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Karapatang Ari 2016
WMSU MABUHAY ESU
DONWARD CAÑETE GOMEZ BUGHAW


Kung isa-isahin ang nangakaraan
Simula no'ng ika'y aking niligawan
Hanggang sa dumating ating hiwalayan,
Maikuk'wento ko ng walang alangan.

Unang kita palang, napaibig ako
Sa isang babae at Nimfang tulad mo;
Puso ko'y nahulog ng di napagtanto,
Siguro'y pakana ito ni Kupido.

Iyong itinanong, "Ikaw ba si Donward?"
Ako'y napatigil nang dahil sa gulat
Ako ay lumingo't ikaw ay hinarap,
Aking itinugon isang tango't kindat.

Nang ako'y lumabas na sa isang silid
Hindi ko mawari't ikaw ay nawaglit;
Ako ay nalumbay sa nasahing pilit
Ano't ang tadhana ay nagmamalupit.

Gusto ko pa namang ika'y makilala
Paanong nangyari't agad kang nawala,
Hindi tuloy kita natanong o sinta
Sa iyong pangalan na pang-engkantada.

Aking inusisa ang aking sarili:
"May pag-asa pa bang makita kang muli?
May tadhana kayang magtatagpo uli
Sa ating dalawa kahit na sandali?"

Hanggang isang araw, nang aking makita
Iyong kaibigang naglakad mag-isa
Agad kong tinanong kung ika'y nagsimba
Marahan n'yang sagot nasa tuluyan ka.

Pagkatapos niyon tinanong ko na s'ya
Sa iyong pangalan na may pagkad'yosa
Agaran niyang sagot, "Devina Mindaña,
Ang buong pangalan ng aking kasama.

Nagpatuloy kami sa pagkuk'wentuhan
Habang naglalakad sa tabi ng daan
Hanggang sa dumating ang aming usapan
Sa punto na ako ay kanyang mabuk'han.

Diretsahang tanong ay 'may gusto ka ba,
Sa kaibigan kong nanuot sa ganda?'
Sagot ko'y mistula isang tugong parsa,
Naging dahilan ko'y, 'Naku, wala! Wala!'

Imbis na makuha, siya ay natawa
At nang tanungin ko'y naging sagot niya:
"Subukan mo nalang ang ligawan siya
At baka maantig, batong puso niya.

Ni minsan ay hindi siya nagkaroon
ng isang siyota, pagkat umaambon
ang pangarap niyang gustong maisulong
ang makapagtapos at ang makaahon."

Pagkasabi niyon, ako ay nangusap:
"Diyata't parehas kami ng pangarap,
Kapwa puso namin ay nangangagliyab
Sa iisang nais na para sa bukas."

Nagpatuloy kami sa aming usapan
Hanggang sa tuluyang siya'y namaalam.
"Ako'y ikumusta sa 'yong kaibigan,"
Wika ko nang siya'y tumawid sa daan.

Nagpatuloy ako sa aking paglakad
Hanggang sa marating ang nagliliwanag
nating pamantasang nagtatahang huwad
ng dunong at puring nanahanang likas.

Nagdaan ang gabi't umaga na naman
Pagsulat ng tula'y aking sinimulan,
Yaong tulang handog sayo kamahalan
Nitong si Balagtas, Donward ang pangalan.

Ang iyong pangalan ang naiititik
Niyong aking plumang espadang matulis;
Ang tinta ay dugong may hinalong pawis
Nitong aking huli't wagas na pag-ibig.

Ngunit sa kabila, niyong aking katha
Aking nalimutan ang lahat ng bigla
Maging pangalan mo, sintang minumutya
Kung kaya't nagtanong uli ang makata.

"Siya ang babaeng aking naibigan,"
Pagkukuwento ko kay Jesang huwaran
Nang ika'y nakitang naglakad sa daan
Kasama ang dal'wa mo pang kaibigan.

At nang naguluha'y aking itinuro,
Pagkatapos niyo'y siyang aking sugo;
Si Jesang huwaran ay parang kabayo,
Ika'y sinalubong ng lakarang-takbo.

Agad kang tinanong sa iyong pangalan
Katulad ng aking naging kautusan.
Nang ika'y tawagin -- o kay saklap naman
Di mo man lang ako nagawang balingan.

Nang aking tanungin si Jesang huwaran,
Nang siya'y nagbalik sa pinanggalingan,
Kung ano ang iyong tunay na pangalan:
"Devina Mindaña," kanyang kasagutan.

Hindi lumalao't hindi nakayanan
Ng puso kong ito, ang manahimik lang;
Kaya't nagsimulang ikaw ay sabayan,
Kahit hindi pa man kilalang lubusan.

Ewan ko kung bakit ako'y tinarayan,
Gusto kong magtanong, pero di na lamang;
Sa sungit mo kasi'y baka lang talikdan
At bago aalis ay iyong duraan.

Subalit, lumipas ilang linggo't buwan
Tayo'y nagkasundo't nagkausap minsan;
Insidenteng iyo'y di ko malimutan,
Malamyos **** tinig, aking napakinggan.

Nang ako'y tanungin sa aking pangalan,
Sa telepono ko'y sagot ay Superman;
At nang mukhang galit, agad sinabihang,
"Huwag kang magalit, ika'y biniro lang."

Agad kong sinabi ang aking pangalan
Baka tuloy ako'y iyong mabulyawan:
"Si Donward po ito," sabi kong marahan,
Pagpapakilala sa 'king katauhan.

Patuloy ang takbo ng ating kuwento,
Ang lahat ng iyo'y aking naging sulo,
Sa papasukin kong isang labirinto;
Sa isang kastilyong nasa iyong puso.

Hanggang isang gabi, mayroong sayawan,
Napuno ng tao ang gitnang bulwagan;
Ang aking sarili'y hindi napigilan
Na ika'y hanapi't maisayaw man lang.

Ngunit ng matunto'y hindi nakaasta,
Ang aking nasahin ay naglahong bigla;
Imbis na lapita't dalhin ka sa gitna,
Ay hindi na lama't ako'y nababakla.

Aking aaminin ang kadahilanan,
Takot na talaga ang pusong iniwan
Na baka lang uli't ito ay masaktan
Tulad ng sa aking naging kasaysayan.

Kaya't hindi ako nagpadalos-dalos
At baka pa tuloy yaon ay mapaltos;
Ang mabulilyaso'y mahirap na unos
Nitong aking pusong may panimding lubos.

Akin pang naitanong sa isang pinsan mo
K'wento ng pag-ibig na tungkol sa iyo
At kung maaaring ikaw ay masuyo,
Naging tugon niya'y: 'Ewan ko! Ewan ko!'

"Huwag ikagalit kung ika'y tanungin,"
Sabi ng pinsan **** maalam tumingin
Di sa kanyang mata na nakakatingin,
(Kung hindi'y sa kanyang talas na loobin).

Aking naging tugon doon sa kausap,
Yaong binibining aking nakaharap:
"Hindi magagalit itong nakatapat
Hangga't ang puso ko'y hindi nagkasugat.

Pagkatapos niyo'y kanya ng sinabi
Ang ibig itanong na nangagsumagi
Sa kanyang isipang lubhang mapanuri,
Ang kanyang hinala ay ibinahagi.

"Ikaw ba'y may gusto sa kanya na lihim?
Huwag **** itago't ng hindi lusawin
Ang laman ng puso at iyong pagtingin
Ng iyong ugaling, pagkasinungaling!"

Pagkatapos niyo'y agad kong sinagot
Tanong niyang sadyang nakakapanubok
At ipinagtapat yaong aking loob
Ng walang alanga't maski pagkatakot.

"Ako nga'y may gusto sa kanya na lihim,
Subalit paanong siya'y maging akin
Gayung tingin pala'y akin ng sapitin,
Ang lumbay, ang hapdi't kabiguan man din?"

"Di ko masasagot ang 'yong katanungan,"
Naging tugon niyong butihin **** pinsan,
"Tanging payo ko lang ay pahalagahan,
Huwag pabayaa't siya ay igalang."

Aking isinunod nang kami'y matapos
Ay ang iyong ateng wari d'yosang Venus;
Agad kong sinabi habang napalunok
Yaong aking pakay at nang s'ya'y masubok.

Imbis na tugunin yaong aking pakay,
Ako'y di pinansin kung kaya't nangalay
Dalawa kong mata sa kanilaynilay
Ako'y nanghihina't puso'y nanlupaypay.

Aking iniisip sa tuwi-tuwina
Ay ang pangalan mo, mahal kong Devina;
At ang hinihiling sa bantay kong tala,
Hihinting pag-asang makapiling kita.

Kaya't hindi ako nakapagpipigil,
Iyong aking loob na nanghihilahil
Aking inihayag sayo aking giliw
Ng walang palaman at maski kasaliw.

Tandang tanda ko pa no'ng makasabay ka
Papuntang simbaha'y sinusuyo kita
Hanggang sa pagpasok ako'y sumasama
Kahit hindi alam ang gagawin sinta.

Bago nagsimula ang misa mahal ko,
Ang aking larawa'y iniabot sayo;
May sulat sa likod, sana'y nabasa mo,
Yaong pangungusap ay mula sa puso.

Di kita nakitang ako ay nilingon,
Sapagkat atens'yo'y naroong natuon
Sa isang lalaking pumasok na roon,
At sayo'y tumabi hanggang sa humapon.

At nang nagsimula'y umalis na ako,
Pagkat ako itong walang sinasanto;
Baka tuloy ako magsasang-demonyo
Sa aking nakitang katuwaan ninyo.

Hindi ko malaman kung bakit sumakit,
Nanibugho ako, ano't iyo'y salik?;
Ano nga ba ito't tila naninikip?
Lintik na pag-ibig, puso ko'y napunit!

Napaisip ako habang naglalakad
Hanggang sa isip ko'y nagkakaliwanag;
'Manibugho sayo'y hindi nararapat,'
Napatungo ako sa sariling habag.

Ilang saglit pa at akin ng pinahid
Luhang sumalimbay sa pisnging makinis
At saka nangusap ng pagkamasakit:
"Wag kang mag-alala't di ko ipipilit."

"Itong pag-ibig kong nagniningas apoy,
Nasisiguro kong hindi magluluoy;
Ngunit, kung hindi mo bayaang tumuloy,
Mas mabuti pa ang puso ko'y itaboy!"

Nang ako'y magbalik doon sa simbahan,
Sa dami ng tao'y di kita nasilayan;
Ngunit, nang tanawin sa kinauup'an,
Naroong Devina't kinaiinisan.

Nanatili ako't hindi na umalis,
Di tulad kaninang lumabas sa inis;
Ako'y umupo na at nakikisiksik,
Kahit patapos na ang misang di ibig.

Hindi ko nga ibig, pagmimisang iyon
At maging pagsamba't gano'ng pagtitipon;
Pagtayo't pagluhod di ko tinutugon,
Pagkat ako itong walang panginoon.

Araw ay lumipas mula ng masuyo,
Ika'y sinubuka't nang hindi malugo
Itong aking pusong namalaging bigo
Sa loob ng dibdib, namugang tibo.

Iyong naging tugon ay nakakapaso,
Masakit isipi't maging ipupuso;
Yaong tumatama'y animoy palaso,
Narok sa dibdib, sugat aking tamo!

Sa kabila niyo'y di pa rin sumuko,
Tanging ikaw pa rin ang pinipintuho;
Kaya't wag isiping ito'y isang laro,
Pag-ibig kong ito'y hindi isang biro.

Hanggang sa dumating gabing aking asam,
Sa lilim ng mangga, bago ang sayawan
Ay iyong inamin ang nararamdaman,
Ating tagpong iyo'y di malilimutan.

Ipinagtapat mo na ika'y may gusto,
Ngunit di matugon itong aking puso,
Sapagkat ikaw ay mayroon ng nobyo
Di mo kayang iwa't ayaw **** manloko.

Aking naging tugon sa iyong sinabi,
Ay handang maghintay at mamamalagi
Hanggang sa panahong ikaw ay mahuli,
Makita't malamang di na nakatali.

Sa mukha'y nakita, matamis na ngiti
Niyong Mona Lisang, pinta ni Da Vinci;
Ako'y natigilan ilan pang sandali,
Nang aking matanaw, gandang natatangi.

