"weightier" poems
Looking through the window
I am surging ahead, fast forward
Flying straight as a crow
Clickerty Clack, Clickerty
A rhythm like a heart beat
Takes me to a future not know
From a past I left incomplete
Clickerty, Clack
I am held, as the world turns below me
Frozen in time, I can stay
Where I can be hidden, No-one can see
Clickerty
Bags are heavy, but guilt is a weightier load
Left you, and your angry days
Sorry, I wont be there when your fists off-load
Clack
Jun 23, 2019
Jun 23, 2019 at 6:22 AM UTC
I was surprised it felt heavier
Uneasiness too pinched me
Haven’t carried a weightier ever
What could fill a family!
Did I see a red heart there
Did I see a silver line
Did I carry the weight of care
Sealed with the hands of valentine!
It was heavier but I felt so light
And free as my dreams set free
Scaled the hillocks reached mountain height
When remembered what she heard from me!
*There’s no time I must haste
A load of work at office knocks
Would come home late it would be best
If you forget for today the lunchbox!*
Now I’m smiling as I eat the meal
More than daily quota manifold
The lunchbox lends me the much needed fill
Sealed with a heart of gold!
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 5:45 AM UTC
Sit still with me in the shade of these green trees, which have no weightier thought than the withering of their leaves when autumn arrives,
or the stretching of their many stiff fingers into the cold sky of the passing winter.
Sit still with me and meditate on how useless effort is,
how alien the will,
and on how our very meditation is no more useful than effort,
and no more our own than the will.
Meditate too on how a life that wants nothing can have no weight in the flux of things,
but a life the wants everything can likewise have no weight in the flux of things,
since it cannot obtain everything,
and to obtain less than everything is not worthy of souls that seek the truth.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
Realisation can be a harsh pill;
One I've always struggled to swallow.
The dose, in this instance, was to be
That my happiness isn't a reward.
It's not earned through great achievements;
Contentedness isn't product of valour.
It's not found in deep breathing and spiritualism,
It's not created by anything external.
No.
My happiness will always be through
consistent fidelity and belief in a purpose.
A purpose that simply has to be weightier
than the small stuff we're sometimes thrown.
It's the consistent drive:
To love.
To laugh.
To make laughter..
To put pen to paper.
It's a thousand-melodies,
On twelve piano keys.
It's the gnawing hunger inside of me,
That says it would be simply unacceptable
For me to leave this world,
Until I have brought forth
Everything I feel I have within me.
Happiness is always going to be a fleeting thing for me.
And that's alright.
Because I'm only just getting started.
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 3:40 PM UTC
English Translations of Russian Poems by Vera Pavlova
Shattered
I shattered your heart;
now I limp through the shards
barefoot.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Seasons
Winter―a beast.
Spring―a bud.
Summer―a bug.
Autumn―a bird.
Otherwise I'm a woman.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Pygmalion
Immortalize me!
With your bare, warm palm
please sculpt and mold my malleable snow.
Polish me until I glow.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Scales
Scales:
on the one hand joy;
on the other sorrow.
Sorrow is weightier;
therefore joy
elevates.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Muse
A muse inspires when she arrives,
a wife when she departs,
a mistress when she’s absent.
Would you like me to manage all that simultaneously?
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Stone Wall
You, my dear, are my shielding stone:
to sing behind, or bash my head on.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fluttering
Remember me as I am this instant: abrupt and absent,
my words fluttering like moths trapped in a curtain.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Flight
I have been dropped
and fell from such
immense heights
for so long that
perhaps I still
have enough
time to learn
how to
fly.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
God saw
it was good.
Adam saw
it was impressive.
Eve saw
it was improvable.
—Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Three versions of Vera Pavlova's "tightrope" poem:
I test the tightrope,
balancing a child
in each arm.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I walk a tightrope,
balanced by a child
in each arm.
—Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I test the tightrope,
balanced by a child
in each arm.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Vera Pavlova is a Russian poet. Born in Moscow, she is a graduate of the Schnittke College of Music and the Gnessin Academy of Music, where she specialized in music history. She is the author of twenty collections of poetry, four opera librettos, and the lyrics to two cantatas. Her poetry has appeared in The New Yorker and other major literary publications. Keywords/Tags: Pavlova, Russian, translations, epigrams, woman, female, shards, seasons, scales, tightrope, child, arm, sorrow, joy, shattered, heart, broken, glass, limp, limping, barefoot, snow, sculpt, mold, polish
Mar 20, 2020
Mar 20, 2020 at 1:25 AM UTC
fulmination wraps tendrils around your spine,
draws you under, into the suffocating center
of a thunderstorm painted violet and amethyst.
jewelry dripping of fear, laced around a
pretty throat and bent into the perfect
circles of soot-blackened pupils.
the air smells crackling and thick, heavy
through a thumb and index loop that
traces a life driven by weather patterns.
when the river dries, the rocks are
left slick, soaked and maybe a small
bit weightier. fog-smoke circles dilute
laughter into a painting of you.
