Long Possum Poems
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Martial Translations
Coq au vin (Cook or wine)
by Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
1.
Hosts always invite you to dinner, Phoebe,
but are you merely an éclair to the greedy?
2.
Hosts always invite you to dinner, Phoebe,
but are you tart Amaro to the greedy?
Amaro is an after-dinner liqueur thought to aid the digestion after a large meal.
3.
Hosts always invite you to dinner, Phoebe,
but are you an aperitif to the greedy?
4.
Hosts always invite you to dinner, Phoebe,
but they’re pimps to the seedy.
Ad cenam invitant omnes te, Phoebe, cinaedi.
mentula quem pascit, non, puto, purus *****est.
You ask me why I love fresh country air?
You're not befouling it, mon frère.
—Martial, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
1.
You’ll find good poems, but mostly poor and worse,
my peers being “diverse” in their verse.
2.
Some good poems here, but most not worth a curse:
such is the crapshoot of a book of verse.
Sunt bona, sunt quaedam mediocria, sunt mala plura
quae legis hic: aliter non fit, Auite, liber.
He undertook to be a doctor
but turned out to be an undertaker.
Chirurgus fuerat, nunc est uispillo Diaulus:
coepit quo poterat clinicus esse modo.
1.
The book you recite from, Fidentinus, was my own,
till your butchering made it yours alone.
2.
The book you recite from I once called my own,
but you read it so badly, it’s now yours alone.
3.
You read my book as if you wrote it,
but you read it so badly I’ve come to hate it.
Quem recitas meus est, o Fidentine, libellus:
sed male cum recitas, incipit esse tuus.
Recite my epigrams? I decline,
for then they’d be yours, not mine.
Ut recitem tibi nostra rogas epigrammata. Nolo:
non audire, Celer, sed recitare cupis.
I do not love you, but cannot say why.
I do not love you: no reason, no lie.
Non amo te, Sabidi, nec possum dicere quare:
hoc tantum possum dicere, non amo te.
You’re young and lovely, wealthy too,
but that changes nothing: you’re a shrew.
Bella es, nouimus, et puella, uerum est,
et diues, quis enim potest negare?
Sed cum te nimium, Fabulla, laudas,
nec diues neque bella nec puella es.
Keywords/Tags: Martial, Latin, translation, epigram, hosts, dinner, meal, food, drink, wine, addiction, house, host, dessert
The Possum of Possibilities was invited by Grandpa Troll to visit our brood,
The Possum heard Carol had a dry spell and a terrible writer’s block, so true.
With the troll’s adventures, penguin’s antics, and witches brew...
With Dragon’s mayhem in town, something had to be done, they knew.
Grandpa Troll brought Possum over, for Carol to peruse,
He looked her up, down, and sideways to everyone’s amuse,
Her mind’s wheels were not lined up right, he announced.
You have activity all about you, that's very pronounced.
It is all swirling around and not latching to the cogs.
Ideas and stories are coming in fast and plenty, but…
There are so many and they are acting like a stream of logs,
Her brain is overloaded and getting a little bit clogged.
Possum instructed Grandpa Troll on the best course of action,
But Dragon was nearby and overheard the conversation.
Our fiery friend was planning on how to clear the brain jam,
Then ski-daddle and go on the lam.
Like so many plans before, he knew Carol’s brain was crammed,
And his ideas always ended up like some explosive spam.
Grandpa Troll saw that look in Dragon’s eyes and knew there was a plot,
And said to Possum; “We'll need your help again, before we’re in a spot.”
Over to Dragon Possum went, then a once over, right, left, and top to bottom,
Grandpa Troll reached into a dusty drawer that hadn’t seen light since Suttom.
Out he pulled two pens, one larger than the other, filled with magic ink.
An incantation filled the air – “E pluribus divideous writeous inlink.”
(Basically saying; what stories were divided are now joined by two writers.)
Possum handed one to Carol and the larger one to Dragon.
“With the magic pens, you both will be able to see the stories about you.”
For Carol, he pointed out; now the cogs won't get dinked, as ideas get linked,
And Dragon, a source of the jams, once written down, became happy as a clam.
