Long Distasteful Poems
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Was there speak of paper stacks,
inked and sealed by dry wax stamping?
As if a signature could forge what her womb enacts—
a trail to oneness,
a stampede racing to take the place of thee,
to "win," to "be,"
to claim a name through legal, speak?
I, and the flesh, the first vow;
then no child is a stranger.
No child should ever be told that parents unmet
by the parameters of a societal marriage—
those paper cages—
are a play with no stages.
A union isn’t signed in halls
or beneath a church steeple;
it is written in the moments before woeful tomorrows,
a worldview constructed in rearview.
It is not written in the formation of a face,
carved to look like them two.
To take that truth from woman
would be to take it from you.
If God was the Minister when the two first collided,
and the ancient pull of nature was the only law provided,
then the child is the Covenant, a decision united.
Therefore, and henceforth:
It cannot be divided.
I can’t believe, of all these beasts God created,
our pair was from a whim—
and the plants before a sun to feed them.
Laughable, to put faith in a being
making himself both witness and minister
to wed his creation in a holy matrimonial manner
that’s just supposed to be taken
as a matter-of-fact decision.
Distasteful revisions.
Paroxysm of pain inflicts this pen,
tears cry poetic allusion.
When petal hearts are misunderstood,
life is full of confusion.
Distasteful thoughts set camp in my mind,
an unwelcome intrusion.
Virgin pages innocent in white,
yearn to wear this mind's effusion.
Too many deep unanswered questions,
lead to a false conclusion.
When judgement lacks honest intellect,
darkness defeats diffusion.
Sun is cautious to cast my shadow,
intolerant in inclusion.
Forever immersed in freezing rain,
victim to their collusion.
When metaphorical daggers scar,
they say it's an illusion.
Melancholic lacerations scream,
ignored by deaf delusion.
I'm bleeding, but you ignore this blood,
it's too late for a transfusion.
Silently sad soul seeks solitude,
far from sound in seclusion.
Silent One
Simple Musings
1 February 2018
Sappho Translations I
Sappho, fragment 132 (Lobel-Page 132)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
1.
I have a delightful daughter
fairer than the fairest flowers, Cleis,
whom I cherish more than all Lydia and lovely Lesbos.
2.
I have a lovely daughter
with a face like the fairest flowers,
my beloved Cleis …
It bears noting that Sappho mentions her daughter and brothers, but not her husband. We do not know if this means she was unmarried, because so many of her verses have been lost.
Sappho, fragment 131 (Lobel-Page 131)
loose translations/interpretations by Michael R. Burch
1.
You reject me, Attis,
as if you find me distasteful,
flitting off to Andromeda ...
2.
Attis, you forsake me
and flit off to Andromeda ...
Sappho, fragment 140 (Lobel-Page 140)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
He is dying, Cytherea, the delicate Adonis.
What shall we lovers do?
Rip off your clothes, bare your breasts and abuse them!
Sappho, fragment 36
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Vain woman, foolish thing!
Do you base your worth on a ring?
Sappho, fragment 130
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
May the gods prolong the night
—yes, let it last forever!—
as long as you sleep in my sight.
... a sweet-voiced maiden ...
—Sappho, fragment 153, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I have the most childlike heart ...
—Sappho, fragment 120, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
There was no dance,
no sacred dalliance,
from which we were absent.
—Sappho, fragment 19, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I love the sensual
as I love the sun’s ecstatic brilliance.
—Sappho, fragment 9, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I love the sensual
as I love the sun’s splendor.
—Sappho, fragment 9, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You anointed yourself
with most exquisite perfume.
—Sappho, fragment 19, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Awed by the moon’s splendor,
stars covered their undistinguished faces.
Even so, we.
—Sappho, fragment 34, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Keywords/Tags: Sappho, Lesbos, Greek, translation, epigram, epigrams, love, sex, desire, passion, lust, lesbian, LGBTQ
A poet's soul lay in slumber,
his pen a distasteful adversary.
A suffering soul lost in yesterday,
stumbled upon his somnolent path.
Enchanted eyes felt her nakedness
through barriers of her cryptic veil.
Echoing tremors of her broken soul
gently charmed his hardened heart.
Enraptured by her enchanted tears
he joined her capricious journey.
Her enigmatic elegance inspired his
zealous zealot pen to ooze musings
praising their charismatic camaraderie.
Drifting into the anomaly of her mind,
he became a victim of a Freudian slip.
Voices tormented her malinger mantra,
suffocating her into a maudlin malaise.
Reprehensible words led to bruised ego,
unjustifiable actions led to lonely silence.
An aroma that expired with her last petal.
A poet's soul lays in slumber,
his pen a distasteful adversary.
Silent One
Simple Musing
23 January 2018
Freudian slip
a slip-up that (according to Sigmund Freud) results from the operation of unconscious wishes or conflicts and can reveal unconscious processes in normal healthy individuals
Jubilance is key to living a good and happy life! Live life to the fullest with me! Man, I can relate to you! We all go through our ups and downs! I wish you good luck and fortune in this life.
Umm…I’m speechless – you make me smile all the way! You make my day, buddy! Can you help me stay on track? I'm thankful that you got my back and got rid of the debt stack!
