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The Wife A-Lost

Since I noo mwore do zee your feace,
Up steairs or down below,
I'll zit me in the lwonesome pleace,
Where flat-bough'd beech do grow;
Below the beeches' bough, my love,
Where you did never come,
An' I don't look to meet ye now,
As I do look at hwome.

Since you noo mwore be at my zide,
In walks in zummer het,
I'll goo alwone where mist do ride,
Drough trees a-drippen wet;
Below the rain-wet bough, my love,
Where you did never come,
An' I don't grieve to miss ye now,
As I do grieve at hwome.

Since now bezide my dinner-bwoard
Your vaice do never sound,
I'll eat the bit I can avword,
A-vield upon the ground;
Below the darksome bough, my love,
Where you did never dine,
An' I don't grieve to miss ye now,
As I at hwome do pine.

Since I do miss your vaice an' feace
In prayer at eventide,
I'll pray wi' woone sad vaice vor greace
To goo where you do bide;
Above the tree an' bough, my love,
Where you be gone avore,
An' be a-waiten vor me now,
To come vor evermwore.

poem by Ingeborg Bachmann
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Wife A-Lost

1 Since I noo mwore do zee your fe{'a}ce,
Up ste{'a}rs or down below,
I'll zit me in the lwonesome ple{'a}ce,
Where flat-bough'd beech do grow;
Below the beeches' bough, my love,
Where you did never come,
An' I don't look to meet ye now,
As I do look at hwome.

Since you noo mwore be at my zide,
In walks in zummer het,
I'll goo alwone where mist do ride,
Drough trees a-drippèn wet;
Below the ra{'i}n-wet bough, my love,
Where you did never come,
An' I don't grieve to miss ye now,
As I do grieve at hwome.

Since now bezide my dinner-bwoard
Your va{'i}ce do never sound,
I'll eat the bit I can avword,
A-vield upon the ground;
Below the darksome bough, my love,
Where you did never dine,
An' I don't grieve to miss ye now,
As I at hwome do pine.

Since I do miss your va{'i}ce an' fe{'a}ce
In pra{'y}er at eventide,
I'll pray wi' woone sad va{'i}ce vor gre{'a}ce
To goo where you do bide;
Above the tree an' bough, my love,
Where you be gone avore,
An' be a-w{'a}itèn vor me now,
To come vor evermwore.

poem by William Barnes
Added by Poetry Lover
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Wife A-Lost, The

Since I noo mwore do zee your fe{"a}ce,
Up ste{"a}rs or down below,
I'll zit me in the lwonesome ple{"a}ce,
Where flat-bough'd beech do grow;
Below the beeches' bough, my love,
Where you did never come,
An' I don't look to meet ye now,
As I do look at hwome.

Since you noo mwore be at my zide,
In walks in zummer het,
I'll goo alwone where mist do ride,
Drough trees a-drippèn wet;
Below the ra{"i}n-wet bough, my love,
Where you did never come,
An' I don't grieve to miss ye now,
As I do grieve at hwome.

Since now bezide my dinner-bwoard
Your va{"i}ce do never sound,
I'll eat the bit I can avword,
A-vield upon the ground;
Below the darksome bough, my love,
Where you did never dine,
An' I don't grieve to miss ye now,
As I at hwome do pine.

Since I do miss your va{"i}ce an' fe{"a}ce
In pra{"y}er at eventide,
I'll pray wi' woone sad va{"i}ce vor gre{"a}ce
To goo where you do bide;
Above the tree an' bough, my love,
Where you be gone avore,
An' be a-w{"a}itèn vor me now,
To come vor evermwore.

poem by William Barnes
Added by Poetry Lover
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The White Room

Spanna noo na noo na ne na naho
Spanna noo na ne ne naho
Spa noo na naho
Noo na naho
Noo na naho
Spa noo na naho
Spanna noo na noo na noo na naho
Spanna noo na noo na nehhey
Spa noo na nehhey
Noo na naho
Noo na naho
Spanna noo na noo na ne na naho
Spanna noo na ne ne naho
[more spa na noo ne na noo things]
Talk to me, talk to me
If you want to know the things we see
Then step inside our skins
The white room, the white room
We spin, we turn, watch and wait
As the world just creeps on bye
The white room, the white room
Ooohhaaa
Talk to me, talk to me
Far below, a small boat sails,
Catching fish from the sea.
The white room, the white room
We climb the mountain,
Feel the wind,
We climbed to touch the stars.
The white room, the white room
Ooohhaaa
The white room, the white room
[more spetta na noo ne na noo things]
The white room, the white room
The white room, the white room
[more spetta na noo ne na noo things]
The white room, the white room

song performed by KLF
Added by Lucian Velea
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Goo Goo Itch

