Through the Ages
I'm back in the streets of my childhood
no, there is no fanfare I have lived long
in a place with warmer hearts
Here, where I was born, I feel foreign
so much so I'm not sure if I remember
another child's life
1948, when bleakness was white
I nevertheless saw a green soot between
the house in a crack, it had been rain
but I could smell spring
At that time, a man of twenty-eight was
regarded as too old to get married
Those who made it to sixty-five were
interviewed by the local paper and asked
how come he reached this age
We played with an empty bottle of booze
wondered if it had a secret hidden from
us, because the adults behaved funny
after drinking its liquid, sometimes men
fought, and women screamed.
The house where five families lived
in poverty, has been modernized and
is now an office building, do the new
occupiers sense the smell of poverty
emitting from walls
I cut the shackles and fled, but my
memories often drive me back
like it or not, most of my generation has
died out, they were too modest to
appear in history books
If you were much lionized
Later no more recognized
Or by some men demonized
Would it leave you traumatized,
Judge it a foul play dramatized;
Have the actors stigmatized:
As Satan characterized?
You must not try the dreadful:
To fight them or other frightful!
Put up you should the easeful
That makes painless the painful…
Your arch smiles now the stylized,
Your movement systematized,
Time for Apps digitalized,
And once again ways modernized…
I am President McKinley assassinated,
Roosevelt takes office.
I am Einstein's theory of relativity as
Promised.
I am the Harley-Davidson that was
Created.
I am even today no other cycle has
Dominated.
I am MLB's first world series
Game.
I am the disposable razor,
King Gillette is the name.
I am Susan B. Anthony the year
She dies.
I am President Roosevelt when he wins
The Nobel Peace Prize.
I am Oklahoma when it becomes a
State.
I am San Francisco when the earth
Shakes.
I am an explosion in a West Virginia
Coal mine.
I am the wheatback penny with a
New design.
I am the FBI the day it was
Born.
I am the Model-T ford without
A horn.
I am instant coffee when it was
Introduced.
I am color in a photo first
Produced.
I am silent movies at the
Picture show.
I am America modernized by
The radio.
Turbo1904
The Watergaw
by Hugh MacDiarmid
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
One wet forenight in the sheep-shearing season
I saw the uncanniest thing—
a watergaw with its wavering light
shining beyond the wild downpour of rain ...
and I thought of the last wild look that you gave
when you knew you were destined for the grave.
There was no light in the skylark's nest
that night—no—nor any in mine;
but now often I've thought of that foolish light
and of these irrational hearts of men ...
and I think that, perhaps, at last I ken
what your look meant then.
Hugh MacDiarmid wrote "The Watergaw" in a Scots dialect. I have translated or "modernized" the poem into modern English to make it easier to read and understand.
Keywords/Tags: Scotland, Scot, Scottish, Scots dialect, night, nightfall, rain, grave, death, death of a friend, light, lights, watergaw, heart, heartache, heartbroken, broken heart, heart song
Perestroika, a love letter
Glasnost beaten by the devil
prison camps revitalized
repression modernized
for the new world
new wars the same young men die
Ukraine's children bleed red
Putin's delusions
unraveled Russian humanity
He could suffer no longer
he sang songs at the piano
in reminisce
languishing in time
that seemed to move backwards
solitude became intolerable
A marked man buried
never forgotten
in the wind a soft voice whispers
come my love
I await you
Love Raisa
Match so naughty of self calamity,
Alternates modernized tactics of play
Neglecting physical aggression.
Countless clearcut chances,
Impulsively lost to anxiety.
Trying the best possible to weigh
Yoke propelled by GARCIA in depression.
Banana trees
Most of the jungles of Sumatra are uprooted
to plant banana trees the orangutans have been made homeless.
They try to sit in the banana trees, but it is too brittle for the animals
besides, they don´t care for this type of fruit, which gives them the runs.
It reminds me of Lisbon the Portuguese are proud of.
Moneyed people are coming from abroad to settle in the city,
a wonderful place to live.
The poor cannot afford the high rent when flats are modernized
to suit newcomers.
The unfortunates are pushed out to find a shack, if they are lucky
or failing that, live in tents;
many tents, in parks and sideroads while waiting to be housed.
There are many pretty banana trees in Lisbon, but they are expensive.
It has always been like this, the poor and the uncommunicative
must take the brunt when a town goes upmarket.
The tall pillarized building
Cold, concrete, dictating
Attacked the sky
Making it packed, broken, hurt, scarred
Blocking those lovely clouds and rainbow
The tall pillarized building
Cold, concrete, dictating
Captured modernized hearts
Making them a slave inside
From nine to five
The tall pillarized building
Cold, concrete, dictating
Formed a towering hazard
To the inquisitive patrolling eyes
Of the nature - lovers
Making them temporary blind
Spring feels like seating on wagon clearheaded as judge
A wagon jobber’s cart splashing water while passing a river
Temperate air blowing and whispering around
A whim of holding my lover, haply defining life at a beach-
-took over me
Summer sounds like crazy god of fire, you can’t come near
Feels hotter as Indian spicy-hot food
Always accompanied with Chinese summer soup
Desisting from heat and flames
Flames of affection after sighting a lip glossed young tender modernized girl
Autumn feels like a newly wedded couple
Beautiful as autumn foliage flowers
Like arm of palace, majestically falling from trees
Falling like petals on grand party
Winter taste like luncheon meat
It reminds me the cheers and uproar on winter sport
Loud but uncharged
Cold weather striking through, a warm cloudy like breath sparks out of nostril
Holding on to my clothes like fungi
seasons of typical year, flesh and tender in my mind
everyday i pay attention to what next year will bring
At Seder 1 we helped prepare
The soup and matzoh balls served there,
The hard-boiled eggs and chicken dressed
In farfel flakes, which tastes the best.
