Long Armor Poems
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When the wood to the fire that fuels us runs out and our flame flickers within, we can fully rely on God’s illuminating lantern that can be seen through all forms of darkness, confusion, and has the everlasting flame of hope and a wick that never runs short. Stay in the light.
Hope is like a flame that never gives up its brightness or shine. Some days the ugly side of life opens its mouth wide and spews troublesome wind that howls and screams, trying to snuff out that flame. Other days the still flame stands alone and just wants to be found so that it may give you comfort and relief, but is often overlooked. Nerveless the flame shines on.
Hope is the security that you attain in life so you can have reassurance within you that you will not be overtaken by adversities. It is a free gift of precious armor constructed in Heaven by the finest of angels. The armor was melted down into shape, measured perfectly, and given to you to wear for all of this life like an inflated vest that keeps your head above the violent waves that this life can try to drown you in.
Hope is the promise of rain when the sky is full of storm clouds. Hope is in the night when you’re praying for morning to come quicker. Hope is in the young and the old. Hope is for the hopeless. Hope is a robe of love that is a one size fits all. Hope will find you before you seek it out. Hope offers itself to you like a secure shelter to take refuge in like being in the middle of a relentless storm. Hope always has its arms wide open for you. Take a step closer and embrace hope in an everlasting bond.
Hope will make you put one foot in front of the other to the point where your left foot will be jealous that your right foot is taking a step ahead and then your right foot will be jealous about your left foot going forward until that gentle walk in the light becomes to be a joyful and exciting sprint to the next part of life.
Dear Lord,
Lead us to stable ground and refuge for our aching hearts to rest and heal.
Help us not to overlook the hope that You offer.
We venture to far places in this life God.
We know that You are before us so that we may follow You in Your loving foot steps.
God, You love everyone and anyone.
For Your love is infinite and gentle.
Jesus Christ, blow Your powerful wind our way so our sails can catch the current and lead us to smoother sailing. Amen.
Form:
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
many of us are living lives of deficiency
not functioning at our full capacity
running on a tank that is half full
coasting in a life that's tired and dull
we make it through each week but only by a hair
TGIF, thank God Friday is now here
we're talented beings who have it going on
but none of that matters if we don't pass the baton
to move to the next level we need to realize
that all the gifts we get from God need to be maximized
to move to the next level take someone along
to making 2008 great by passing the baton
God has an anointing for each of us
God has an appointing for each of us
and despite what it is we think of ourselves
God is the medicine for our spiritual health
so fall down on your knees and to Him submit
going to the next level with a renewed spirit
all you have to do is give God all the praise
going to the next level elevated and now raised
living up to your full potential and no longer stalling
going to the next level by answering your calling
anointed, appointed now it's time for preparation
so let God guide you to your chosen destination
as all things work together for the good
for those whom love the Lord as they should
going to the next level by letting God use you
passing the baton and lighting someone else's fuse
the devil will give you hell so just hold on
as the army of God is on the horizon
the devil will attack your children and your heirs
just stay prayerful for God's Angels will appear
when the Philistines went out on a battle patrol
they were unaware that the new king was under God's control
down on his knees King David did pray
that God would give him the victory that day
the power of prayer is the manifest
that you trust God to answer your request
the power of prayer is more than happenstance
it's the belief that God will change your circumstance
to be placed by the Spirit in a position to stand and fight
for what you believe in and what you know is right
to put on the full battle armor of God
to put your enemies on alert and on guard
donning the Helmet of Salvation and carrying the Shield of Faith
feet shod in the Gospel of Peace and wearing a Righteous Breastplate
to know that God has already claimed
the victory for you in Jesus' name
so continue making it great in 2008 as the legacy lives on
on the next level at your full potential while passing the baton
Chains, hay forks, knives, and a hollow whisper,
become more true and sinister.
Halt in the middle of the moon light,
and a waver image soon is no delight.
Voices run a muck in the head,
so not calming you wish you were dead.
Gushing blood through the eye
not an image that you would rely.
Nails stuck on your neck with such pain
so your paralyze just little life sustain.
Hoodlums terrorizing people running a muck
did not really know they are in luck.
More dangerous beings are out their
to commit such act and with sinister stare.
Laughing with haunting echo's through
is an aspect of fear can imbue.
The wind changes direction to smother
the echoing sound of laughter.
The panicking state that you are in
soon drives a knife within.
Blood rushing out of your vain
a crucial part of your life dropping like rain.
Running without a destination
you will never reach anyone of your relation.
Sliding your body on a wall
keeping your fall in a stall.
