Best Wor Poems
There is a poem in my heart,
that beats in different dialects.
Da ist ein Gedicht in meinem Herzen,
which flows freely through my veins.
Il y à un poème dans mon cœur,
that tickles the tip of my tongue.
Existe um poema no meu coração,
which dances with a million sighs.
Wo xinzhong, youyi shou shi,
that is suppressed by emotionless expression.
Mery dil mein bi aik nazam hai,
silent, as it cannot be heard through speech.
Jest wiersz w moim sercu,
unwritten, as it cannot be read through words.
Am o poezie in inima mea,
that hides behind a dynasty of lyrics.
Det er et dikt i mitt hjerte,
which only serenades internal chambers.
Yparxei ena poihma sthn kardia mou,
that conducts symphonies with my mind.
V moemy serzi jyve poezia,
which may never be understood.
Mei wor echo kèn non ngasangasei,
that whispers words for my beloved.
There is a poem in my heart,
because my heart is a poem.
The Silent One
25 April 2018
One day, I hope it will be easier.
One day, I hope the pain will subside.
One day, I hope that hole in my heart will fill.
One day, I'll be by your side.
I hope that day comes one day my brother
You're not upstairs of that we know.
I know you'll be raising Hell my brother.
Anyone who knew you will also know.
That one day I will see you again my brother.
See that you are still the same.
And that day when I see you again my brother.
Maybe that day will ease my pain.
For now in this life I have my thoughts my brother.
Laugh at the the things that you did.
No matter how you left us you are still my big brother.
You're big Knoxy, my brother, Wor Kid.
Sleep well and raise Hell my brother. Sleep well!!!
TRIMDON GRANGE EXPLOSION *
( 16 FEB 1882, DURHAM, ENGLAND )
Noo March is heor and the wind she’s cowld *
But the sixty nine sowls divvent feel it - strange
Theor noo wheor they feel nee cowld and nivver get owld
Since they gave theor sowls at Trimdon Grange.
Last month on that bad sixteenth day
Owld Widow Burnett went to church to pray
For the three fine sons she once cherished
Noo, aal too soon, they hev aal perished
In thet dusty pit the rolleyways worn’t proper wattored *
And in the Harvey Seam - a thoosand foot doon
And three miles lang - that’s aal thet mattored.
The goaves * wor filled wi’ gas and the dust wes aal around.
They winnet be gannin yem nee maor *
Nor scrannin theor supper o’ pan hagglety *
Nor hengin theor coats yon under the staor
Nor scoffin theor bait and sugary tea
Wor footbaal tyem’s gannin tiv miss the lads
Joseph, Geordie, and James and the fower Broons
We’ll nivver forgit what gyems we had
And when we skelped Hartlepool Toon *
At Durham Big Meetin as the bands made a start
And the teams showed theor best to the crood
We were cowpin wor creels in the clart *
and shootin the odds o’ Hartlepool oot lood.
Oh weel, they left hame that morning to eorn theor daily bread;
Noo theor scrannin in a place where danger is nee maor.
Sixty nine men and boys wor numbered wi the dead.
Aye, death will pay us aal a visit : they hev ownly gone befaor.
…………………………………………………………………………
* One of the worst coal mining disasters in England
* The dialect is known as “Geordie” and is still widely known today in the UK. It
is the dialect of my own childhood, sadly now heavily overlain with standard English.
* Watering kept the explosive dust under control
* A goaf was a working gallery in the mine
* Pan hagglety - a fried mutton dish
* The Trimdon Grange soccer team beat Hartlepool’s team the previous year.
* They won’t be going home any more
* Doing somersaults on the muddy ground
Work, work, work, work, work
Work, work, work, wor, wor
Wor, wor, wor, wor, wor, wo
Wo, wo, wo, wo, woe is us.
The irony of the fall of man:
Them yielding to Eden’s free and tempting fruit,
Now cursed us to labor for our fruit.
They should’ve had a hamburger.
They sent Jamal to detention
for saying "********"
yet he saw a billboard of the "KKK
with the president"
Maria cried when Emily told her
"If you say "f*** again, we won’t be friends"
but Maria heard that "they’re building a wall on CNN"
When Mohamed told Jenny, you have a "big a**"
She practiced her jujitsu and punched him in the face
While eating halal meat for dinner he heard,
"We’re banning people of the Muslim faith"
Danielle sat on the sidelines during the soccer finals
She was red-carded for saying "you’re sh**" to their rivals
but in Time Magazine she read,
"In Mississippi they’re refusing service to homosexuals"
Ahusaka was in his room today
tweeting to his followers about the super bowl
He didn’t go snowboarding
He called John a "mofo"
Ding, a notification on Ahusaka’s phone
from the Chicago Tribune
"The new administration is pushing through,
the pipeline under Standing Rock Sioux"
Jamal, Maria, Mohamed, Danielle and Ahusaka
paid their dues
but who's held accountable for "the silen* cur** wor** of the mighty few"
TRIED
VIALS
FISHY
IN
THREE
The still, small voice no longer can be heard.
The sacred, silent space unoccupied
No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word.
We centre our whole self on the absurd
For iPads cannot pass through any eye
The still, small voice no longer can be heard.
God no longer feels inclined to share.
The golden cloud of angels cannot fly
No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word.
The altar’s stripped, the rituals are nightmares.
The ancient priest says Mass and wonders why
The still, small voice no longer can be heard.
A virtual wall stops grace from being shared.
Jesus is made flesh and silent dies
No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word.
No one is an island, John Donne cried
But now there is no truth to satisfy
The still ,small voice no longer can be heard.