Both help each other, now, as Grandpa Troll had hoped with all the activities.
And with a little help from an old friend, called the Possum of Possibilities.
A writer’s block that was going on with his dear...
Is a tale that Hubby has now told, and made so clear.
And now another peaceful evening… was suddenly shot all to Heck...
Until Next time…. As Dragon and Carol are now racing all about!
Michael Eastman & Carol Written 7-21-2015
Written: April 28, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Sara Jama
*******************
When cruelty becomes a badge of honor
empathy transforms into an act of defiance
while the evildoers are celebrated!
The resonance of your words
Your words echo as a sharp blade
revealing the possum
shameful crawl
dragging through sacred remnants
they cut through the fragile chambers
of my vulnerable existence.
A rustle of grass
in the Cimmerian pre-dawn.
Watching you drown in your denial
Now, a landscape of sorrow
once vibrant with the hues of joy
has faded into mere shadows
Shades of happiness did thrive
I stand frozen, bleary-eyed
trying to bear sense of
eerie glow of empty eyes
I am a witness to the casualty
of an all-night bender
Your gaze, a weapon
cold and unyielding
left my spirit in ruins
forever haunted
by the ghost of what once was
The dreams you stole
That left me stranded
broken in body and soul
Amidst the unfolding horrors —
border violence, displacements,
police brutality, genocidal oppression —
Remember this: Cruelty is the point
Cruelty is not humorous nor edgy
Cruelty is not justifiable
Cruelty corrodes the sense of self
Cruelty for cruelty's sake
a repulsive and vile toxic waste
What started as casual banter
quickly turned into a serious dialogue
banter quickly grew into a colloquy.
I walk a path of despair
a subdued plea
where cruelty reigns
Some find joy in the suffering of others—
the essence of schadenfreude
Do we embody barbarism
when we think
we have the right to be cruel
And ignore the agreements we made?
The casualties were unintended
Yearning for a healing touch
for the grace to set me free
Yet the scars remain
a stark reminder
of the cruelty
that has etched its haunting mark.
Your malice roars like a storm
within my spirit,
leaving me shattered
and utterly out of control
I am a victim
The cost of your design
and now I seek peace
In my life
Humans possess the capacity
for empathy and reason,
yet systems of violence.
They are crafted to dominate
subjugate
dehumanize and oppress
Cruelty is always at the core
It feels as if we are consumed
by cruelty in our thoughts
defending the indefensible.
I've got a fist full of Buddha,
And a fist full of Rand,
A pocket full of Jesus,
And the other's filled with sand,
That's in case I need to make some glass,
As it will proceed my foot in relation to your class,
That's a diametric description of an uncommon process,
I use it to repel obnoxious thoughts and logic,
The political storm seems to be the hot topic,
But what I see is dinosaurs in power,
Who don't want to get off it,
The ball, you dropped it,
Gigs up, you lost it,
Wings done, let's sauce 'em,
Awareness has blossomed,
We done playing possum,
You're boss, we want him,
Bring him down to the bottom,
And let's make him aware of our consciousness.
Are you really missing this?
Yo this is Excentrix,
Rich's psyche been known to split in an instant,
I represent a hulk like samurai witch,
Equipped to solve problems via the switch,
Cuz the man inside there is just a little kid,
See I tell the truth even when I lie,
Puttin' juice in busted axioms like Pie in the Sky,
"Yo dude, you know that's an idiom?"
Suck it, you're an idiot,
Guards, get rid of him!
I'm a linguistic mystic,
Suffering from a transpiritual sickness,
Where I'll always be a kid,
And live through my own deliverance.
Witness as I stab my own body of Christ,
Feels so nice to bleed emotion into the night,
With Excentrix as my weapon of my own conception,
I can justify intervention into the seas of deception,
Cleverly apply art to the lesson,
Of respecting yourself and recognizing transgression,
I don't need a stinking studio session,
Just flex my pen and in the end I'm winning,
My mental digestion invents a feeling,
That feeling going to climb me to the top of nimbus,
Behind us is a portal to another dimension,
Forgot to mention I'm the medium for the transmission,
I must be the exception because I'm good at listening.
