"wyn" poems
Iym onna mishon forra gerl
krossing China jus to si her
ona slo chrayn going west
krossing mouwntins in my kot.
Shis onna mishon for tha boi
fly eirchina for to si mi
bundling legings inna bag
wot to bring and wot to not
bring your person bring your boots
spanix boots and spanix wyn
put your bodi in this plays
taiwan boox and qinese wyn
i wil sit heer lyk an ox
wayting unda shaydi tri
wayting hyuman wil tu find me
pat my **** and skweez my ni
qyneez wyn
qyneez wyn
wyn in qyneez
qyneez wyn
pump my rat and wyn qyneez
shaydi tri with pengyou lao
thingking hyuman tu gud tu mi
wy *** look for stinki kao
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 8:47 PM UTC
Daar was g'n tyd vir bybelversies nie
, want die brood van lewe was te duur
En wie wil nou regtig wag om ring
As die manne vir jou hoogliedere sing.
Aan die begin was daar niks nie
Maar hyt gepraat met sy hande
En toe was daar lig en oh die gode
Dit was goed! Dit was goed!
Maar hy was aleen in n wereld met als
En almal was sonder naam
, toe hy sy laaste een gee en ek
Deur bloed en been vir hom geskep is.
Dit was goed, dit was goed
En ek huil snot en trane van seer
Maar die appel proe soet
Of jy hom in die hemel of die hel hap...
Jy is die fontein van lewe,
Ek drink van jou en raak dors
Vir meer as net een aand van sterrevolg.
Mag ek dronk raak op jou wyn?
Of is jy my een reeds voor!?
En ek kan.nie kerk toe hol nie
En die Bybel vloek my skel
Want jou lyf voel soos die Hemel
Maar Hy se jy is die Hel.
Mag ek langs jou bed op kniee neersak
En jou hand in myne neem??
Kom ons raak besope...
Genoeg om liefdesliede
vir mekaar te kreun.
More bid ons om vergifnis
En vergeet wat sonde is
Tot die vlees te veel begeer
En die lewenslig so bietjie blus.
Dit is *** die liefde werk,
Dis my lewe dié
Die struikelblok wat my versmoor
Van n vel religie.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 5:50 PM UTC
Weenlied, weenlied
Op ń valse noot
Handel oor siekte
En eindig in dood
Gebroke verwysings
Probeer jou lei
Maar jou wysie is af
En jou ritme te lui
Weenlied , oh weenlied
My hart pleeg hoogverraad
In my soektog na jou.
Tragedies en ellende
Ñ treurspel aanskou
Deur die wyses
Die edel
Die harlekyn
sluk ek jou suur woorde
Saam met soet rosé wyn
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 5:29 PM UTC
. give things .
to some one else,
will they fall upon flesh,
rip it, rearrange,
leave to sleep?
maybe it were their rags.
handle with care,
small eggs hold with love,
rearrange tenderly, add cake.
we saw hedd wyn, yesterday.
sbm.
Hedd Wyn
Poet
Hedd Wyn was a Welsh language poet who was killed during the Battle of Passchendaele in World War I. He was posthumously awarded the bard’s chair at the 1917 National Eisteddfod. Wikipedia
Born: January 13, 1887, Trawsfynydd
Died: July 31, 1917
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 1:21 AM UTC
to some one else,
will they fall upon flesh,
rip it, rearrange,
leave to sleep?
maybe it were their rags.
handle with care,
small eggs hold with love,
rearrange tenderly, add cake.
we saw hedd wyn, yesterday.
sbm.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
Greenleigh:
Rounding your cottage side,
There you were, bundles tied,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed,
What plan were for the blooms?
In the kitchen rose fumes,
You truly hoped for a tryst,
Wine love potion cauldron,
Boiled in my drink to stun,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed.
Haven:
My beauteous neighbor,
I submit to ardor,
All in obscure struggles midst,
I see your distant gaze,
But you I try to faze,
You were all to me exist,
“I will beckon at noon,
In this hot summer June,”
All in obscure struggles midst.
Greenleigh:
But as I spy, I think,
Then discreetly slink,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed,
I culled my own blossoms,
His allures my thraldoms,
I truly hoped for a tryst,
To you a bit of remorse,
Yet my heart waxed full force,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed,
I catch the way you stare,
I will avoid our affair,
All in obscure struggles midst,
Supplanted your fetters,
Entreaty, scrawled letters,
He were all to me exist,
I thought to meet halfway,
Might I be led astray,
All in obscure struggles midst,
Wyn:
And I received her word,
Intended a detour,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed,
Read the book of magic,
My love to you chronic,
I truly hoped for a tryst,
Donned my riding garments,
Leas, with my assortments,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed,
Her eyes, you I outshone,
Heedless to her writ tone,
All in obscure struggles midst,
Fancied your ivor teeth,
Smooth skin, your clothes ‘neath.