Bago pa nag-umpisa'y pumasok na tayo,
Sa hinaraya kong dakilang palasyo,
At sa lilingkuran tayo ay naupo,
Niyong maliwanag, loob ng himnasyo.

At nang magsimulang musika'y tumugtog,
Ika'y namaalam at para dumulog
doon sa bulwaga't makikitatsulok,
ng sayaw sa indak dulot ng indayog.

Bago pa marating ang gitnang bulwagan,
Ako'y sumunod na't di ka nilubayan
Hangga't di pumayag sa 'king kagustuhan
Na maisayaw ka at makasaliwan.

Lumipas ang gabi't umaga'y sumapit,
Ang araw at linggo'y tila naging saglit;
Ako'y nagtataka't biglang napaisip,
Ano at ang oras ay mukhang bumilis.

Hanggang isang gabi nang aking tanungin,
Sa iyo, o, mahal kung bibigyang pansin;
Hanggang kailan mo pagdudurusahin;
May pag-asa pa bang nadama'y diringgin?

Iyong naging sagot sa katanungan ko:
"Di na magdurusa't ngayo'y maging tayo."
Ang rurok ng saya ay aking natamo,
Lalo pa't sinabing mahal mo rin ako.

Sa kadahilanang gustong masiguro,
Aking naitanong kung iyo'y totoo;
Baka mo lang kasi ako'y binibiro,
At kung maniwala'y sugatan ang puso.

Iyong ibinalik, ating gunitain,
Doon sa manggahan 'sang gabing madilim;
Ipinagtapat mo ang iyong damdamin,
Ngunit, di nagawang puso ko'y tugunin.

Pagkat mayroon kang sintang iniibig,
Iisang lalaking namugad sa dibdib;
Di mo maloloko't iyong inihasik
Sa paso ng puso't bukirin ng isip.

Pagkatapos niyo'y sinabi sa akin,
Na ating pag-ibig, manatiling lihim;
Aking naging tugo'y 'sang tangong lampahin
Pagkat aking isip, gulong-gulo man din.

"Sigurado ka ba sa'yong naging pasya?"
Ang muli kong tanong, bago naniwala
Sayo aking mahal na isang diwata,
Yaong aking ibig at pinapantasya.

Iyong naging tugon sa aking sinabi:
"Kung ayaw mo'y huwag, di ko masisisi;
Ano pa't puso mo'y sadyang madiskarte,
Baka may iba ng pinipintakasi."

Agad kong sinabi sa iyo mahal ko:
"Ano at kay daling ikaw ay magtampo,
Nagtanong lang nama't ako'y naniguro
Baka mo lang kasi, ako'y nilalaro.

Lumipas ang gabi't umaga'y sumapit,
Unang araw natin ay lubhang mapait,
Pagkat di nakayang ako ay lumapit,
Sayo aking sinta't ewan ko kung bakit.

Ilang sandali pa't hindi nakatiis,
Sa pagkakaupo'y tumayo't lumihis
ng landas patungo kay Musa kong ibig,
pagkat aking puso'y lubhang naligalig.

Muli kang tinanong kung pasya'y totoo,
Di na mababawi't di na mababago;
Iyong naging tugon sa katanungan ko,
Pisngi ko'y hinaplos, sabay sabing 'oo.'

Kay sarap marinig, salita **** iyon,
Iisa ang punto at maging ang layon;
Para bang lagaslas ng tubig sa balon,
Ibig kong pakinggan sa buong maghapon.

Matapos ang pasko'y siyang araw natin,
Na kung gunitai'y araw na inamin,
tinugon ang puso at binigyang pansin,
at saka sinabing, ako'y mahal mo rin.

Aking gabing iyo'y narurok ang saya,
Ngiti niyong buwa'y nakakahalina;
Ibig kong isulat ay isang pantasya,
At ikaw Devina, yaong engkantada.

Araw'y nangaglipas, daho'y nangalaglag,
Ano at ang oras tila naging iglap;
Siyang araw natin ay muling lumapag,
Ano at ang panaho'y tila naging lundag.

Iyong regalo mo'y hindi malimutan,
At maging pagbating ibig kong pakinggan,
Sa bawat umagang araw'y sumisilang
At kung maaari'y mapawalang-hanggan.

Ngunit nang magdaan ilang araw't linggo,
Naging malungkuti't di na palakibo;
Puso ko'y mistula isang boteng tibo,
Nabiyak sa dusa nang itatuwa mo.

Sa tuwi-tuwina'y napaisip ako,
Talaga nga kayang tapat ang puso mo?;
Ulo ko'y sasabog, bulkang Pinatubo,
Bakit ba't isip ko'y nagkakaganito?

Ilang araw kitang hindi tinawagan,
Pagkat labis akong nagdusa't nagdamdam;
Malakas kong loob ay di nilubayan
Ng kapighatia't maging kalungkutan.

Tayo nga'y mayroong isang kasunduan,
Di maikaila't sinasang-ayunan
Ngunit, ang itat'wa'y di makatarungan,
Alalahanin **** ako'y nasasaktan.

Ako'y wag itulad sa makinang robot
Na di nakaramdam maski anong kirot;
Ako ay may pusong nakakatilaok,
Pumipintig baga'y putak ng 'sang manok.

Kaya't nang sadyain sa tinutuluyan,
Ika'y kinausap at pinagsabihang:
"Sakaling darating ating hiwalayan,
Huwag magpaloko sa kalalakihan.

At saka-sakaling sayo'y may  manligaw,
Isipin mo muna't wag agad pumataw;
Pasya'y siguruhin bago mo ibitaw,
Ang iyong salita, nang di ka maligaw."

Unang halik nati'y hindi malimutan,
At kahit na yao'y isang nakaw lamang,
Pangyayaring iyo'y di makaligtaan,
Naging saksi natin ay ang Taguisian.

Tila ba talulot ng isang bulaklak
Labi **** sa akin na nangangagtapat;
Animo'y pabango yaong halimuyak,
Ng iyong hiningang sa halik nangganyak.

Ika-labinlima, araw ng Pebrero,
Hindi malimutan ating naging tagpo;
Sa iyong tuluya'y nagkasama tayo,
Doon sa Kwek Kwekan, nagdiwang ang puso.

Ako'y isang taong lubhang maramdamin,
Ang hapdi at kirot siyang tinitiim;
Puso ko'y tila ba 'sang pagong patpatin,
Sa loob ng dibdib sakit ang kapiling.

Kaya't nang makitang may kasamang iba,
Marahang lumason sa puso ko sinta
Ay ang panibugho't sakit na nadama;
At para maglaho, alak ay tinungga.

Sa ika-tatlumpu, na araw ng Marso,
Akin pang naalala pagbisita sayo,
Sa inyong tahana't mapayapang baryo,
Nagmano pa ako sa ama't ina mo.

Ibig kong ang lahat ay di na magtapos,
Masasayang araw nating lumalagos
Sa isip, sa puso't maging sa malamyos,
Na kantahi't tulang aking inihandog.

Ngunit, nang lumipas ang ika-limang araw
mula nang makita't sa inyo'y madalaw
ay isang mensahe ang lubhang gumunaw
sa aking damdami't marahang tumunaw.

Animo'y balaraw yaong tumatama,
Nang ang mensahe mo ay aking nabasa;
Gusto kong umiyak, gusto kong magwala,
Ngunit, anong saysay gayung wala na nga?

Kung isaulan ko itong aking luha,
Masasayang lama't walang mapapala;
Kaya't kahit ibig, ako ay tumawa,
Wag lamang masadlak yaong pagdurusa.

Kung ang kalayaa'y siyang ibig sinta,
At ang saktan ako'y ikaliligaya
Aba'y payag ako't ikaw na bahala,
Basta lang ang akin ika'y liligaya.

Kay sakit isiping tayo ay hindi na,
Ngunit, kung ito man ang itinadhana,
Aba'y pag-ibig ko't pag-ibig mo sinta,
Di makakahadlang sa ibig sumila.

Mahal ko paalam sa ating pag-ibig,
Mahal ko paalam, kahit na masakit;
Mga alaala'y huwag ng ibalik,
Burahin ng lahat sa puso at isip.


~WAKAS~
Ang tulang ito ay handog ko para kay Devina Mindaña.
ISSAI MASHINGO Jun 2014
Taifa haliwezi kuwa na maendeleo ikosekanapo hekima,
Nchi haiwezi kuwa na chakula pasipo wakulima,
Jamii haiwezi pata maendeleo pasipo kujituma,
Siasa yetu leo ni ya kuwasha na kuzima,
Maneno yasemwayo hayaingii akilini mwa mtu mzima,
Madaraka wanajipatia na vyeo kwa lazima,
Hawajali ya jana wala leo wanajali shibe yao,
Wanalimbikiza mali kwa miradi ya wanao,
Wanaikandamiza haki kwa kutumia elimu yao,
Demokrasia imekuwa kinga yao dhidi ya ufisadi wao,
Siasa imekuwa nyimbo tena zile za mwambao,
Wakisemana kwa mafumbo wanajuana wao,
Wanakaa majukwaani na makubwa yao matumbo,
Mzee alisema fumbo mfumbie mjinga,
Busara na hekima ni kumsikiliza anaye kupinga,
Maana hoja zake zawezekana zikawa za kujenga,
Utajuaje siri ya adui yako bila kumpenda,
Kamwe huwezi kushinda mechi kwa kujua kupiga chenga,
Kamwe huwezi kuwa na nguvu kwa kujitenga,
Naomba tukazane nchi yetu kuijenga,
Tukipamba na maadui maradhi umasikini na ujinga,
Sio kuyasifia mema ili madhaifu kuyapamba,
Ila ukweli kuusema bali tukitumia hekima,
Ikosekanapo kamba huwezi teka maji yakisima,
Ikosekanapo nanga huzamisha meli nzima,
Kuwa na vingi si kuishi kwa kujinyima,
Unapojenga msingi katu huwezi kurudi nyuma,
Mkulima mzuri hutegemea mbivu kuzichuma,
Yule aliye mvivu kamwe hawezi kujituma,
Daima yeye aliye msikivu hujifunza na kuelewa,
Ila Yule aliye mvivu hutegemea ngekewa,
Wanasiasa hulalamika kana kwaamba wanaonewa,
Ukweli ni kwamba wanatumia vibaya uhuru waliopewa,
Daima taifa haliwezi endelea ikosekanapo hekima.
© issai
written in my native language or i should say  my mother tongue the language used is Swahili which is my national language am a Tanzanian for those who don't know where that is found its found its in East Africa if there is an option of translating this please do its a good poem and its my first since i have started writing poetry i have never used Swahili this is my first poem in Swahili.........!!!!!
Antino Art Aug 2019
I am the only Asian in this bar right now.
Be my friend!
I will check the box of your social diversity quota.
Granted, I only speak a mispronounced fraction of
my immigrant parents' native tongue.
Ala Jackie Chan, I do not understand the words coming out the mouths of anyone on that massive continent (Russia included) that I appear to be more or less from.
But, I do eat spaghetti with chopsticks.
I am mystical as
fox, or Kitsune, in Japanese folklore.
I can hit you with wisdom worthy of a fortune cookie as fast as Google can tell you that the Philippines is nearly 2000 miles away from China. I want to say I'm from an exotic island where they play basketball in sandals and drink soda from plastic bags- like, A-level material you could make a movie out of in Slumdog Millionaire fashion and get awarded for your romantic portrayal of poverty you think is three worlds away from home. But nah, I'm just a kid from South Florida. Paved driveways and cul de sacs. But I do pump both fists in the air watching Manny Pacquio PPV fights on a bootleg stream. Beyond that, I'm probably the worst Asian there is. Not the crazy rich kind with a PHd. I dropped out of engineering after one semester and cannot solve a rubix cube. I never learned kung fu. Though I'm learning to face the adversity of becoming a single parent after my daughter's home broke in two. I write marketing proposals to pay the rent and poetry to fight without fighting in the spirit of Sun Tzu. My eyes do not slant in the direction of your narrative. I once ran in a pick up game where I caught the nickname of Yao Ming. Yao, I am 5 foot 8. Though I fall short of expectation, I can still check your diversity box on the way down and do a cool pen spin after to punctuate my intellectual prowess. I also happen to own an assortment of Japanese swords made in China, which I intend to use as heirlooms. This is what cultural colonization looks like: me, in a bar, the last samurai standing confused in an age of melting pots, Korean tacos and Asian slaw made by corporate imposters with names like PF Chang. What in the slaw is Asian? I wish I knew!  I wish I knew the true value of my heritage to be worthy of carrying it forward. Like how my grandfather planted a Malonggay tree in our backyard whose leaves my mother would pick and boil to make tinolang manok -the Filipino version of chicken soup- as a weeknight staple on our dinner table. I can barely soft boil an egg for instant ramen. Or how my motherland's socioeconomic gap tooth smile is so wide that it drove over 10 million of its native sons and daughters off its shores to find work overseas as servants on cruise ships and hospitals to feed the families they barely get to see. To follow their trail blazing footsteps, let me be the second generation tipping point where some form of cyclical tradition breaks. That way, I can raise my daughter free of predetermined scripts. So as the worst Asian in this or any bar, cheers:
to being the first of a new kind.
Michael R Burch Feb 2020
When Pigs Fly
by Michael R. Burch

On the Trail of Tears,
my Cherokee brothers,
why hang your heads?
Why shame your mothers?
Laugh wildly instead!
We will soon be dead.