Itchy, itchy goo
Got me thinking of you
Itchy goo, itchy goo
Oh, baby, I love you
Itchy goo, itchy goo, itchy goo goo goo
Its all I wanna do, whammo
Itchy, itchy goo
Theres a pile next to you
Itchy goo, itchy goo
And its turnin blue
Itchy goo, itchy goo, itchy goo goo goo
Its all I wanna do, whammo
You got me running in circles
Like a pee-pee baby
Im so happy I just wanna die
Cause this baby love
It comes from up above
Move on over
I wanna get closer
Move on over
Wanna twaddle with you
Move on over
Satisfy my urges
Please, please help
I got the goo, goo itch
You got me running in circles
Like a big-big baby

song performed by Devo
Added by Lucian Velea
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I Am The The Walrus (live)

I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together
See how they run like pigs from a gun
See how they fly
I'm crying
Sitting on a cornflake
Waiting for the van to come
Corporation tee-shirt
Stupid bloody Tuesday
Man, you been a naughty boy
You let your face grow long
I am the eggman
They are the eggmen
I am the walrus
Goo goo g'joob
Mister City
Policeman sitting
Pretty little policemen in a row
See how they fly like Lucy in the Sky
See how they run
I'm crying
I'm crying
I'm crying
I'm crying
Yellow matter custard
Dripping from a dead dog's eye
Crabalocker fishwife
Pornographic priestess
Boy, you been a naughty girl
You let your knickers down
I am the eggman
They are the eggmen
I am the walrus
Goo goo g'joob
Sitting in an English garden
Waiting for the sun
If the sun don't come
You get a tan from
Standing in the English rain
I am the eggman
They are the eggmen
I am the walrus, goo goo g'joob g'goo goo g'joob
Expert textpert
Choking smokers
Don't you thing the joker laughs at you?
See how they smile
Like pigs in a sty
See how they snied
I'm crying
Semolina pilchard
Climbing up the Eiffel Tower

[...] Read more

song performed by Oasis
Added by Lucian Velea
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Synergy of Love

'Were you honed from poetry? '
I asked your saddened smile.
For it seems to tell a longing tale -
One of words in oratory
That speaks in languid metaphors
From lips of mind in deep despair
And solitude from inner wars
That over time has rendered life so frail.

'Were you carved from doleful prose? '
I sought to ask your gaze,
For a pain lies deep within your eyes -
One of barren territory
Where no fair heart could ever drift
And hope to venture back content
With grateful memories in a gift -
A land of your affectional demise.

'Do I hear a mournful hum? '
I wondered of your cry,
For it sings a song of deep lament -
One of quiet soliloquy
Recited on deserted strands
To waves that have no sense of song
And only wish to fight the sands -
A chant that cites emotional descent.

Do you know your face portrays
The colours of your soul?
It tells me at a single glance
Of how you burned your furnace whole
To stay the fire in our romance.

And see the prismic hues they bore!
I cherished all I ever saw:
Mauve of mystic; browns of rustic;
Reddened tones to match your blush;
Marine of passion, spending out your being,
Leaving you for ashen embers, fleeing
The dying light in hush of night.
And how you lay there empty.

So let me help re-grow the flowers
Once erect in fiery showers!
For now I've seen what love can do
When torn asunder - oh my catastrophic blunder!

But we must realise -
Our flaming want is meant to be!
We are the ocean and the sea;

[...] Read more

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Girt Woak Tree

The girt woak tree that's in the dell !
There's noo tree I do love so well;
Vor times an' times when I wer young
I there've a-climb'd, an' there've a-zwung,
An' pick'd the eacorns green, a-shed
In wrestlen storms from his broad head,
An' down below's the cloty brook
Where I did vish with line an' hook,
An' beat, in playsome dips and zwims,
The foamy stream, wi' white-skinn'd lim's.
An' there my mother nimbly shot
Her knitten-needles, as she zot
At evenen down below the wide
Woak's head, wi' father at her zide.
An' I've a-played wi' many a bwoy,
That's now a man an' gone awoy;
Zoo I do like noo tree so well
'S the girt woak tree that's in the dell.

