"wolfgang" poems
As I let my mind wander into time, and release these binds that have me confined, I began to feel a great energy, like the sun had been compressed and put into me, and as time tic tocs and unwinds into its trail of infinity. I realize a trinity mind body soul, they burn as a whole, for the mightiest of goals. and as time unwinds it'll leave you behind. unless you get your spot in, a line of legacys never to be forgotten
Confucius, Isaac Newton, Albert Einstein, Martin Luther King Jr, George Washington, Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara, Nelson Mendala, Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, Steve Jobs, Stephen Hawkins, Leonardo Da Vinci, Wolfgang Amedeus Mozart, nikola tesla, Wael Ghonim, Jimi Hendrix, Joseph Stiglitz, Reed Hastings, François Rabelais, Archimedes, Sigmund Frued, Charles Darwin, Aryabhata, Bob Marley, Garrett Morgan, George Washington Carver, Aristotle, John Locke, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Plato, Galileo Galilei...and many many more...
Stand for something. Think outside the box. Evolve and express yourself. Make a difference #STEM #LegacyToIfinity
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
Ich denke dein,
wenn mir der Sonne schimmer
Vom Meere strahlt;
Ich denke dein,
wenn sich des Mondes Flimmer
In Quellen malt.
Ich sehe dich,
wenn auf dem fernen Wege
Der Staub sich hebt,
In tiefer Nacht,
wenn auf dem schmalen Stege
Der Wandrer bebt.
Ich höre dich,
wenn dort mit dumpfem Rauschen
Die Welle steigt.
Im stillen Haine geh' ich oft zu lauschen,
Wenn alles schweigt.
Ich bin bei dir,
du seist auch noch so ferne,
Du bist mir nah!
Die Sonne sinkt,
bald leuchten mir die Sterne.
O wärst du da!
― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
*English Translation:
I Think of You
I think of you,
when I see the sun’s shimmer
Gleaming from the sea.
I think of you,
when the moon’s glimmer
Is reflected in the springs.
I see you,
when on the distant road
The dust rises,
In deep night,
when on the narrow bridge
The traveler trembles.
I hear you,
when with a dull roar
The wave surges.
In the quiet grove I often go to listen
When all is silent.
I am with you,
however far away you may be,
You are next to me!
The sun is setting,
soon the stars will shine upon me.
― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 4:24 PM UTC
This is
Almost all.
Cereal.
12 bites chocolate koala crispies
Chris along with some horizon
fat-free organic milk
but again 12 bytes.
Short stack flapjacks
Safeway maple syrup drenching it.
Patrick's IRA send it
One hot fudge sundae
from McDonald's
one half bite of hot fudge.
Six bytes of salsa recipe.
Four microwaved Chinese potstickers
Some HighC
orange lovers
I also ate Mark's soup
25 Cheetos
Xcessive?
I also ate some
of my accent.
One can Wolfgang Puck
used as a base
added some roasted
breast chopped
roughly 2 wings
scanner on onion
red rock refrigerator
did an onion
rings tile cut.
Think I know I'm
sorry sweetie
they are kind.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
"There is nothing worse than aggressive stupidity."
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Ps
I hadn't noticed?
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 11:37 AM UTC
These are modern English translations of the "Xenia" epigrams written in collaboration by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller.
#2 - Verse versus Kiss
She says an epigram’s too terse
to reveal her tender heart in verse ...
but really, darling, ain’t the thrill
of a kiss much shorter still?
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
#5 - Criticism
Why don’t I openly criticize the man? Because he’s a friend;
thus I reproach him in silence, as I do my own heart.
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
#11 - Highest Holiness
What is holiest? This heart-felt love
binding spirits together, now and forever.
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
#12 - Love versus Desire
You love what you have, and desire what you lack
because a rich nature expands, while a poor one contracts.
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
#19 - Nymph and Satyr
As shy as the trembling doe your horn frightens from the woods,
she flees the huntsman, fainting, uncertain of love.
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
#20 - Desire
What stirs the virgin’s heaving ******* to sighs?
What causes your bold gaze to brim with tears?
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
#23 - The Apex I
Everywhere women yield to men, but only at the apex
do the manliest men surrender to femininity.
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
#24 - The Apex II
What do we mean by the highest? The crystalline clarity of triumph
as it shines from the brow of a woman, from the brow of a goddess.
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
#25 -Human Life
Young sailors brave the sea beneath ten thousand sails
while old men drift ashore on any bark that avails.
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
#35 - Dead Ahead
What’s the hardest thing of all to do?
To see clearly with your own eyes what’s ahead of you.
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
#36 - Unexpected Consequence
Friends, before you utter the deepest, starkest truth, please pause,
because straight away people will blame you for its cause.