When we lie in our graves,
let the white-eyes take
the woodlands we loved
for the *** and the rake.
It is better to die
than to live out a lie
in so narrow a sty.

In October 1838 the Cherokees began to walk the "Trail of Tears." Most of them made the thousand mile journey west to Oklahoma on foot. An estimated 4,000 people, or a quarter of the tribe, died en route. The soldiers "escorting" the Cherokees at bayonet point refused permission for the dead to be buried, threatening to shoot anyone who disobeyed. So the living were forced to carry the corpses of the dead until camp was made for the night. Years after the Cherokees had been rounded up and driven down the Trail of Tears, John G. Burnett reflected on what he and his fellow soldiers had done, saying, "Schoolchildren of today do not know that we are living on lands that were taken from a helpless race at the bayonet point, to satisfy the white man's greed... ****** is ****** and somebody must answer, somebody must explain the streams of blood that flowed in the Indian country... Somebody must explain the four thousand silent graves that mark the trail of the Cherokees to their exile." Keywords/Tags: Cherokee, Native American, Trail of Tears, Ethnic Cleansing, Genocide, ******, Evil, Death, March, Death March, Infanticide, Matricide, Racism, Racist, Discrimination, Violence, Fascism, White Supremacists, Horror, Terror, Terrorism, Greed, Gluttony, Avarice, Lust, ****, mrbpig, mrbpigs



Cherokee Prayer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

As I walk life's trails
imperiled by the raging wind and rain,
grant, O Great Spirit,
that yet I may always
walk like a man.

This prayer makes me think of Native Americans walking the Trail of Tears with far more courage and dignity than their “civilized” abusers.



Native American Prayer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Help us learn the lessons you have left us
in every leaf and rock.



Native American Travelers' Blessing
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Let us walk together here
among earth's creatures great and small,
remembering, our footsteps light,
that one wise God created all.



Sioux Vision Quest
by Crazy Horse, Oglala Lakota Sioux, circa 1840-1877
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

A man must pursue his Vision
as the eagle explores
the sky's deepest blues.



Cherokee Travelers' Blessing I
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I will extract the thorns from your feet.
For yet a little while, we will walk life's sunlit paths together.
I will love you like my own brother, my own blood.
When you are disconsolate, I will wipe the tears from your eyes.
And when you are too sad to live, I will put your aching heart to rest.

Published by Better Than Starbucks and Cherokee Native Americans



Cherokee Travelers' Blessing II
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Happily may you walk
in the paths of the Rainbow.
                  Oh,
and may it always be beautiful before you,
beautiful behind you,
beautiful below you,
beautiful above you,
and beautiful all around you
where in Perfection beauty is finished.

Published by Better Than Starbucks



Cherokee Travelers' Blessing III
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

May Heaven’s warming winds blow gently there,
where you reside,
and may the Great Spirit bless all those you love,
this side of the farthest tide.
And wherever you go,
whether the journey is fast or slow,
may your moccasins leave many cunning footprints in the snow.
And when you look over your shoulder, may you always find the Rainbow.

Published by Better Than Starbucks



What is life?
The flash of a firefly.
The breath of the winter buffalo.
The shadow scooting across the grass that vanishes with sunset.
―Blackfoot saying, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Warrior's Confession
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Oh my love, how fair you are—
far brighter than the fairest star!



Cherokee Proverb
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Before you judge
a man for his sins
be sure to trudge
many moons in his moccasins.



Cherokee Prayer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

As I walk life's trails
imperiled by the raging wind and rain,
grant, O Great Spirit,
that yet I may always
walk like a man.

When I think of this prayer, I think of Native Americans walking the Trail of Tears.



The Receiving of the Flower
excerpt from a Mayan love poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Let us sing overflowing with joy
as we observe the Receiving of the Flower.
The lovely maidens beam;
their hearts leap in their *******.

Why?

Because they will soon yield their virginity to the men they love!



The Deflowering
excerpt from a Mayan love poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Remove your clothes;
let down your hair;
become as naked as the day you were born—

virgins!



Prelude to *******
excerpt from a Mayan love poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Lay out your most beautiful clothes,
maidens!
The day of happiness has arrived!

Grab your combs, detangle your hair,
adorn your earlobes with gaudy pendants.
Dress in white as becomes maidens ...

Then go, give your lovers the happiness of your laughter!
And all the village will rejoice with you,
for the day of happiness has arrived!



The Flower-Strewn Pool
excerpt from a Mayan love poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You have arrived at last in the woods
where no one can see what you do
at the flower-strewn pool ...
Remove your clothes,
unbraid your hair,
become as you were
when you first arrived here
naked and shameless,
virgins, maidens!



Native American Proverbs

The soul would see no Rainbows if not for the eyes’ tears.
—loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

A woman’s highest calling is to help her man unite with the Source.
A man’s highest calling is to help his woman walk the earth unharmed.
—loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

When you were born, you cried and the world rejoiced.
Live your life so that when you die, the world cries and you rejoice.
—White Elk, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

What is life?
The flash of a firefly.
The breath of a winter buffalo.
The shadow scooting across the grass that vanishes with sunset.
—Blackfoot saying, translation by Michael R. Burch

Speak less thunder, wield more lightning. — Apache proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch

The more we wonder, the more we understand. — Arapaho proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch

Adults talk, children whine. — Blackfoot proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch

Don’t be afraid to cry: it will lessen your sorrow. — Hopi proverb

One foot in the boat, one foot in the canoe, and you end up in the river. — Tuscarora proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch

Our enemy's weakness increases our strength. — Cherokee proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch

We will be remembered tomorrow by the tracks we leave today. — Dakota proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch

No sound's as eloquent as a rattlesnake's tail. — Navajo saying, translation by Michael R. Burch

The heart is our first teacher. — Cheyenne proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch

Dreams beget success. — Maricopa proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch

Knowledge interprets the past, wisdom foresees the future. — Lumbee proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch

The troublemaker's way is thorny. — Umpqua proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch



Earthbound
an original poem by Michael R. Burch

Tashunka Witko, better known as Crazy Horse, had a vision of a red-tailed hawk at Sylvan Lake, South Dakota. In his vision he saw himself riding a spirit horse, flying through a storm, as the hawk flew above him, shrieking. When he awoke, a red-tailed hawk was perched near his horse.

Earthbound,
and yet I now fly
through the clouds that are aimlessly drifting ...
so high
that no sound
echoing by
below where the mountains are lifting
the sky
can be heard.

Like a bird,
but not meek,
like a hawk from a distance regarding its prey,
I will shriek,
not a word,
but a screech,
and my terrible clamor will turn them to clay—
the sheep,
the earthbound.



Years after the Cherokees had been rounded up and driven down the Trail of Tears, John G. Burnett reflected on what he and his fellow soldiers had done, saying, "Schoolchildren of today do not know that we are living on lands that were taken from a helpless race at the bayonet point, to satisfy the white man's greed ... ****** is ****** and somebody must answer, somebody must explain the streams of blood that flowed in the Indian country ... Somebody must explain the four thousand silent graves that mark the trail of the Cherokees to their exile."

In the same year, 1830, that Stonewall Jackson consigned Native Americans to the ash-heap of history, Georgia Governor George Gilmer said, "Treaties are expedients by which ignorant, intractable, and savage people are induced ... to yield up what civilized people have the right to possess." By "civilized" he apparently meant people willing to brutally dispossess and **** women and children in order to derive economic benefits for themselves.

These nights bring dreams of Cherokee shamans
whose names are bright verbs and impacted dark nouns,
whose memories are indictments of my pallid flesh . . .
and I hear, as from a great distance,
the cries tortured from their guileless lips, proclaiming
the nature of my mutation.
―Michael R. Burch, from "Mongrel Dreams" (my family is part Cherokee, English and Scottish)

After Jackson was re-elected with an overwhelming majority in 1832, he strenuously pursued his policy of removing Native Americans, even refusing to accept a Supreme Court ruling which invalidated Georgia's planned annexation of Cherokee land. But in the double-dealing logic of the white supremacists, they had to make the illegal resettlement of the Indians appear to be "legal," so a small group of Cherokees were persuaded to sign the "Treaty of New Echota," which swapped Cherokee land for land in the Oklahoma territory. The Cherokee ringleaders of this infamous plot were later assassinated as traitors. (****** was similarly obsessed with the "legalities" of the **** Holocaust; isn't it strange how mass murderers of women and children can seek to justify their crimes?)

Native Americans understood the "circle of life" better than their white oppressors ...

When we sit in the Circle of the People,
we must be responsible because all Creation is related
and the suffering of one is the suffering of all
and the joy of one is the joy of all
and whatever we do affects everything in the universe.
—"Lakota Instructions for Living" by White Buffalo Calf Woman, translated by Michael R. Burch



Veiled
by Michael R. Burch

She has belief
without comprehension
and in her crutchwork shack
she is
much like us . . .

tamping the bread
into edible forms,
regarding her children
at play
with something akin to relief . . .

ignoring the towers ablaze
in the distance
because they are not revelations
but things of glass,
easily shattered . . .

and if you were to ask her,
she might say:
sometimes God visits his wrath
upon an impious nation
for its leaders’ sins,

and we might agree:
seeing her mutilations.

Published by Poetry Super Highway and Modern War Poems.



Ali’s Song
by Michael R. Burch

They say that gold don’t tarnish. It ain’t so.
They say it has a wild, unearthly glow.
A man can be more beautiful, more wild.
I flung their medal to the river, child.
I flung their medal to the river, child.

They hung their coin around my neck; they made
my name a bridle, “called a ***** a *****.”
They say their gold is pure. I say defiled.
I flung their slave’s name to the river, child.
I flung their slave’s name to the river, child.

Ain’t got no quarrel with no Viet Cong
that never called me ******, did me wrong.
A man can’t be lukewarm, ’cause God hates mild.
I flung their notice to the river, child.
I flung their notice to the river, child.

They said, “Now here’s your bullet and your gun,
and there’s your cell: we’re waiting, you choose one.”
At first I groaned aloud, but then I smiled.
I gave their “future” to the river, child.
I gave their “future” to the river, child.

My face reflected up, dark bronze like gold,
a coin God stamped in His own image―BOLD.
My blood boiled like that river―strange and wild.
I died to hate in that dark river, child,
Come, be reborn in this bright river, child.

Originally published by Black Medina

Note: Cassius Clay, who converted to Islam and changed his “slave name” to Muhammad Ali, said that he threw his Olympic boxing gold medal into the Ohio River. Confirming his account, the medal was recovered by Robert Bradbury and his wife Pattie in 2014 during the Annual Ohio River Sweep, and the Ali family paid them $200,000 to regain possession of the medal. When drafted during the Vietnamese War, Ali refused to serve, reputedly saying: “I ain't got no quarrel with those Viet Cong; no Vietnamese ever called me a ******.” The notice mentioned in my poem is Ali's draft notice, which metaphorically gets tossed into the river along with his slave name. I was told through the grapevine that this poem appeared in Farsi in an Iranian publication called Bashgah. ―Michael R. Burch



evol-u-shun
by Michael R. Burch

does GOD adore the Tyger
while it’s ripping ur lamb apart?

does GOD applaud the Plague
while it’s eating u à la carte?

does GOD admire ur intelligence
while u pray that IT has a heart?

does GOD endorse the Bible
you blue-lighted at k-mart?



