miercuri, 30 martie 2016

Fleacuri scrise în engleză demult (poezii cu ritm și/sau rimă)

Acrostih (Patience Moves Stones Before (moving) Mountains

Pay attention to the meek,
Tides that come are tides that go.
Endless are man’s lamentations,
Celebrate each day you live.

Monuments are built and fall,
Vessels often lose their way.
Stars can change their place in time,
One way signs can be a trick.

Estimate your real speed,
Between two extremes choose none.
Forget if you can’t forgive,
Repress anger if they laugh.

Morals change, but man’s the same,
Understand what’s your own charge.
Tame yourself before demanding,
Instead dreaming get some sleep.

Our old house

Wandering most everywhere,
I passed once by that small creek,
Finding our old house there
Where I used to hide-and-seek.

I passed once by the small creek
Where wild grasses grew so tall,
And I looked over the wall.

Finding our old house there,
With gossamer nets as drapes
With my grandpa’s sour grapes.

Where I used to hide and seek
All the trees were almost dried,
I looked back again and cried...


My questions are no longer keen,
Small pebbles on the bottom line,
My senses bring flavors within,
And blow out my mind like a wine.

The river washes its ground bed
For many years going ahead.

I don’t search, I don’t wait, I don’t hope.
All tears left my memory stream,
A fire grows high from a dream.

The past is a white timeless night,
A blind moon forgetting to shine.
I still feel a cold flimsy light
So deep in this body still mine.

Church attendants (Satire)

First I was taught to kneel in church,
Hearing the Gospel’s sacred verse,
Somehow the floor was cold and I
Felt someone watched behind my back.

Religion is about a watch
Where human sins are all recounted,
Left carelessly in Savior's charge,
Like garbage waiting for recycling.

Some think He’s like a Golden Ass,
They sin and then again confess,
And He just hauls their Silver ships
Together with the other saints.

I was a child and I was taught
That donkeys don’t know what they haul.
With pious feelings I begged once
To be accepted as a nun.

But they rejected me in tears
Among church women watching soap.
So then I crossed myself alone,
Keeping the faith in my own home.

Sex Buffoon (Satire)

I don’t have any sex experience,
And this is now sound evidence.
When I was little and too quiet,
They said I lack self-confidence.

I didn’t have a chance at all,
I never met a lonely man.
Moreover, all my strict beliefs
Forbid me to conceive a plan.

I also used to read too much,
Like Plato, Heidegger or Kant
While other girls had men in bed,
Without the need of breast implant.

I don’t search now flimsy excuses,
With my brown hair changing to gray,
I saw orgasm played on a stage
Once in a modern French ballet.

I know this seems a little odd,
Because some said I was so pretty,
But now I'm fat and I'm ashamed, 
The object of curiosity.

Clerihew 1

Sigmund Freud,
Before others found the steroid,
Dived deep his curious nose under the sex drive,
Using cocaine to feel alive.


All thinking and humankind dreams, 
Like starry dandelion seeds,
Fly low skies, unable to end
The breakup of stars’ fire bridge.

A light gravitates within us 
Dimming the hourglass eye,
Warm lightnings fall down over seas,
Welding our wings into white.

I tremble while letting my shadow
Hang gracefully upon the snow wings,
In pain from a secret that burns deep
And passes from me to the sun.

The Storm

A heavy cloud’s silence is shattered
Through every lightning shrilly blast,
Painful memories are scattered
Like night’s haunting blues from the past.

This timed flight of questions and fears
Trims yesterday hopes’ flimsy wings. 
My last open smile disappears,  
An omen among other things.

The dark moon burns under my eyes, 
Coating in ashes a blunt knife.
Red stars hide behind summer skies
Their long-lasting strong feelings strife.

And if I abandon my dreams
Refusing to taste bitter dew,
Ignited by lost love like gleams,
Tears grow within torches of rue.


A bud from a stone, a light down in the wind, 
My puzzled eyes aiming an acanthus flower,
Stars falling again on this white temple columns, 
The sky wrapping all in a blanket of felt.

The night pushes further my heart’s customs line, 
Where orange and red are slowly dissolving, 
The earth within me and its whole fleeting life
Pass without their shadow through fiery ice.

Closer and closer, blue in my dreams, 
Trembling volcanoes are lost amid waters.
At dawn, under arches, ruins and smoke,
The sun’s foggy phantom searches its way.


The souls that they impaled on stakes,
The souls that everyone forsakes,
Stand always up for us to see
How God and Man can disagree.

And after Auschwitz, Monowitz,
There’ll always be a Horowitz.
The one who lived on Robben Island
Was neither devil nor a tyrant.

Notă -- o parte din ele sunt traduceri proprii ale poeziilor mele vechi, de pildă Furtuna.

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