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
#41 - Earth versus Heaven
By doing good, you nurture humanity;
but by creating beauty, you scatter the seeds of divinity.
―from “Xenia” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Keyword/Tags: Goethe, Schiller, epitaph, epigram, German, Germany, translation, love, kiss, friendship, desire, holy, holiness, earth, heaven, beauty, divinity, nature, spirit
Feb 6, 2021
Feb 6, 2021 at 4:39 AM UTC
Honey.
12 bites chocolate koala crispies
Chris along with some horizon
fat-free organic milk
but again 12 bytes.
Short stack flapjacks
Safeway maple syrup drenching it.
Patrick's IRA send it
1 hot fudge sundae
from McDonald's.
1/2 bite of hot fudge
4 bites soft serve.
6 bytes of salsa recipe.
4 microwaved Chinese
potstickers some
HighC orange lovers
I create Mark's suit.
1 can Wolfgang Puck
used as a base
added some chicken
******* roasted
chopped roughly
Spoon cut.
2 wings
25 Cheetos
Xcessive?
I also ate
my accent.
Scan him some onion
red rock ringed
Reiterate Beings
tile cut.
Think I know I'm
sorry sweetie
they are kind
Of sinking.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
You can’t, if you can’t feel it, if it never
Rises from the soul, and sways
The heart of every single hearer,
With deepest power, in simple ways.
You’ll sit forever, gluing things together,
Cooking up a stew from other’s scraps,
Blowing on a miserable fire,
Made from your heap of dying ash.
Let apes and children praise your art,
If their admiration’s to your taste,
But you’ll never speak from heart to heart,
Unless it rises up from your heart’s space.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 10:58 PM UTC
Language, anguish
Wrapped myself in blankets
Thinkin' about girls that consider me strange-ish
Well who really cares
Givin' off looks, and creepy stares
Stalkin' and talkin'
Chills and sidewalk chalkin'
Layin' in bed with you
Makin' plans we'll never do
Pretty girl, anywhere, I'll take you to
Just wanna kiss,
And kick it too
Sleeping tonight, feels so wrong
Alone, tonight, feels so long
But you call, talkin' *****
We up till seven-thirty
You know I'm right here
Let me whisper in your ear
Let's fu- I mean make love
And then maybe, if push comes to shove
I'll let you act just like a white dove
Scheming, dreaming, it's all seeming
A little hot, but not shot
All my plans and secrets too
Cause when I'm in your bed
I'll stay lovin' you
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 7:44 PM UTC
Johanes Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: Symphony No.6 in F major, (K 43)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0EgG8qYcYTU
Tchaikovsky Symphony NO.6 (Full Length) : Seoul Phil Orchestra
h ttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yDqCIcsUtPI
Beethoven - 6th Symphony 'Pastoral' (Complete) ♫♥
h ttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dbfa86bTD34
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 12:24 AM UTC
We're just ******* in the
mountains, like a couple of
mountains wolves biting into each others
flesh and having the greatest
meal of all time. 4,000 feet above the
sea-level is where we like to **** the most,
because the breeze cools our sweat
and only the birds can hear our
howls.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 6:33 PM UTC
Listening to Leopold’s symphony
for two minutes,
I was bored.
My mind wondered.
I recalled the dramatic first chords
of Wolfgang’s symphony 41
how it awakened me
how I was hooked by his energy and zest.
Even though Leopold taught his son,
the fame of the impulsive and creative Amadeus spread
as he wrote and played
and captured the attention of the world.
I wonder what poor Leopold thought of his own work
in contrast to his prolific son
a son who seemingly created great music
from nothing
who freed himself from tired conventions.
A creator makes something from nothing
and I wonder if being lost in nothingness
as we poets sometimes are,
if letting go of the familiar
makes it easier to create.
Dec 2, 2021
Dec 2, 2021 at 12:09 PM UTC
If I could write like Edgar Allen Poe
Then everyone would know my name
Or maybe paint like Da Vinci
I would surely know his fame
But I don't have any life changing words
Or paintings to hang on the walls
They'll be no hall of fame for me
Or any other famous halls
If I could tell a captivating story
Like the stories that Mark Twain told
The things I'd write would be on display
And be worth their weight in gold
Or compose like Wolfgang Mozart
My music would be admired for years
A piece of history that will last forever
A legacy that never disappears
But if I were like any one of these here
Then my work would go unheard
And then who would tell my life's story
As my soul gives birth to word
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 7:01 PM UTC
Last night, I slept with Ludwig; the night before, Wolfgang.
Tomorrow, Johannes has promised me a vigorous work-out.
Not for me the ascetic pilgrimage to the gates of good taste.
I must have passion, for that will point me to truth.
Last night I slept with Ludwig, so now I am ready.
