Long Undertook Poems
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Truth be told
truth behold,
This I see
is how all unfolds
In plain sight
not in darkness
like here tonight
I see the sky
ask myself why
there’s no reply,
No mothership
to take a trip
And… oh my god
I’m overwhelmed!
by majesty …
constellations
partnerships
A crescent moon
beckoning me
imploring me
to look harder,
The answer’s here
before my eyes
not in disguise
(Moon)
I’m here for you
at this moment
let’s synchronise,
Be here for me too
we are the same
you have a mind
I reflect the flame
The big guy
is below horizons
elsewhere rising,
draped in plasma
I follow his lead
unerringly accede
We made you
and you make us
by being here
conscious aware,
we overlook
you undertook
to question why
But there is no lie
The truth’s blinding
the truth’s binding
so let it be
Not always pretty
Not always loving
Not always giving
Not always taking
never faking
open and bare
Raw and gaping
Man gives us reason
we bring him seasons
his path seems tough
and never enough
So thank you
for looking up
come what may
we shared a reflection
Go now brother
we’ve seen the light,
Others did too tonight
just not as bright
I have your feathered back, friend, we are fine.
You have my soul, dear, together we are sublime.
I sing my song with a heartfelt tweet,
Since we met, my life is much more complete.
I have your worm here, and I want to share.
Yes, darling, with you, love is in the air.
I will share my heart, my soul, my nest.
I will grow old with you, that is the true test.
You are the prettiest courting bird I have ever met.
I do not care to ever meet another, my sweetheart pet.
You are mine, and I am yours. Forever and ever.
I am so glad I undertook this worm challenge endeavor.
You have my feathered back, I have your enormous heart.
Let us agree to never too long stay apart.
Oh come with me ye boys and girls;
And what stops, I ask, the youth and the old?
Come ye of all age and gender,
I'll lead you to magic, wonders untold.
I lead you deep into woods, dreary and dark,
And moss-laid meadows by a rill and a brook,
Where dragons and demons cast their fiery spell,
Great venturings into quests are undertook.
Did you summon up fairies, is that your wish?
Or perhaps sinewed heroes, comely maidens you'd like.
I'll give them all, and some more, if that's your wish,
Perhap's you'd like some Zen, linked with maintaining your bike.
Most splendorous are my realms, on Earth and afar,
From dark Styx to Elysium, Valhalla's Halls,
To Barsoom and beyond to Syrius, and Dog,
I'll take you through great deserts, through Poseidon's squalls.
Or perhaps you'd prefer to hear from wizened old sages,
Of wisdom, of life, of what awaits you in the pale,
Or some sagas of survival, of heroic strife,
Maybe you want the telling of whodunnit tales.
I'll get tired of the telling, leave plenty unsaid
But you're sure to be richer by the tales in my book
I ask of you nothing, neither fee nor a price,
Just cosily curl with a tome in your favourite nook.
15 Apr 2016
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
Written: April 29, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What a riddle our love was!
we embarked on an ariose trip
with balmy stride, we undertook
Elysian and Empyreal it was
a blissful encounter
an idyllic peace is meant to be,
a serendipitous path
crystal levels of azure size,
our spirits entwined
before we ever knew
we're infatuated now,
It rings with truth.
One's pulse quickens
In every kismet,
I never expected to feel this way
I have proof of that now,
In your grip, my soul resides,
and I will hold on forever
my love is growing stronger,
you are aware of the flow of time.
Our love is euphoric,
every day, I express my felicity,
for love unforeseen,
I was bestowed with a gift,
you unexpectedly invaded my life,
It spun my world around,
wreaking pandemonium
While we were together.
In awe, my heart soars, spellbound.
love is unexpected and divine.
everything came to fruition
you delight me and warm my heart,
our hearts beat in sync.
Before I tramp the course of my cause,
A family indeed we were, I and Kole
But I short of years from the other.
Only by words we keep memory of
A deceased mother like morning dew
Sought for by the gloaming. We knew
Only a father whose right hand does
The masculine labour and his left hand
Undertook the feminine chore
And grew us up from tendril to maturity.
Nothing moves the heart as do feelings,
The impression creates of a moving mountain.
But with one mind accept I all that be
And live a life devoid of melodrama.
Behind laughter abide the trail of tears
And in my tears was laughter’s bare face.
Work, leisure, sickness, health, joy, sadness
Nothing so transporting or so flummoxing
As to heave my heart off the balance of life.
As an ass, it does not sigh over its burdens
And the camel do not complain of thirst
Through the drought of the desert.
By Fate’s design we lost Kole who had
Found natural escapism from life in death
Whereof the dead cannot forgo to return.
I, left with a father I pampered and cared for
Always after his heels and by his lounge
And all lips hailed the good son of a father.
Time takes precedence to test all values
And fate takes no cognizance of kinship.
Every cord has been broken by birth.
Day by day is the wake of another day
And again it would go back to slumber.
Harmattan made the land to be bard,
It would smile while the sun is out but
Only to become moody with drops.
Playing, gaming, travelling, interacting,
Have excused the drabness of existence.
Below the earth is the hue of brown
And above the sky is the hue of grey.
I have left my father and home into
The city to make a fortune and a name
For they all have queried a son cannot
Always be a honeybunch to a father
But must seek to be a sovereign man.
