper out of bittersweet anger
drab thoughts, remorse
I'm a zombie, just a corpse.
Had I pen I might let the ink bleed ,
unsure of my thoughts and what I might say, instead the curser blinks away
Had I no intellect to stay silent,
I would try to interrogate, scream, just to understand.
I guess that's just what a woman sometimes gets from a man.
This is a bad hour; emotions drained beyond the waking norm.
Disappointment reads thick in thoughts,
each ticking moment set it in,
without means to rewind the clock. stop.
but had I brakes, I might have used.
Might have thought it through
On how cliche , might of thought of what this could do.
It is what it is he did say,
And all along I knew.
© 2015 Kate Volk
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 4:24 AM UTC
Moment forgot
being shot back by perception
at the crack of a straightened back,
Sounds inhale the expectations,
But what I'm hearing is just the rolled paper smack,
Sillage of smoke, brown herb stained with chemicals, stains my browning lungs.
Moment forgot,
she's taken in synthesized orenada,
but known pretender.
music makes moment remembered,
Derive in reverse
thoughts release, at peace
Just cotton caught in the breeze,
ladders won't stand against the clouds, a stilt for the mind is her trick.
Moment forgot,
that quick.
© 2015 Kate Volk
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 3:58 AM UTC
The UGGS endorsement: William William, Thomas, Jason Thomas, Lama Ichalani; Germany, France, Italy, World Music, System Supports. Imagine the linen box of a conventional Christian and go get them,
George and Thomas Volk Thomas is a Muslim now, fit for them,
pregnant Rose Einstein, you think I want you, your family?
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Star Star Star Star
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Classification of bank cards. Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star
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dead goddess' song in gray Germany in July, art,
Louis, sound, beret, experience,
number, future, monument, hair, white, people,
mind, golden years, human, year Keywords:
peace holy religious reading better you tree times
coil dry Easter Easter egg garden heaven's holiday
line lot north offspring play room text tell time
and crystal serious kind think dogs help care unknown clothes
Australian museum
evil church computer mouth early earth remember
vitamins, in a field of **** China mountains;
******* folk folk folk folk Folk Folk Folk Folk Folk Folk Folk,
eyebrows, eyebrows, eyebrows, eyebrows, eyebrows,
eyebrows, eyebrows, eyebrows, eyebrows, eyebrows,
fancy drinking, eye, coming cat, paradise is empty, make the bed police; group Jack Satan beginning jellyfish; Mary monster Keywords:
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gross flicker stones broken hole [fat old witch died]
glowing century secrets back return seventh
accustomed ****** textile form; the final pit of witches
in cities city **** witch died hole death face fresh bar, said William
planet beloved point flames horns meaty harlot boy,
sure reality expressing pretty stupid guys eating *******
city feeling car Ivan blonde dance list large universe
ladies ***** healthily felt background mother; Eve's dyed leather
speaking to the muses genius beat lover on Star St.
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 5:33 AM UTC
reach inside to find the itch
scratch the organs to reminisce
find the heart to take it out
slap it back,
still alive
slurp slur breath and
so funny, we laugh;
till we hear the crack
the stitches of lost breath;
our ribs will rein-tact.
dizzy dizzy, but don't hate the sailor
you did yourself the favor
the face grimacing creator
slap slide slick is the tounge
feel taste breathe the ***
spills words sticky on the counter
count not time
replace the black hour
© 2015 Kate Volk
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 1:22 AM UTC
drownig metanoia with coffee and cigarettes
Drag, sip
Slush, spit
Disgusted, addicted.
choke a yawn with a drink
wake up and ***** in the sink
from brushing stained teeth on
An empty stomach
but without the addiction my world would plummet
who was I before that first inhale,
before coffee became my morning lover, transforming me to life from slumber.
happy ******* morning, I quit!
© 2015 Kate Volk
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 2:06 PM UTC
you would never say about a Kandinsky: where's
the Mondrian?
luckily we have enough information
about Goldberg's sardines,
without asking another poet (other than O'Hara)
to sniff out Billingsgate - and so too:
if Burroughs said: all writing limps behind painting
by 50 years - enough said,
hence came speedy Gonzales
with his shotgun and his canned paint...
and i know just as much as sardines in
see-through tins -
well: it was worth a joke,
someone was bound to **** into a champagne
bottle at some point, and celebrate:
in abstract - or to the point:
in concreto - ecce artifex!
at least enough
humility would be worth the same dosage -
specialisations are such:
demanding concepts as aboriginal
in anthropology -
likewise anthropological:
schizophrenics in urbanity - after all...
a concrete jungle - like any half-wit
and butt-naked in the Amazon...
applause for
comrade Gagarin and Laika -
and if Darwin wrote in
cyrilica - then it too would have been
Mohawk and Brain - salutations and applause -
and if ever in doubt:
call it versailles - to denote all forms of
luxury -
i know: versailles better hides luxury
than the hermitage -
or as King Duck could say
being a burden on the Vavel Mount -
even the Vavellian
dragon died from laughter, even though
he was given a sheep stuffed with sulphur -
and drank the Vistulla dry...
but only when King Quack was laid to rest:
and the volk - the naród said:
Katyń 1 - Smoleńsk 3...
and there was even
a composition by wojciech kilar.
so then... 50 years lagging?
disorientating? muddled, spaghetti loops?
well, as the introduction already mentions,
painters can't write - suddenly everything
has to have geometry!
any geometrical instrument
in an art's class is seen like a Sunni in Iran -
or a Buddhist, at a Bar Mitzvah:
boom-town slap-head -
choppy waters, brightly illuminated
by the polished
cranium sheen.
so why except a Mondrain from a Kandinsky
?!
what a brain-drain!