Music-lovers of Chicago: watch me walk onto the platform,
shimmering but dignified in midnight blue diamanté.
Prepare to hear my translation of feelings into sound.
Ludwig's feelings.
Everyone's feelings.
Last night I slept with Ludwig.
Now, I claim my reward. After the final chord,
applause is compulsory. Louder! Louder! Stand up and cheer!
You are my people. Love me! Love me, why don't you?
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 4:56 PM UTC
From when I was a little child
I picked up on thought and sound
It isn't always visible but it is still around.
It's the talent and the beauty
The poetry of life
You find it in a sonnet
Or the colours of Monet
In Pavarotti's voice
The world just melts away.
Shakespeare's words? They drip like honey
And illuminate the stage
It sends shivers up the spine
What Wordsworth scribbled on a page.
Jules Verne could tell the future
Da Vinci saw what was to be
Their vision shaped the world we know
Now that is great to me.
Does it have a name?
What Rembrant found within his art?
That secret, silent something
That burns within the heart.
As a child Wolfgang Mozart
Drew everybody's gaze
He serenaded Europe
Wrote music to amaze.
Was Bogart such a legend?
Now, don't speak before you think
Not everyone can breathe life into
A person made of ink.
The passion is alive
It lives inside the soul.
When pen is put to paper
Or the bow goes to the string
When that magic is embodied
We hear the angels sing.
Jul 6, 2010
Jul 6, 2010 at 7:47 PM UTC
Whiz-zip-bang shenyang ang;
Mang mangue flang hang prang pang;
Pinang lalang unhang kang youth defang khang;
Marang schlang gang wolfgang ying-yang xuanzang.
Klang sea get wrang.
Sang tsang li-kang gangue langues.
Thang drang crang tang harangue sprang zhang shang siang whang strang hang verdinsgang chuang;
Brang lang nang bhang xiaogang mahuang durang huang.
Hange hsiang und;
Zang rang kuomintang ourang section gang hang.
Krang pahang boomerang fang guilt;
Spang gang;
Hangsang xinjiang tunkelang slang tangue nanchang clang chang bangue vang ziyangbaoguang hwang pang the tsiang alang dang ylang-ylang.
Tang liang.
Overhang langue pyongyang.
Cangue sangh mustang stang frang yang lange kukang farang **** care sturm t'ang;
Zamang drang chiang road a jang;
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 2:51 PM UTC
No, not for Fifth Avenue or the suits
giving the homeless more **** than change.
This one's for Buffalo, the city above
and below the city.
Where we watched fireworks pop low
behind a Chinese restaurant's mustard frame
on the hood of my car contemplating
Wolfgang. Where, 20.3 miles away,
I saw two men holding hands, and I felt
whole. Where we could find a sit-down
dinner / no candles, but not everywhere
can be paradise / at 9:30. Where we tried
to make love in a bed too big for two
small people in this big, big world.
We're stray cats playing with locked
keys left in the ignition and a wire
hanger snake slithering through
the window seal. High moon,
we held hands, receipts, and ice cream
cones at Anderson's Crocs-behind-
the-counter-custard-and-roast-beef-
stand. We kept a gallon of lemon tea
in an ice pail as our centerpiece / king
suite. The Holiday Inn pool tasted
like **** and boiled my contacts
like a fried egg.
But that's all gone now.
The fireworks, the dinner,
the sexless bed, the eggs.
All buried in Buffalo.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
ON LOOKING AT SCHILLER’S SKULL
by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Here in this charnel-house full of bleaching bones,
like yesteryear’s
fading souvenirs,
I see the skulls arranged in strange ordered rows.
Who knows whose owners might have beheaded peers,
packed tightly here
despite once repellent hate?
Here weaponless, they stand, in this gentled state.
These arms and hands, they once were so delicate!
How articulately
they moved! Ah me!
What athletes once paced about on these padded feet?
Still there’s no hope of rest for you, lost souls!
Deprived of graves,
forced here like slaves
to occupy this overworld, unlamented ghouls!
Now who’s to know who loved one orb here detained?
Except for me;
reader, hear my plea:
I know the grandeur of the mind it contained!
Yes, and I know the impulse true love would stir
here, where I stand
in this alien land
surrounded by these husks, like a treasurer!
Even in this cold,
in this dust and mould
I am startled by an a strange, ancient reverie, …
as if this shrine to death could quicken me!
One shape out of the past keeps calling me
with its mystery!
Still retaining its former angelic grace!
And at that ecstatic sight, I am back at sea ...
Swept by that current to where immortals race.
O secret vessel, you
gave Life its truth.
It falls on me now to recall your expressive face.
I turn away, abashed here by what I see:
this mould was worth
more than all the earth.
Let me breathe fresh air and let my wild thoughts run free!