Enheduanna, the daughter of the famous 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 also one of the first women we know by name.

Lament to the Spirit of War
by Enheduanna
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

You hack down everything you see, War God!

Rising on fearsome wings
you rush to destroy the land,
descending like a raging storm,
howling like a hurricane,
screaming like a tempest,
thundering, raging, ranting, drumming,
whiplashing whirlwinds!

Men falter at your approaching footsteps.

Tortured dirges scream
on your lyre of despair.

Like a fiery Salamander you poison the land:
growling over the earth like thunder,
vegetation collapsing before you,
blood gushing down a mountainside.

Spirit of hatred, greed and vengeance!

******* of heaven and earth!

Your ferocious fire consumes our land.

Whipping your stallion
with furious commands,
you decide our fate.

You triumph over all human rites and prayers.

Who can explain your tirade,
why you go on so?



Temple Hymn 15
to the Gishbanda Temple of Ningishzida
by Enheduanna
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Most ancient and terrible shrine,
set deep in the mountain,
dark like a mother's womb...

Dark shrine,
like a mother's wounded breast,
blood-red and terrifying...

Though approaching through a safe-seeming field,
our hair stands on end as we near you!

Gishbanda,
like a neck-stock,
like a fine-eyed fish net,
like a foot-shackled prisoner's manacles...
your ramparts are massive,
like a trap!

But once we’re inside,
as the sun rises,
you yield widespread abundance!

Your prince
is the pure-handed priest of Inanna, heaven's Holy One,
Lord Ningishzida!

Oh, see how his thick, lustrous hair
cascades down his back!

Oh Gishbanda,
he has built this beautiful temple to house your radiance!
He has placed his throne upon your dais!



The Exaltation of Inanna: Opening Lines and Excerpts
by Enheduanna, the daughter of Sargon I of Akkad and the high priestess of the Goddess Inanna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Lady of all divine powers!
Lady of the resplendent light!
Righteous Lady adorned in heavenly radiance!

Beloved Lady of An and Uraš!
Hierodule of An, sun-adorned and bejeweled!
Heaven’s Mistress with the holy diadem,
Who loves the beautiful headdress befitting the office of her own high priestess!

Powerful Mistress, seizer of the seven divine powers!
My Heavenly Lady, guardian of the seven divine powers!
You have seized the seven divine powers!
You hold the divine powers in your hand!
You have gathered together the seven divine powers!
You have clasped the divine powers to your breast!

You have flooded the valleys with venom, like a viper;
all vegetation vanishes when you thunder like Iškur!
You have caused the mountains to flood the valleys!
When you roar like that, nothing on earth can withstand you!

Like a flood descending on floodplains, O Powerful One, you will teach foreigners to fear Inanna!

You have given wings to the storm, O Beloved of Enlil!
The storms do your bidding, blasting the unbelievers!

Foreign cities cower at the chaos You cause!
Entire countries cower in dread of Your deadly South Wind!
Men cower before you in their anguished implications,
raising their pitiful outcries,
weeping and wailing, beseeching Your benevolence with many wild lamentations!

But in the van of battle, everything falls before You, O Mighty Queen!

My Queen,
You are all-conquering, all-devouring!
You continue Your attacks like relentless storms!
You howl louder than the howling storms!
You thunder louder than Iškur!
You moan louder than the mournful winds!
Your feet never tire from trampling Your enemies!
You produce much wailing on the lyres of lamentations!

My Queen,
all the Anunna, the mightiest Gods,
fled before Your approach like fluttering bats!
They could not stand in Your awesome Presence
nor behold Your awesome Visage!

Who can soothe Your infuriated heart?
Your baleful heart is beyond being soothed!

Uncontrollable Wild Cow, elder daughter of Sin,
O Majestic Queen, greater than An,
who has ever paid You enough homage?

O Life-Giving Goddess, possessor of all powers,
Inanna the Exalted!

Merciful, Live-Giving Mother!
Inanna, the Radiant of Heart!
I have exalted You in accordance with Your power!
I have bowed before You in my holy garb,
I the En, I Enheduanna!

Carrying my masab-basket, I once entered and uttered my joyous chants ...

But now I no longer dwell in Your sanctuary.
The sun rose and scorched me.
Night fell and the South Wind overwhelmed me.
My laughter was stilled and my honey-sweet voice grew strident.
My joy became dust.

O Sin, King of Heaven, how bitter my fate!

To An, I declared: An will deliver me!
I declared it to An: He will deliver me!

But now the kingship of heaven has been seized by Inanna,
at Whose feet the floodplains lie.

Inanna the Exalted,
who has made me tremble together with all Ur!

Stay Her anger, or let Her heart be soothed by my supplications!
I, Enheduanna will offer my supplications to Inanna,
my tears flowing like sweet intoxicants!
Yes, I will proffer my tears and my prayers to the Holy Inanna,
I will greet Her in peace ...

O My Queen, I have exalted You,
Who alone are worthy to be exalted!
O My Queen, Beloved of An,
I have laid out Your daises,
set fire to the coals,
conducted the rites,
prepared Your nuptial chamber.
Now may Your heart embrace me!

These are my innovations,
O Mighty Queen, that I made for You!
What I composed for You by the dark of night,
The cantor will chant by day.

Now Inanna’s heart has been restored,
and the day became favorable to Her.
Clothed in beauty, radiant with joy,
she carried herself like the elegant moonlight.

Now to the Noble Hierodule,
to the Wrecker of foreign lands
presented by An with the seven divine powers,
and to my Queen garbed in the radiance of heaven ...

O Inanna, praise!



The Exaltation of Inanna: Opening Lines, an Excerpt
Nin-me-šara by Enheduanna
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Lady of all divine powers,
Lady of the all-resplendent light,
Righteous Lady clothed in heavenly radiance,
Beloved Lady of An and Uraš,
Mistress of heaven with the holy diadem,
Who loves the beautiful headdress befitting the office of her high priestess,
Powerful Mistress who has seized all seven divine powers,
My lady, you are the guardian of the seven divine powers!
You have seized the divine powers,
You hold the divine powers in your hand,
You have gathered up the divine powers,
You have clasped the divine powers to your breast!
Like a dragon you have spewed venom on foreign lands that know you not!
When you roar like Iškur at the earth, nothing can withstand you!
Like a flood descending on alien lands, O Powerful One of heaven and earth, you will teach them to fear Inanna!



Temple Hymn 7: an Excerpt
to the Kesh Temple of Ninhursag
by Enheduanna
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

O, high-situated Kesh,
form-shifting summit,
inspiring fear like a venomous viper!

O, Lady of the Mountains,
Ninhursag’s house was constructed on a terrifying site!

O, Kesh, like holy Aratta: your womb dark and deep,
your walls high-towering and imposing!

O, great lion of the wildlands stalking the high plains!...



Temple Hymn 17: an Excerpt
to the Badtibira Temple of Dumuzi
by Enheduanna
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

O, house of jeweled lapis illuminating the radiant bed
in the peace-inducing palace of our Lady of the Steppe!



Temple Hymn 22: an Excerpt
to the Sirara Temple of Nanshe
by Enheduanna
loose translation 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!



Temple Hymn 26: an Excerpt
to the Zabalam Temple of Inanna
by Enheduanna
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

O house illuminated by beams of bright light,
dressed in shimmering stone jewels,
awakening the world to awe!



Temple Hymn 42: an Excerpt
to the Eresh Temple of Nisaba
by Enheduanna
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

O, house of brilliant stars
bright with lapis stones,
you illuminate all lands!

...

The person who put this tablet together
is Enheduanna.
My king: something never created before,
did she not give birth to it?



Update of "A Litany in Time of Plague"
by Michael R. Burch

THE PLAGUE has come again
To darken lives of men
and women, girls and boys;
Death proves their bodies toys
Too frail to even cry.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!

Tycoons, what use is wealth?
You cannot buy good health!
Physicians cannot heal
Themselves, to Death must kneel.
Nuns’ prayers mount to the sky.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!

Beauty’s brightest flower?
Devoured in an hour.
Kings, Queens and Presidents
Are fearful residents
Of manors boarded high.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!

We have no means to save
Our children from the grave.
Though cure-alls line our shelves,
We cannot save ourselves.
"Come, come!" the sad bells cry.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!

NOTE: This poem is meant to capture the understandable fear and dismay the Plague caused in the Middle Ages, and which the coronavirus has caused in the 21st century. We are better equipped to deal with this modern plague, thanks to advances in science, medicine and sanitation. We do not have to succumb to fear, but it would be wise to have a healthy respect for the nasty bug and heed the advice of medical experts.--MRB



Regret
by Michael R. Burch

Regret,
a bitter
ache to bear . . .

once starlight
languished
in your hair . . .

a shining there
as brief
as rare.

Regret . . .
a pain
I chose to bear . . .

unleash
the torrent
of your hair . . .

and show me
once again―
how rare.

Published by The HyperTexts and The Chained Muse



The Stake
by Michael R. Burch

Love, the heart bets,
if not without regrets,
will still prove, in the end,
worth the light we expend
mining the dark
for an exquisite heart.

Originally published by The Lyric



If
by Michael R. Burch

If I regret
fire in the sunset
exploding on the horizon,
then let me regret loving you.

If I forget
even for a moment
that you are the only one,
then let me forget that the sky is blue.

If I should yearn
in a season of discontentment
for the vagabond light of a companionless moon,
let dawn remind me that you are my sun.

If I should burn―one moment less brightly,
one instant less true―
then with wild scorching kisses,
inflame me, inflame me, inflame me anew.

Originally published by The HyperTexts



The Effects of Memory
by Michael R. Burch

A black ringlet
curls to lie
at the nape of her neck,
glistening with sweat
in the evaporate moonlight ...
This is what I remember

now that I cannot forget.

And tonight,
if I have forgotten her name,
I remember:
rigid wire and white lace
half-impressed in her flesh ...

our soft cries, like regret,

... the enameled white clips
of her bra strap
still inscribe dimpled marks
that my kisses erase ...

now that I have forgotten her face.



Villanelle: Because Her Heart Is Tender
by Michael R. Burch

for Beth

She scrawled soft words in soap: "Never Forget,"
Dove-white on her car's window, and the wren,
because her heart is tender, might regret
it called the sun to wake her. As I slept,
she heard lost names recounted, one by one.

She wrote in sidewalk chalk: "Never Forget,"
and kept her heart's own counsel. No rain swept
away those words, no tear leaves them undone.

Because her heart is tender with regret,
bruised by razed towers' glass and steel and stone
that shatter on and on and on and on,
she stitches in wet linen: "NEVER FORGET,"
and listens to her heart's emphatic song.

The wren might tilt its head and sing along
because its heart once understood regret
when fledglings fell beyond, beyond, beyond ...
its reach, and still the boot-heeled world strode on.

She writes in adamant: "NEVER FORGET"
because her heart is tender with regret.



To the boy Elis
by Georg Trakl
translation by Michael R. Burch

Elis, when the blackbird cries from the black forest,
it announces your downfall.
Your lips sip the rock-spring's blue coolness.

Your brow sweats blood
recalling ancient myths
and dark interpretations of birds' flight.

Yet you enter the night with soft footfalls;
the ripe purple grapes hang suspended
as you wave your arms more beautifully in the blueness.

A thornbush crackles;
where now are your moonlike eyes?
How long, oh Elis, have you been dead?

A monk dips waxed fingers
into your body's hyacinth;
Our silence is a black abyss

from which sometimes a docile animal emerges
slowly lowering its heavy lids.
A black dew drips from your temples:

the lost gold of vanished stars.

TRANSLATOR'S NOTE: I believe that in the second stanza the blood on Elis's forehead may be a reference to the apprehensive ****** sweat of Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane. If my interpretation is correct, Elis hears the blackbird's cries, anticipates the danger represented by a harbinger of death, but elects to continue rather than turn back. From what I have been able to gather, the color blue had a special significance for Georg Trakl: it symbolized longing and perhaps a longing for death. The colors blue, purple and black may represent a progression toward death in the poem.