An' there, in leater years, I roved
Wi' thik poor maid I fondly lov'd,-
The maid too feair to die so soon,-
When evenen twilight, or the moon,
Cast light enough 'ithin the pleace
To show the smiles upon her feace,
Wi' eyes so clear's the glassy pool,
An' lips an' cheaks so soft as wool.
There han' in han', wi' bosoms warm
Wi' love that burned but thought noo harm,
Below the wide-bough's tree we past
The happy hours that went too vast;
An' though she'll never be my wife,
She's still my leaden star o' life.
She's gone: an' she've a-left to me
Her token in the girt woak tree;
Zoo I do love noo tree so well
'S the girt woak tree that's in the dell.

An' oh ! mid never ax nor hook
Be brought to spweil his steately look;
Nor ever roun' his ribby zides
Mid cattle rub ther heairy hides;
Nor pigs rout up his turf, but keep
His lwonesome sheade vor harmless sheep;
An' let en grow, an' let en spread,
An' let en live when I be dead.
But oh! if men should come an' vell
The girt woak tree that's in the dell,
An' build his planks 'ithin the zide
O' zome girt ship to plough the tide,

[...] Read more

poem by Ingeborg Bachmann
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Forsaking My Love

I hate you
I wish to tear you away from me
This tumor that clings to my chest
The thing that makes me ache
That haunts my dreams
And tears at my desires
You have brought me only pain
My untamed heart
That beast that gnaws at my soul
That pitifully whines
Bringing my mind into unwanted pain
Yet how can I blame you
How can I chastise you when I listen intently to your pleas
Why should I punish you for what my eyes feed upon
How can I blame my eyes for falling upon her
She who brings light to the eternal darkness of my soul
She whose eyes bring me to subjection
Whose smile leaves me in awe
How can I blame you when my ears are met with her laughter
How they submerge into her song
How they quiver at her voice
Why should I punish you for inclining my soul
Tempting it with the one sense that has been forsaken by her
How could I look over the thought of the brushing of lips
The touching of hands
The binding of the soul, mind, and body
O you wretched heart
What am I to do with this constant companion
How could I tear you away
When she is the cause of my agony
Or rather
It is the lack of her which brings me sorrow
It is the need for her that leaves my heart in pain
Yet she is not mine
She was never mine
She will never be mine
O my poor heart
How can I make you see reason
When all you do is show me the truth

love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love

[...] Read more

poem by Michael Silver
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The Year Clock

We zot bezide the leafy wall,
Upon the bench at evenfall,
While aunt led off our minds wrom ceare
Wi' veairy teales, I can't tell where,
An' vound us woone among her stock
O' feables, o' the gert Year-clock.
His feace wer blue's the zummer skies,
An' wide's the zight o'looken eyes,
For hands, a zun wi' glowen feace,
An' pealer moon wi' swifter peace,
Did wheel by stars o' twinklen light,
By bright-wall'd day, an' dark-treed night;
An' down upon the high-sky'd land,
A'reachen wide, on either hand,
Wer hill an' dell, wi' win'-sway'd trees,
An' lights a'zweepen over seas,
An' gleamen cliffs, an' bright-wall'd tow'rs,
Wi' sheades a-marken on the hours;
An' as the feace, a-rollen round,
Brought comely sheapes along the ground,
The Spring did come in winsome steate
Below a glowen rainbow geate;
An' fan wi' air a-blowen weak,
Her glossy heair, an' rwosy cheak,
As she did shed vrom open hand,
The leapen zeed on vurrow'd land;
The while the rook, wi' heasty flight,
A-floaten in the glowen light,
Did bear avore her glossy breast
A stick to build her lofty nest,
An' strong-limbed Tweil, wi' steady hands,
Did guide along the vallow lands
The heavy zull, wi' bright-shear'd beam,
Avore the weary oxen-team.
Wi' Spring a-gone there come behind
Sweet Zummer, jay on ev'ry mind,
Wi' feace a-beamen to beguile
Our weary souls ov ev'ry tweil,
While birds did warble in the dell,
In softest air o' sweetest smell;
An' she, so winsome-feair did vwold
Her comely limbs in green an' goold,
An' wear a rwosy wreath, wi' studs
O' berries green, an' new-born buds,
A-fring'd in colours vier-bright,
Wi' sheapes o'buttervlies in flight.
When Summer went, the next ov all
Did come the sheape o' brown-feac'd Fall,
A-smile in a comely gown
O'green, a-shot wi' yollow-brown,

