Gravdigr. I read your post yesterday. What a great poem. I like it.

Here is something different. I wish I could hear it better in my head. The way it's suppose to sound. Piece of cake for Limey. It would be cool to have a reading video format. :)


Address to the Devil

by Robert Burns
Robert Burns O Prince, O chief of many throned pow'rs!
That led th' embattled seraphim to war!
(Milton, Paradise Lost)

O thou! whatever title suit thee,—
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie!
Wha in yon cavern, grim an' sootie,
Clos'd under hatches,
Spairges about the brunstane cootie
To scaud poor wretches!

Hear me, Auld Hangie, for a wee,
An' let poor damned bodies be;
I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie,
E'en to a deil,
To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me,
An' hear us squeel!

Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame;
Far ken'd an' noted is thy name;
An' tho' yon lowin heugh's thy hame,
Thou travels far;
An' faith! thou's neither lag nor lame,
Nor blate nor scaur.

Whyles, ranging like a roarin lion,
For prey a' holes an' corners tryin;
Whyles, on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin,
Tirlin' the kirks;
Whyles, in the human bosom pryin,
Unseen thou lurks.

I've heard my rev'rend graunie say,
In lanely glens ye like to stray;
Or whare auld ruin'd castles gray
Nod to the moon,
Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way
Wi' eldritch croon.

When twilight did my graunie summon
To say her pray'rs, douce honest woman!
Aft yont the dike she's heard you bummin,
Wi' eerie drone;
Or, rustlin thro' the boortrees comin,
Wi' heavy groan.

Ae dreary, windy, winter night,
The stars shot down wi' sklentin light,
Wi' you mysel I gat a fright,
Ayont the lough;
Ye like a rash-buss stood in sight,
Wi' waving sugh.

The cudgel in my nieve did shake,
Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake,
When wi' an eldritch, stoor "Quaick, quaick,"
Amang the springs,
Awa ye squatter'd like a drake,
On whistling wings.

Let warlocks grim an' wither'd hags
Tell how wi' you on ragweed nags
They skim the muirs an' dizzy crags
Wi' wicked speed;
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues,
Owre howket dead.

Thence, countra wives wi' toil an' pain
May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain;
For oh! the yellow treasure's taen
By witchin skill;
An' dawtet, twal-pint hawkie's gaen
As yell's the bill.

Thence, mystic knots mak great abuse,
On young guidmen, fond, keen, an' croose;
When the best wark-lume i' the house,
By cantraip wit,
Is instant made no worth a louse,
Just at the bit.

When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord,
An' float the jinglin icy-boord,
Then water-kelpies haunt the foord
By your direction,
An' nighted trav'lers are allur'd
To their destruction.

And aft your moss-traversing spunkies
Decoy the wight that late an drunk is:
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkeys
Delude his eyes,
Till in some miry slough he sunk is,
Ne'er mair to rise.

When Masons' mystic word an grip
In storms an' tempests raise you up,
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop,
Or, strange to tell!
The youngest brither ye wad whip
Aff straught to hell!

Lang syne, in Eden'd bonie yard,
When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd,
An all the soul of love they shar'd,
The raptur'd hour,
Sweet on the fragrant flow'ry swaird,
In shady bow'r;

Then you, ye auld snick-drawin dog!
Ye cam to Paradise incog,
And play'd on man a cursed brogue,
(Black be your fa'!)
An gied the infant warld a shog,
Maist ruin'd a'.

D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz,
Wi' reeket duds an reestet gizz,
Ye did present your smoutie phiz
Mang better folk,
An' sklented on the man of Uz
Your spitefu' joke?

An' how ye gat him i' your thrall,
An' brak him out o' house and hal',
While scabs and blotches did him gall,
Wi' bitter claw,
An' lows'd his ill-tongued, wicked scaul,
Was warst ava?

But a' your doings to rehearse,
Your wily snares an' fechtin fierce,
Sin' that day Michael did you pierce,
Down to this time,
Wad ding a Lallan tongue, or Erse,
In prose or rhyme.

An' now, Auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin,
A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin,
Some luckless hour will send him linkin,
To your black pit;
But faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin,
An' cheat you yet.

But fare you weel, Auld Nickie-ben!
O wad ye tak a thought an' men'!
Ye aiblins might—I dinna ken—
Still hae a stake:
I'm wae to think upo' yon den,
Ev'n for your sake!

Yeah, I'd hafta hear that in a native accent to really get something out of it.

"Spairges about the brunstane cootie", WTF?:p:

hehe Yeah, I saw that.

I think the title should be,Address To The Deil

and this is a translation. I do not vouch for its authenticity.
http://www.worldburnsclub.com/poems/...o_the_deil.htm

Can't find Address to the Deil on YouTube, but the Address tae the Haggis should show you that it's just as incomprehensible when read out loud:

Haggis scares me.

haggis!

