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Swami (Plus Strings)

Tovbb nem tudok vrni
Mostmr megteszi brmi
Az lesz a veszted
Hogy rvnylik a tested
Az alkalom itt van
Ht hdolj be halkan
Szzezer ve
Mindig ez a vge
Mindegy a sznhely
Nem kell, hogy sznlelj
Szeress vagy vess meg
n birtokba veszlek
Olvadni kezd most a Hold
Az arcod a prnn
Csak egy furcsa-furcsa folt
cska kis kzhely
Gynyr trvny
Hogy a szerelem rvny
Tovbb nem tudok vrni
Mostmr megteszi brmi
Az lesz a veszted
Hogy rvnylik a tested
Ltod, nlam a fegyver
de reszketned nem kell
Mert ez csak gynyrt fakaszt
Ht hzd meg a ravaszt
Ugye rzed a tavaszt?
Olvadni kezd most a Hold
Az arcod a prnn
Csak egy furcsa-furcsa folt
cska kis kzhely
Gynyr trvny
Hogy a szerelem rvny

song performed by Monkees
Added by Lucian Velea
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Twin State

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poem by Caasder Fronds
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Me

Hat hogy is kezdjem, oh, hogy mondjam el?
Hisz aki megrthetn, az nem felel
Elragadta t a dlyfs jkiraly
Ki ezer ve mar a szerelemre var
Elragadta, megszerezte
Szerelemlanccal megktzte
De a szive csak az enym
Fnyes urak, ha nem tudnatok
Kt ember kell a boldogsaghoz
s mar csak az enym
A felkel nap fnye eltakar
A fltkenysg ugy a szivembe mar
Hisz oly hatalmas, fnyes a vlegny
Hat hogyan szallhatnk harcba vle n?
Elragadta, megszerezte
Szerelemlanccal megktzte
De a szive csak az enym
Fnyes urak, ha nem tudnatok
Kt ember kell a boldogsaghoz
s mar csak az enym
De azrt n nem adom fel
Trtnjen ugy, ahogyan kell...
Mert az n mesmben a hsk gyznek
A kt szerelmes egymas lesz
Ezrt n nem adom fel...
Mert az n mesmben a hsk gyznek
A kt szerelmes egymas lesz
Ezrt n nem adom fel...
Elragadta, megszerezte
Szerelemlanccal megktzte
De a szive csak az enym
Fnyes urak, ha nem tudnatok
Kt ember kell a boldogsaghoz
s mar csak az enym
Elragadta, megszerezte
Szerelemlanccal megktzte
De a szive csak az enym
Fnyes urak, ha nem tudnatok
Kt ember kell a boldogsaghoz
s mar csak az enym

song performed by Dido
Added by Lucian Velea
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Afrikaans: Sterregordels, Stilsonjare, Tydsbroekspypdinge, Haarsliert

Sterregordels

Cosmology in Afrikaans is an ode to joy, the
terms form sing-song strings with delightful
sounds “ewigbewegende elektron”
continuously spinning electron

“elektron in die hart van die atoomkorrel”
electron in the centre of the atom particle
- what a song!

“Triljoene Melkwegstelsels waaromheen ons
Melkweg elke tweehonderdmiljoenjaar
wentel – ‘n mallemeule van sterregordels…”

“Dobberende patrone, mesone en elektrone,
'n konfigurasie van konvekse novae”…

- these terms are singing to me!

A merry-go-round of star systems

Quotes from Adriaan Snyman “Die Messias Kode” (The Messiah Code) pp.9,10

Bombardement Van Frekwensies (English Explanation)

Waarmee sal ek hierdie leë oomblikke,
ankerloos, betekenisloos; aan die ewigheid
vasmaak - die gevoelsruimte in my hart

Is leeg, alle gevoel en denke het gesamentlik
in die donker duisternis van my brein ingeval
‘n laserbrein wat die hologramwêreld

Self moet konsituteer uit ‘n bombardement
van betekenislose frekwensies – maar
vandag is die ligstraalfokus uit

My pendulumgedagtes swaai ongefokus rond
die opgerolde, ingevoude ses-en-twintig of
meer dimensies van die virtuele werklikheid

Wil nie vir my oopgaan nie…

All thought and feeling fell into the black hole in my brain and the twenty-six or more rolled-up frequencies of reality does not want to open for me today…

Geloof In Liefde - Faith In Love

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poem by Margaret Alice
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Ort Jan van Hunks

Many years back an old pirate
Ort Jan van Hunks lived in Cape Town
and he had gathered enough loot
to live an honest life.

