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Poetry

Charisma I Charisma II Charisma III Day Break

   


MANHATTAN MESMERIZED

Rorschach Wormhole’s latest piece,

Brilliantly titled, "Untitled,"

Fetched a goodly sum at auction

In New York, New York,

where all the smart people live (just ask them),

after a 3rd-rate reviewer

Explained its counter-revolution

to the post-modernist anarchists,

who revolted against

Surrealist Pop Cubism . . .

10 times removed from God and Nature.

Pine needles glint and bend in breezes,

A boulder’s shadow covers pine cones,

Squirrel scurries under the dry brush.

A Poem . . .

Farewell to Fallujah

David

My Woman

Sunday Sledding

She Runs Like a Rabbit through the Sage (Paradelle)

Our Times Together (Villanelle)

Out of Your League

His Rosebud

The Land of Never




Bring me my Abishag to keep me warm

As old tongues cluck their disapproval– well-

Equipped am I to step through every storm,

Having had battles since Goliath fell:

Enemies without, enemies within,

Loyal to Saul despite his enmity,

Grieving a rebel son caught up in sin,

Chasing raiders to set our women free:

Brr! These bones crack and creak on winter nights.

When touched by Spirit’s fire and virgin love

I sense that God will send a baby, great,

The Spirit and a virgin will unite,

And she will bear a child from God above

With human warmth to open Heaven’s gates.

–Day 12/24/04




FAREWELL TO FALLUJAH

"A bloody, arrogant power

Rose out of the race"

--W.B. Yeats

Stray dogs gnaw children’s corpses on our streets

During our Holy Feast; in mosques they shoot

The wounded prisoners; in homes they treat

Our women like they treat their prostitutes.

Farewell, Fallujah, my home town

Americans have burned you down

They’ve proven they have military might:

Machine guns, Abrams tanks and bombs galore;

House searches, fires, arrests, deaths day and night,

Rotting flesh: I can stand the smell no more.

Farewell, Fallujah, my home town

Americans have burned you down

The wounded prisoners in mosques, they kill

And maim; they drop their bombs on health care halls

And claim insurgents’ raiding has been stilled

While bullets spit: my roses wilt and fall.

Farewell, Fallujah, my home town

Americans have burned you down

I am for peace; America wants bombs:

I cannot blame my patriots who arm,

As did the patriots in Vietnam

And native tribal lands, to fight the harm.

Farewell, Fallujah, my home town

Americans have burned you down

Farewell, Fallujah, my home town

Americans have burned you down

–Day 11/27/04


Adieu B Fallujah

Une puissance sanglante et arrogante

Rose hors de la course

-- W.B. Yeats

Les chiens parasites rongent les cadavres des enfants sur nos rues

Pendant notre régal saint; dans les mosques ils tirent

Les prisonniers blessés; dans les maisons ils traitent

Nos femmes comme ils traitent leurs prostituées.

Adieu, Fallujah, ma ville natale

Les Américains vous ont brflé vers le bas

Ils se sont avérés qu'ils ont des militaires pourraient:

Mitrailleuses, réservoirs d'Abrams et bombes en abondance;

Recherches de Chambre, les feux, arrestations, décPs jour et nuit,

Chair de décomposition: Je puis ne tenir l'odeur pas plus.

Adieu, Fallujah, ma ville natale

Les Américains vous ont brflé vers le bas

Les prisonniers blessés dans les mosques, ils tuent

Et maim; ils laissent tomber leurs bombes sur des halls de santé

Et le pillage des insurgés de réclamation a été calmé

Tandis que les balles crachent: mes roses se fanent et tombent.

Adieu, Fallujah, ma ville natale

Les Américains vous ont brflé vers le bas

Je suis pour la paix; L'Amérique veut des bombes:

Je ne puis pas blâmer mes patriotes qui arment,

De mLme que les patriotes au Vietnam

Et terres tribales indigPnes, pour combattre le mal.

Adieu, Fallujah, ma ville natale

Les Américains vous ont brflé vers le bas

Adieu, Fallujah, ma ville natale

Les Américains vous ont brflé vers le bas

- Jour 11/27/04


Abschied zu Fallujah

Eine blutige, arrogante Energie

Rose aus dem Rennen heraus

-- W.B. Yeats

Streuhunde zerfressen Corpses der Kinder auf unseren Straßen

Während unseres heiligen Festes; in den mosques schießen sie

Die verletzten Gefangenen; in den Häusern behandeln sie

Unsere Frauen, wie sie ihre Prostituierteen behandeln.

Abschied, Fallujah, meine Heimatstadt

Amerikaner haben Sie unten gebrannt

Sie haben geprüft, daß sie Militär konnten haben:

Maschinengewehren, Behälter Abrams und Bomben galore;

Haussuchen, Feuer, Anhalten, Todesfälle Tag und Nacht,

Verrottenfleisch: Ich kann den Geruch stehen nicht mehr.

Abschied, Fallujah, meine Heimatstadt

Amerikaner haben Sie unten gebrannt

Die verletzten Gefangenen in den mosques, töten sie

Und maim; sie lassen ihre Bomben auf Gesundheitspflegehallen

Und das Überfallen der Anspruchsinsurgents' ist beruhigt worden

Während Gewehrkugeln spit: meine Roses verwelken und fallen.

Abschied, Fallujah, meine Heimatstadt

Amerikaner haben Sie unten gebrannt

Ich bin für Frieden; Amerika wünscht Bomben:

Ich kann nicht meine Patrioten tadeln, die bewaffnen,

Wie die Patrioten in Vietnam

Und gebürtige Stammes- Länder, den Schaden kämpfen.