I flip furniture when pressured,
Then turn a lecture,
Into a story told next to a lectern,
No disrespect sir,
But I'm disturbed by your indiscretion,
So curb your enthusiasm,
Before I burn this whole place down with plasma,
I got the EMP flow I brought back from the Matrix,
Excentrix is MVP for knowing when to go back to the basics,
Take it from me,
The artistic process is worth taking a stab at,
Just to prove that we're all humans,
And American Celebrity is mostly a magic act.
I come before you, proclaiming you're Brother
Or Sister in Christ's death, that Eve was our Mother
Though you claim (in faith too) that my Truth’s your falsehood!
If all faith’s just faith, how can we in our childhood
Claim ‘Wisdom’ of adults (a goal that's aspired to,
Not some fait accompli)! Give grace to a man who
With some trepidation, bares what he's learned, naked,
As grounds for discussion! Let me serve the wicked
(That I too am one of) in poetry's fashion!
Oh, call me a fool? Let Hate die in my passion!'
Bible says (Science proves), "Eve's womb defines man,"
Shared genes though are found in all Life. (“This is God's plan?”
You laugh!) Is the joke not far bigger? Life's Stardust
From get-go! Is Life on parade more like gene rust
Or diamonds? 'Survival?' That's God's best idea?
Our God’s just utopian, tongue diarrhea?
Some days I think one way, the next, my mind wanders:
The subject is vast and men better responders
To divots on ‘fairways’ than potholes on highways,
Like sheep who've lost shepherd, we're skilled more at segues!
Less than three minute's we toil (on our best days),
Before our minds jerk off most trails that weak thought's blaze!
Today if some gloom overshadows our sadness
When Love seems to die, is it due to some badness!
Or more linked to seasons of every blossom?
You’re sure all friends’ deaths aren’t just souls who play possum?
Is God who’s behind this? Not souls’ choice I’m guessing,
My feelings get stretched past sane ends! (I’m confessing!)
But let me not fear that a soul’s not God’s gifting
As long as what muse flows through pen is uplifting!
Let what creates in Love cry when it’s absent!
More grownups then grok that our Truth’s adolescent,
The fragrance of God needs more gifting to master,
The depth of God’s Love more abyss to best pastor!
What Majesty makes no attempt at concealing
Dim senses discern as four walls, floor, and ceiling.
God’s light needs no ‘ether,’ but sound drowns in ‘vacuum.’
Does intellect dream it is Spirit in costume?
If flags (you salute) pose a threat to Mom's litter,
It's Fool's Bling you worship (God’s Truth’s more than glitter)!
Brian Johnston
21st of June in 2019
Ted Weymouth rang me up to see, if I could do a job he had…
‘His trucks broken down’ he said, so I told Ted ‘I’d be glad
to do a favour for a mate’, he said. ‘It’s ‘Grubby’ Alcorn’s place.
A load of posts!’ Lord I’ve been had…‘Grubby’s’ a real hard case.
‘Grubby’ lived out in the ‘back-blocks’, where the roads are bloody rough,
Ted had ‘conned’ this job for me to do, where I heard one trips enough.
It took me bloody hours. I reckon Ted’s enjoying this with mirth.
I broke a spring and so the trip, cost more than the job was worth.
We threw the posts off near a shed, from there ‘twas my desire,
to get to buggery out of here… I asked ‘Grub’ for some fencing wire
to wind ‘round the spring to hold it tight, praying to God it might
hold everything together, until I got home that night.
“Come inside and have a drink”, ‘Grubby’ beckoned ‘cross to me.
I looked him up and down then thought, ‘I don’t like what I see’.
‘Grubby’ looked like he had wallowed, with pigs beside their sties...
When I walked inside I’ve got to say, I got one ‘heck’ of a surprise.
Every dish was washed and packed away. The sink was spotless clean,
each cup hung upon their little hook, glasses sparkled with a sheen.