No burning bush nor tempest speak The Wor
Ich such dos shtetl
Wos mer wird zogn
wos mer baj zejn vergongenhejt
nich reizn, wos mer zogt,
wo sejn di wolkns, wos is geblibn
vun de zejt mer hot nich mer gehert.
Mer zogn leben,
gezejtn zogt mer zej dos mer,
wo wosr nich mecht misn sejn strond.
Wos seg ch' fir mejn leben,
wor ols gewesn a luft,
a donk vun a blinder,
wu mich ken sehn mit sej oign.
A endlos schwajgn wor gekumn,
mit mejn iker a zwojts,
zerflußn wi a regn.
Iber geslech, iber hajser,
gebrent mit a rojtn schajn,
fligt a wolkn.
Nem majn bilt furt vun dej schtot,
lern mi ojs tantsn.
-------------------------------------------------
Was wird man sagen,
was über seine Vergangenheit,
nicht reisen, so sagt man,
wo sind die Wolken, was ist geblieben
von der Zeit, nichts hat man mehr gehört.
Wir sagen wir leben,
das Meer hat Gezeiten, wie man so sagt,
das den Strand nicht missen möchte.
Was sag ich von meinem Leben?
War alles nur Trugbild,
ein Dank eines Blinden,
der mich mit seinen Augen sehen kann?
Ein endloses Schweigen war hereingebrochen,
mit meinem Gesicht kam ein zweites,
zerfloss wie im Regen
über Gassen und Häuser,
verbrannt mit rotem Schein
zieht eine Wolke.
Trag' mein Bild aus der Stadt,
lern' mich das Tanzen.
---------------------------------------------
What will they say,
what about the past,
no travelling, so they say,
where are the clouds, what is left
of time, nothing more was heard.
We say we are alive,
the ocean got its tide, as they call it,
which does not want to miss the beach.
What shall I say about my life?
Was everything a fatamorgana,
a grace of a blind man,
who can see me with his eyes?
An endless silence had set in,
with my face came a second,
melted as if it was rain,
over alleys and houses,
scorched with a red gleam
a cloud is wandering.
Carry my picture from the town,
teach me to dance.
WHAT ONE ACT
OF TRUE LOVE
HAVE I DONE
THAT WILL
INDICATE
GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD THAT HE GAVE HIS
ONLY SON THAT WHOSOEVER BELIEVES IN HIM
SHOULD NOT PERISH BUT HAVE ETERNAL LIFE
AND
DEMON
STRATE
MY DEEP
AND
ABIDING
LOVE
FOR
GOD'S
WOR
LD?
09112018PoSoupContest, Picture It, Maureen McGreavy
the wind of old nails
broken stones
the sky a gulit of rain
all these stunted trees
grasp over wet moss
seagulls are unborn children
that cry over the tundra
this is the end of a measured world
this is the e nd ofa mea sured wor ld
Ee wor at allotment an we planned to surprise im.
Ee came ome mumblin summat abaat bein forgot.
We ad allsorts on’table and id underneath it.
Surprise! We all yelled when ee walked in.
It were great fun and Grandpa said is eyes were sore,
Sometimes they run ee said.
Pauline Connelly
"through the dark I can only see the light"
~
matches made
knot
at heaven's gate
true feelings
begin
as this is it
life's never ending fate
(w)rapping
tongues touch
deep in one another's soul
and all the wor(l)ds
make us whole
a book of prophets
unsettled
in the aching moments
held tight
corners of your parchment heart curling
in a helpless flight
a love of light
lifts and fades away
words written out
sensual and smooth
true and tried
finding the yellow in the blue
petals of a once blooming rose
no longer wilting
as seasons finally close
•
blank eyes blink
staring off into darkened night
final chapters unfold
as life
unravels within the unrest
it has to
it has to
come apart
tainted tears drip upon the pages
lost
from the very start
•
O' let me be your rain
to be there to comfort you
to wash away the pain
O' let me be your rain
caressing the very of your grey
let your flowers bloom
in the backdrop
of a naked sky
starless
where tommorow holds
breath
hidden deep inside
every heartfelt cry
My Aunt in California, she called to tell me good morning.
Her name is Tu, it's true and she's a gem of an Auntie too.
From Vietnam she came, in the year past my mother's flame.
With her eyes she looked at me, in her smile, my mother I see.
Her voice a reminder to me, that my family is near.
Dear to my heart while far apart, her words wash away my fear.
A charm of broken accent, her words are heaven sent.
"You smaaa and much to gib, big heaaar and li to lib"
You're smart she says, with much to give, a big heart you have.
There's life to live! A charm of broken accent, her words so pure
when sent.
Deciphering is what I did, through my life the words they gave.
Through the times of love and pain, charm of the broken...
whisper my name.
"I go to America schoo, wor tree job to do"
"I come here at forty fi, go to schoo when I forty.Ni"
"I cry, becau no one know my nam"
I love my Auntie True. Her name my friend, is Tu.
She came at 45, went to med school at 49,
learning English at the same time.
Now as I sit in rhyme...
I find courage in broken chimes.
doctor can you
see me now
i'm the patient
with impatience
i grew up in an
age of war of
racism for me
with little
anxiety
but
then they threw
in the words
space
race
and i winced
when the
starting
gun went
off
forever plant in g
in me
a certain sense of
tension like stretching
these wor-were-words
where we're now
worried
i live a life in
competition
so to survive
i need to
forge t a
bout lag
time
there once was
a selfserved me
generation but
they died out
selectively
but the adapt
able evolved
ones created
what is now
the seemingly
unreality of
now not
then but
now
doctor
give me
a sedative
now