Turkish Poetry Translations

Attilâ İlhan (1925-2005) was a Turkish poet, translator, novelist, screenwriter, editor, journalist, essayist, reviewer, socialist and intellectual.

Ben Sana Mecburum: “You are indispensable”
by Attila Ilhan
translation by Nurgül Yayman and Michael R. Burch

You are indispensable; how can you not know
that you’re like nails riveting my brain?
I see your eyes as ever-expanding dimensions.
You are indispensable; how can you not know
that I burn within, at the thought of you?

Trees prepare themselves for autumn;
can this city be our lost Istanbul?
Now clouds disintegrate in the darkness
as the street lights flicker
and the streets reek with rain.
You are indispensable, and yet you are absent ...

Love sometimes seems akin to terror:
a man tires suddenly at nightfall,
of living enslaved to the razor at his neck.
Sometimes he wrings his hands,
expunging other lives from his existence.
Sometimes whichever door he knocks
echoes back only heartache.

A screechy phonograph is playing in Fatih ...
a song about some Friday long ago.
I stop to listen from a vacant corner,
longing to bring you an untouched sky,
but time disintegrates in my hands.
Whatever I do, wherever I go,
you are indispensable, and yet you are absent ...

Are you the blue child of June?
Ah, no one knows you―no one knows!
Your deserted eyes are like distant freighters ...

Perhaps you are boarding in Yesilköy?
Are you drenched there, shivering with the rain
that leaves you blind, beset, broken,
with wind-disheveled hair?

Whenever I think of life
seated at the wolves’ table,
shameless, yet without soiling our hands ...
Yes, whenever I think of life,
I begin with your name, defying the silence,
and your secret tides surge within me
making this voyage inevitable.
You are indispensable; how can you not know?



Fragments
by Attila Ilhan
loose English translations/interpretations by Michael R. Burch

The night is a cloudy-feathered owl,
its quills like fine-spun glass.

It gazes out the window,
perched on my right shoulder,
its wings outspread and huge.

If the encroaching darkness seems devastating at first glance,
the sovereign of everything,
its reach infinite ...

Still somewhere within a kernel of light glows secretly
creating an enlightened forest of dialectics.

In September’s waning days one thinks wanly of the arrival of fall
like a ship appearing on the horizon with untrimmed, tattered sails;
for some unfathomable reason fall is the time to consider one’s own demise―
the body smothered by yellowed leaves like a corpse rotting in a ghoulish photograph ...

Bitter words
crack like whips
snapping across prison yards ...

Then there are words like pomegranate trees in bloom,
words like the sun igniting the sea beyond mountainous horizons,
flashing like mysterious knives ...

Such words are the burning roses of an infinite imagination;
they are born and they die with the flutterings of butterflies;
we carry those words in our hearts like pregnant shotguns until the day we expire,
martyred for the words we were prepared to die for ...

What I wrote and what you understood? Curious and curiouser!



Mehmet Akif Ersoy: Modern English Translations of Turkish Poems

Mehmet Âkif Ersoy (1873-1936) was a Turkish poet, author, writer, academic, member of parliament, and the composer of the Turkish National Anthem.



Snapshot
by Mehmet Akif Ersoy
loose English translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Earth’s least trace of life cannot be erased;
even when you lie underground, it encompasses you.
So, those of you who anticipate the shadows,
how long will the darkness remember you?



Zulmü Alkislayamam
"I Can’t Applaud Tyranny"
by Mehmet Akif Ersoy
loose English translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I can't condone cruelty; I will never applaud the oppressor;
Yet I can't renounce the past for the sake of deluded newcomers.
When someone curses my ancestors, I want to strangle them,
Even if you don’t.
But while I harbor my elders,
I refuse to praise their injustices.
Above all, I will never glorify evil, by calling injustice “justice.”
From the day of my birth, I've loved freedom;
The golden tulip never deceived me.
If I am nonviolent, does that make me a docile sheep?
The blade may slice, but my neck resists!
When I see someone else's wound, I suffer a great hardship;
To end it, I'll be whipped, I'll be beaten.
I can't say, “Never mind, just forget it!” I'll mind,
I'll crush, I'll be crushed, I'll uphold justice.
I'm the foe of the oppressor, the friend of the oppressed.
What the hell do you mean, with your backwardness?



Çanakkale Sehitlerine
"For the Çanakkale Martyrs"
by Mehmet Akif Ersoy
loose English translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Was there ever anything like the Bosphorus war?―
The earth’s mightiest armies pressing Marmara,
Forcing entry between her mountain passes
To a triangle of land besieged by countless vessels.
Oh, what dishonorable assemblages!
Who are these Europeans, come as rapists?
Who, these braying hyenas, released from their reeking cages?
Why do the Old World, the New World, and all the nations of men
now storm her beaches? Is it Armageddon? Truly, the whole world rages!
Seven nations marching in unison!
Australia goose-stepping with Canada!
Different faces, languages, skin tones!
Everything so different, but the mindless bludgeons!
Some warriors Hindu, some African, some nameless, unknown!
This disgraceful invasion, baser than the Black Death!
Ah, the 20th century, so noble in its own estimation,
But all its favored ones nothing but a parade of worthless wretches!
For months now Turkish soldiers have been vomited up
Like stomachs’ retched contents regarded with shame.
If the masks had not been torn away, the faces would still be admired,
But the ***** called civilization is far from blameless.
Now the ****** demand the destruction of the doomed
And thus bring destruction down on their own heads.
Lightning severs horizons!
Earthquakes regurgitate the bodies of the dead!
Bombs’ thunderbolts explode brains,
rupture the ******* of brave soldiers.
Underground tunnels writhe like hell
Full of the bodies of burn victims.
The sky rains down death, the earth swallows the living.
A terrible blizzard heaves men violently into the air.
Heads, eyes, torsos, legs, arms, chins, fingers, hands, feet ...
Body parts rain down everywhere.
Coward hands encased in armor callously scatter
Floods of thunderbolts, torrents of fire.
Men’s chests gape open,
Beneath the high, circling vulture-like packs of the air.
Cannonballs fly as frequently as bullets
Yet the heroic army laughs at the hail.
Who needs steel fortresses? Who fears the enemy?
How can the shield of faith not prevail?
What power can make religious men bow down to their oppressors
When their stronghold is established by God?
The mountains and the rocks are the bodies of martyrs! ...
For the sake of a crescent, oh God, many suns set, undone!
Dear soldier, who fell for the sake of this land,
How great you are, your blood saves the Muslims!
Only the lions of Bedr rival your glory!
Who then can dig the grave wide enough to hold you. and your story?
If we try to consign you to history, you will not fit!
No book can contain the eras you shook!
Only eternities can encompass you! ...
Oh martyr, son of the martyr, do not ask me about the grave:
The prophet awaits you now, his arms flung wide open, to save!



Sessiz Gemi (“Silent Ship”)

by Yahya Kemal Beyatli
loose translation by Nurgül Yayman and Michael R. Burch

for the refugees

The time to weigh anchor has come;
a ship departing harbor slips quietly out into the unknown,
cruising noiselessly, its occupants already ghosts.
No flourished handkerchiefs acknowledge their departure;
the landlocked mourners stand nurturing their grief,
scanning the bleak horizon, their eyes blurring ...
Poor souls! Desperate hearts! But this is hardly the last ship departing!
There is always more pain to unload in this sorrowful life!
The hesitations of lovers and their belovèds are futile,
for they cannot know where the vanished are bound.
Many hopes must be quenched by the distant waves,
since years must pass, and no one returns from this journey.



Full Moon
by Yahya Kemal Beyatli
loose translation by Nurgül Yayman and Michael R. Burch

You are so lovely
the full moon just might
delight
in your rising,
as curious
and bright,
to vanquish night.

But what can a mortal man do,
dear,
but hope?
I’ll ponder your mysteries
and (hmmmm) try to
cope.

We both know
you have every right to say no.



The Music of the Snow
by Yahya Kemal Beyatli
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This melody of a night lasting longer than a thousand years!
This music of the snow supposed to last for thousand years!

Sorrowful as the prayers of a secluded monastery,
It rises from a choir of a hundred voices!

As the *****’s harmonies resound profoundly,
I share the sufferings of Slavic grief.

My mind drifts far from this city, this era,
To the old records of Tanburi Cemil Bey.

Now I’m suddenly overjoyed as once again I hear,
With the ears of my heart, the purest sounds of Istanbul!

Thoughts of the snow and darkness depart me;
I keep them at bay all night with my dreams!

Translator’s notes: “Slavic grief” because Beyatli wrote this poem while in Warsaw, serving as Turkey’s ambassador to Poland, in 1927. Tanburi Cemil Bey was a Turkish composer.



Thinking of you
by Nazim Hikmet
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Thinking of you is beautiful, hopeful―
like listening to the most beautiful songs
sung by the earth's most beautiful voices.
But hope is insufficient for me now;
I don't want to listen to songs.
I want to sing love into birth.



I love you
by Nazim Hikmet
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I love you―
like dipping bread into salt and eating;
like waking at night with a raging fever
and thirstily lapping up water, my mouth to the silver tap;
like unwrapping the unwieldy box the postman delivers,
unable to guess what's inside,
feeling fluttery, happy, doubtful.
I love you―
like flying over the sea the first time
as something stirs within me
while the sky softly darkens over Istanbul.
I love you―
as men thank God gratefully for life.



Sparrow
by Nazim Hikmet
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Little sparrow,
perched on the clothesline,
do you regard me with pity?
Even so, I will watch you
soar away through the white spring leaves.



The Divan of the Lover

the oldest extant Turkish poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

All the universe as one great sign is shown:
God revealed in his creative acts unknown.
Who sees or understands them, jinn or men?
Such works lie far beyond mere mortals’ ken.
Nor can man’s mind or reason reach that strand,
Nor mortal tongue name Him who rules that land.
Since He chose nothingness with life to vest,
who dares to trouble God with worms’ behests?
For eighteen thousand worlds, lain end to end,
Do not with Him one atom's worth transcend!



Fragment
by Prince Jem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Behold! The torrent, dashing against the rocks, flails wildly.
The entire vast realm of Space and Being oppresses my soul idly.
Through bitterness of grief and woe the sky has rent its morning robe.
Look! See how in its eastern palace, the sun is a ****** globe!
The clouds of heaven rain bright tears on the distant mountain peaks.
Oh, hear how the deeply wounded thunder slowly, mournfully speaks!



An Ecstasy of Fumbling
by Michael R. Burch

The poets believe
everything resolves to metaphor—
a distillation,
a vapor
beyond filtration,
though perhaps not quite as volatile as before.

The poets conceive
of death in the trenches
as the price of art,
not war,
fumbling with their masque-like
dissertations
to describe the Hollywood-like gore

as something beyond belief,
abstracting concrete bunkers to Achaemenid bas-relief.



Excerpts from “Travels with Einstein”
by Michael R. Burch

for Trump

I went to Berlin to learn wisdom
from Adolph. The wild spittle flew
as he screamed at me, with great conviction:
“Please despise me! I look like a Jew!”

So I flew off to ’Nam to learn wisdom
from tall Yankees who cursed “yellow” foes.
“If we lose this small square,” they informed me,
earth’s nations will fall, dominoes!”

I then sat at Christ’s feet to learn wisdom,
but his Book, from its genesis to close,
said: “Men can enslave their own brothers!”
(I soon noticed he lacked any clothes.)

So I traveled to bright Tel Aviv
where great scholars with lofty IQs
informed me that (since I’m an Arab)
I’m unfit to lick dirt from their shoes.

At last, done with learning, I stumbled
to a well where the waters seemed sweet:
the mirage of American “justice.”
There I wept a real sea, in defeat.

Originally published by Café Dissensus



The Leveler
by Michael R. Burch

The nature of Nature
is bitter survival
from Winter’s bleak fury
till Spring’s brief revival.

The weak implore Fate;
bold men ravish, dishevel her . . .
till both are cut down
by mere ticks of the Leveler.

I believe I wrote this poem around age 20, in 1978 or thereabouts. It has since been published in The Lyric, Tucumcari Literary Review, Romantics Quarterly and The Aurorean.