At tables set to serve sixteen,
With kids and grandfolk on the scene,
We read and sang, sipped wine and juice,
The atmosphere relaxed and loose.
The meal complete, the kids ran ‘round,
The afikomen finally found.
The grown-ups schmoozed, dessert consumed
‘Til things slowed down as bedtime loomed.
For Seder 2, we hit the road
And drove in windshield-wiper mode
To visit family miles away
Where overnight we planned to stay.
The Seder table, set for five,
Did beckon us to keep alive
Within Haggadahs Ken revised
The same old tale, but modernized.
We dug into delicious food,
Conversing in a festive mood.
No kids around, but Darby’s tail
Was wagging on an epic scale.
Two Seders, different and unique,
To welcome in this matzoh week
Were back-to-back reminders of
The past and present, fused with love.
The Mill wheel wouldn't turn until the Spring.
When winter’s ice stops up the water’s flow,
as small town folk expect, the Mill shuts down.
The Mill shuts down, yet people mill around.
Some weekend nights we'd see the miller’s son
and his young cronies heading down that road.
It happened quite often and we guessed why;
but knowing wouldn't throttle tittle-tat.
Whispers ran through the town from door to door
and farther still they traveled phone to phone.
From where we talked, such weekend visits spoke
of poker, gambling, maybe beer and girls.
Such gossip served to freeze up logic’s course.
Such gossip thawed the warmer days of March;
electric poles appear around the site.
Ice melts, revealing secrets - wheel creaks.
The secret is… they’ve modernized the mill
surprising us all who had run our tongues.
Its mighty wheel will creak now all year round,
all year round, just like the gossip mill.
Round up the posse,
get ‘em vetted Oval Office ganksterized
Appoint the piggy snouts,
then send ‘em out
with metal sidearm power
Ancient oppression done got modernized,
old Egypt Memphis is new Phoenix on the rise
OK the corruption,
legalize the blind Corral mice
Roving Jezebel eyes
got sticky trigger fingers unsanitized
Presidential grifter seal approved,
publican tin badges
skimming off the top of the public trough
Bonnies & Clydes wearing white hats,
got the saddlebags holding the stolen dough
And it looks
like they done Bernie Madoff with some mo’
Treating citizens mob gankster rude;
those tax cowpokes
are waving their little flag pistols,
talking like tough leather throat fools
Every national treasure asset
is being pirate privatized
Every sniveling weasel with a lizard tongue
is getting Benedict deputized
And truth is being sold in the stables,
non-disclosure is the filly train to ride
Marshaling a high plains moral drifter
to come bail rescue innocent pleb gunslinger you
Remember, Roman toga outlaws
were duly elected judge, jury and executioner too
To be in love.
Her heart was a hill that I climbed with slippery soles.
To be still in the moments of encouragement.
I'd slide down unable to catch my footing.
I acknowledge that I wasn't dressed for the occasion.
Still persisting to climb.
To be in love.
The valley of dream & hope.
I tied my shoes tighter.
My hands filled with grit and grass.
No matter how hard I tried I constantly slid down.
The sky a beautiful mix of orange and blue.
Her love was a sight I longed to see.
The meadow to low to catch the best view.
Everything she has to offer.
I tossed through mud and dirt.
Learning patience in every attempt, the closer I got.
She'd open her arms wide.
And each time I'll fall face first.
Still determined I didn't cease to stop.
I spent a lot of time there.
Lost in a valley of fog.
To afraid to ask for help.
Scared that my secret valley would no longer be my own.
That everything serene.
Everything that I loved would be modernized, torn apart piece by piece.
No matter how many times I slip.
No matter how many times I fall.
I love everything ,
Still persisting to climb.
Learning patience with each step
This is African table manners
When eating talk not with no one
share no joke with table-mates
wait, wait till mouth is tired
and stomachs are shining calabashes
then ask a question as parrots do
not about how much food is eaten
not about yawning mouths at the gate
but how much must be added
and whom must still be excluded
from banquet of modernized Africa
A freedom is an epic.
Indian’s freedom is a splendid superior spectacle.
The common idea of million minds
And the common battle for billion hearts.
More than trillion cones turned to craft few patriotic arts.
The voice of millions of hearts
and the general target of billions of long darts,
Is to sizzle, stride and strike on British rule.
The Indian soldiers are much more than the most as massive
To collapse the fire fences and even set to die hard as leopard and be impressive.
Freedom fighters and soldiers work pronounces worth and delights
And their prodigy proves they are stubborn from dooms day till twilight.
The freedom they gained for us is a conflicting combustion.
Freedom is a noble construction.
Freedom is a hearty creation
Freedom is a worthy cognition.
Mahatma's values on peace and Nehru’s principles
made India Globalized, Modernized and Civilised.
Freedom is what we all should be proud of and lend our hand for nations progress.
Related Poems