Long Arguably Poems
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Born with a blinding veil
Learned
Over time, to be fearful
When life suddenly blew your sail
Deterring us off course
Learning how to fail
Made without worry
Judgment, or hate
In the beginning
Our soil was pure, so growth
Of love should take
But no, we littered soil with the dead
To grow nothingness in place, instead
We learn to be fearful of
Inevitable change
We are expected to not expect
We fight internal wars
that they tell us
are all in our heads
Sure
But the damage I am doing
Internally
is quite noticeable
Externally
In past years, the pain I felt
Was not an illusion
A PhD may argue this point with me
But I can tell you first hand arguably,
I didn't make up my breath, shortening air for me
Or my heart slowing down
To a nearly halted beat
No
it's real , and over time
Unknowingly, that protectant veil
Flew off of me
The one I came into this world with
That was made to shield me
But if I hid behind
That veil
I would never have come to a conclusion of my own
About just letting go and
blowing with the winds sail
Finding out love hurts
If you are lucky enough
To take a hearts impale
People come and go
Like stories and old tales
Of journeys across oceans to
Destinations that were anywhere
We learn that each moment is connected to a part of us
On our timeline somewhere
Each past caterpillar of ourselves that we cocoon from
Is a step closer to the butterfly
Our true selves will emerge from
What is in the darkness to fear
What source of light is missing from there?
How does one free their soul from mischief
And find the goals they can aim for in life?
We have no reason not to believe in a new world
Far from the dungeons taking shape in our soul.
Why does a person speculate with a dream?
As if the vision had something they have seen
Arising from many questions in a person’s mind,
Searching for the solutions they must arguably find
How to survive on this land before inexplicable death,
Finds a phenomenal body waiting with the new breathe.
And leaves the impoverished existence of a relationship
As though it had been lifted from gloom into hope.
Excludes everything, which drives a passion to something
There is a new heaven of mind we find most appealing.
With endless possibilities void of all trivialities,
For it's not here alone we have responsibilities.
That will be renewed by indescribably integrity,
Now, unforeseen guilt draw upon our soul exhaustedly.
For we think of death large than the paradise appearing,
In a corner high in the sky security much more is reaping.
The rewards set down in life as in death we accommodate
Peace from all the trials that surrounds our distinguish fate.
snares have no terrors that we are not able to forget
once we have left this terrible soil without regret.
KING ALFRED THE GREAT MODERN ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS
King Alfred the Great (c. 849-899), arguably the first great king of England, may have done more to lay the groundwork for English literacy and literature than any other English monarch. And he was quite the scholar himself, although there is no consensus that the following translations were primarily Alfred’s work. He could have done the translations himself; he could have overseen the work; or he may have commissioned the translations. No one really knows.
Alfred the Great undertook to translate “the most needful works for all men to know.” He wanted to succeed “both in war and in wisdom.” Alfred has also been credited with helping to develop a new English prose style.
The Meters of Boethius: Prelude or Verse Preface
attributed to King Alfred the Great, circa 880 AD
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Thus begin the tales King Alfred taught us.
The great West Saxon ruler, in his cunning,
Understood the art of all songmen,
Revealed his great skill as a poet.
Keenly he longed for Saxons to craft such songs,
To make men merry with manifold amusements,
To ward away world-weariness with pleasing poems.
Alfred loved poetry for its art and power,
Longed for it to free men from both boredom and pride.
But the arrogant man, in his self-importance,
Pays little heed to wise words. Still I must speak,
Begin my singing, weave tales well-known
For attentive mortals. Hear me, if you will.
Boethius Lay I: The Goths
from King Alfred the Great's Meters of Boethius, circa 880 AD
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Long ago the Goths left Scythia,
swarms of shieldmen streaming from the east,
two savage tribes tramping southward,
both growing in greatness year by year.
Under the rule of two remarkable kings,
Raedgod and Aleric, their people prospered.
Many Goths made it across the Alps,
intent on conquest, raging with war-lust.
Braying brazen battle-boasts, eager to attack
the awaiting Romans, their armor flashing,
stout shieldmen descended, waving war-banners
and slashing swords.
They intended to overrun Italy...