Just above the company gardens
he bought some land
and he thought that trustful slaves
would do the work for him
while he would watch his vineyards grow
and it would be possible
to give attention to his weaknesses.

The loneliness caught up with van Hunks
and he got himself a wife
but in Cape Town
at that time the choices was slim
and he was married to a huge woman
that was so broad
that she could not enter a door
without turning sideways
but he thought that in the cold winter evenings
she would keep him warm.

The trouble with his wife
was that she was a strict person
who drove their slave girls
to polish everything,
she had driven him away
from his own fireplace
with a hard hitting elbow,
as she was scared
that the ash from his pipe
would fall on the beautiful yellow-wood floor.

At the trees high up against the saddle
where Devil's peak joins Table Mountain,
van Hunks found a big rock
that was flat like a settee
and there nobody would bother him
as the Citizens thought
that only a lunatic
would climb the peaks of Table Mountain.

With a barrel of rum and a heap of tobacco
that he had carried along secretary
van Hunks was dreaming
with his pipe in his mouth
while he saw the shadow
of the mountain

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poem by Gert Strydom
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The Boy and the Mantle

In the third day of May,
To Carleile did come
A kind curteous child,
That cold much of wisdome.

A kirtle and a mantle
This child had uppon,
With brouches and ringes
Full richelye bedone.

He had a sute of silke
About his middle drawne;
Without he cold of curtesye,
He thought itt much shame.

"God speed thee, King Arthur,
Sitting at thy meate:
And the goodly Queene Guénever
I cannott her forgett.

"I tell you, lords, in this hall,
I hett you all to heede,
Except you be the more surer,
Is you for to dread."

He plucked out of his poterner,
And longer wold not dwell;
He pulled forth a pretty mantle,
Betweene two nut-shells.

"Have thou here, King Arthur,
Have thou heere of mee;
Give itt to thy comely queene,
Shapen as itt is alreadye.

"Itt shall never become that wiffe,
That hath once done amisse:-"
Then every knight in the kings court
Began to care for his.

Forth came dame Guénever;
To the mantle shee her hied;
The ladye shee was newfangle,
But yett shee was affrayd.

When shee had taken the mantle,
She stoode as shee had beene madd:
It was from the top to the toe
As sheeres had itt shread.

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poem by Thomas Percy
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Sir Andrew Barton

The First Part
'When Flora with her fragrant flowers
Bedeckt the earth so trim and gaye,
And Neptune with his daintye showers
Came to present the monthe of Maye;
King Henrye rode to take the ayre,
Over the river of Thames past hee;
When eighty merchants of London came,
And downe they knelt upon their knee.

'O yee are welcome, rich merchants,
Good saylors, welcome unto mee.'
They swore by the rood, they were saylors good,
But rich merchants they cold not bee.
'To France nor Flanders dare we pass,
Nor Bordeaux voyage dare we fare;
And all for a rover that lyes on the seas,
Who robbs us of our merchant ware.'

King Henrye frownd, and turned him rounde,
And swore by the Lord that was mickle of might,
'I thought he had not beene in the world,
Durst have wrought England such unright.'
The merchants sighed, and said, 'Alas!'
And thus they did their answer frame;
'He is a proud Scott, that robbs on the seas,
And Sir Andrewe Barton is his name.'

The king loot over his left shoulder,
And an angrye look then looked hee;
'Have I never a lorde in all my realme,
Will feitch yond traytor unto mee?'
'Yea, that dare I,' Lord Howard sayes;
If it please your grace to give me leave,
Myselfe wil be the only man.'

'Thou art but yong,' the kyng replyed,
'Yond Scott hath numbred manye a yeare.'
'Trust me, my liege, Ile make him quail,
Or before my prince I will never appeare.'
'Then bowemen and gunners thou shalt have,
And chuse them over my realme so free;
Besides good mariners, and shipp-boyes,
To guide the great shipp on the sea.'

The first man that Lord Howard chose,
Was the ablest gunner in all the realme,
Thoughe he was threescore yeeres and ten;
Good Peter Simon was his name.
'Peter,' sais hee, 'I must to the sea,

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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King Estmere

Hearken to me, gentlemen,
Come and you shall heare;
He tell you of two of the boldest brethren,
That ever born y-were.

The tone of them as Adler yonge,
The tother was Kyng Estmere;
The were as bolde men in their deedes,
As any were, farr and neare.