“Your Luck Is About To Change”
by Susan Elizabeth Howe

(A fortune cookie)
Ominous inscrutable Chinese news
to get just before Christmas,
considering my reasonable health,
marriage spicy as moo-goo-gai-pan,
career running like a not-too-old Chevrolet.
Not bad, considering what can go wrong:
the bony finger of Uncle Sam
might point out my husband,
my own national guard,
and set him in Afghanistan;
my boss could take a personal interest;
the pain in my left knee could spread to my right.
Still, as the old year tips into the new,
I insist on the infant hope, gooing and kicking
his legs in the air. I won't give in
to the dark, the sub-zero weather, the fog,
or even the neighbors' Nativity.
Their four-year-old has arranged
his whole legion of dinosaurs
so they, too, worship the child,
joining the cow and sheep. Or else,
ultimate mortals, they've come to eat
ox and camel, Mary and Joseph,
then savor the newborn babe.

I liked that.

here's one from Teddy Hughes: I like a poet who can put "cunt" in a poem.


Do Not Pick Up The Telephone – Ted Hughes




That plastic Buddha jars out a Karate screech



Before the soft words with their spores
The cosmic breath of the gravestone



Death invented the phone it looks like the altar of death
Do not worship the telephone
It drags its worshippers into actual graves
With a variety of devices, through a variety of disguised voices



Sit godless when you hear the religious wail of the telephone



Panties are hotting up their circle for somebody to burn in
Nipples are evangelizing bringing a sword or at least a razor
Cunt is proclaiming heaven on earth i.e. death to the infidel



Do not think your house is a hideout it is a telephone
Do not think you walk on your own road, you walk down a telephone
Do not think you sleep in the hand of God you sleep in the mouthpiece of a telephone
Do not think your future is yours it waits upon a telephone
Do not think your thoughts are your own thoughts they are the toys of the telephone
Do not think these days are days they are the sacrificial priests of the telephone
The secret police of the telephone



O phone get out of my house
You are a bad god



Go and whisper on some other pillow
Do not lift your snake head in my house
Do not bite any more beautiful people



You plastic crab
Why is your oracle always the same in the end?
What rake off for you from the cemeteries?



Your silences are bad
When you are needed, dumb with the malice of the clairvoyant insane
The stars whisper together in your breathing
World's emptiness oceans in your mouthpiece
Stupidly your string dangles into the abysses
Plastic you are then stone a broken box of letters
And you cannot utter
Lies or truth, only the evil one
Makes you tremble with sudden appetite to see somebody undone



Blackening electrical connections
To where death bleaches its crystals
You swell and you writhe
You open your Buddha gape
You screech at the root of the house



Do not pick up the detonator of the telephone
A flame from the last day will come lashing out from the telephone
A dead body will fall out of the telephone



Do not pick up the telephone

I love Haggis!

Robbie Burns day is just around the corner!

Maya

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

I love it, Bri.

I've seen Maya speak twice. She's just mesmerizing.

Such a very amazing link!

I just love Stephen Crane:



In the Desert

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter – bitter", he answered,
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."

I stood upon a high place,
And saw, below, many devils
Running, leaping, and carousing in sin.
One looked up, grinning,
And said, "Comrade! Brother!"

-Stephen Crane I Stood Upon a High Place



See? Poems should be short and sweet.

Zodiac
Words by Richie Havens

There is a secret that has been kept from man 2,000 years
There is a secret that has been kept from man 2,000 years
And that secret is that there are only
twelve people on the earth at any given time
That there are only twelve people on the earth at any given time

And these people have been symbolized
Down through the ages of mankind, by many symbols

They were called:
Twelve tribes of Israel
Twelve sons of Jacob
Twelve gates of Heaven
Twelve inches in a foot
Twelve months to the year
Twelve men on the jury
Twelve days of Christmas
Twelve disciples of Jesus Christ
Twelve manners of fruit on the tree by the side of the river
Good for the healing of all nations
Good for the healing of all nations

And these people are
And these people are:
Aries, who is… I am, ain’t I?
Taurus, who is… I have, don’t I?
Gemini, who is… I think, I think…
I think so much I wish I could stop thinking
Cancer, who is… I feel, I feel,
and there are no words to describe how I feel
Leo, who is… I will, o’er my will
Virgo, who is… I analyze, I analyze
Libra, who is… I balance, I balance, I balance
between those who know and those who do not know
Scorpio, who is… I desire, I desire, I desire…
Sagittarius, who is… I see, I see… I see so much in
what I’m doing I cannot finish what I’m doing
Capricorn, who is… I use, I use… I use all of
my experience in order to survive
Aquarius, who is… I know, I know…
why do I know when no one around me knows what I know
Pisces, who is… I believe, I believe…
or there is nothing for me to believe in

These are the twelve people who inherit the earth
You are one of them and there are only eleven others
And if you get to know the eleven others
You will be able to get along with everyone all over the world…
all over the world