Flowers ‘Grubby’ picked stood in a vase, on a table-cloth embodied gold.
‘Grubby’ asked me if I wanted tea, or would I like something cold.
I felt much more at ease now, in this clean environment,
it seemed like chalk to cheese, from outside when I had spent
an hour’s work with ‘Grubby’, so I said, “I think you ‘oughta’
pour me out a nice cold drink of lemon cordial and water.”
I took a swig and puckered; the lemon tasted kind of *****.
My drink really wasn’t pleasant, more like a bad home beer.
Must be just my taste buds because the weathers fairly hot,
so I upended quick the ten ounce pot and drank the flamin’ lot.
I said to ‘Grubby’ “That’s average, I’ve not had cordial like that before.
Or could it be your water mate; do you pump it from a bore?”
“Nar” said ‘Grub’ “the water’s fine now, though a week ago was rank.
The taste is getting better since… I dragged the possum from the tank.”
Near the creek, there’s old dead tree
We never had climbed before
Big “J” decided he’d go up
Not knowing what was in store
He climbed up to the first big fork
Sat in the crotch of the tree
He yelled, “There’s a hollow up here,
But it’s dark, I just can’t see”
There’s a flashlight packed with my lunch
I’ll get it and be right back
As he sat and waited for me
A sound came out of the crack
Charlie, something alive in there
I heard it making a noise
Threw up the light, he give a look
“A possum! Let’s get the boys”
So exited we ran back home
Called up the gang on the phone
Most of them came right on over
No need to do this alone
Big “J” said, “We have all been told,
Hit a possum on the head,
He’ll roll up into a tight ball,
And play possum, like he’s dead”
We all agreed it would be fun
To see a possum do that
Someone said we need us a plan
Big “J” said I’ve thought of that
Charlie will go up in the tree
And make the possum come out
With sticks we’ll be under the tree
He’ll get him a lick no doubt
“Now just wait a minute”, I said
“He’s in the hollow to stay”
“I have an idea”, said Jim Bob
“My Dad once told me a way”
“The best way to get rabbits out
If they are holed up somewhere
Twist a forked wire in their fur
Then just drag them out of there”
I didn’t want to be the one
Poking a wire in his fur
But not to be called a chicken
I’ll have to see out what occurs
So I climbed up into the tree
Holding a wire and flashlight
Found a good spot, shined the light in
What I saw gave me a fright
The possum looking up at me
Had his teeth bared as he hissed
I stuck the forked wire into him
Then gave it a great big twist
Now is the time to pull him out
I started to jerk real hard
We didn’t know he could escape
That was that possum’s wild card
He came out, not from the hollow
But from a hollow tree limb
Landed behind all the guys
That scared the hell out of them
The possum was gone in a flash
No one took off in a chase
Just grinned and looked at each other
We all had egg on our face
I'd rather be inside doing the baking
Than the one being baked outside in the sun.
I never learned how to barbecue,
As my Dad ran away when I was only two.
Though my Mum taught me how to shoot for the pot,
Which really hit the spot,
As I could do that without seeing a single sun spot.
My Possum is really quite delicious,
Even if slightly malicious.
I have a habit of making a stew out of rabbit.
Visitors are big on anything made from pig.
It would be a mistake to miss my venison steak,
Or duck out without some roast duck.
My ham and eggs are never green, though quite lean.
Mushroom soup with homemade bread will keep you fed
Til the rest of the food is prepared
You can grub for hu hu grubs for me to roast on sticks.
My roast parsnip contains no arsenic.
I don't have to tout for my trout.
Or make a deal for a pie made of eel.
You can make a toast while I tend to the roast.
Or if you prefer give the gravy a stir.
I won't get cross if you give the salad a toss.
Or set the table if you are able.
We can talk while you find me a fork.
Afterwards I will let you judge my fudge.
If you can still budge.
And I will find some liquor that is still pure.
My apple pie with cream piled high is really worth a try.
Pears with homemade wine are quite divine.
I have an art for the apricot tart.
And you won't get over my Pavlova.
I bake my cakes with fresh eggs which seems to please the hens.