The Hippopotami
by Michael R. Burch

There’s no seeing eye to eye
with the awesomely huge Hippopotami:
on the bank, you’re much taller;
going under, you’re smaller
and assuredly destined to die!



Ballade of the Bicameral Camel
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a camel who loved to ****.
Please get your lewd minds out of their slump!
He loved to give RIDES on his large, lordly lump!



The Echoless Green
by Michael R. Burch

for and after William Blake

At dawn, laughter rang
on the echoing green
as children at play
greeted the day.

At noon, smiles were seen
on the echoing green
as, children no more,
many fine vows they swore.

By twilight, their cries
had subsided to sighs.

Now night reigns supreme
on the echoless green.



Unlikely Mike
by Michael R. Burch

I married someone else’s fantasy;
she admired me despite my mutilations.

I loved her for her heart’s sake, and for mine.
I hid my face and changed its connotations.

And in the dark I danced—slight, Chaplinesque—
a metaphor myself. How could they know,

the undiscerning ones, that in the glow
of spotlights, sometimes love becomes burlesque?

Disfigured to my soul, I could not lose
or choose or name myself; I came to be

another of life’s odd dichotomies,
like Dickey’s Sheep Boy, Pan, or David Cruse:

as pale, as enigmatic. White, or black?
My color was a song, a changing track.



Spring Was Delayed
by Michael R. Burch

Winter came early:
the driving snows,
the delicate frosts
that crystallize

all we forget
or refuse to know,
all we regret
that makes us wise.

Spring was delayed:
the nubile rose,
the tentative sun,
the wind’s soft sighs,

all we omit
or refuse to show,
whatever we shield
behind guarded eyes.

Originally published by Borderless Journal



The Shijing or **** Jing (“Book of Songs” or “Book of Odes”) is the oldest Chinese poetry collection, with the poems included believed to date from around 1200 BC to 600 BC. According to tradition the poems were selected and edited by Confucius himself. Since most ancient poetry did not rhyme, these may be the world’s oldest extant rhyming poems.

Shijing Ode #4: “JIU MU”
ancient Chinese rhyming poem circa (1200 BC - 600 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

In the South, beneath trees with drooping branches
thick with vines that make them shady,
we find our lovely princely lady:
May she repose in happiness!

In the South, beneath trees with drooping branches
whose clinging vines make hot days shady,
we wish love’s embrace for our lovely lady:
May she repose in happiness!

In the South, beneath trees with drooping branches
whose vines, entwining, make them shady,
we wish true love for our lovely lady:
May she repose in happiness!

Shijing Ode #6: “TAO YAO”
ancient Chinese rhyming poem circa (1200 BC - 600 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The peach tree is elegant and tender;
its flowers are fragrant, and bright.
A young lady now enters her future home
and will manage it well, day and night.

The peach tree is elegant and tender;
its fruits are abundant, and sweet.
A young lady now enters her future home
and will make it welcome to everyone she greets.

The peach tree is elegant and tender;
it shelters with bough, leaf and flower.
A young lady now enters her future home
and will make it her family’s bower.

Shijing Ode #9: “HAN GUANG”
ancient Chinese rhyming poem circa (1200 BC - 600 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

In the South tall trees without branches
offer men no shelter.
By the Han the girls loiter,
but it’s vain to entice them.
For the breadth of the Han
cannot be swum
and the length of the Jiang
requires more than a raft.

When cords of firewood are needed,
I would cut down tall thorns to bring them more.
Those girls on their way to their future homes?
I would feed their horses.
But the breadth of the Han
cannot be swum
and the length of the Jiang
requires more than a raft.

When cords of firewood are needed,
I would cut down tall trees to bring them more.
Those girls on their way to their future homes?
I would feed their colts.
But the breadth of the Han
cannot be swum
and the length of the Jiang
requires more than a raft.

Shijing Ode #10: “RU FEN”
ancient Chinese rhyming poem circa (1200 BC - 600 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

By raised banks of the Ru,
I cut down branches in the brake.
Not seeing my lord
caused me heartache.

By raised banks of the Ru,
I cut down branches by the tide.
When I saw my lord at last,
he did not cast me aside.

The bream flashes its red tail;
the royal court’s a blazing fire.
Though it blazes afar,
still his loved ones are near ...

It was apparently believed that the bream’s tail turned red when it was in danger. Here the term “lord” does not necessarily mean the man in question was a royal himself. Chinese women of that era often called their husbands “lord.” Take, for instance, Ezra Pound’s famous loose translation “The River Merchant’s Wife.” Speaking of Pound, I borrowed the word “brake” from his translation of this poem, although I worked primarily from more accurate translations. In the final line, it may be that the wife or lover is suggesting that no matter what happens, the man in question will have a place to go, or perhaps she is urging him to return regardless. The original poem had “mother and father” rather than “family” or “loved ones,” but in those days young married couples often lived with the husband’s parents. So a suggestion to return to his parents could be a suggestion to return to his wife as well.

Shijing Ode #12: “QUE CHAO”
ancient Chinese rhyming poem circa (1200 BC - 600 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The nest is the magpie's
but the dove occupies it.
A young lady’s soon heading to her future home;
a hundred carriages will attend her.

The nest is the magpie's
but the dove takes it over.
A young lady’s soon heading to her future home;
a hundred carriages will escort her.

The nest is the magpie's
but the dove possesses it.
A young lady’s soon heading to her future home;
a hundred carriages complete her procession.

Shijing Ode #26: “BO ZHOU” from “The Odes of Bei”
ancient Chinese rhyming poem circa (1200 BC - 600 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This cypress-wood boat floats about,
meandering with the current.
Meanwhile, I am distraught and sleepless,
as if inflicted with a painful wound.
Not because I have no wine,
and can’t wander aimlessly about!

But my mind is not a mirror
able to echo all impressions.
Yes, I have brothers,
but they are undependable.
I meet their anger with silence.

My mind is not a stone
to be easily cast aside.
My mind is not a mat
to be conveniently rolled up.
My conduct so far has been exemplary,
with nothing to criticize.

Yet my anxious heart hesitates
because I’m hated by the herd,
inflicted with many distresses,
heaped with insults, not a few.
Silently I consider my case,
until, startled, as if from sleep, I clutch my breast.

Consider the sun and the moon:
how did the latter exceed the former?
Now sorrow clings to my heart
like an unwashed dress.
Silently I consider my options,
but lack the wings to fly away.



The Drawer of Mermaids
by Michael R. Burch

This poem is dedicated to Alina Karimova, who was born with severely deformed legs and five fingers missing. Alina loves to draw mermaids and believes her fingers will eventually grow out.

Although I am only four years old,
they say that I have an old soul.
I must have been born long, long ago,
here, where the eerie mountains glow
at night, in the Urals.

A madman named Geiger has cursed these slopes;
now, shut in at night, the emphatic ticking
fills us with dread.
(Still, my momma hopes
that I will soon walk with my new legs.)

It’s not so much legs as the fingers I miss,
drawing the mermaids under the ledges.
(Observing, Papa will kiss me
in all his distracted joy;
but why does he cry?)

And there is a boy
who whispers my name.
Then I am not lame;
for I leap, and I follow.
(G’amma brings a wiseman who says

our infirmities are ours, not God’s,
that someday a beautiful Child
will return from the stars,
and then my new fingers will grow
if only I trust Him; and so

I am preparing to meet Him, to go,
should He care to receive me.)

Keywords/Tags: mermaid, mermaids, child, children, childhood, Urals, Ural Mountains, soul, soulmate, radiation



On the Horns of a Dilemma (I)
by Michael R. Burch

Love has become preposterous
for the over-endowed rhinoceros:
when he meets the right miss
how the hell can he kiss
when his horn is so ***** it lofts her thus?

I need an artist or cartoonist to create an image of a male rhino lifting his prospective mate into the air during an abortive kiss. Any takers?



On the Horns of a Dilemma (II)
by Michael R. Burch

Love has become preposterous
for the over-endowed rhinoceros:
when he meets the right miss
how the hell can he kiss
when his horn deforms her esophagus?



On the Horns of a Dilemma (III)
by Michael R. Burch

A wino rhino said, “I know!
I have a horn I cannot blow!
And so,
ergo,
I’ll watch the lovely spigot flow!



The Horns of a Dilemma Solved, if not Solvent
by Michael R. Burch

A wine-addled rhino debated
the prospect of living unmated
due to the scorn
gals showed for his horn,
then lost it to poachers, sedated.



The Arrival of the Sea Lions
by Michael R. Burch

The sound
of hounds
resounds in the sound.



Hounds Impounded
by Michael R. Burch

The sound
of hounds
resounds
in the pound.



Prince Kiwi the Great
by Michael R. Burch

Kiwi’s
a ***-wee
but incredibly bright:
he sleeps half the day,
pretending it’s night!

Prince Kiwi
commands us
with his regal air:
“Come, humans, and serve me,
or I’ll yank your hair!”

Kiwi
cries “Kree! Kree!”
when he wants to be fed ...
suns, preens, flutters, showers,
then it’s off to bed.

Kiwi’s
a ***-wee
but incredibly bright:
he sleeps half the day,
pretending it’s night!

Kiwi is our family’s green-cheeked parakeet. Parakeets need to sleep around 12 hours per day, hence the pun on “bright” and “half the day.”



Ah! Sunflower
by Michael R. Burch

after William Blake

O little yellow flower
like a star ...
how beautiful,
how wonderful
we are!

Published as the collection "When Pigs Fly"
Bunhead17 Nov 2013
Lebron James, he's the man. Steve Nash? Get a tan! The king owns Miami any day, Bron v.s Kobe on tv, I'd pay. His dunks electrify the crowd ever night, if you like Kobe, you shouldn't even be reading this, go fly a kite. I respect Kobe, I can't lie, but Lebron, his legacy is up to the sky. Lebron brings his talents to south beach, there bigger than Halo Reach. I will admit, Michael Jordan is the best of the all, and Yao Ming is really tall, but Lebron is the king, and by the end of his career, his hands will be filled with rings.
He's a Miami Heat basketball player (MVP) As Lebron 'bron' might say it "Hey now, Hey now, I aint worried bout nothin''
PhiWrit Sep 2015
So I wrote a Notorious word to the Crook King
of Brooklyn who wrote the street book
Based on how the street he took
with feet quite fleet.
You know his spirit i did meet,
first last year on bicycle day
A tab of acid found its way
on my tongue it lay,
in the bathroom mirror I was prone to say,
"Biggie Smalls, Biggie Smalls, Biggie Smalls" and my heart did in fear fall,
Thought to myself
"I swear I hear a glock click near my left ear" so I got the hell out of there.
The second time was a bit more fair,
the air of a fellow player, yao slanger,
beat banger, he spat a 16 bar prayer
of how he was an unknowing player
In His plan a silent hand of hope
for all the ****** that are broke.
That the Sky is the limit,
only make moves when your heart's in it,
then you are guaranteed to win it.
Ain't no sin against it,
**** the world don't ask it for ****;
that's word to BIG
Based on a true story
Michael R Burch Apr 2022
The Shijing or **** Jing or Shih-Ching (“Book of Songs” or “Book of Odes”) is the oldest Chinese poetry collection, with the poems included believed to date from around 1200 BC to 600 BC. According to tradition the poems were selected and edited by Confucius himself. Since most ancient poetry did not rhyme, these may be the world’s oldest extant rhyming poems.

Shijing Ode #4: “JIU MU”
ancient Chinese rhyming poem circa (1200 BC - 600 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

In the South, beneath trees with drooping branches
thick with vines that make them shady,
we find our lovely princely lady:
May she repose in happiness!

In the South, beneath trees with drooping branches
whose clinging vines make hot days shady,
we wish love’s embrace for our lovely lady:
May she repose in happiness!

In the South, beneath trees with drooping branches
whose vines, entwining, make them shady,
we wish true love for our lovely lady:
May she repose in happiness!


Shijing Ode #6: “TAO YAO”
ancient Chinese rhyming poem circa (1200 BC - 600 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The peach tree is elegant and tender;
its flowers are fragrant, and bright.
A young lady now enters her future home
and will manage it well, day and night.

The peach tree is elegant and tender;
its fruits are abundant, and sweet.
A young lady now enters her future home
and will make it welcome to everyone she greets.