And…I’d like to ask you – Can you sprinkle your salt and pepper upon my distasteful flavor? In other words, can you inspire me to run the extra mile? Can you set my passion aflame and help me to stay strong till the end? You are the light on the surface of the chaotic ocean…
Never stop believing and trying with all of your might – run and take flight until you reach the finish line! We will both thrive if we just strive…I can see you’re running fast and hard just by the sweat of your brow! Wow, you amaze me by your talents…WOW!
(Hope you liked my somewhat weird poem!)
There is nothing I can do
To keep pushing myself through
Long and lonely days of pain
Its leaving a hurtful stain
On my heart that is now torn
From all of the angry scorn
In my life that you are causing
And its not stopping or pausing
There is not a single minute
My heart doesn't feel it
The words spoken are very sharp
Every time they quickly plop
From your foul mouth and tongue
Never leaving always hung
Over my head, a dark cloud
Distasteful words spoken outloud
How could you do this to me
This insensitivity
Is wrong and not deserving
Of the love I have been serving
Giving all I have to give
But the awful way I live
Can not happen too much longer
I am trying to be stronger
So my weakened soul and heart
Walk out for a brand new start
You stay mute, feeling you have little choice.
But silence is a form of compliance;
and change requires the power of your voice,
Fascism must be met with defiance.
Your voice has power and needs to be heard
when the line between right and wrong gets blurred.
And things go from distasteful to absurd.
Speak up when you perceive something isn't right.
Exercise your rights, don't give in to fright,
Step from the shadows and into the light.
Don't let greed run you down in a Rolls-Royce,
Or let your job morph into reliance.
Though anonymity may be preferred.
These are times when one must stand up to might.
When the greatest sights were those of lightning bugs on hot summer nights When the sweetest sounds were those of crickets so soothing and sleep-
promoting. That was my yesterdays when the bitter herbs were mixed and drank from muddy glasses. Yesterday, when the Spring Season began and the
cotton seeds took root in Delta soils. Yesterday, when the school year ended and the summer labor began, when we worked the fields from 6 to 6 in the
oven of the sun. Yesterday, when the pleas of kids like me were pleas for rain, not for the nourishment of crops but to give pause, breaks to breath, to stop.
Yesterday, when childhood was diminished and robbed of pleasure, labor-intense and stolen. Yesterday, when in time I distanced that birthplace of mine so often distasteful and unkind, only to return for a spell with a brief and different plan. The first time there, my birthplace took from me. But the second time around, I gave back to it which made the difference in me. Afterward, again I moved on, leaving an even greater distance between us with a return visit here and there from time to time.
So much have changed as have I, and as the years slowly slipped bye, so much and so many have died. Others have moved away, forever dreading their impoverished stay. And yesterday? It's gone to the land of no return, and though I overcame the pain, like a caboose always connected to a cargo train, I forever retain the memory of the good, bad, and ugly of my early years. And by God's grace, I am the better for it.
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This poem was inspired by a movie I saw today entitled, McFarland. McFarland took me back deep into 'my yesterdays' and brought not a few misty tears.
It's not funny
To die for the liberty
For the freedom to speak
Freely without fears.
It is not beautiful
to suffer for the rights
To use simple or single words,
To write truthfully, to shed lights
On everything, which is distasteful.
Freedom of the Press
Must be fundamental,
It is the very foundation of true
Democracy, which is a form of wisdom.
A great Nation wants nothing less
Than constant criticism from the few.
Bring the projectors, the martyrs,
The cameras, the writers,
The headlines, the headlights
Of the intelligentsia, to educate the mass,
The unemployed and the underprivileged
The real Heroes
Are never afraid to die,
For the words,
For the pens, pencils
Brushes, and crayons;
The dead heroes
Are our eternal champions.
The sick cowards
Are afraid of the words.
They are unreasonably angry,
Because they kill and hide
Like rats, like rodents.
The freedom of expression
Is absolutely warranted,
And is basically normal.
Open up, open wide to speak out,
Scream and shout.
This is fundamental
In a true democracy.
It is not funny or freaky,
To die for free speech.
However, it's too early
to die for the expression
Of simple words.
Copyright © January 2015 Logerie Hébert, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Dictionary describes the word “dactylion”
As the tip of your middle finger
So if someone gives you the dactylion
They're giving you a zinger!
Have you ever been subjected to “gargalesis”
It's described as heavy tickling
Love being gargalesis in certain areas
Might even involve some licking
Do you know a word that accurately describes
Incessant or idiotic laughter
The dictionary describes it as “abderian”
Shaking the room to the rafters
When someone's eyes start to “oculoplania”
They're assessing someone's charms
I've always called it just plain old ogling
Not meant to cause any harm
The dictionary describes “slubberdegullion”
As a filthy slobbering individual
Known a few of these guys in my time
They leave a quite nasty residual
A person who hates smelling tobacco smoke
Is called a “misocapnist”
That's me for sure I'm surely a misocapnist
Probably number one on the list
And now to end with something distasteful
It's the word “krukolibidinous”
It's the act of staring at someone's crotch
What say you, had enough?
© Jack Ellison 2013