Our honey is worth the money
And our jams are in favour for their flavour.
I produce a cheese that aims to please.
My biscuits soon stray from the tray.
If you want any thing more fancy we can look in the pantry.
With skin cancer on the rise, I think I am wise
In getting up early to watch my bread rise.
Though I am still game to go outside with my gun by my side.
But when the sun starts to hurt the eye,
My oven goes back on high for when you come by.
If you stay the night you can dance under moonlight
And wish upon a star from afar outside of a car.
Wouldn't that be more fun than going out in the mid-day sun.
With your true face scared to be exposed.
Where would we be without love?
Lost sheep of Babylon, not God’s doves,
Loves philosophy is: ‘love, love, love’,
So let’s begin her story,
Her story begins in the womb,
Where love maternal is in bloom,
Then paternal love springs forth,
With eventual dada mama of course,
Her first steps are tentative,
Steady, gradual, pensive,
Love is growing fast,
She waves her tiny hand, makes a fist,
---------------------------------------------
Love is a mine of hearts and minds,
Broken, pumping, dull, awake,
For goodness sake let something shake!
From the tree of love, what does it take?
A fruit to fall upon my lap,
A love ripe to bite after a nap,
Alas alack release some slack,
I do not have the subtle knack,
Does it take so long to find loves grace,
With strawberry hair and a pretty face,
I wonder if there will be a share,
You cherry, me plum to be your care,
When all is said and done,
What is the point in life with no fun!
The harvest of love is worth more than gold,
So the story told should set the mould,
Look for love in the tree,
Where ever the tree may be,
And find a suitable fruit to munch,
And take them out for a hearty lunch,
If all fails and it well might,
Leave it a while with a smile,
Never giving up the fight,
Then when life is less stale, re ignite,
The journey restarted afresh aplomb,
Shields up for the femme bomb,
As for the men they may need fresh words,
To trap and seduce the startled birds,
A look again at the tree of love,
Where it is filled with new blossom,
Don’t act the goat or be a possum,
The news of love is close at hand,
A gent and a lady, years apart,
See eye to eye and have fresh heart,
Her mind is nimble his is on fire,
Where Lord to take this desire,
I wonder if it is going anywhere,
Do you care, do you think I care?
I adore you from the start,
Your nimble mind my aching heart,
To find her, unwrap her serenade her,
Hear her, feel her, getting close to her,
All in all falling about,
I could shout, is she the one!
There was a beautiful sunbeam shining thru the trees
A beautiful sunbeam that woke up my daughter and me.
The sunbeams woke up the flowers on the ground
The only place this scent could be found.
Living in the city , you only get smoke and smog
And in the mornings you get the fog.
Waking up thou- in all of gods creations
Makes you shiver with anticipation.
The sounds of the birds chirping in the trees
All singing in harmony.
The squirrels searching for food to store
But they had gathered it all up
And there wasn’t any more.
The frogs sitting on the lily pads
With more than enough insects
Keeping them glad.
Then the sunbeam reflected off the flowing brook
Seeing this was all it took.
We jumped up and out of our sleeping bags
We was excited, we was glad.
All year long we waited for this day
To go to the woods, to jump and play.
As we prepared our breakfast
Gods creatures were all coming around
We did not see them, for they made no sounds.
We looked up and they were gathered all around our camp
Watching what we was doing
And their presence was so soothing.
My daughter started throwing bread to all that were around.
And in us, a new friend they had found.
There were squirrels, raccoons, rabbits and a possum or two.
Wondering what we was up to.
Then we looked up into the trees
And there was that magical sunbeam.
It shown its light right where we was camped
The grass is so beautiful when it is damp.
The rays of light playing games on the dew drops
We didn’t want this moment to ever stop.
My daughter said it reminded her of
The fairy tale “ sleeping beauty”
It was the perfect setting - for she is a “cutie”.
After we all had something to eat
We gathered up our backpacks
And left them some treats.
That day we explored all of gods beauties
On the mountain trails.
We knew we’d be back- we would not fail.
This one memory in our minds would forever last
For god had shown us his perfect “cast”.