[...] Read more

poem by William Barnes
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Girt Woak Tree That's In the Dell

The girt woak tree that's in the dell!
There's noo tree I do love so well;
Vor times an' times when I wer young,
I there've a-climbed, an' there've a-zwung,
An' picked the eacorns green, a-shed
In wrestlen storms vrom his broad head.
An' down below's the cloty brook
Where I did vish with line an' hook,
An' beat, in playsome dips and zwims,
The foamy stream, wi' white-skinned lim's.
An' there my mother nimbly shot
Her knitten-needles, as she zot
At evenen down below the wide
Woak's head, wi' father at her zide.
An' I've a-played wi' many a bwoy,
That's now a man an' gone awoy;
Zoo I do like noo tree so well
'S the girt woak tree that's in the dell.

An' there, in leater years, I roved
Wi' thik poor maid I fondly loved, -
The maid too feair to die so soon, -
When evenen twilight, or the moon,
Cast light enough 'ithin the pleace
To show the smiles upon her feace,
Wi' eyes so clear's the glassy pool,
An' lips an' cheaks so soft as wool.
There han' in han', wi' bosoms warm,
Wi' love that burned but thought noo harm,
Below the wide-boughed tree we passed
The happy hours that went too vast;
An' though she'll never be my wife,
She's still my leaden star o' life.
She's gone: an' she've a-left to me
Her mem'ry in the girt woak tree;
Zoo I do love noo tree so well
'S the girt woak tree that's in the dell.

An' oh! mid never ax nor hook
Be brought to spweil his steately look;
Nor ever roun' his ribby zides
Mid cattle rub ther heairy hides;
Nor pigs rout up his turf, but keep
His lwonesome sheade vor harmless sheep;
An' let en grow, an' let en spread,
An' let en live when I be dead.
But oh! if men should come an' vell
The girt woak tree that's in the dell,
An' build his planks 'ithin the zide
O' zome girt ship to plough the tide,

[...] Read more

poem by William Barnes
Added by Poetry Lover
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I Am The Walrus

(from beatles version)
I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.
See how they run like pigs from a gun, see how they fly.
Im crying.
Sitting on a cornflake, waiting for the van to come.
Corporation tee-shirt, stupid bloody tuesday.
Man, you been a naughty boy, you let your face grow long.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo gjoob.
Mister city policeman sitting
Pretty little policemen in a row.
See how they fly like lucy in the sky, see how they run.
Im crying, Im crying.
Im crying, Im crying.
Yellow matter custard, dripping from a dead dogs eye.
Crabalocker fishwife, pornographic priestess,
Boy, you been a naughty girl you let your knickers down.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo gjoob.
Sitting in an english garden waiting for the sun.
If the sun dont come, you get a tan
From standing in the english rain.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo gjoob ggoo goo gjoob.
Expert textpert choking smokers,
Dont you thing the joker laughs at you?
See how they smile like pigs in a sty,
See how they snied.
Im crying.
Semolina pilchard, climbing up the eiffel tower.
Elementary penguin singing hari krishna.
Man, you should have seen them kicking edgar alan poe.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo gjoob ggoo goo gjoob.
Goo goo gjoob ggoo goo gjoob ggoo.

song performed by Oingo Boingo
Added by Lucian Velea
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I Am The Walrus