As they were drinking ale and wine
Within Kyng Estmeres halle:
'When will ye marry a wyfe, brother,
A wyfe to gladd us all?'

Then bespake him Kyng Estmere,
And answered him hatilee
'I know not that ladye in any lande,
That is able to marry with mee.'

'Kyng Adland hath a daughter, brother,
Men call her bright and sheene;
If I were kyng here in your stead,
That ladye shold be queene.'

Sayes, 'Reade me, reade me, deare brother,
Throughout merry England,
Where we might find a messenger
Betweene us two to sende.'

Sayes, 'You shall ryde yourselfe, brother,
He beare you companee;
Many throughe fals messengers are deceived,
And I feare lest soe shold wee.'

Thus the renisht them to ryde
Of twoe good renisht steedes,
And when they came to Kyng Adlands halle,
Of red golde shone their weedes.

And when the came to Kyng Adlands halle
Before the goodlye yate,
Ther they found good Kyng Adland
Rearing himselfe theratt.

'Nowe Christ thee save, good Kyng Adland,
Nowe Christ thee save and see.'
Sayd, 'You be welcome, Kyng Estmere,
Right hartilye to mee.'

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Robin Hood And Guy Of Gisborne

When shawes been sheene, and shradds full fayre,
And leeves both large and longe,
Itt is merry, walking in the fayre forrest,
To heare the small birds songe.

The woodweele sang, and wold not cease,
Amongst the leaves a lyne:
And it is by two wight yeomen,
By deare God, that I meane.

'Me thought they did mee beate and binde,
And tooke my bow mee froe;
If I bee Robin a-live in this lande,
I'le be wrocken on both them towe.'

Sweavens are swift, master,' quoth John,
'As the wind that blowes ore a hill;
For if itt be never soe lowde this night,
To-morrow it may be still.'

'Buske yee, bowne yee, my merry men all,
For John shall goe with mee:
For I'le goe seek yond wight yeomen
In greenwood where the bee.'
^ TOP

The cast on their gowne of greene,
A shooting gone are they,
Untill they came to the merry greenwood,
Where they had gladdest bee;

There were the ware of a wight yeoman,
His body leaned to a tree.

A sword and a dagger he wore by his side,
Had beene many a man bane,
And he was cladd in his capull-hyde,
Topp, and tayle, and mayne.

'Stand you still, master,' quoth Litle John,
'Under this trusty tree,
And I will goe to yong wight yeomen,
To know his meaning trulye.'

'A, John, by me thou setts noe store,
And that's a farley thinge;
How offt send I my men beffore,
And tarry my-selfe behinde?

It is noe cunning a knave to ken,

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Skodljivec

Tez'ko priznat ampak jaz sem sebi najvec'ji sovraz'nik c'esarkoli se
lotim
naredim pizdarijo
kadarkoli vozim pijan naletim na policijo iskrena hvala vsem ki me
trpijo
C'udno slis'at ampak vsi me trpijo ker nobenmu ne s'kodim s tem ko
s'kodim
sebi zgubim vso
energijo c'e bi imel s'e energije bi samo s'e bolj zablodu s'e dobro da
s'kodljivci ne s'kodijo ko
spijo
Mali kje si dobu liziko kje si zgubu mamico vrni liziko nazaj mali solze
ne pomagajo v zapor te
vrz'emo vrni liziko nazaj (panika) mali kje si dobu liziko kje si zgubu
mamico vrni liziko nazaj
mali solze ne pomagajo v zapor te vrz'emo vrni liziko nazaj
Dokler bo modro nebo bomo plavali v njem in lovili ribice
dokler bo modro nebo bomo plavali v njem in lovili ribice

song performed by Zmelkoow
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Beggar's Daughter of Bednall-Green

Part the First
Itt was a blind beggar, had long lost his sight,
He had a faire daughter of bewty most bright;
And many a gallant brave suiter had shee,
For none was soe comelye as pretty Bessee.

And though shee was of favor most faire,
Yett seing shee was but a poor beggars heyre,
Of ancyent housekeepers despised was shee,
Whose sonnes came as suitors to prettye Bessee.

Wherefore in great sorrow faire Bessy did say,
'Good father, and mother, let me goe away
To seeke out my fortune, whatever itt bee.'
This suite then they granted to prettye Bessee.

Then Bessy, that was of bewtye soe bright,
All cladd in gray russett, and late in the night
From father and mother alone parted shee,
Who sighed and sobbed for prettye Bessee.

