Best Spleen Poems
Everyone has a giggle trigger it seems
If you find it, just watch the happiness beam
Their smiles will be broad
Like a big old bullfrog
They'll wind up howling and busting their spleen
© Jack Ellison 2015
The sun has shifted, it's now on my screen
Must close the curtains, who could have foreseen
But whatever sol wants
I'll join in his dance
'Cause sun makes me happy, without venting my spleen
Spleen
by Paul Verlaine
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The roses were so very red;
The ivy, impossibly black.
Dear, with a mere a turn of your head,
My despair’s flooded back!
The sky was too gentle, too blue;
The sea, far too windswept and green.
Yet I always imagined?or knew?
I’d again feel your spleen.
Now I'm tired of the glossy waxed holly,
Of the shimmering boxwood too,
Of the meadowland’s endless folly,
When all things, alas, lead to you!
Paul-Marie Verlaine (1844-1896) was a French poet and a prominent figure in the Symbolist and Decadent poetry movements. Verlaine has been called "one of the most purely lyrical of French poets." Keywords/Tags: Verlaine, French, translation, Paris, spleen, rose, roses, ivy, depression, despair, sky, sea, blue, green, red, black, holly, boxwood
Money does not bring true happiness,
This does not exist. Money releases and smoothes
The daily burdens and responsibilities;
It is a relief that diminishes the worries.
Being healthy is the ultimate state of happiness;
Being wealthy is the hollow state of happiness.
The concerns of securities show-up on the screen,
Attack the consciousness, and destroy the spleen.
The fear of death makes it impossible to enjoy life fully.
Money is a well made-up chameleon, a toxic honey.
Money vanishes deceitfully and consistently like hot air balloon.
Money is full of surprises; it is indeed a well disguised buffoon.
Relax, do not live beyond the means; be simple and natural.
Be relevant, normal, more spiritual and less emotional.
Hebert Logerie
October 2013
Everyone has a giggle trigger it seems
If you pull it, just watch the happiness beam
Their smiles will be broad
Like a big old bullfrog
They'll wind up howling and busting their spleen
To predict the weather do we need a meteorologist?
Not here, although this method by some is dismissed
Maybe not so scientific but time tested and long lasting
Welcome to the prairies and pig spleen forecasting
Call your nearest farmer when season nears December
There are a few key things when predicting to remember
Read from the top of the spleen (by read, I mean squish)
That is the next month, now count down sections to six (ish)
If the spleen remains even from top to bottom and through
It looks like a mild mannered winter is in store for you
Now, if the pig spleen in any section tends to thicken
Ready those months for a change or a cold spell to quicken
A very pronounced bulge? I'd recommend to hunker down
That's when a blizzard or nasty storm may come to town
Depending who you talk to there is method more than one
Some say temperature only, some predict rain, wind and sun
Not sure of the origin, seems each farmer learned from dad
Regardless of the history or oddity, the results ain't too bad
Some use weathermen or woolly worm caterpillar stripes
Here it's pig spleens to tell if there is risk of freezing pipes
Whether it is nature or science there is tradition underneath
Some true die hards even check thickness with their teeth
So find a trusted farmer or a copy of the farmer's almanac
And you can know what's coming as they always have your back
You can read their results if the DIY version turns you green
But don't knock it til you try forecasting with a pig spleen!
Yellow and red
carpet of leaves,
clothes are wet,
oh, don't fall, please,
drops of the grief,
tears of the rain,
vibrating leaf,
and all is vain.
Summer is gone,
warmth fades away,
trees lose the crown,
birds do not play,
they do not sing,
tweeting's no more,
oh, do not bring
sadness and bore.
Give me your kiss,
skyline is grey,
carpet of leaves
lies on my way
yellow and red,
I've got a spleen,
clothes are wet,
just let me in...
I never cut
I barely cry
So how can
It be spleen
You had me
Almost die
No matter how much comes out
I keep vomiting up memories meaning nothing
I can't take all of this silence
This emptiness burns my skin
I'm choking
I'm dying
Why are you letting this happen?
How can you stand by and let us die?
Why did you create me?
Is there nothing that can be done to stop this?
We're drowning, J
You're letting us die