Those chairmen are in the tower of babel again
Painting and repainting the future of our land with crooked hands
Laughing at things as the world pass us by.
Those chairmen are in the tower of babel again
Writing us messages that have no bloodline.
Although black oil runs in our veins like water of vegetation
There is a sunstroke in our land.
We dream of cassava songs in the market
We dream of an open vehicle that could bear the tiredness of our souls but we are at the verge of things.
Our chairmen our flag bearers of fences
Translators of black dreams with European mirror.
The white house is open for destitutes, kindred of destitutes that are china in African sun.
Those chairmen are in the tower of babel again and there is a sunstroke in our land
The scorching heat is against banana groves.
Look and see children on a hungry march in the metallic road.
I danced with an Alien
At the Diplomat’s Summer Ball
Though I’m not sure Dancing
Correctly described it at all.
A dancing partner with six feet
And thirty six naked toes?
Trying to be graceful while avoiding
Kicking or stepping on any of those.
I’m not quite sure I appreciated
The appeal or the charm
Of dancing with a creature with
Tentacles instead of arms.
I was so grateful when
It mumbled its thanks
Then wandered off to recharge
The gas in its breathing tanks.
Another one was waiting
To step up in its place
And I had to accept
With a show of grace.
We mooched around in silence,
We shambled round and round,
As out Universal Translators
Had both totally broken down.
They say silence is golden
But it doesn’t help pass time
When your dancing partner
Exudes a green sweaty slime.
The next time I’ll throw a sickie
If I’m given the chance
Rather than be on duty at
The Aliens Diplomatic Dance.
Diplomatic Dancing
A duty to avoid
But then life is boring
On our little asteroid Embassy
At least we’ve made progress
We’re not the only sentient race
As we practice our Diplomacy
Here on the fringes of Outer Space
Composers compose
Translators transpose
Opponents oppose
R.I.P. in repose...
Lovers propose
Doubters suppose
Bikinis expose
Writers juxtapose...
So many words end in 'pose'
I'd continue ~ but I'm indisposed
I
The Reeds rest in water by faith
You may recall Baby Moses' name
Or you may forget the Prince of Egypt
And his name, "Up from Reeds"
THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS
Also sings to and in the Weeds
The Reeds that feed, sing, civilize us
As in Egypt of Papyri fame, flames
Of music remind us to remember
For we are wont to forget, forget, forget ...
Then Mole, Rat, Boy Otter will be Teachers
Ii
The music rises & falls among the Reeds
Ancient themselves, translators for us
From teachers from another Kingdom
We do remember, if we listen, above our din
That serenade the Presence, Healer-Helper
A name Hebrews knew in Exodus of Moses
Yahwah Rophikah, THE LORD MY HEALER
The Otter, the Mole, the Rat rarely forget
Even if they miss some of the words
That meander among the Reeds, rising ever
Lilting - seek my helping power, in that hour
Shatner's Star Trek: a true break-out show
Well, except for the red shirts, you know?
With their food replicators,
Universal translators,
To infinitives, they'd boldly go.
—————
for the On A Lim Poetry Contest
sponsored by Joseph May
on the original Star Trek series
written on 03/31/2022
HowManySyllables.com: 9/9/7/7/9
a rose died
a rose in a poem
it’s beauty and grace
in the face of
fall winds in an
instant translation across
borders
natural and drawn
fade
within books
and clicks
a rose in a poem
speaks
inside radio-waves
grows strong
between crests
some
signals are jammed
but not all
a dream created a rose in a poem
by a poet long ago with
quills and ink
pens then copied
keyboards to put on disks
now
touch screens with
voice recognition and
translators let
all see-
Dinner Time
The scaly, green creature emerged
To a beach where swimmers converged
How quickly the crowd stepped aside
As the fourteen-foot reptile hit stride
From the Gulf to a nearby pond
He stepped in and poof, he was gone
Only then did we see the sign
Half hidden by a creeping vine
What’s this? Do we need translators?
“Please don’t feed the alligators”
October 20, 2016
It had been very hard for me
to speak with West
through translators,
usually Russians ones
anchored by intelligent services,
KGB or related them
with such or others way.
Sometimes we have met Kyrgyzes mediators,
but they are also spoiled
by soviet or post-soviet propaganda,
hated our own cultures and nashient freedom,
heavily abscessed
by died glory and greatness of USSR
dismantled,
ardently dreamed, poor one,
to return in that golden cage and Edem
exalting.
So I decide one day
from once and onward
damn and curse all of them
my false mediaters!
I want to English
and I will speak, write and dream on it
maybe as one hopeless invalid
but I escape from
various interpretators and interlocators,
fasilitators and falsificators
and traitors and predators
in the great hub of crossroad
of Big Game.
As a philippines
for the sake of future
and for the great advances,
for 100 million people with asian mentality
and heavy burden of past,
they started on English speaking,
thinking, working and entertaining
and have set others things and staff
for realize his dreams - practically and immediately -
creating fast developed modern society
I don't know racism
but I do know
that woman
screaming
in my face
well, I didn't stand for that
even if I had to grab
the neighbor's kid
to translate for me
that woman
looking down
on my Chinese face
I had Julia write
a Formal Complaint
the principal agreed
and did nothing
a weak woman
just imagine if I knew english
the hardest thing
was letting them walk on us
timid and quiet Chinese
hah!
no Chinese in government
no social services
no translators
I came too early
You who are literal even in love
who treats each work
as journey men to a fact,
consider the ambiquity of birds;
the ones pentemeter for instance
the jay who names
his territorys aloud _ _ _
you label those marital cries song
and the weather:
the operatic fall of a snow
burries alive with it's grace notes
the roots of trees
we are only translators, uneasy
unequiped
in the hungry dawn
strange syllables stain our mouths,
like berries picked deep
in the woods. Bitter or healing
poisonous or sweet
how are we to say?
I can't bear to think of the things we can't say
If colors were words I'd be left holding gray
Please loan me some Portuguese,Prussian and Sioux
and tie them all up with a noun from Peru
I want amarillo, y rojo, azul
to color my poems and make them sound cool
In Russian it's chorney that's black as the night
or if we write behleh we color it white
The loss in translation just drives me to tears
just what did they mean reading back thru the years?
The translators try but the nuances tremble
to be heard as a word
they dont even resemble
We want all the colors, we want all the ways
to love or berate or chastise or praise
Still the words of the world and their colors
have found us
Hurray that olde Shakespeare
Wrote Rainbows around us .