I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.
See how they run like pigs from a gun, see how they fly.
Im crying.
Sitting on a cornflake, waiting for the van to come.
Corporation tee-shirt, stupid bloody tuesday.
Man, you been a naughty boy, you let your face grow long.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo gjoob.
Mister city policeman sitting
Pretty little policemen in a row.
See how they fly like lucy in the sky, see how they run.
Im crying, Im crying.
Im crying, Im crying.
Yellow matter custard, dripping from a dead dogs eye.
Crabalocker fishwife, pornographic priestess,
Boy, you been a naughty girl you let your knickers down.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo gjoob.
Sitting in an english garden waiting for the sun.
If the sun dont come, you get a tan
From standing in the english rain.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo gjoob ggoo goo gjoob.
Expert textpert choking smokers,
Dont you thing the joker laughs at you?
See how they smile like pigs in a sty,
See how they snied.
Im crying.
Semolina pilchard, climbing up the eiffel tower.
Elementary penguin singing hari krishna.
Man, you should have seen them kicking edgar allan poe.
I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo gjoob ggoo goo gjoob.
Goo goo gjoob ggoo goo gjoob ggoo.

song performed by Styx
Added by Lucian Velea
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New Yorks In Love

Do you see that thing
Im sure its love
Would you do one thing
New yorks in love
The city grew wings in the back of night
The clouds are stuck like candy-floss
She sees the rich trash having all the fun
Makes her wonder where they get the energy from
Theres nothing you can do to her
This citys all clean and waiting
I dont mean to wait too long
But this joint cant get much higher
New yorks in love
With her big green eyes
And her long blonde hair
New yorks in flames
New yorks in love
With the way she talks
And the way she walks
New yorks in love
Goo goo goo goo goo goo
My, oh my, its a tom-tom beat
No-one knows theyve had their day
We can dance and we can see the singles swing
Everybodys waiting for the go-go boys
Youre turned to stone by the family
Its now the dead speak to the living
Nothing left here but a raging blaze
And I dont mean to wait too long
New yorks in love
With her big green eyes
And her long blonde hair
New yorks in flames
New yorks in love
With the way she talks
And the way she walks
New yorks in love
Goo goo goo goo goo goo
Pretty as a picture
New yorks in love
New yorks in love
New yorks in flames

song performed by David Bowie
Added by Lucian Velea
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Robin Hood and the Potter

Fitt I.
In schomer, when the leves spryng,
The bloschoms on every bowe,
So merey doyt the berdys syng
Yn wodys merey now.

Herkens, god yemen,
Comley, corteys, and god,
On of the best that yever bare bowe,
Hes name was Roben Hode.

Roben Hood was the yemans name,
That was boyt corteys and fre;
For the loffe of owre ladey,
All wemen werschepyd he.

Bot as the god yeman stod on a day,
Among hes mery maney,
He was ware of a prowd potter,
Cam dryfyng owyr the leye.

'Yonder comet a prod potter,' seyde Roben,
'That long hayt hantyd this wey;
He was never so corteys a man
On peney of pawage to pay.'

'Y met hem bot at Wentbreg,' seyde Lytyll John,
'And therefore yeffell mot he the!
Seche thre strokes he me gafe,
Yet by my seydys cleffe they.

Y ley forty shillings,' seyde Lytyll John,
'To pay het thes same day,
Ther ys nat a man among hus all
A wed schall make hem leye.'

'Here ys forty shillings,' seyde Roben,
'More, and thow dar say,
That Y schall make that prowde potter,
A wed to me schall he ley.'

There thes money they leyde,
They toke het a yeman to kepe;
Roben beffore the potter he breyde,
And bad hem stond stell.

Handys apon hes hors he leyde,
And bad the potter stonde foll stell;
The potter schorteley to hem seyde,
'Felow, what ys they well?'

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Seasonable Retour-Knell

SEASONABLE RETOUR KNELL
Variations on a theme...
SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS

Author notes

A mirrored Retourne may not only be read either from first line to last or from last to first as seen in the mirrors, but also by inverting the first and second phrase of each line, either rhyming AAAA or ABAB for each verse. thus the number of variations could be multiplied several times.- two variations on the theme have been included here but could have been extended as in SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS robi03_0069_robi03_0000

In respect of SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS
This composition has sought to explore linguistic potential. Notes and the initial version are placed before rather than after the poem.
Six variations on a theme have been selected out of a significant number of mathematical possibilities using THE SAME TEXT and a reverse mirror for each version. Mirrors repeat the seasons with the lines in reverse order.

For the second roll the first four syllables of each line are reversed, and sense is retained both in the normal order of seasons and the reversed order as well... The 3rd and 4th variations offer ABAB rhyme schemes retaining the original text. The 5th and 6th variations modify the text into rhyming couplets.

