Um

I
Stuttered
Lost in
Ems
Or Tees

Mostly
Silent
Except when too excited

Pulling hems
And pointing
Look

Grown ups turn
So
Slowly
They miss so
Much

Leacock's Lament - A Glossa

This was the cry of little Jane
In bed she moaning lay,
Delirious with Stomach Pain
That would not go away

Oh! Mr. Malthus! The Hickonomics of Hearth and Heart, Stephen Leacock

In that great depression
Way back then
When men were regulated by their greed alone
When wars were fought for ego
And sustained
By madness
Some day, some day things will change
This was the cry of little Jane

A childish regression
Lack of food
Made her hungry for the good - Blind to all the rest
Her world drowning in excess
Still she starved
Cold kindness
That she couldn't tell the night from day
In bed she moaning lay

Planned for her succession
Toys to friends
Foolish amends and unneeded apologies
Thankfully complete in time
Her mind left
Her heedless
Of the need for market gain
Delirious with stomach pain

Divine intercession
Took her pain
Made something useful of it in a memory
A poem for others - She
Now equal
Now lifeless
She was free to go - But famine stayed
That would not go away

Choka - Interpretation

Melons eaten
I remember my children
Chestnuts eaten
I remember my pain
Invisible - I see them
In my mind's eye
I cannot help them
Night without end
No rest or quiet sleep

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Uri hameba
Kodomo Omohoyu
Kuri hameba
Mashite Omowayu
Izuko yori
Kitarishi monoso
Manakai ni
Motona kakarite
Yasui shi nesanu


My interpretation of a choka by Yamanoue no Okura circa 730 AD.
I tried to honor the poetic aesthetic of this beautiful poem (particularly the repetition and rhythm) - Mine is not a literal translation of the text nor of its scansion... I would love to see other people's interpretations.

You were Spain

You were Spain
You were the switch back curves
From the mountain to the sea
Hairpins holding back the olive groves

You were Spain
And we flew through you
Noise some witches
Riding our motorbikes
Riding our broomstick Vespas
Like virgins - Knees pressed firmly to hold our place

You were Spain
And your words made sense
Ananas y Naranjas
Fruits made real by closeness to their roots
And your villages
Clung to the mountain by their high mountain names
Binaraitx, Andratx, Fornalutx
Or lapped low and lovely to the sea of Soller - Puerto de Soller

You were Spain
And we rode the San Franciscan tram
Along the beachfront - And everyone smoked
The black tabac
The cheap filterless Fundadors
More foul than French
Burning our nostrils with their gunpowder stench

And someone young - Played guitar
And someone young clapped
And someone young clapped
And someone young clapped
And we knew that this was perfect
And we knew that every other flamenco
Would be spoiled forever
We knew that every other flamenco would always be somehow wrong
Painted on velvet

Y sonrió
Todos sonrió salvajemente
And we smiled
We all smiled wildly - And we saw their
Tears streaming down cheeks that were clenched with joy
And we smiled at their simple sentimentality

And then we tasted the surprising salt on our own lips
And we smiled again in our community
And we
Were Spain

Nichola Ward - Villanelle Bio

A Writer and Performance Poet of the hood
Although her neighbours are all decorators
Nichola Ward - Oh yeah - She's good

Not one to self applaud - But if she could
She'd call herself a wicked - Rhyminator
A Writer and Performance Poet of the hood

Inspired by voices from fair Thomas's Milkwood
And by the likes of Arnold's "Terminator"
Nichola Ward - Oh yeah - She's good

Fearless - She'll milk any sacred cow - from the Bible to the Talmud
Preaching to the public - She's a peerless Mass Debater
A Writer and Performance Poet of the hood

She lays no claim to Sainthood
But she's a lover not a hater … and (like most of us) is scared of coming off as some asshole second-rater… So when you see her tell her later…
Nichola Ward - Oh yeah - She's good

Because when you take away the bullshit - She's been standing where you stood
And sharing some humanity… well, that's the reason why she's placed here
A Writer and Performance Poet of the hood
Nichola Ward - Oh yeah - She's good