The peach tree is elegant and tender;
it shelters with bough, leaf and flower.
A young lady now enters her future home
and will make it her family’s bower.


Shijing Ode #9: “HAN GUANG”
ancient Chinese rhyming poem circa (1200 BC - 600 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

In the South tall trees without branches
offer men no shelter.
By the Han the girls loiter,
but it’s vain to entice them.
For the breadth of the Han
cannot be swum
and the length of the Jiang
requires more than a raft.

When cords of firewood are needed,
I would cut down tall thorns to bring them more.
Those girls on their way to their future homes?
I would feed their horses.
But the breadth of the Han
cannot be swum
and the length of the Jiang
requires more than a raft.

When cords of firewood are needed,
I would cut down tall trees to bring them more.
Those girls on their way to their future homes?
I would feed their colts.
But the breadth of the Han
cannot be swum
and the length of the Jiang
requires more than a raft.


Shijing Ode #10: “RU FEN”
ancient Chinese rhyming poem circa (1200 BC - 600 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

By raised banks of the Ru,
I cut down branches in the brake.
Not seeing my lord
caused me heartache.

By raised banks of the Ru,
I cut down branches by the tide.
When I saw my lord at last,
he did not cast me aside.

The bream flashes its red tail;
the royal court’s a blazing fire.
Though it blazes afar,
still his loved ones are near ...

It was apparently believed that the bream’s tail turned red when it was in danger. Here the term “lord” does not necessarily mean the man in question was a royal himself. Chinese women of that era often called their husbands “lord.” Take, for instance, Ezra Pound’s famous loose translation “The River Merchant’s Wife.” Speaking of Pound, I borrowed the word “brake” from his translation of this poem, although I worked primarily from more accurate translations. In the final line, it may be that the wife or lover is suggesting that no matter what happens, the man in question will have a place to go, or perhaps she is urging him to return regardless. The original poem had “mother and father” rather than “family” or “loved ones,” but in those days young married couples often lived with the husband’s parents. So a suggestion to return to his parents could be a suggestion to return to his wife as well.


Shijing Ode #12: “QUE CHAO”
ancient Chinese rhyming poem circa (1200 BC - 600 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The nest is the magpie's
but the dove occupies it.
A young lady’s soon heading to her future home;
a hundred carriages will attend her.

The nest is the magpie's
but the dove takes it over.
A young lady’s soon heading to her future home;
a hundred carriages will escort her.

The nest is the magpie's
but the dove possesses it.
A young lady’s soon heading to her future home;
a hundred carriages complete her procession.


Shijing Ode #26: “BO ZHOU” from “The Odes of Bei”
ancient Chinese rhyming poem circa (1200 BC - 600 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This cypress-wood boat floats about,
meandering with the current.
Meanwhile, I am distraught and sleepless,
as if inflicted with a painful wound.
Not because I have no wine,
and can’t wander aimlessly about!

But my mind is not a mirror
able to echo all impressions.
Yes, I have brothers,
but they are undependable.
I meet their anger with silence.

My mind is not a stone
to be easily cast aside.
My mind is not a mat
to be conveniently rolled up.
My conduct so far has been exemplary,
with nothing to criticize.

Yet my anxious heart hesitates
because I’m hated by the herd,
inflicted with many distresses,
heaped with insults, not a few.
Silently I consider my case,
until, startled, as if from sleep, I clutch my breast.

Consider the sun and the moon:
how did the latter exceed the former?
Now sorrow clings to my heart
like an unwashed dress.
Silently I consider my options,
but lack the wings to fly away.



Chixiao (“The Owl”)
by Duke Zhou (c. 1100-1000 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Owl!
You've stolen my offspring,
Don't shatter my nest!
When with labors of love
I nurtured my fledglings.

Before the skies darkened
And the dark rains fell,
I gathered mulberry twigs
To thatch my nest,
Yet scoundrels now dare
Impugn my enterprise.

With fingers chafed rough
By the reeds I plucked
And the straw I threshed,
I now write these words,
Too hoarse to speak:
I am homeless!

My wings are withered,
My tail torn away,
My home toppled
And tossed into the rain,
My cry a distressed peep.

The Duke of Zhou (circa 1100-1000 BC), a member of the Zhou Dynasty also known as Ji Dan, played a major role in Chinese history and culture. He has been called “probably the first real person to step over the threshold of myth into Chinese history” and he may be the first Chinese poet we know by name today, and the spiritual ancestor of Confucius as well. The Duke was a capable and loyal regent for his young nephew King Cheng and successfully suppressed a number of rebellions. He has also been credited with writing the I Ching and the Book of Songs, also called the Book of Odes, and with creating yayue (“elegant music”) which became Chinese classical music. His poem “The Owl” was apparently written while he was away fighting on his nephew’s behalf, after court dissenters accused him of plotting to usurp the throne. Apparently the poem worked, as King Cheng welcomed his uncle back, and the Duke remained faithful till the end. Keywords/Tags: China, Chinese, translation, ode, odes, kingdom, king, duke, homeless, homelessness, homesick, homesickness

Keywords/Tags: Shijing, ****-Jing, Shih-Ching, translation, book, songs, odes, Confucius, Chinese, ancient, rhyme, rhyming, love, nature
Anthony Pierre Apr 2022
Slash and burn!
Frankincense
And Myrrh
Like shorgum
Like maize
You, amaze me

Matzo's to eat
First night
Is law, Pat Yisrael

Netting up, nothing
Keep birds out
Bring birds in
Who? Yao? Nothing!

Nothing like bantu
Nothing like kin
He parts the Red Sea
Knesset
Jess Brady Sep 2015
Always acrimonious about allowing anyone around.
Baneful behavior caused by a belligerent boy in the background.
Crack doesn't **** if you're careful, they coerce.
Don't do drugs and use your dollars to disperse.
Elude every emotion except empty and exhausted.
Forget every feeling that he fabricated and fostered.
Glassy eyes look guilty and glimmer groggily.
Halcyon is halted, heave into havoc hazily.
Iniquity makes insatiable impulses inherent.
Justify joints with Jane as joy jaunts without judgement.
Killer Ketamine kisses knock-out keen knowledge.
Lovesick, lonely, loveless, led towards the ledge.
Marijuana manipulated meditation makes musing mystical.
Nebulous nadir needs nicotine for nostalgia and nirvana neurochemicals.
Oxycontin as an oasis for obtrusive obstinance.
Panacea is a parody of popping pills, the provinence.
Secret street corners selling shrooms and speed.
Troubled tired teen talks about truth and tragedy.
Ubiquitous umbrage under unfathomable urges.
***** vacates vulnerable verges.
Wail and woefully wallow in **** while waning my whit.
Yield and yearn for yao, yes you can stand it.

Puff puff pass.
Puff puff laugh.
It's funny how the drugs lasted longer than our love has.
A poem exploring the use of drugs to escape heartbreak.
John AD Feb 2019
Luha ng dahon , Isinilid sa Kahon
Init ng nayon , Malamig na Kahapon
Sarili ay Bumangon , Kalungkuta'y aahon
Pag yao'y hinamon , Lumuha ang Panahon

Ang pag-iyak ng mga dahon sa bukang-liwayway
Pinawi ng init ng araw ang iyong mga kamay
At Naglaho sa dapithapon , muling matamlay,
Nag-iwan ng marka sa takipsilim ako'y namatay

Umiiyak Taon-taon,Pighati Ang Baon
Pagkalumbay ko , kinukuwestiyon
Sumabog nanaman ang Mayon
Sa loob ng utak kong naghahamon
Virginia Nicholson

How To Build A House In N-Dimensions

1. Begin with lines, pencil to paper (if they could exist) drawing graphite arrangements, N-space reduced to one, a structure viewed in slices. Imagine the bathroom off the foyer, the den off the dining room, viewable only as inked lines, dit-dit-dah, a contractor’s Morse Code.

2. Progress to carpet squares, linoleum tiles, the coral paint pairs well with the eggshell trim.  Dit-dah-dit becomes something useful to the non-contractor, “door” or “Master Bedroom” or “x hundred feet of pipe.” Envision the imagined patterns hidden in the bathroom floor, the kitchen hardwood.

3. Move to volumes, solids, conic sections, height. One story, two stories, a basement, an attic?, take advantage of the introduction of 3D. Upgrade the closet to walk-in, needs more carpet squares. A snapshot of a family barbeque, Charlie’s height 1D penciled in to the 3D door, marring 2D eggshell paint.

4. Adding time, the house is built, ages, gets sold to new families with little Charlies of their own, new markings on the cupboard door, 3-foot-2, 3-foot-5, 4-foot-9. Grass fades from Kelly to sand to Kelly, saturation a cosine function with respect to time. The Zoysia starts in one, breaking ground in two, growing in three, a well-manicured 4D experience.

5-11.    Include the things invisible to us, objects on the order of 1 meter, orders of 10E-2 to 10E9 seconds. Five to eleven drip through leaky pipes, seep through porous flooring, get lost in iron-rich soil and oxygenated exhalations. Five to eleven stay hidden, wrapped up in Calabi-Yao manifolds smaller than graphite hills and valleys marking little Charlie’s height, stronger than the 2-by-4s and stone foundation keeping strong in 4D. Five to eleven circulate undetected, seven dimensions shrunk to sub-pinpoint size, keeping seven dimensions of unexplainables covered until their traces are seen in the blades of Zoysia.
Jedd Ong May 2015
I.

Somewhere in a mailroom in China
is my acceptance letter to
Brown University,

fluttering in the
sticky, smog-filled wind like an
unspoken birthright,

vacuum sealed in some shoddy warehouse,
slap-banged next to my father's
porcelain wares and flasks – and my grandfather's,
and his father's. "Son,"

my father tells me,
"you've got a lot of the old man in you.
"I am grateful."

I then retch
in the dingy comfort
of our hotel room bath
before proceeding to lunch.

Dad's Chinese counterparts
congratulate me on
being able to tell them what I
want to do when I grow up.

"Wo yao dang yi ge shangren – zhu fu."
“I want to become a businessman – get rich.”

II.

"Wo xuyao xiezuo."  
“I must write.”

TS Eliot once asked me,
"Do I dare disturb the universe?"

I do not know yet,
but I think I have found fragments
of an answer lodged in
hotel bathrooms,
a Tianhe-bound overpass
on the way to Beijing Street,
heirloom warehouses,
And two Canton fairs.

"To get rich is glorious,"
Deng Xiaoping once said.

But I glance at
My father and mother,
And theirs,

And wonder if all their life, they have but
knocked on the doors of their fate -
chased dreams not
tobacco stewed or gold-ground
by the teeth of an Other.

As to answer your question, T.S Eliot:
Maybe, if just to find where I truly belong.
Well it's kind of a sequel. First poem here: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/944876/from-brown-to-binondo/, though I'm not quite sure of the relationship. You tell me.
Confucius- inequality is fundamental to humanity

Relationships of inequality
Parent-child
Elder-younger
Husband-wife
Ruler-minister
Friend-friend

Philoso­phy known as Ren

Household (Jia)
-patriarchal
-patrilineal
-having sons was the most important thing
-ancestor worship-having sons was essential for carrying on the family name and therefore honoring the ancestors
-partible inheritance- each son would inherit equal shares of the family wealth

Sage emperors –Yao, Shun, Yu- each passed on rule to the best man instead of their son
-Yu was the first emperor to form a dynasty with his son Xia after being asked by the people to do so, this is followed by the Shang and eventually by the Zhou dynasty
-all of this is essentially myth and the only thing that is actually known is that the Zhou dynasty existed.

Zhou Dynasty (1050-250 BCE)

Qin-Han (221 BCE- 220 CE)

Sui-Tang (587-907)

Command economy

Society order of rank-

-scholar-most valuable because they bring knowledge and order
-peasant-are higher than artisans because they actually create rather than manipulate
-artisan-higher than merchant because they at least contribute skilled work and goods
-merchant-the lowest rank because they only sell goods and do not contribute anything to society.



Three teachings

Confucism  

Daoism-a system created by a small group of elites in china. Accepted a kind a view of getting along in the world by essentially rolling with the punches. Became a sort of religion based on the texts of Laozi

Buddhism

Sui Dynasty (589-618)

Tang Dynasty  (618-907)

-Up until the tang dynasty nobody owned land besides the emperor. This changed after the tang dynasty was weakened. During this period salt became the new revenue stream for the empire. This allowed merchants to control certain areas of the market and become very wealthy.