What is there better in this dark Life than he
who gives us a sense of man’s divinity,
of his place in the universe?
A man who’s both flesh and spirit—living verse!
Keywords/Tags: Goethe, Schiller, skull, bones, charnel, house, grave, souls, ghosts, spirit, flesh, death, shrine, divinity, universe
Sep 25, 2020
Sep 25, 2020 at 4:02 AM UTC
about 250 years ago
young Johann Wolfgang Goethe’s tale of Werther’s
passionate unfulfilled love and ensuing suicide
triggered a wave of suicides across all Europe
the author was more than embarrassed
it is reported he was actually quite shocked
by this effect of his romantic writ
from then on he avoided the portrayal
of hypersensitive romantic youths
with their emotional entanglements
and often fatal ends
and preferred dramas of the simpler sort
like the eternal fight of good and evil
the striving for almightiness and universal knowledge
dilemmas of obedience and command
et cetera
today, like then, young people
go through the stifling pains of unrequited love
and feel they hover at the brink of the abyss
ready to jump
then, as today, young Werther’s suicide
is nothing but a waste of youthful life
that could have brought him many happy moments
had he allowed himself to stay alive
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 3:22 PM UTC
Listen to Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart while
Looking through psychedelic art
You'll find it
Quite the experience
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
I hate girls with irises like
the shade that encompasses the heavens above
directly after a ravaging storm
one that beats like a drum on the drums of our ears
threatening to take away our ability to hear that beat
but never once threatening to disallow us the feeling
I hate girls with laughs like
the sweet notes that Wolfgang coaxed
from a line of slender white bars
to carry them onto thickly drawn black bars on parchment
so as to force them into his service; though they never once
dared do anything but sing, not a single time daring to
utter a flat or sharp twang
I hate girls with charm so
alluring that it crawls into my nervous system
exquisitely, beautifully sating
so absolute, so concrete, so stinging
so fantastically intoxicating
and so irrevocably bestowed
that they are all I can write my words about
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 11:52 PM UTC
Goethe's ballad - spooky and weird,
About a dad and his feverish kid.
They’re riding through forests, boy pretty scared
Of a ghost king who won’t stay hid.
The boy sees the Erlking, all creepy and such,
Dad: “It’s fog, you ***** just sleep!”
But the spirit keeps talking, a bit too much,
Oh, what a sly little creep.
“Come play!” says the ghost, “I’ve got cool stuff!”
The kid’s like, “Dad, he’s being weird!”
Dad’s still in denial, acting all tough,
While his son’s getting more and more scared.
The Erlking’s persistence is quite absurd,
Lures the boy with his daughters and more.
The dad keeps on riding, not hearing a word,
Kid is shaken right to the core.
Dad blames the nature, keeps talking crap,
For him - the story needs proof.
Eventually, they make it home, but oh snap!
The kid’s kicked the bucket, gone ****
So what did we learn from this creepy tale
Besides, "don’t ride sick through the night?"
That Goethe loved drama on an epic scale,
And making dads look not so bright.
In short: It’s a story of fever and fails,
Denial, and a ride through the night.
The forest plays tricks, the creepy prevails,
And a kid giving up the fight.
Aug 20, 2025
Aug 20, 2025 at 4:44 PM UTC
“I am the spirit that negates.
And rightly so, for all that comes to be
Deserves to perish wretchedly;
'Twere better nothing would begin.
Thus everything that that your terms, sin,
Destruction, evil represent—
That is my proper element.”
― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust - Part One
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 11:56 PM UTC
A requiem symphonic-
a tribute to a dead one,
robust, orchestrated sympathetic my
ear heard, in string and choir,
blesses the true listener, the poet.
"Lord have mercy, on us....
the trumpet will send
its wondrous sound
throughout earth's sepulchers"-
I desire to mourn in such beauty.
Raise my tremors
to the heights,
with deepest regards,
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart!
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
Gustav Wolfgang
600 S. Graves St.
McKinney 69, Texas
The Damnation of Non-Invisibility
the damnation of non-invisibility:
this is where even
brilliance
fails-
and all that heart,
and where she came from
that horrible thing-
bends you down
to the highest bidder;
the ***** she said
you weren’t.
boys, i’m here to tell you
it’s a ******* crucible.
getting where you need to go
never getting anywhere
or anything;
but finding resting
***** face,
every single place you go-
be easy,
once your little hands find earth,
there’s no going back;
remember what you mean to carve
into those dank ****** walls
and know;
that the gods that put you here
once were good to us;
and that it is not the act you watch right now
that defines a thing;
most especially,
not you.
Oct 11, 2023
Oct 11, 2023 at 7:19 PM UTC
None are more hopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free.
~John Wolfgang von Goethe
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 4:38 PM UTC