Now I traverse through the fleeting land
All my goods and affiliates lay aside.
Being an heir, I am no heir to fleeting goods.
Why throw away the bad grains
And then store up the chaff?
I will walk through the sands of time until
I halt in my course to become sand.
A father I commit to the hands of nature
And goodwill of kinsmen and friends.
I thought of a day sans the Sun
I thought of a night sans the light
All the times that I thought of the light
I thought of Edison!
Thomas Alva Edison-
The power house shed light in the direction of right
A total solution found dark to fight
Light, an innovation from the mind of a bright
A revolution only second to the Moon walk strait
All the times that,I look at the light
I see the tired face of the might
Edison bought time and time to come out of his plight
Light in the night-
In the way of Owl's and Bat's sight
Edison, a pupil the school refused to teach
Edison, a lessen the schools undertook to teach
Edison bore torch light to his mate,Henry Ford
To put his wheels of four on the road
On the day of TWO ELEVEN of his birth-
Don't switch off lights to bring dark
But switch on saying "EDISON" in honor to mark!
Ma and Pa dwelled in their brick rancher for many years.
There they reared their kids, seeing lots of joys and tears.
Pa was proud of his home and kept it in good condition.
He did lots of repairs but at times caused some demolition!
Pa thought himself handy with hammer, nail and saw,
But Ma wasn't so sure, suffering through many a flaw!
"I can repair anything that needs fixin'", he would crow!
"Why hire so-called experts, besides, they cost a lot of dough!"
A leak occurred under the sink and Pa knew just what to do.
When the job was done, water was hip deep, the plumbing all askew!
Pa swallowed his pride and called the plumber to fix the mess.
Ma smiled that knowing smile, her amusement hard to suppress!
His next project was to paint the kitchen, bath and dining room.
He splattered paint on everything, causing Ma to fume!
Ma wanted him to hang a picture for the bedroom's decoration.
He missed the nail, hitting his thumb, loosing a raging imprecation!
Though Pa tackled each job with intense determination,
Seemed like every job he undertook ended in frustration.
"Honey, maybe you should leave the fixin' for the experts to do,
And take up buildin' bird houses - that's a great hobby to pursue!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Piecing together Harris/ Kuritsky tattered family tree
(Betsy Ross would beam at unflagging effort)
Ah, here all along yours truly
thought himself an abductee,
and/or zoologically
linkedin with chimpanzee,
hence imagine my disappointment
flipping laminated pages ye
ja undertook undoubtedly
painstaking effort,
plus wireless subcommittee
stitched together plain to see
helpful input thank you Amelie,
plus unnamed, undaunted,
and informed cousins
contributing to digging
into archives to help free
some unanswered nagging questions
only to generate others re:
garding ahem little feet
legs skinny as spaghetti
this haint no phallus si¿
lodged within me
noggin, which effort crudely
analogous fitting
prosthetic to amputee,
who understandably loosing limb,
would find her/him
screaming like banshee,
which one with diminished hearing
might sound like
suite (sweet) firebird stung
explaining flight of bumblebee
nonetheless, the bundled, compiled,
and detailed genealogy
courtesy eldest sister prithee
perhaps inspire "FAKE"
trumpeted voluminous tome twee
starring pooch donning
windblown heir spade fur -
or sporting canine toupee
with apt title regarding petsmart
bonafide muttering dog gone pedigree
hump backed es
in heat making whoopie
would become best selling fiction,
whereby Hollywood
might come calling
of course anonymous
actors/actresses,
or training one or another Arctic monkey,
where production costs
totally tubular less money
versus famous Homo
thespians portraying
long gone i.e. bissell mishuga
characterizing deceased exhumed
(figuratively) ghosts
might be (like...y'know...really) eerie
yet, a possible windfall
after signed contract
once all parties privy
to dramatize ancestors
unilaterally abide and agree
this unsolicited barkback feedback
countless many shindigs
witnessed predictable
yours truly absentee
soul (and sole) brother pulling
no shows claiming lame excuse
ah betcha I inherited emotional uncoupling
generations ago dirt poor peon,
perhaps unwitting creator
of peanut butter and jelly.
The Teacher
Written some where around 1962
By Douglas Malloch
In honor of Douglas Malloch with the hope
That I am only honoring this great Poem
By reproducing a part of it
This is not the beginning of the Poem ‘The Teacher’
…….
A general, a great divine,
Yea, Men whose names with luster shine,
Learned Latin at that simple shrine.
For here the great began
To dream, to wish, to hope, to plan;
To day was born tomorrow’s man.
And so the teacher grew to gray;
And fifty years have passed away
When someone happens on a day
To pause before the teacher’s door,
The threshold that the children wore
A half a century or more,
And asks, as that good man appears:
“Are you not weary, tired to tears,
Of teaching Latin all the years?”
A simple answer he employs
To tell a teacher’s holy joys:
“I don’t teach Latin – I teach boys.”
God bless the teacher who can look
Above beyond, the open book,
The one who teaching undertook
Nor merely for the Latin’s sake,
But for the holy chance to make
Tomorrow’s man, a soul to wake;
……
By Douglas Malloch
This great Poem quoted in honor of all sinbcere Teachers & ‘Andrea Dietrich a teacher’
This is also in honor and love of my wife, who also is a Teacher.
Ravindra