Given the linguistical structure of this symphonic composition the score could be read in inversing each and every line and each and every hemistitch. There are minor punctuation differences between versions.

One could probably attain sonnet status for each of the four seasons and through partioning in 3 groups of 4 syllables extend the possibilites ad vitam.

Seasonable Round Robin Roll Reversals
robi03_0069_robi03_0000 QXX_DNZ
Seasonable Retour-Knell
robi03_0070_robi03_0069 QXX_NXX
26 March 1975 rewritten 20070123
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllllllllllllllllll
For previous version see below
_______________________________________
SPRING SUMMER

Life is at ease Young lovers long
Land under plough; To hold their dear;
Whispering trees, Dewdrops among,
Answering cow. Bold, know no fear.

Blossom, the bees, Life full of song,
Burgeoning bough; Cloudless and clear;
Soft-scented breeze, Days fair and long,
Spring warms life now. Summer sends cheer.

AUTUMN WINTER

Each leaf decays, Harvested sheaves
Each life must bow; And honeyed hives;
Our salad days Trees stripped of leaves,
Are ending now. Jack Frost has knives.

Fruit heavy lays Time, Prince of thieves,
Bending the bough, - Onward he drives,

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Ride Sally Ride

Sit yourself down
Bang out a tune on that grand piano
Sit yourself down
Lay languidly down upon that sofa
Ooohhh, isnt it nice
When your heart is made out of ice
Ride, sally, ride
Its not your time or way of confusion
Ride, sally, ride
cause if you dont, youll get a contusion
Ooohhh, isnt it nice
When your heart is made out of ice
Sit yourself down
Take of your pants, dont you know this is a party
Sit yourself down
Why do you think we brought all these people, miss brandy
Ooohhh, isnt it nice
When you find your hearts made out of ice
Ride, sally, ride
Its not your time, its just your confusion
Ride, sally, ride
Its not your time, youll get a contusion
Ooohhh, isnt it nice
When you find your heart is made out of ice
(ride, sally ride)
(ride, ride, ride, ride, sally ride) ride, sally, ride
(ride, ride, ride, ride, sally ride) hey, ride, sally, ride
(ride, ride, ride, ride, sally ride) ride, sally, ride
(ride, ride, ride, ride, sally ride, oh-oh-oh, oh)
(ride, ride, ride, ride, sally ride, hey-hey-hey, hey-hey)

song performed by Lou Reed
Added by Lucian Velea
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Afrikaans: Sterregordels, Stilsonjare, Tydsbroekspypdinge, Haarsliert

Sterregordels

Cosmology in Afrikaans is an ode to joy, the
terms form sing-song strings with delightful
sounds “ewigbewegende elektron”
continuously spinning electron

“elektron in die hart van die atoomkorrel”
electron in the centre of the atom particle
- what a song!

“Triljoene Melkwegstelsels waaromheen ons
Melkweg elke tweehonderdmiljoenjaar
wentel – ‘n mallemeule van sterregordels…”

“Dobberende patrone, mesone en elektrone,
'n konfigurasie van konvekse novae”…

- these terms are singing to me!

A merry-go-round of star systems

Quotes from Adriaan Snyman “Die Messias Kode” (The Messiah Code) pp.9,10

Bombardement Van Frekwensies (English Explanation)

Waarmee sal ek hierdie leë oomblikke,
ankerloos, betekenisloos; aan die ewigheid
vasmaak - die gevoelsruimte in my hart

Is leeg, alle gevoel en denke het gesamentlik
in die donker duisternis van my brein ingeval
‘n laserbrein wat die hologramwêreld

Self moet konsituteer uit ‘n bombardement
van betekenislose frekwensies – maar
vandag is die ligstraalfokus uit

My pendulumgedagtes swaai ongefokus rond
die opgerolde, ingevoude ses-en-twintig of
meer dimensies van die virtuele werklikheid

Wil nie vir my oopgaan nie…

All thought and feeling fell into the black hole in my brain and the twenty-six or more rolled-up frequencies of reality does not want to open for me today…

Geloof In Liefde - Faith In Love

[...] Read more

poem by Margaret Alice
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Robin Hood And The Potter

In schomer, when the leves spryng,
The bloschems on every bowe,
So merey doyt the berdys syng
Yn wodys merey now.