Keywords/Tags: Alfred the Great, Old English, Anglo-Saxon English, Boethius Translations, West Saxon, poet, poetry, art, power, pride, wise, wisdom, king, kings, leadership, war, battle, England, literature, words
Privately educated, privileged backgrounds .……no problem per se …….…but ......we're led by these plum in mouth toffs by the troughful.…... their snouts in the pockets of the electorate, creaming the real workers of cash for taxes .…....so long as they're okay with backhanded deals and offshore accounts, their empathy remains as real as a cuboid moon.
Distrustful dinosaurs with prehistoric rhetoric....... and arrogance beyond belief .......they give the people grief. Arguably their role is to be unpopular..... no reflection of the real people, no microcosm, no cross section, no true representation of us compounds their ability to irritate.
This is politics in full swing, full of stuck up d*cks and silly twerps in tailored shirts telling us how to vote. When can this change to a real democracy? ........Real parties talking real issues with real solutions with real taxes spent on real things. The equilibrium is unbalanced, the donkey jacket came and went ......now we're left with just the donkeys, more mules to carry the weight of their own egos.
We have the right to vote.....we pride ourselves on this democratic right...but this is looking through the rose tints.….I only have the ability to vote for different shades of beige....unless I want to become a part of an extremist, sensationalist mob.….I don't.... I just want a real choice of real people..….so for now my ballot card will remain a useful piece of cardboard.... to fold and prop up the wonky leg on my dining room table.
Sophomore year, arguably one of the worst years in a teenage life.
I met you when i was at my lowest, innocence being challenged.
You preyed on that.
You broke me in so many ways you refuse to see.
I saved you, in my bathroom, throw up from a Percocet all over you.
I held you, i comforted you, i held you down when you didn’t want me to.
A 15 year old shouldn’t be helping a 17 year old drug addict in secret.
WE weren’t good to each other, I’ve acknowledged that you haven’t.
I’ve apologized, you haven’t.
You take me for granted because you have this perfect little rich girl that makes you forget where you came from.
She wasn’t there when you were dying.
She has the version of you i made.
I tried to be nice before i donated everything away, asked if you wanted it.
You sent your little rich girl to tell me I’m obsessed.
Yeah I was and am mean but you created that. I’m trying to better my life.
You’re still going on benders.
You’re still burying your pain in the little rich girl, on the mattress i gave you.
I’m trying to get out of the rotten chokehold you had on my mind and my soul.
I don’t hate you, i don’t love you, i don’t even care about you.
This is me realizing you didn’t deserve me.
Which in turn you didn’t deserve to live.
I hope years down the line, when you’re as miserable as you made me.
You’ll stay awake staring at the ceiling.
Thinking about me in either hate or love.
You realize what you’ve done to me.
You realized everything i did for you.
While I’ll be soundly sleeping next to my wonderful husband to be.
You made me scared of love, of connection.
We had a bond where we couldn’t leave each other for a while.
But trauma bonds don’t always last forever.
I hope in another universe i never met you, so you’d never have the chance to rot something that was only trying to help you.
And i hope you’d be the one rotting in a secluded forest like how you told me you’d do it.
You didn’t deserve all the women before me.
You’ve killed people, literally and figuratively.
I hope karma comes for you, and it will.
But in this life time you have to live with that guilt.
The next life won’t be so easy for you.
If it weren’t for me you’d be dead for four years now and no one would’ve cared.
Don’t forget that.
One too many bouts of drunkenness
A life of bright promise, made a mess
DUI tickets all over the place
His portrait drawn, a clown's face
His wife -- his Laura-- gave him a reprieve
Thus, determined, he went off to work
To shed the label of "big drunken jerk"
He stopped the drinking and started thinking
His sworn duty he did not shirk
Raised for a life of public service
He'd made those he'd served a little nervous
But in November of the historic year '2000'
He punched his ticket to the White House in...
An election that literally hung by a chad
Which made some folks glad, others quite mad
That a fellow they'd once roundly maligned
For drinking too much beer and wine
Thanks to God's grace and his wife Laura's
A model of decency and compassion had become
~ His predecessor in office, a discredited bum
Perhaps not the greatest President of our time
Arguably the most decent: George W. Bush, Jr.