Shee went till shee came to Stratford-le-Bow,
Then knew shee not whither, nor which way to goe;
With teares shee lamented her hard destinie,
So sadd and soe heavy was pretty Bessee.

Shee kept on her journey untill it was day,
And went unto Rumford along the hye way;
Where at the Queenes Armes entertained was shee,
Soe faire and wel favoured was pretty Bessee.

Shee had not beene there a month to an end,
But master and mistres and all was her friend;
And every brave gallant that once did her see
Was straight-way enamoured of pretty Bessee.

Great gifts they did send her of silver and gold,
And in their songs daylye her love was extold;
Her beawtye was blazed in every degree,
Soe faire and soe comelye was pretty Bessee.

The young men of Rumford in her had their joy;
Shee shewed herself courteous, and modestlye coye,
And at her commandment still wold they bee,
Soe fayre and so comelye was pretty Bessee.

Foure suitors att once unto her did goe,
They craved her favor, but still she sayd noe;
'I wild not wish gentles to marry with mee,-'
Yett ever they honored pretty Bessee.

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The Old Cloak

This winters weather itt waxeth cold,
And frost doth freese on every hill,
And Boreas blowes his blasts soe bold
That all our cattell are like to spill.
Bell my wife, who loves noe strife,
She sayd unto my quietlye,
'Rise up, and save cow Crumbockes liffe,
Man, put thine old cloake about thee.'

He.
'O Bell, why dost thou flyte, 'and scorne?'
Thou kenst my cloake is very thine;
Itt is soe are and overworne,
A cricke he theron cannot runn:
Then Ile noe longer borrowe nor lend,
'For once He new appareld bee,
To-morrow He to towne and spend,'
For Ile have a new cloake about mee.'

She.
'Cow Crumbocke is a very good cowe,
She ha beene alwayes true to the payle,
Shee has helpt us to butter and cheese, I trow,
And other things shee will not fayle;
I wold be loth to see her pine;
Good husband, councell take of mee,
It is not for us to go soe fine,
Man, take thine old cloake about thee.'

He.
'My cloake it was a verry good cloake,
Itt hath been alwayes true to the weare,
But now it is not worth a groat,
I have had it for four and forty yeere;
Sometime itt was of cloth in graine,
'Tis now but a sigh clout as you may see;
It will neither hold out winde nor raine:
And Ile have a new cloake about mee.'

She.
'It is four and fortye yeeres agoe
Since the one of us the other did ken,
And we have had betwixt us towe,
Of children either nine or ten;
Wee have brought them up to women and men
In the feare of God I trow they bee;
And why wilt thou thyself mistaken?
Man, take thine old cloake about thee.'

He.

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The Witches' Glen - An Auld Tale

Gather aroon the ingle nuek
For ae eerie tale I'll tell -
'Boot a glen whar a witchy spook
Cast folk in her terrible spell.
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she was the devil's queen.

Warlocks an witches dance at night
When the full-moon turns its ken!
Thunder rides on a bolt of light
The deil's in the witches' glen!
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she was the devil's queen.

Auld trees hang o'er the twisted wynd
An' blot oot the licht o' day;
An there, there's staring eyes tae find
A stranger wha's lost their way.
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she was the devil's queen.

Frae Grennan wood she hailed an flew
A flash thru the black night wind
Come witchin hour everyin knew
She'd get a' the folks wha sinned.
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she was the devil's queen.

They burned her on Kirkmaiden hill
An' they bound her on a stake:
She chanted spells that made 'em ill
An' they pray'd for Jesus' sake.
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she was the devil's queen.

When ere ye walk the witches' glen,
Whar branches stretch oot like hands
Tak' Bible, cross an' say, Amen!
An' heed the guid Lord's commands.
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she's still there tae be seen.

poem by Patrick Scott Hogg
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Szell

Pislogsz hogy mi van most hatakkor
Tekerjnk nzzk meg bellrl
Csinaljunk blst a banatbl
Vagy inkabb vegyk at mg egyszer elrl
Ht pisztoly ht goly ht halal
A llek a husban mar alva jar
Latom, hogy odabenn all a bal
De milyen jl all neked ez is jl all
Indul az agy a sziv s a td
J veled mikor csuszik az id
Remeg a hus a csontban a vel
szrevtlenl szalad az id
Megynk de mgsem kzelednk
Tombol a trelem
Odakinn kutyak csaholnak vau
De minket elrejt a szerelem
A sztlan vagyak hegedjt
pengetve terelem
Az almos embert oda ahol
Semmi sem idegen

song performed by Quimby
Added by Lucian Velea
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Et Memoria [2]

