I wan’t to experiment with poetry, but am scared at failure. This blog is making me take a nervous step:
shar deken in baigh ten
Identification never asked to be connection
never claimed such an occupation
Identification casts off synonyms, hyperbole
lost its copula
threw away stative verbs
Instead comes to prevent missed connections
prays for disconnect
to find peace
* * *
Response wakes up
gets no answer
Switches from monologue
I have always related to stones, thought that somehow, in the kingdom of things, they speak a language. Listen. Listen hard. You’ll hear the water burble over them, the children’s laughter as they toss them here or there.
And look. See those colors, shapes, the veins? What stories might they tell? Where have they been and what might they have housed? How old are they?
Along the beach I pick up little stones, and big ones too, you know, those angular stones, gray usually, with holes and bumps, which I think are bruises from their journeys.
Kind of like us….we have holes in us, sometimes in our hearts, and bruises? Oh, for sure. Where are your bruises? I know where mine are. A stone is hard, yet water has given it a sheen, a coating, a shine on rainy days. When sun beams down upon a stone it seems to smile.
Me too. Hard. Yep, there are places that haven’t been softened yet, but I know that the “sun and water” of my life will touch and change them.
Pick up a stone. Imagine the conversation.
Who dares to mygle on the lart
whence the bartolodogs do prey,
crimming their crimley woos and snart
and from whence the satelines blay?
If only mighty danderspite
would cease the wootmas and debite.
Strike the spintler netherchrism.
Banish all foul maskered slism!
Melissa I. Hassard
(And oh, yes, it is political. Heh. M.)
Rispetto à la Carroll, with a nod to friend Richard Krawiec for the conversation that brought to mind The Jabberwocky.
J’ai tellement amusement avec ce traducteur que je vais jouer avec elle un peu plus, cette fois en français. J’adore les français langue, il étudie au Collège, mais mes compétences a perdu parce que je n’avais pas la possibilité de les utiliser.
Je pense qu’un voyage à Paris peut facilement remédier que !
I have basically said here:
I’m having so much fun with this translator that I’m going to play with it a little more, this time in French. I love the French language, studied it in college, but have lost my skills because I haven’t had the opportunity to use them.
I think a trip to Paris could remedy this!
Words never came easy to me
now I drink these words with a gulping familiarity, a familiarity
that soothes my throat with pleasure
frees my throat from this steel prison of silence.
How easy it appears to my starving unsatisfied soul
to pick up this glass full of language, full of words
and feel it glide like a cool river through my esophagus.
The wild well of pained/buckets full
of crap, releases like a snap snap/surging
fluently to the surface
it reveals itself
as if it were always there, waiting
waiting to speak. How easy it appears
from time to time the steel snap snaps!
and there you are
free, familiarity; facing directly
surly you speak, words surely familiar rise,
soothing my throat with peace
how easy it comes to be -
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