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 3:18 PM UTC
Netptunes unwritten love;
yearning and tearing for her, Selene.
oh, she's shades a lady to revel in,
her forever ending;rebirth.
he tries to combust a means to reach rare
longingly gazes,
but retracts, a trapped magnet.
jaaneman is whispered, and she breaths life to the wind; but a ghost to the sea.
© 2015 Kate Volk
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 10:32 PM UTC
skimming the foam of complacency,
brings unattainable thoughts
that aught to be forgotten, dread
surface.
magical neurons
overlooked somehow on purpose
one word gives way to a million instead
cross reference is constant reminder
the universe is talking,
leaving noticeable ways to find her.
© 2015 Kate Volk
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC
He told me all the critters die
in these months
I laughed in his face
For they survive
Just as we
Creating heaters with thoughts of sunshine , we drag on
We burrow and get fat
Please still love me when I'm fat
Even if I can't
I need your hand in mine,
The effects force the heat up and down my spine
but I,
Lacking sunshine, craving your touch
provided proofs of the winter months
and solved this knowing what all others know,
that each year biologically searching for that other soul
We run wild and naked at sights of snow, distraught at the thought
We haven't found that hand to hold
coffee needs a warm mate of more coffee
a solution unto itself
but me I need to kiss your shapely lips softly,
your acid to my base would force a reaction to an accepting fate;
nothingness of what was me,
we leave enough warmth to keep critters breathe above their homes in hade's house
that's the only reason I'd give in, anyway, so as to save a wee mouse.
© 2015 Kate Volk
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
it's so funny
really
to walk about
and be greeted with oh so friendly smiles,
& then,
to be seen another time,
by the same eyes,
but now cleaning;
the eyes of the stranger become less gleaming
© 2015 Kate Volk
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 3:52 PM UTC
Mein Führer we have failed you
Our countries are losing this war
For many years I disavowed you
For many years I was silent, no more
For I feel your rage, your hate, your compassion
In the speeches you gave I could not find objection
The world hates you Mein Führer even 80 years later
Yet they love Stalin, Juden even as threats grow ever greater
To stand up for you folk, to stand up for Adolf
Even if just standing for support and raising your hand gets you laid off
I will NEVER be silent I will never surrender
I will not give up hope I will never acknowledge their ((legal tender))
For the third position and for the *****
I will fight and fight and fight
For your speeches give me power
Your speeches bring me to tears in this darkest hour
You seemed to care for us, through your words and actions
More than our spineless modern corperations
Deuchland forever you repeat in my head
Better to give my life for the cause even if I turn up dead
I am not evil, I am not violent
but I will be ****** if I ever am silent
For those of you reading ask yourself this simple inquiry
What do you really know of fascist, **** germany?
For when I look upon the fatherland and the ***** I see
A system much better than democracy
Or communism, a fight for your Volk
Not corporate interests and the ever expanding migrant vote
I see a country of principles one that was strong
Countries like that for some are wrong
But for those who have higher aspirations in life
Like nuclear power and manned spaceflight
Mein Führer ist der Übermensch
Wir werden uns erheben und die Untermenche
Der Hagelsieg für unsere Zeit ist wieder da
Unsere weißen Familien werden alle sein da
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 4:59 PM UTC
balter aimlessly
let's dance infamously
no rest in the room for eternal minutes
oh just spin us
counting the rhythm on our extra digits
this movement is more like fidgeting
moonwalking with iridecent souls
the feet kick and squirm and meet the knee
a bend of the neck, of the elbow
until you're hands meet me
in the middle
the fidget winds to a fiddle,
sudden like we're syncing
a drift saved from break by interlocking steps unperformed
together the dance, never grew worn,
although it's nothing less, it's nothing more
© 2015 Kate Volk
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
here's this
sudden rush
But you've got your elbows tucked in
Your legs are being lifted, drifting like a wave
Its the motion of the bodies around,
They slip and glide,
your shoes,
from the perspiration of the brutals, the freed beverages upon the floor
pinned together
you force energy to propel them away, for that split second you ****** you hand and face in the air
and
breath
the almighty
rock on.
© 2015 Kate Volk
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 4:38 PM UTC
Winston William William, Thomas, Jason Thomas, Lamas Iklan,
Germany, France, Italy, World Music, System Support.
Let a Christian in a box in a box and find them,
George and Thomas Volk Thomas, a Muslim in your family,
I think I want to, is it? The Seven Birds The Star provides insightful building constructions that provide functions
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The beautiful songs of the dead in July Germany, Art,
Lois' Voice is Music, Number, future, statue, hair, white
people, mind, golden, years, man,
year Keywords: Peace Peacemaker: Religiousism
produces fire in a tree
Easter Chalk; The Garden of Heaven
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Text Message And you think that the complete
spirit of Crystal is like a dog that will help
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The cruel church computer first remembers
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of the Peoples
of the Peoples of the Peoples of the Peoples
of the Peoples of the Peoples of Ethiopia (OHNF),
and their saddles, their saddles, their saddles,
their saddles, their saddles, their saddles,
their saddles, their saddles, their saddles,
their glove, their eyes, their cats, and the paradise.
Martyr's Sandy Keywords: Dead, Dead, Dead,
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Fighting, City's Cities in the ****** Witches,
Witches, End of Drums, Emptying Dead Frontiers,
Wide Bar, William's Planet, Friends,
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As They Speak When They Touch Her Back
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 5:44 AM UTC
light breaks through a tiny mason jar, purchased on impulse, but nestles nicely in the windowsill.
the tinted greens give a lovely glow
these whimsical buys will become too eclectic, bound to become an I-spy books doom. oh, I think they're so neat, my collections of art. yet I rain down on my mother to clean out my old room, filled with squares and circles, shapes of a hoarder. why is it that people like things so much?
© 2015 Kate Volk
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 12:13 PM UTC