Ballade [I die of thirst beside the fountain]

by François Villon
translated by Galway Kinnell

I die of thirst beside the fountain
I’m hot as fire, I’m shaking tooth on tooth
In my own country I’m in a distant land
Beside the blaze I’m shivering in flames
Naked as a worm, dressed like a president
I laugh in tears and hope in despair
I cheer up in sad hopelessness
I’m joyful and no pleasure’s anywhere
I’m powerful and lack all force and strength
Warmly welcomed, always turned away.

I’m sure of nothing but what is uncertain
Find nothing obscure but the obvious
Doubt nothing but the certainties
Knowledge to me is mere accident
I keep winning and remain the loser
At dawn I say “I bid you good night”
Lying down I’m afraid of falling
I’m so rich I haven’t a penny
I await an inheritance and am no one’s heir
Warmly welcomed, always turned away.

I never work and yet I labor
To acquire goods I don’t even want
Kind words irritate me most
He who speaks true deceives me worst
A friend is someone who makes me think
A white swan is a black crow
The people who harm me think they help
Lies and truth today I see they’re one
I remember everything, my mind’s a blank
Warmly welcomed, always turned away.

Merciful Prince may it please you to know
I understand much and have no wit or learning
I’m biased against all laws impartially
What’s next to do? Redeem my pawned goods again!
Warmly welcomed, always turned away.

Featured Poem: Calendars

by penman

Numbers inked on a page
they write the mornings
in muted stale print.

For I can see each digit
and it doesn’t sting,
doesn’t stab in any way,
but, ah, Tuesday,
was the time my life felt shook,
my heart was ripped by some fear,
love lingered in a promise
then vanished into a fog.

Can’t forget those ripping scars
from every second spent
feeling the power of tremors
when I walked into a dream
with panting dread
because it wasn’t just a dawn
it was terror, love, moving and gripping
claws of encounter
that dug deep into my brain.

I might walk away from a month’s dates,
but never from their voice,
how it speaks into my core
by a song I can never forget
even if the numbers have
no special meaning.

Featured Poem: The World

 

The World

by Montage

I wish you were here with me but you are probably stuck in traffic, sitting behind thousands of deserted cars. That is how it looks outside our door, empty cars lined on the road while people hurry through them, rushing to get somewhere safe.

I must get to you before the world we know falls. I know the route you take everyday from work to get home to me, I only hope to meet you somewhere.

I want to find you so I can tell you what you mean to me, how much I love and care about you..

I want you to wrap your strong arms around me one last time and whisper in my ear, everything will be just fine.

I need you to say this to me before the world we know falls apart and we fade…into nothing.

———————————————

“We all want to die like movie stars” you said as you jumped from the height of our cutting room floor. While above us glowing, exploding, our dreams burst forth in light in death. Hold me and tell me, “We’ll burn like stars. We’ll burn as we fall. Watch as the city lights dance for us!”

 

 

Seriously, Check This Kid Out:

As you may be aware I’m a member of a website know as AllPoetry.

A dear friend on the site recently posted an exciting journal about her eight year old brother who has autism. For those unaware people with autism tend to be very analytical and not very creative.

Well, HE WROTE A POEM! A FANTASTIC poem and I have his permission to share it with you.

The Sound Collector

by NintendoNerd1981

A stranger called this morning
dressed all in black and blue
put every song into a shoe and put them away.

The barking of a Dog.
The snoring of a Hog.
The flap of a Bat.
The purr of a Cat.

The hissing of a Snake.
The anger of losing.
The voice of someone being half asleep.

The shaking of an earthquake.
The laugh of a joke.
The tinkle of a snowflake.
The voice of a bloke.

Featured Poem: The Garden Still Grows.

Have you braved the cavalcade
that keeps you conscious
and corralled,
have you seen the children
putting sun flowers
in gun barrels,
sipping puffs of magic
and fighting in the streets.
 
Have you raised your voice
and your children
and the harvest
with your blind faith,
that waits for ships and suns
you have yet to see,
but still believe.

The garden still grows.

Your voice can be heard,
your children will learn
your harvest can ripen
your faith will shine,
on ships and suns
of brand new days
and in the old ways
of those who dream,
with hearts of gold
and hands of labor,
their inheritance
not meek,
their reward
not of this earth.

Have you braved the cavalcade
that keeps you conscious
and corralled ?

by Lowell Poe

Featured Poem: Under the spell of Ava Marie

Hair raises on my arms, a shiver works it way down the back of my neck,
and I know she is real. Weaving in and out like a shadow caught in the
corner of your eye there one moment – gone the next leaving only the
lingering smell of her perfume. At once heavy and light. Always when she
is least expected she appears bringing comfort, pleasure or pain as she sees fit.

Some would says she is an aberration; my mind playing tricks on me. Others
say nothing. I know when I see that haunted look in their eyes they know
her like I do. A fickle and free spirit, who has learned the truth of casting
spells and bewitching those she finds interesting.

Even when she inflicts harm I want her to stay. Like a person obsess I am a
slave to her every glance, touch, and whim. I would do whatever she wished
just to have her near for more the a brief flicker of a moment.

by Holly Golightly