Red eyes you can see it at night
is soon devouring you with little bite.
Changing your belief with tonics of relief
and it is to late to turn a new leaf.
Ears start to deceive the animals sound
eating limbs are chewing around.
Slowly your red eyes steadily getting heavy
is starting to take your life with a levy.
Dropping down with no attitude
and your life force slowly loses altitude.
Breathing comes not so easy
smelling flesh seems so beastly.
The change comes a desire
with frightening red eyes of fire.
Comes more lethal than the hoodlums
your heart beating like drums.
Your hand becomes all fury
claws come out and your howl with furry.
Trance your in with no one to blame
a rage thats hundreds of centuries of flame.
Rising from a slumber of long lust
a animal instinct that you can trust.
Tearing things apart with no meaning
is a trait that is so deceiving.
Red eyes at night you see in a window
like a poisonous black widow.
Keeps you in attack mode of insanity
that takes all your vanity.
Ferocious emotions eating away
the soul that you had once betray.
The echoing sounds of loud thunder
breaks away the armor with sunder.
You fall once again to torturous agony
the feeling of one self is so lonely.
Shaking in the corner you are found
with blood soaked skin you drowned.
The night becomes day cruel in some way
your memories go in disarray.
The hunters with torches and sinister look
had parted way their hands shook.
The same striking man, the same lush, green land,
cushioned and delighted her heart in sleep.
Her romantic dream of senses was most grand
unless repeated fears began their slow, dark creep;
drowning and stabbing frights would often expand.
She would then wake, shaken, and try to understand.
This consistent dream had always just been.
Each night, the familiar reel repeated
with new chapters unfolding now and then.
Six sweet, white roses were never deleted
and repeatedly appeared at her dream’s end -
always pure white of a love intense blend.
She touched the new, glossy travel brochure,
ran her fingers along the pictured tree,
reminding herself that she was quite sure
it was the same tree her sleeping eyes did see.
This tree of certain enchanting allure
is what urged on her travel towards tomorrow's tour.
**********************************************
The guide led her slowly to the charming tree.
Its presence moved her into a faint-type sway.
When her trance-like eyes finally broke free
they took in surrounding nature’s breathtaking array,
and paused at her dream recalled mound of clay
where six, white roses lay in a love intense display.
Visibly shaken, the guide sat her gently down.
Sitting, too, he began sharing an ancient tale.
“Centuries agone, the prince loved a poorly
maiden from town. Family, foes and doctrine bid
this love to fail. They eloped, cloaked by soft darkness
draped all around. He wore armor and his beauty wore
her plain gown.”
“They returned after six love-days of bliss.
Only hours back 'fore his true love vanished.
No sign, no clue, the prince sought all amiss
and threatened the guilty would be banished.
The prince finally found her in the sea’s mist
with stab wounds he would not ever dismiss.”
“He buried his love and also a spell in this clearing.
He left no marker but a white rose for each day
he and his wife had shared perfect, loving, pairing.
So sure his spell would bring her near with love revered,
he vowed to watch over her grave using spell's sway
and to join her within three moons after she appeared."
The guide asked, “how much longer do you plan to stay?”
She glowed, “I must linger at least three moons after today.”
Found the G.E.C.K and a genius super mutant named Fawkes
It's the lone wanderer, were their truly any doubts
On his way back, the enclave stun him cold
It's the lone wanderer, they must truly be bold
He wakes up to the face of the man that murdered his father and his dream
The lone wanders promises to severe the head from this fiend
They made a mistake and set him free
He lets off some steam and goes on a killing spree
Hoping to find the fiend, instead he finds a computer
It claimed to be president Eden, the leader of the future
The lone wanderer couldn't believe the stupidity
It gave him the F.E.V virus and claimed it was the best for humanity
The lone wanderer then remembers he found a self-destruct code
He told president Eden he was a whole
Laughing while he activates It's self-destruct mode
Running and gunning to his P.I.P boy radio
Listening to 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy' to fit the scenario
Turning Enclave soldiers into mashed potatoes
By the time he escaped the count down hit zero,
The lone wanderer stood in the background looking like a hero
Reunited with the genius super mutant Fawkes
They now have matching toys to take back to the house
Deciding to stick together for a noble cause,
They return to the Citadel after unloading a few hundred shots
The Brother Hood Of Steel commended them and gave them a round of applause
Time now to suit up and release a giant robot
'Now we take back the purifier!', Cried Sarah Lyons
'Take everything you can because only Enclave shall be dying'
The lone wanderer refuses their power armor and instead pulls out his Gatling gun
Him and Fawkes bump guns and are already for some fun
They rush through the gate behind the giant robot shooting a vertibird out of the sky
Running through the carnage seeing Talon mercs pass by
Barging through the front door of Jefferson's memorial
Spraying Enclave soldiers in a effortless tutorial
Beams from vengeance making clean incisions
Rapid is its fire with precise precision
Even if the lone wanderer had no vision
Fawkes and him could easily wipe out colonel Autumn's entire division
Now approaches colonel Autumn's final hour,
Without hesitation the lone wanderer draws his sword with power
Striking colonel Autumn dead and sour
Before his head rolls into the water,
The lone wanderer convinces Fawkes to play a little soccer
Our story began behind bars with the broken,
Displaying our armor with truths left unspoken.
