Showing posts with label poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poems. Show all posts

Sunday, November 25, 2007

poetry

is truth, sometimes. h/t compassioninpolitics

Sunday, November 12, 2006

something lighter

The European Union Commission have announced that agreement has been reached to adopt English as the preferred language for Europeancommunications, rather than German, which was the other possibility. As partof the negotiations, the British government conceded that English spellinghad some room for improvement and has accepted a five-year phased plan forwhat will be known as EuroEnglish (Euro for short).

In the first year, "s" will be used instead of the soft "c".Sertainly, sivil servants will resieve this news with joy. Also, the hard"c" will be replaced with "k". Not only will this klear up konfusion, buttypewriters kan have one less letter.

There will be growing publik enthusiasm in the sekond year, when the troublesome "ph" will be replacedby "f". This will make words like "fotograf" 20 per sent shorter.

In the third year, publik akseptanse of the new spelling kan beexpekted to reach the stage where more komplikated changes are possible.Governments will enkorage the removal of double letters, which have alwaysben a deterent to akurate speling. Also, al wil agre that the horible mesof silent "e"s in the languag is disgrasful, and they would go.

By the fourth year, peopl wil be reseptiv to steps such as replasing"th" by "z" and "w" by "v".

During se fifz year, ze unesesary "o" kan bedropd from vords kontaining "ou", and similar changes vud of kors be apldto ozer kombinations of leters. After zis fifz year, ve vil hav a relisensibl riten styl. Zer vil be no mor trubls or difikultis and evrivun wilfind it ezi to understand ech ozer. Ze drem vil finali kum tru.


And here's Jabberwocky in Welsh. 20 points if you can read this out loud in less than 3 mintues From the jabberwocky variations page:

Siaberwoci
Selyf Roberts

Mae'n brydgell ac mae'r brochgim stwd
Yn gimblo a gyrian yn y mhello:
Pob cólomrws yn féddabwd,
A'r hoch oma'n chwibruo.

'Gwylia'r hen Siaberwoc, fy mab!
Y brathiad llym a'r crafanc tynn!
A rhed pan weli'r Gwbigab
A'r ofnynllyd Barllyn!'

Cym'rodd ei gleddyf yn ei law
I geisio ei fanawaidd brae--
A gorffwys ger y goeden Taw,
I feddwl--fel pe tae.

A thra pendronai ymhlith y coed
Y Siaberwoc a'i lygaid fflam
A ddaeth, mor wallgof ag erioed
Gan ffrwtian gam a cham!

Un, dau! Un, dau! drwy'r awyr oer
Aeth min y cledd ysgiw, ysgôl!
Fe'i lladdodd, a chan gludo'i ben
Hwblamodd yn ei ôl.

'A lleddaist ti y Siaberwoc?
Tyrd yma, hapllon fachgen!
O jiwblus ddydd! Hwrê! Hwroc!'
Gan wenu arno'n llawen.

Mae'n brydgell ac mae'r brochgim stwd
Yn gimblo a gyrian yn y mhello:
Pob cólomrws yn féddabwd,
A'r hoch oma'n chwibruo.

And here is Carroll's orginal poem:

Jabberwocky
Lewis Carroll

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought--
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One two! One two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

A Poem by D.



From Eclectic Waters
November 6th, 2006




Courage


A small body,

moving like a black bead across linoleum floor,

spins grey thread.

She hangs it like party streamers

between

rocks, trees, doorframes and windows.


Her webs of small triangles, looped and tied together,

have been dismembered by hats, flailing hands, and squirrels.


Each time, she hides beside the knotted corner, the one in the shadows,

watching

the web break

into frayed fingertips that twitch.


She has sat on the edge of countless webs. When the wind dies down, her legs click forward.


Rebuild.


A small body,

moving like a black bead,

spinning grey thread and stretching it out.


I leaned forward, but heard no sigh,

only the click click click of hairy legs against a twig.


A small body,

moving like a black bead across linoleum floor,

spins grey thread.

She hangs it like party streamers

between

rocks, trees, doorframes and windows.