Shakespeare toiled over double trouble the steam rose from the water in the marsh as the cauldron bubbled, shreds of spirit bound steam tickled ruddy cheeks and sought interminable refuge in the heat, the night rolled over us the stream went silent, the palaver in the morning is of the bead steam-driven and compiled.
Why must you bend in the wind of indifference?
You were once strong and impenetrable.
A granite boulder that moved deliberately and slowly,
Gashing out your path,
As the glacier of youth receded.
Who made you so cynical?
I ask that, knowing the answer.
Your accusing finger always points through me,
And attaches to my naivety and sullenness.
Did my questions wear you down?
Did my jealousy offend you?
That interminable wall you built,
Which I must scale every day,
Alone with my terminal misery.
Why did you bend?
We’re absorbed
by the Saran-wrapped food,
the plastic cutlery,
tired brains monopolized
by the clutter of the meal tray,
numbed by hours of jiggling -
the carting of torpid bodies
through interminable distance,
wedged into
a restricted boredom.
Anesthetized – we fear nothing.
If the aircraft stalls,
if an engine fails
few will find the strength to panic,
we’ll keep decanting small bottles
of vin de table,
studiously apply hard butter
to soft buns.
As the aircraft plummets earthward
we’ll continue to struggle
with condiment sachets,
coffee creamers,
with small, molded cruets,
glad to be occupied
and totally blanked out
to what comes next -
or whatever.
Metaphor and simile have been with the human race for thousands of years. This is my English translation of an excerpt from an ancient Egyptian poem estimated to be around 4,000 years old:
Excerpt from "Dialogue of a Misanthrope with his Soul"
(ancient Egyptian poem circa 2000 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Death lies before me:
like a sick man’s recovery,
like entering a garden after an interminable illness.
Death lies before me:
like the fragrance of myrrh,
like sitting beneath a billowing sail with a favorable wind.
Death lies before me:
like swimming in the course of a stream,
like a man’s return from the slave-galley to freedom.
Death lies before me:
like the sky when it clears,
like a man's longing to see his home after countless years of captivity.
Keywords/Tags: Egyptian, translation, dialogue, dialog, misanthrope, soul, death, illness, sick, sickness, recovery from, myrrh, sail, wind, freedom, sky, captivity, slave, slavery, soulmate
Like Harry Potter, the sorting hat (my mom)
has placed me in a bloody, crimson colored school.
It’s disorienting, as I go about, the logos are wack.
Poor little rich girl
no beachside lovers
this interminable, scorching summer.
I’m swept up by scholastic spirit.
Can you hear it? Cause it’s deafening me,
on this cool, dry, Boston orientation day.
As we finished our morning 8k jog,
the sunrise blossomed, painting hot lava clouds
with hues of yellow, orange and pink.
We’re traipsing unfamiliar paths,
It’s not what we’re used to, the roads are uneven
and the architecture’s all boxy and wrong.
.
.
Songs for this:
New Toy by Lene Lovich
Better After All by Jonatha Brooke
Now At Last by Feist
I have reached a place
Of peace
Unhindered by expectation
No varience of action
On the part of others
Whether of positive
Or otherwise nature
May ripple the waters
Or ruffle feather one
As I have seen the
Interminable value of peace
Plum tuckered from the Polar Express,
off the rails and despairing of goody-
goody gumdrops and sweet words
that impresses many a poetic treat.
Preparation of Victorian sweets, via PC,
dreaded, droll, glorious and interminable.
I’m laughing at you, if you try, Sugar Plum.
You’ll turn colors as a longsuffering victim.
The SP Fairy, flew through the season
of peace and joy, only her tippy toes caring.
Not a fruitcake, herself, to be busy for days,
nor fuss and layer a dobosh torte for hours.
Sheer Fear
Pink horizons mollifies probing eyes as clouds dissipate above
To the heavens bow gratitude where migrant birds hang glide
Venerated cosmic gods who quieted his pain then gave it love
Yet dusk arrived now this restless heart have no place to hide
A raging sea within me foresee fragmented ancient reflections
Impervious to heavenly rays of interminable mystical sunrises
Averse in utilizing rationalizations amending illogical emotions
Sheer fear appear sinister when incongruity incessantly arises
10/31/23
Aboard cruise liner:
Vision of the Seas
Another Mother's Day at the restaurant
forever waiting in an interminable line
No thanks. Not for us. This year we're clever
We've reserved a special seating time
Of course, we still might wait a while, you know
And yet I maintain, a reservation is the way to go
When we return, we'll let you know how things went
If the service was poor or excellent
And if the cuisine was heavenly
~ or more like rubber cement ...
If you have time on your hands
and nothing much to do
(no plane to catch or appointments to keep,
perhaps stuck in a small motel room
on-route to nowhere special).
Then allow me to recommend listening to
a Mahler or Bruckner interminable symphony.
Your whole life will unroll before you
yet seem but a fleeting minute of purgatory.
You will have climbed a mountain in your mind,
a peak which was probably too high
and not worth it.
interminable
rivers flow free forever ~
beaver sharpens teeth
Would you give me the chance to die
Don’t get your panties in a heap
I am not speaking of suicide
A coward’s unwritten obit
Now informed, would you
Please read on a bit
You granted me the chance to live
From stem to stern
Top to bottom, lessons unlearned
I botched it up
Perennials failures
Overflowing my wretched cup
Traversing through the mire of chaos
No signatures of color or smell
You would think it be sickly black or red
And stinking of Satan’s Hell
Well, you would be wrong
Join the club of the blinded mind
The wise one called Paul,
You knew him well
Declared—
To die is gain
Can you not grant me one wish
Putting an end to interminable pain
To know with a fleeting glimpse
Better comes with my final breath
Leaving behind a life made of mess
Would you give me the chance
Ere dry is the ink from poet’s pen
Ere the last bit of marrow slain
Give me the chance, dear God
To taste the gain
(French version)
La guerre interminable.
Dechirée par la souffrance,
la terre buve mon sang.
(English version)
WAR
Never to end war.
Torn from pain of sufferings,
the earth swallows my blood.
I shall love you always
though in the brief moment of that promise
I shall leave you to search and destroy the enemy
with your sweet scents of lilacs lingering on my mind
Scents buried deeply to recall
the many fragrances of your body
still in my moments of distress I pray
that in your lonely times when desire beckons
You will still wait for me
To give me the pleasure of bathing you
with these hands that desperately want to hold your nakedness
I shall love you always
if always is as long as forever
In that interminable absence
eons may come and go
and oceans of light years roll through heaven
but any length of time will not deter my love
Nor will the vast distances of hot desert sands
I shall return like a loggerhead turtle
Returns to its nesting grounds
For its mate
Keep the faith, my sweetness,
I shall soon be next to you to cup your breasts
in the palm of my hand and taste your tender skin
With my tongue
I shall always love you
if always is as long as forever
but pray for my safe return
as I pray to return to you.
Oh, if I could pen of things meaningless!
And stop this interminable soul undressing.
This world, these times we live in, I do care about.
I wish citizens would loudly against murder shout.
Oh,no of sunflowers and Spring only do do we sing.
Nations ignore their own ultimate undoing.
Poets,a huge difference they can make.
Expose any country out to kill and on the take.
For all children,the future is theirs, not yours.
We have harmed them all with fear, and tossed freedom
down the sewer.
4-5-2022
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