Through the gates each day, our counselor hats on,
Where pain wore a face, and hope felt long gone.
You, with your wisdom and counselor’s grace,
Me, burnt out but still showing my face.
We stitched up souls with words and care,
In a world where few even knew we were there.
"Eight and the gate" rang like a drum in our chest,
Till we traded our keys for a long-needed rest.
No longer confined, our world opened wide,
With pups at our heels and friends by our side.
Bella, a farting cutie with sass to spare,
Jack Dangles—cutest dude anywhere,
Ollie, judging all with a skeptical eye,
And mine, loyal, wild, barking at the sky.
We measured our days in tail wags and sparks,
And found light in our dogs when the world turned dark.
You’re my news anchor, my human rant,
My “yes you can” when I swear I can’t.
We share stories and snacks and fried calamari,
And laugh till we wheeze like a nursing home party.
You’re blue as the sky, I’m red underneath,
But we cry the same tears from sorrow and grief.
We talk of the world—no judgment, no shame,
Different opinions, but hearts just the same.
You bring the fire, and I bring the “me,
”?You rage at the news with raw clarity.
(You really should join that Trump-haters squad—
They’d give you a mic and a standing applaud.)
When the world gets too heavy, we know what to do—
Dogs, snacks, the news, and a cry or two.
You’ve saved me from drowning more than you know,
With sarcasm, love, and that fierce Jewish glow.
You check in with care that never feels fleeting—
Usually starting with, “Hey… what you eating?”
You’re braver than you’ll ever admit,
Still fighting each day with your sharp, clever wit.
You ache in the places that scream in the night,
But you rise. You stay. You still fight.
I’m twelve percent Jewish, I love to remind—
Which explains why I cry and complain all the time.
You yell “Borscht!”—I say, “What’s that mean
”You sigh, “Oh hush, just eat something green.”
You’re my friend beyond what words can explain—
Through doctor reports and every bloodstain.
If life’s a long walk with no real map,
I’m glad it’s with you—nap by nap.
We’re still here. We’re still us.
Still wrapped in dog fur, still raising a fuss,
Partners in crime—chaos, a must.
In magical verses weave your fated heart's request,
With metaphors holding the shy choir of light abreast,
When hearts corroded by hatred in barrenness rest,
And chains of thought whip gently the gentle flight's zest.
If you are to regain control once more,
When friends of yesteryear were but a lore,
Whose drab garments through time emphatically wore,
But forgiveness you've secreted from its core.
And if in hope you can stand upright,
Not raising armor before the liar’s project slight,
When rage whispers edicts as if to indict,
Melt it in calm, with spirit bright.
Show the world whole your portrait fair,
No masks, no regret, laid bare,
And if you dream of deep breaks in despair,
May you not become in others' lives a dismal seer.
When eternity throws its cold shadow in your corner's crease,
You should gaze with eyes that do not buckle under time’s caprice.
Every living moment in time's palm surely will not cease,
On the heart's scale, they demand to be released.
If you can listen when the truth is spoken,
Alien and shifted in a world that's been broken,
And to persist through the common lies outspoken,
To find faith beneath the frothy spray's token.
If you dare face decay’s embrace without dread,
Avoiding the gilded pleasure's feigned spread,
And in autumn whispers feel your stern fall ahead,
In the poverty of a sky that once display had fed.
Risk carrying on the die heavy, precious pearls,
Wager all that you've got for a fleeting twirl,
And then, whoever you are, learn not to hurl hopes like chaff,
Your failures become a path leading to something more sacred, more daft.
Endure, in a feeble body, remorse and persistence,
Wearing a smile as a shield, melting the tormenting ice of existence.
Cherish the moment that remains in unending instance,
With a soul lined in armor's silent resistance.
If you can fill the silences in empty spaces,
When shattered times speak with yesterday's faces,
Replenish them with fresh sparks among the disgraces,
Then you will build from seconds, unbroken traces.