You were all to me exist,
In daydreams I drifted,
Blunders, I self chided,
All in obscure struggles midst,
Greenleigh:
Shocked when I saw him trot!
With grasp I became fraught,
All in obscure struggles midst,
He visits you, not me,
Deceit deserved, yet plea!
You were all to me exist,
Could not look in his eye,
Yet utter not goodbye,
All in obscure struggles midst,
Haven:
“Neighbor, wrong I done ye!”
I watch only blankly,
All in obscure struggles midst,
Her twisted mouth distressed,
No one thought we were blessed,
You were all to me exist,
I mumbled, brimming tears,
Should have asked direct, fears,
All in obscure struggles midst,
He was the fool of fate,
Confused yet did await,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed,
I vied for your full love,
As you to his yet shove,
I only hoped for a tryst,
Rapt in misconceptions,
Mocked us, even aspens,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed,
All:
Yet not so sly were we,
Does cognizance come bleak,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed,
We greeted happenchance,
What’s left but insistence?
Our furtive attempts yet missed,
Admit not errs, turn rightwards,
Fracturing our concords,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed,
Greenleigh:
Anxiously sipped bottles,
And did we start battles,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed,
Suffused eyes, flushed faces,
Affects spill, anguishes,
Our furtive attempts yet missed,
We die lone in shambles,
Bonds of love in scrambles,
Cerise honeysuckles kissed.
Feb 10, 2020
Feb 10, 2020 at 7:53 PM UTC
As in the night I close my eyes,
I enter into a world of sweet lies.
Residing there too are humans
Of real world,
Except for their bodies
Just the glowing soul
Each soul a unique shade, a color distinct
An ID , like the real world’s ****** print.
Flying colors across the sky I see,
Shapeless like smoke,
Spread wide and free.
A place where disability’s just a word, physically existing not
Where humans show beauty in unity when together brought.
A band of colors like rainbow,
Each a new different shade
A world of true colors,
Where not humans but humanity has bled.
Bled a blend of smiles, love, peace and togetherness
Where I trust each and each trust me unassessed.
A place where ones pulchritudinous is invisible and dull,
Its about the inner wyn and that is all.
No matter whether black, brown, red, white or blue
It’s what makes you stand out and let others know it is you.
All those colors free in the sky like smiles in it,
And that’s my world of lies, that is sweet indeed.
So everyday I wait for nights just to close my eyes,
To get to my world, my world of beautiful lies.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 6:20 AM UTC
power and beauty
stone and steel.
rise above
mud and wood.
swarmed by
worker ants.
world without end.
wyn is a poet.
a visionary.
monkeys and tigers
stalk welsh hills
the
satanic mills
of his imagination.
he is the blake
of the a470.
did he once see
angels on peckham rye
too?
i expect he did, i expect.
we will not know
unless i ask him.
he will tell.
yet not when
his colleagues
are listening.
he may be shy.
balfour beatty.
sbm
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 1:51 AM UTC
cŵn annwn:
k-hhhh-n anne-wyn-
sue me,
the Welsh sometimes
hark
like a smoker of
tobacco harks up
some excess phlegm
after a momentary lapse
into coughing -
harking -
senile and bogus
English - and that spaghetti
h'american ęglish -
love by insult -
then again, not really:
love by teasing -
reign from above,
reign from below -
meeting in the middle
hinging on the letters -
not sure whether it's a K for the c -
or whether i'm invited to
use the Roman sigma -
the Gauls' cedilla -
çŵn -
ah, the Greeks, and their
orthographic aesthetics -
in the trinity of sigma -
ςŵν αννłν -
i'm still for enforcing
the reintroducing the grapheme
into the Polish concept of
its pompous orthography
for the less literate
graffiti "artists"...
and there are...
rz, cz, sz, ch exceptions...
æ & œ...
Adam & Eve,
Orpheus & Eurydice -
just to make it "easier" -
the language could do with
some aesthetic
improvements -
given it's so concerned
with orthography -
and that's what you might
notice about the Polacks -
zero interest in metaphysics -
always the sort of
people concerned with
orthography...
no wonder Nietzsche called
us the equivalent
of the French, among the Slavs;
nice compliment.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 11:46 AM UTC