Herkens, god yemen,
Comley, corteysse, and god,
On of the best that yever bar bou,
Hes name was Roben Hode.

Roben Hood was the yemans name,
That was boyt corteys and fre;
For the loffe of owr ladey,
All wemen werschep he.

Bot as the god yemen stod on a day,
Among hes mery maney,
He was war of a prowd potter,
Cam dryfyng owyr the ley.

'Yonder comet a prod potter,' seyde Roben,
'That long hayt hantyd this wey;
He was never so corteys a man
On peney of pawage to pay.'

'Y met hem bot at Wentbreg,' seyde Lytyll John,
'And therfor yeffell mot he the,
Seche thre strokes he me gafe,
Yet they cleffe by my seydys.

'Y ley forty shillings,' seyde Lytyll John,
'To pay het thes same day,
Ther ys nat a man arnong hus all
A wed schall make hem ley.'

'Her ys forty shillings,' seyde Roben,
'Mor, and thow dar say,
That y schall make that prowde potter,
A wed to me schall he ley.'

Ther thes money they leyde,
They toke bot a yeman to kepe;
Roben befor the potter he breyde,
And bad hem stond stell.

Handys apon hes horse he leyde,
And bad the potter stonde foll stell;
The potter schorteley to hem seyde,
'Felow, what ys they well?'

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Lang
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The Turnstile

Ah! sad wer we as we did peace
the wold church road, wi' downcast feace,
the while the bells, that mwoaned so deep
above our child a-left asleep,
wer now a-zingen all alive
wi' t'other bells to meake the vive.
But up at woone pleace we come by,
t'wer hard to keep woone's two eyes dry-
on Stean-cliff road, 'ithin the drong,
up where, as vo'k do pass along,
the turnen stile, a-painted white,
do sheen by day an' show by night.
Vor always there, as we did goo
to church, thik stile did let us drough,
wi' spreaden arms that wheeled to guide
us each in turn to t'other zide.
An' vu'st ov all the train he took
my wife, wi' winsome gait an' look:
An' then zent on my little maid,
a-skippen onward, overjay'd
to reach agean the pleace o' pride,
her comely mother's left han' zide.
An' then, a-wheelen roun', he took
on me, 'ithin his third white nook.
An' in the fourth, a sheaken wild,
he zent us on our giddy child.
But eesterday he guided slow
my downcast Jenny, vull o' woe,
an' then my little maid in black,
a-walken softly on her track.
An' after he'd a-turned agean
to let me goo along the leane,
he had noo little bwoy to vill
his last white earms, an' they stood still.

poem by William Barnes
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Woone Smile Mwore

O! MARY, when the zun went down,
Woone night in spring, w’ viry rim,
Behind the nap wi’ woody crown,
An’ left your smilen face so dim;
Your little sister there, inside,
Wi’ bellows on her little knee,
Did blow the vire, a-glearen wide
Drough window-panes, that I could zee,—
As you did stan’ wi’ me, avore
The house, a-parten,—woone smile mwore.

The chatt’ren birds, a-risen high,
An’ zinken low, did swiftly vlee
Vrom shrinken moss, a-growen dry,
Upon the lanen apple tree.
An’ there the dog, a-whippen wide
His hairy tail, an’ comen near,
Did fondly lay agan you zide
His coal-black nose an’ russet ear:
To win what I ’d a-won avore,
Vrom your gay; face, his woone smile mwore.

An’ while your mother bustled sprack,
A-getten supper out in hall,
An’ cast her shade, a-whiv’ren black
Avore the vire, upon the wall;
Your brother come, wi’ easy pace,
In drough the slammen gate, along
The path, wi’ healthy-bloomen face,
A-whis’len shrill his last new zong:
An’ when he come avore the door,
He met vrom you his woone smile mwore.

Now you that wer the daughter there,
Be mother on a husband’s vloor,
An’ mid ye meet wi’ less o’ care
Than what your harty mother bore;
An’ if abroad I have to rue
The bitter tongue, or wrongvul deed,
Mid I come hwome to share wi’ you
What ’s needvul free o’ pinchen need:
An’ vind that you ha’ still in store
My evenen meal, an’ woone smile mwore.

poem by William Barnes
Added by Poetry Lover
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