And the Earth shall through you be magnified,
And all that writhes in its infinite tide,
And in this great shaken, you'll uncover as scribed,
That you're a whole man, not just a soul that's been pried,
Not part of the herd whose times have dried,
But master of the strength from your own dream derived.
The darkened sky had hid the sun,
I bravely fought the storm to come.
Its voracious voice roared
'Til reached its peak.
The time had come for me to seek,
The chilling call I'd heard all week.
From the deepest place that lay within
The old orchard wood.
When the stillness stood,
I took a chance, then firmly
Stepped off the porch,
To see what would become,
During my walk through
The old familiar wood.
To learn of things I'd yet to know.
Starting out it was slow.
I noticed first the new, green grass.
Filling in, standing firm, straight and strong,
Each tiny blade found its spot, still becoming.
One was small but adding up, all became an
Armor, an umbrella.
Where stood weaker things til ready
To learn of things too young to know.
A sudden gust of wind, blew across my face.
Taking me back in time.
A memory flashed across my mind, when I was small
I yearned to grow to learn those things too young to know.
An unyielding foe of future days,
When good was in, love was plenty, yet
Needed still my own umbrella.
Protecting me against the ills and woes of things
I had yet to know. My heart beat harder the deeper
I went into the old orchard wood, then,
Attentive in my listening,
Til in the middle of the wood,
I found myself
Where it was full of busy-ness,
Fallen leaves and such,
The colors richly touched with hues of light among the tones
Of silver stones in babbling brook, here lay the heaviness.
Of daily deeds which lay the seeds that would become tomorrow.
Where joy is sprinkled in amid our sorrow.
The day had come to learn of things I had yet to know.
I knew my learning had just begun.
The biggest fight, the one within ourselves.
We grow our armor by choosing hues of light against the dark
Of tones we speak or build to keep
Out the darkest hues that hurt.
Choosing carefully our fate by keeping kindness daily in,
While sweeping hate away and out.
Then under our umbrella keeping safe those smaller ones
Who are too young to learn of things they cannot comprehend.
The past is done and those I loved are lying still and sweet.
While I am here alone.
To fight and figure out
Those things I need to know.
Before it's late, my sun will be down, when
I can no longer walk and learn those things that have yet to come.
That are upon the path, which lays
Deep within the old familiar wood.
Sappho fragment #2
translation by Michael R. Burch
How can I compete with that damned man
who fancies himself one of the gods,
impressing you with his "eloquence" ...
when just the thought of sitting in your radiant presence,
of hearing your lovely voice and lively laughter,
sets my heart hammering at my breast?
Hell, when I catch just a quick glimpse of you,
I'm left speechless, tongue-tied,
and immediately a blush like a delicate flame reddens my skin.
Then my vision dims with tears,
my ears ring,
I sweat profusely,
and every muscle in my body trembles.
When the blood finally settles,
I grow paler than summer grass,
till in my exhausted madness,
I'm as limp as the dead.
And yet I must risk all, being bereft without you ...
Sappho of Lesbos was so highly regarded by her peers that she was called The Tenth Muse. That was high praise indeed, because the other nine Muses were goddesses! Sappho has given us our terms "sapphic" and "lesbian." And she wrote the first "make love, not war" poem more than 2,500 years ago! She was ahead of her time, and probably ours as well. Keywords/Tags: Sappho of Lesbos, Sapphic, Greece, Greek, translation, woman, women, girl, girls, girlfriends, love, lovers, lesbian, homosexual, passion, desire, longing, lust, sex, sexy, sensual, sensuous, relationship
SAPPHO'S POEMS FOR ATTIS AND ANACTORIA
Most of Sappho's poems are fragments but the first poem below, variously titled "The Anactoria Poem, " "Helen's Eidolon" and "Some People Say" is largely intact. Was Sappho the author of the world's first 'make love, not war' poem?
Some People Say
Sappho, fragment 16 (Lobel-Page 16 / Voigt 16)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Warriors on rearing chargers,
columns of infantry,
fleets of warships:
some call these the dark earth's redeeming visions.
But I say—
the one I desire.
Nor am I unique,
since she who so vastly surpassed all mortals in beauty
—Helen—
seduced by Aphrodite, led astray by desire,
departed for distant Troy,
abandoned her celebrated husband,
turned her back on her parents and child!
Her story reminds me of Anactoria,
who has also departed,
and whose lively dancing and lovely face
I would rather see than all the horsemen and war-chariots of the Lydians,
or their columns of infantry parading in flashing armor.