If anything, please know I tried
I tripped, slipped and fell behind
I came up short, with empty hands
With two left feet, I tried to dance
I never fit inside the lines
The artist had a structured mind
Inside my head, the music played
The world around, I would evade
I imagined that, it went away
To my own beat, my body swayed
But there you stood, a tiny spot
An itty bitty, perfect dot
You longed for that which can't be bought
But mama failed, she forgot
Though it is a selfish thought
Please don't hate me for what I'm not
Each day, I plan
To begin again
A fresh new hand
I dare not bend
A blank page with no scribbles
And hand full of sharpened pencils
As soon as the led on the first pencil snaps
My fingers slip and lose grasp
A perfect package of expectations
Opened a moment too soon
I lose count of my loose ends
My day, now out of tune
I've come to terms with lack of luck
Deciding things just won't look up
I try so hard but for what
Now stubborn and bruised my ego is stuck
I imagine myself going with the flow
Despite my duck's unsightly row
And the fickle nature of that we know
No worries, my darling, mom will show
But now, my love, I finally see
That what I'm striving so hard to be
Is not your mother. It isn't me
It might be the lady down the street
With red lipstick and polished feet
A fictional character, possibly
Someone better, arguably
But perhaps I fulfill a different need
So I'll pass self love down the family tree
Forget everything.
Forget all our dreams.
Of children and marriage and life filled so meticulously.
For once in this lifetime.
I just want to be me.
Forget all the passion
All the love that we plead.
Forget all the anger
Forget all the zeal.
Remember the heart
That once used to beat.
Not needing a battery
To complete every feat.
Remember the need
To be more than you can conceive.
Remember the want
Remember the heat.
Remember the greed
To procure every stead.
To walk in the park square.
With your head
Not facing your knees.
Revive the action
Revive thee please.
Revive every emotion
That once set you free.
Steady you stand
No need or demand.
Speeding heart you recede.
No barrier to compete.
The fire rein stilled.
The love refilled.
Words come so easily with a power
That I had forgotten how to feel.
Do not restrain me
Or refrain from thee.
This love that once made thee
Shall never be regained.
Love lost love found
Love stolen and then gathered around.
So arguably untainted
So incompletely infatuated
BY
Amanda.M.Miller
Form:
Move on, my friend
Raise your right hand
To move on, to concede
Wasting your time will lead
To nothing, nichts, niente, nada
Do it for the soul of America.
Stop wasting your energy
Stop the lies and the anomaly
A real man accepts defeat
Hey dude, you got beat
You lost, you’re defeated
Stop being too conceited.
Hit the road Jack. Move on
The world wants a confession
Dude, you’re losing power daily
Like a cheap antiquated battery
Hit the road. Quit being a nag
It’s time to raise the white flag.
Don’t try a stupid coup d’état
Because you’ll fail like a lama
Let America be proud again
This is a new era, a new season
It’s time to quit. Hit the road Jack
Move on. Please don’t comeback.
Subpoena are coming
Convictions are forthcoming
Shame is arguably disgusting
Real people are singing and laughing
This is another day in America
This is shocking blah, blag, blah!
P.S. Political satire.
Copyright © November 2020, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books.
The correlation between the bull and its southern identity,
most likely gives significance to its “calf land” description.
The labour room where renaissance was born
and historically grown through Michelangelo, Donatello, Da Vinci and others.
Finds great contentment in the treasury of the family.
Its empire once hitting heights way beyond the white mountains,
from Portugal to Syria and from Britain to the North African deserts;
while in possession of a language with more Latin words than any other.
It is a bird in constant carriage of two small chicks
while one is distant in the oldest continuous constitution,
the other stands apart in locking its city Gates at night.
The contributions of two major pillars out of so many
in the awesome support of the eighteenth century enlightenment
arguably equates the international influence of its “Three fountains”.
It has great command in the language of music
as the first global operas were composed in its sitting room.
From the Sardinian islands to the spectacle of the leaning tower of prisa,
this world nation with a significant portion
of its economic power rested on the dealings of mafias
is home to ‘A’ grade designers and highly rated sport automobiles.
The birth place of Galileo Galilei and Carlo Collodi,
engaging in unsaid romance with its own wolf;
making leisure a charismatic ritual through the evening stroll
and enjoying the biggest holiday in Christmas to Epiphany
is this land with more masterpieces than any other in the planet
and having the largest tertiary institution in its continent.