Song Dynasty (960-1276)

Yaun Dynasty- Mongol dynasty- did not run china in a chinese way

Ming dynasty- return of chinese order, second peasant emperor Zhu yaunzhen, he distrusted the gentry and the bureaucracy as well as his revolutionary allies, he punished and executed many previously noble families inadvertently making room for many new families to gain prominence.

-boom in population and wealth lead to many families having the ability to educate their sons and participate in the examination system. The quotas however went unchanged which lead to a general dissatisfaction with the system.

-global climate change lead to high frequency of crop failure leading to famine and strife.

Wanli 1572-1619- had a long rule, which is known as the beginning of the decline of the Ming. During his reign china becomes more and more wealthy and with wealth comes decadence. When he dies he is followed by his son who dies soon after and then his grandson who has little interest in ruling and allows Wei ZhonXian, a ******, become the defacto ruler.  Meanwhile crops begin to fail around the country and epidemics soon follow. By the mid 1640’s things are falling apart for the Ming.

li Zicheng- Rebel leader, started as rider in the royal postal service, was fired and turned into a bandit eventually becoming a rebel leader and taking the city of Beijing and declaring himself as the head of a new dynasty.

-At the same time the Manchus are also beginning to take over militarily northeast of the great wall. They ally with one of the few remaining Chinese generals and take Beijing from Li Zicheng. This begins the Qing dynasty.
If you read this *******
Irene Wangai May 2019
Hii life ni ya kuhustle,  
                                                                               alikuja kugundua that,
                                                             ile night alijimess kwa disco hall,
                                         ma-hustlers kwake walikuwa ni masufferes,
                                          na yeye kivyake alikuwa mtu wamastarehe,
                                                                         Easy money without pain,
                                                                                    na juu ya ignorance,
                                                                                     hakutambua kuwa,
                                                                                           no pain no gain,
                                                                                                    ama labda,
                                                                     aliogopa the pain ya kugain,
                                                legally according to the law of her body,
                                                                  juu alikuwa after easy money,
                           na hakutambua kuwa hii pain ingetake long kuheal,
                                                                                    Asiyesikia la mkuu,
                                                                                            huvunjika guu,
                                                                                 Walijaribu kumfunza,
                                                                                 wavyele kwa walimu,
  Lakini maneno yao yalienea kwa sikio la kufa ambalo mara nyingi
                                                                                              halisikii dawa,
                        Life yake ilikuwa surrounded na pressure from peers,
                                                                 Drugs alizimeza na kujipierce,
                           Malimwengu walimfunza machungu na ma regrets,
                                                                          juu ya  mama aliyapuuza,
                                                      Alijiona msupuu sana kuattract pesa,
                                                            coz, si pesa huvutiwa na urembo,
                                                                                                      All in all,,
                         urembo wake na kuremba kwake kulimlead to waste,
                                                                                          na akawa waste,
                                   Alikuwa anafuatwa na wengi juu ya manukato,
                                                                                                        but sasa,
                                   anahave kufuatwa na nzi wengi juu ya ******,
                                                                       Alicome back to her senses,
                                                                                           ongezea ya sita,
                                                            after kujimess hiyo night saa sita,
                                                 Na juu alikuwa amejawa na ma regrets,
                                           pain ilikuwa more na too deep in her flesh,
                                                                Akaanza kujifeel less fortunate,
                                                                        hakujua pakupata msaada,
                                                                                                                coz,
                                                 alidis maarif wake ile time alijifeel high,
                                                so high ungedhani amepita limit ya sky,
                                                                            But one thing is for sure,
                          angehave kuget back on her feet, a get from her seat,
                                                                                          ya comfort zone,
                                                              Akaamua kurudi to her first life,
                                                       Aweke maringo na kuremba kwake,
                                                                                             to her last line,
                                                                                 Na her life her hustle,
                                 Aliamua kuchukua her hustle to the second line,
                                                              Christ akiwa on the leading line.
Hello guys, hope you don't mind the language mixture too much,, coz actually,,
the language is known as sheng, and its a mix of English and Swahili languages,,, so if you have no gasp of Swahili language,, its a good start to try it out. please, to Swahili sanifu speakers, please pardon me for today
SELORM DEKU Feb 2015
This poem is not a poem
This poem may be meaningless,
Weightless yet worth reading
This poem lacks vocabulary
It holds nothing unique of poetic essence.
But carries simple words of a message
A message that seeks a place to land
Traveling within the walls of a heart.
Imprisoned, Ignored, Tortured.
Violently cracking the bricks of its cage
A message fighting for its own freedom
Seeking a break through.
A message desirous of overcoming solitary confinement
The message wants to meet others.
But others seem to have no message for this message.
This message refuses to quit fighting to escape the ******* of a home in one heart.
It hopes to locate its friend in another heart.
Futile journeys this message have walked.This night the message is discomforting.
It fights with vigour for escape.
I was up late on my bed
The same bed that puts me to sleep
The bed that invites me to rest
The bed that convinces me to forget unfinished task and rest
The bed with the magic to infect with the virus of forgetfulness for a moment
Is the same bed making me remember the message’s violence
Dreaming wild dreams and thinking wild thoughts
Opened-eye dreams
Plenty dreams
All about one figure.
When will be sleep time?
Having communion in my mind with you
I see you close though you are afar off.
In my heart I hear a voice singing your name.
The song wasn’t harmoniously great but lyrically strong.
The lyrics of the song preach truth.
It says I love you.
I fight against the thoughts with all strength
I knew I would lose the fight.
Nothing in my hands I bring.
Simply to your heart I come
Holding love in my heart.
Love looking for a place in your love
It’s homeless love
Homeless yet not hopeless
Hopeful for a place in your heart.
At your heart’s door I keep sounding the same words of old
I love you.
http://selormcharles.blogspot.com/
Dedicated to the lady I admire secretly

SPECIAL THANKS TO:
1. RICHARD RYE YAO BAKU
2. ABIGAIL FORSON ALISON
Binary Code Mar 2015
Don't doubt mute cause you kronor it's Roth

Code is back and uh t tÿ he's ready to slam


Yea... What madly           You can't fight me,, und you can't tough me

I should do ill **** me







I'll send tat mess die to Yao mother, pang pang Ching young



Woe rhyming so how you bites you r bubble dust
Sick,Cupid's , dope rap, Hutu appso lite zero fleas yo
Caught the ears of Paaimon rings dramaderies sitting in the bling
Sunshine glowing in orings feel the celestial angel in a sing I bring
Drama permanent trauma war soldier creed I follow the persona
Who wanna mic check any local laid smooth vocals this ain't a minstrel
But I show ya a face painted in black as tar leaders of the news scars
From battlefield wombs til I touch the tombs yall infused zoom
Wisdom heirloom wear it like my girls perfume scent to bloom
Blood pressure a skyscraper highs moments I kiss of the thai
Why ask why I was born to die freak of nature lies in the eyes pies
Being baked without the oven aside the shoving tough loving
See hostility hovering over the clouds of mankind i stand on nines
Pierced the sunshine once the darkness is combined outlines
Of my energy sitting comfy smooth as Humphrey racking in money
Honies only leech to ya when they see ya what reality preach
I breach they contract ** stamp that see where they hearts at?
Broke em up where they had the connect at tie down the stats
Champion of Dons they dont want one with the grand title Solomon





I went from a boy prince to a king sitting tall as Yao Ming
Big brothers over all of my siblings purple reigns still dribbling
In the purest form calculated a chemist charm out swarms
A new product me holding the check I got new mics to wrecks
And forget what my peers reject I take wisdom scholars to collect
Poetry symphony ears sharp beethoven sounds I hound
Drown all the negativity with creativity mics the remedy
Once the beats gravitates towards me yall ain't feeling me
But I guarantee you'll feel these ghetto blues light the fuse
Cristal bubbly packs of the dubs in the clubs multiple ladies
On my payroll gangstas lawyers to the GI Joe's that's how it goes
Out grows my portal of knowledge keep the clique half circle
So I can see what's behind me yall rewind me see the sanctity
Lifes a ***** I never had a kid with it only a few hits then i flipped
The chips is stacked at an all time high know I got scopes on me from the ghetto birds in the sky!!!
Qualyxian Quest Oct 2021
The male need to fix things
I might give her 6 rings
I watch him pick guitar strings
I remember Yao Ming
Buddhists say to not cling
Autumn now, not Spring
With her we had a fun fling
Rama lama ding **** gong ding!
Cedric McClester Jul 2018
By:Cedric McClester

Now that you’ve had your photo-op
Is North Korea gonna stop?
Or continue acting over the top
You know they’ll never close-up shop
Despite his signature on the page
He’s like a tiger in a cage
That you placed on an international stage
One you were foolish to directly engage

And what have you gotten in return
Not a **** thing, but you’ll never learn
Which gives us pause and great concern
How many times must you get burned
It’s not about how you may feel
That makes it art or a deal
It’s the give and take that makes it real
Not your personality or his appeal

You must be high on some yao
To think all it would take is Mike Pompeo
To get Kim Young-un to finally say-oh
What the hell, here’s the time and day yo
That we’ll dismantle all our nukes
And let you send in your investigative spooks
You must think we’re a bunch of kooks
Or worst yet slant-eyed *****

Foolishly you stopped military exercises
The ones that Little Rocket Man despises
Yet in the east the sun still rises
You should listen to your wise advisers
See he did nothing that he hadn’t before
Other than stop the talk of war
So he’s ahead if you’re keeping score
But I don’t think you are anymore






Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2018.  All rights resered.
Charles Sturies Jun 2018
I said sip harder,
No a lecture on Lex Barker
Or a peanut from Jimmy Carta,
Only if you're lonely
Due to a closed Burger King
And like a group sing
Over Yao Ming
And Lieutenant Ping
Of the Ping Pong.
Charles Sturies Oct 2018
I said sip harder,
No a lecture on Lex Barker
Or a peanut from Jimmy Carter,
Only if you're lonely
Due to a closed Burger King
And like a group sing
Over Yao Ming
And Lieutenant Ping
Of the Ping Pong.
Qualyxian Quest Feb 2023
The synchronicities continue
What exactly do they mean?
Is there a World Soul?
Do I believe in Things Not Seen?

The inner and the outer
Sometimes coincide
Hospitals and jail
It's been a wild ride

Read a little Jung
Listened well to Sting
Frodo, dear Frodo
The bearer of the Ring

Mr. Bill Porter
Houston y Yao Ming
Hong Kong harbor
I sent the Dao De Ching

      It don't mean a thing
      If it ain't got that swing
Qualyxian Quest Dec 2019
Honesty is better
Though not always flattering

My talents and my sins
Did Frodo destroy the Ring?

All alone in Austin
Johnny Cash I sing

Gratitude for sunlight
Whatever darkness the future brings

Wish I could play basketball
With AI and Yao Ming!
Qualyxian Quest Feb 2023
My friends went to Davidson
Charlotte, North Carolina
I now know Lake Linganore
Ashoka too a king

Went to a wedding in Israel
Jerusalem to Tel Aviv
My cousin lives in Bangalore
Houston had Yao Ming

Her mother was my English teacher
1986
The Space Shuttle exploded
Saw the smoke with my own eyes

Kissed Allison Clarke once
Tumbled on the couch
Somethin' brave from your mouth
George W. Lies

            The mic can magnetize
Qualyxian Quest Jun 2020
The suffering consciousness
Brings

My lost
Wedding ring

The way
Roberta Flack sings

Basketball
With Yao Ming

And a lot
Of unknown other things
Qualyxian Quest Aug 2020
Aurelio speaks of Turku
I speak of Kyoto

We both discuss Helsinki
We rode a different boat though

Stockholm in the summer
Seattle in the spring

Larry Bird in the 80s
In the 2000s then Yao Ming

Proud Mary keeps on burnin'
Tina Turner sings!
Qualyxian Quest Aug 2021
It's just emotion, all these poems
Life is suffering

I really do love movies
Gollum destroys the Ring!

Rhymes are secret connections
Rama lama ding **** ding

Rothko Chapel in Houston
Remember big Yao Ming?

Here and then we're gone
Barely time enough to sing.

— The End —