Abschied, Fallujah, meine Heimatstadt

Amerikaner haben Sie unten gebrannt

Abschied, Fallujah, meine Heimatstadt

Amerikaner haben Sie unten gebrannt

- Tag 11/27/04


Adiós a Fallujah

Una energía sangrienta, arrogante

Rose fuera de la raza

-- W.B. Yeats

Los perros perdidos roen los cadáveres de los niZos en nuestras calles

Durante nuestro banquete santo; en mosques tiran

Los presos heridos; en hogares tratan

Nuestras mujeres como tratan a sus prostitutes.

Adiós, Fallujah, mi ciudad natal

Los americanos se han quemado le abajo

Han probado que tienen militares pudieron:

Ametralladoras, tanques de Abrams y bombas galore;

Búsquedas de la casa, fuegos, detenciones, muertes día y noche,

Carne de la descomposición: Puedo estar parado el olor no más.

Adiós, Fallujah, mi ciudad natal

Los americanos se han quemado le abajo

Los presos heridos en mosques, matan

Y maim; caen sus bombas en pasillos del cuidado médico

Y se ha calmado el ataque de los insurrectos de la demanda

Mientras que las balas escupen: mis rosas se marchitan y caen.

Adiós, Fallujah, mi ciudad natal

Los americanos se han quemado le abajo

Estoy para la paz; América desea bombas:

No puedo culpar a mis patriotas que se armen,

Al igual que los patriotas en Vietnam

Y tierras tribales nativas, luchar el daZo.

Adiós, Fallujah, mi ciudad natal

Los americanos se han quemado le abajo

Adiós, Fallujah, mi ciudad natal

Los americanos se han quemado le abajo

- Día 11/27/04



Addio a Fallujah

Un'alimentazione sanguinante e arrogante

Rosa dalla corsa

--W.B. Yeats

I cani esterni rosicchiano i corpses dei bambini sulle nostre vie

Durante la nostra festivitB santa; nei mosques sparano

I prigionieri ferriti; nelle sedi trattano

Le nostre donne come curano i loro prostitutes.

Addio, Fallujah, la mia cittB natale

Gli Americani li hanno bruciati gij

Sono risultato che hanno militari potrebbero:

Pistole di macchina, serbatoi di Abrams e bombe galore;

Ricerche della Camera, fuochi, arresti, morti giorno e notte,

Carne di decomposizione: Posso non levarsi in piedi l'odore non di pij.

Addio, Fallujah, la mia cittB natale

Gli Americani li hanno bruciati gij

I prigionieri ferriti nei mosques, uccidono

E maim; cadono le loro bombe sui corridoi di sanitB

E raiding dei insurgents di reclamo P stato calmato

Mentre le pallottole spit: le mie rose appassiscono e cadono.

Addio, Fallujah, la mia cittB natale

Gli Americani li hanno bruciati gij

Sono per pace; L'America desidera le bombe:

Non posso incolpare dei miei patriots che muniscono,

Come i patriots nel Vietnam

E terre tribali natali, combattere il danno.

Addio, Fallujah, la mia cittB natale

Gli Americani li hanno bruciati gij

Addio, Fallujah, la mia cittB natale

Gli Americani li hanno bruciati gij

- Giorno 11/27/04


Farewell a Fallujah

Um poder sangrento, arrogante

Rosa fora da raça

-- W.B. Yeats

Os cnes dispersos gnaw corpses das crianças em nossas ruas

Durante nossa festa holy; nos mosques disparam

Os prisioneiros feridos; nos repousos tratam

Nossas mulheres como tratam seus prostitutes.

Farewell, Fallujah, minha cidade home

Os americanos queimaram-no para baixo

Provaram que tLm forças armadas puderam:

Injetores de máquina, tanques de Abrams e bombas galore;

Buscas da casa, fogos, apreenstes, mortes dia e noite,

Carne rotting: Eu posso estar o cheiro mais.

Farewell, Fallujah, minha cidade home

Os americanos queimaram-no para baixo

Os prisioneiros feridos nos mosques, matam

E maim; deixam cair suas bombas em saltes do cuidado de saúde

E invadir dos insurgents' da reivindicaçno foi acalmado

Quando as balas cuspirem: minhas rosas wilt e caem.

Farewell, Fallujah, minha cidade home

Os americanos queimaram-no para baixo

Eu sou para a paz; América quer bombas:

Eu nno posso responsabilizar meus patriots que se armam,

Como os patriots em Vietnam

E terras tribais nativas, para lutar o dano.

Farewell, Fallujah, minha cidade home

Os americanos queimaram-no para baixo

Farewell, Fallujah, minha cidade home

Os americanos queimaram-no para baixo

- Dia 11/27/04






HIS ROSEBUD

His Rosebud was his morning paper route:

He was the only soul who walked the streets.

With wind at rest, the birds and he communed,

What news the papers bore he did not care,

The peace and solitude made him aware

Of meanings birds imparted in their tunes:

Their love of flight and family, the sweet

And growing warmth, the morning sun’s salute.

–Day

Spring 2005


My WomanMy Woman

My woman is an ocean

who bathes me in her tides.

--Day 12/27/04



OUR TIMES TOGETHER (VILLANELLE)

Our times together, I remember them

(Time is unity in the Trinity)

And you may yet be what you might have been

Although we parted, I was older then

In Heaven’s plan for you, for you and me,

Our times together, I remember them

Like the reflections in a precious gem

That haunt the corridors of memory–

And you may yet be what you might have been.

You’ve wasted years while you have judged, condemned,

And sentenced me by your abrupt decrees–

Our times together, I remember them.

To grow a flower, you will need a stem,

A woman needs a man to tease and please,

Our times together, I remember them.

Walk with me now and take my hand again,

To reunite, we must dust off the key,

Our times together (I remember them),

And you may yet be what you might have been.

–Day 4/17/05




 


 

 

09/10/2008

 

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