Dec 6, 2010
Dec 6, 2010 at 10:33 AM UTC
Vera Pavlova: English Translations of Russian Poems by Vera Pavlova
Shattered
I shattered your heart;
now I limp through the shards
barefoot.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Seasons
Winter―a beast.
Spring―a bud.
Summer―a bug.
Autumn―a bird.
The rest of the time I'm a woman.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Pygmalion
Immortalize me!
With your bare, warm palm
please sculpt and mold my malleable snow.
Polish me until I glow.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Scales
Scales:
on the one hand joy;
on the other sorrow.
Sorrow is the weightier;
therefore joy
elevates.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Muse
A muse inspires when she arrives,
a wife when she departs,
a mistress when she’s absent.
Would you like me to manage all that simultaneously?
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Stone Wall
You, my dear, are my shielding stone:
to sing behind, or bash my head on.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fluttering
Remember me as I am this instant: abrupt and absent,
my words fluttering like moths trapped in a curtain.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Flight
I have been dropped
and fell from such
immense heights
for so long that
perhaps I still
have enough
time to learn
how to
fly.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Three versions of Vera Pavlova's "tightrope" poem:
I test the tightrope,
balancing a child
in each arm.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I walk a tightrope,
balanced by a child
in each arm.
—Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I test the tightrope,
balanced by a child
in each arm.
―Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
God saw
it was good.
Adam saw
it was impressive.
Eve saw
it was improvable.
—Vera Pavlova, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Vera Pavlova is a Russian poet. Born in Moscow, she is a graduate of the Schnittke College of Music and the Gnessin Academy of Music, where she specialized in music history. She is the author of twenty collections of poetry, four opera librettos, and the lyrics to two cantatas. Her poetry has appeared in The New Yorker and other major literary publications. Keywords/Tags: Pavlova, Russian, translations, epigrams, woman, female, shards, seasons, scales, tightrope, child, arm, sorrow, joy, shattered, heart, broken, glass, limp, limping, barefoot, snow, sculpt, mold, polish
Mar 20, 2020
Mar 20, 2020 at 2:37 AM UTC
my
mind.
no
doubt
the
good
if you do still care, Lord, please keep me safe.
had
weightier
things
to
worry
about
than
the
half-
hearted
apology
of
a
crashing
crankster.
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 8:41 PM UTC
Years ago before one of my friends was married or had children we hung out a lot and were best friends. I visited her at her apartment one evening to socialize. She had her other best friend there too and the three of us ordered a pizza.
When they delivered the pizza they brought the wrong kind of pizza so we ended up getting an additional free pizza because they delivered another pizza free of charge. Now that is a good pizza place.
After eating lots of pizza we had some drinks and our conversation at one point shifted to the subject of Batman. Someone asked, "What is the name of the actor that played the Penguin in the original version of Batman?"
For some reason no one could remember the name. All three of us took turns trying to remember the actor's name but no one could remember the name . Several different names were suggested but none of the names were correct.
All three of us were laughing our butts off because we were blurting out all tbese different names of actors but none of them were the correct name. The name escaped all three of us and it seemed to be on the tip of my tongue but I couldn't get to it.
I remember at one point in desperation to spit it out and come to a conclusion I blurted out, "Cloris Leachman!?" which is actually a female actress.
We had fun that night and our conversation was on many different topics but several times during the evening it shifted back to the guessing of the actor's name that played the penguin in the original Batman. The night ended without anyone figuring out or remembering the actor's name.
I went home that night and went to bed. I woke up at 3 a.m. in the morning and sat up in bed for a moment and whispered "Burgess Meredith." Then I promptly went back to sleep.
It seems that even while sleeping , in the back of my mind I was working on the missing information that was causing such a dilemma.
Over the years I have done this type of thing again and again quietly to myself when trying to find an answer or solution to a problem often much weightier and more significant than the remembering of an actor's name.
Pizza Night
By Lynn Guevrekian
Jan 23, 2024
Jan 23, 2024 at 1:52 PM UTC
scales of desire tip,
time now weightier than fortune,
the more precious,
as it always has been,
gone unrecognized,
obscured by hale youth,
invaluable, ephemeral
allowing the echo of song,
the titter-laugh of loved ones,
banter of old friends,
hours with the hound turned gray
who clings to one’s hip,
silver windswept rainstorms,
ice-crested mountains,
frantic hummingbirds
suspended as still life,
the raw tickle of a running finger
along silken skin,
sin, regret, atonement,
recollections savored
of those who have left
as if brought back before one,
if only for the moment,
before recession into an ether world
and the miasma of memory and loss,
a gift for one to inhale the entirety,
and to expel it all with a ferocity
that says to those who will listen,
how I cherish thee
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 1:02 PM UTC