Kom stap vanoggend deur my lewe
terwyl ons, ons gisters onthou,
‘n nuwe dag voor ons oopvou

en laat ‘n afdruk van jou
geskilder teen die seildoek van my gedagtes
want elke nuwe môre
word uit ons gisters gebore

en jy bly deel van my, al is
alles tussen ons nou verby,
sien ek jou in die glans van die son,
die dou wat blinkend op blare sit

en ek besef nou, dat liefde
in elke oomblik van onthou
weer van voor af begin

en hoe langsaam rek ek nog
oomblikke wat reeds verby is uit
asof dit altyd deel van my menswees is

maar ek is reeds daarvan bewus
dat dinge vêr by verby tussen ons is,
dat jy vanaand
hitte by iemand anders sal kry
asof ek, net nog
deel van ‘n dooie vlam is.

[Verwysing: Et Memoria deur Japie S. Strydom:

“Kom stap vanaand
deur my môre,
en blaai saam deur my drome,
teken jou liggaam hier
in my sagtebandboek aan,
want ons vandag is in gisters en more gebore:

jy is die ligflits van die son,
die môre-dag se dou;
‘n laat middag in my somer-drome,
‘n vroeë lente more –

Ek weet vanaand,
dat die dae van ons lewe (liefde?) ,
weer,
in elke nuwe onthou begin:

hoe langsaam het ek jou

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poem by Gert Strydom
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Tom Van Arden

Tom Van Arden, my old friend,
Our warm fellowship is one
Far too old to comprehend
Where its bond was first begun:
Mirage-like before my gaze
Gleams a land of other days,
Where two truant boys, astray,
Dream their lazy lives away.

There's a vision, in the guise
Of Midsummer, where the Past
Like a weary beggar lies
In the shadow Time has cast;
And as blends the bloom of trees
With the drowsy hum of bees,
Fragrant thoughts and murmurs blend,
Tom Van Arden, my old friend.

Tom Van Arden, my old friend,
All the pleasures we have known
Thrill me now as I extend
This old hand and grasp your own--
Feeling, in the rude caress,
All affection's tenderness;
Feeling, though the touch be rough,
Our old souls are soft enough.

So we'll make a mellow hour:
Fill your pipe, and taste the wine--
Warp your face, if it be sour,
I can spare a smile from mine;
If it sharpen up your wit,
Let me feel the edge of it--
I have eager ears to lend,
Tom Van Arden, my old friend.

Tom Van Arden, my old friend,
Are we 'lucky dogs,' indeed?
Are we all that we pretend
In the jolly life we lead?--
Bachelors, we must confess,
Boast of 'single blessedness'
To the world, but not alone--
Man's best sorrow is his own!

And the saddest truth is this,--
Life to us has never proved
What we tasted in the kiss
Of the women we have loved:
Vainly we congratulate

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poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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My Ain Bonnie Lass O' The Glen.

Ae blink o' the bonnie new mune,
Ay tinted as sune as she's seen,
Wad licht me to Meg frae the toun,
Tho' mony the brae-side between:
Ae fuff o' the saftest o' win's,
As wilyart it kisses the thorn,
Wad blaw me o'er knaggies an' linns--
To Meg by the side o' the burn!

My daddie's a laird wi' a ha';
My mither had kin at the court;
I maunna gang wooin' ava'--
Or any sic frolicsome sport.
Gin I'd wed--there's a winnock kept bye;
Wi' bodies an' gear i' her loof--
Gin ony tak her an' her kye,
Hell glunsh at himsel' for a coof!

My daddie's na doylt, tho' he's auld,
The winnock is pawkie an' gleg;
When the lammies are pit i' the fauld,
They're fear'd that I'm aff to my Meg.
My mither sits spinnin'--ae blink
O' a smile in her kind, bonnie 'ee;
She's minded o' mony a link
She, stowlins, took o'er the lea

To meet wi' my daddie himsel'
Tentie jinkin' by lea an' by shaw;
She fu's up his pipe then hersel',
So I may steal cannie awa'.
O leeze me o' gowany swaird,
An' the blink o' the bonnie new mune!
An' the cowt stown out o' the yaird
That trots like a burnie in June!

My Meg she is waitin' abeigh--
Ilk spunkie that flits through the fen
Wad jealously lead me astray
Frae my ain bonnie lass o' the glen!
My forbears may groan i' the mools,
My daddie look dour an' din;
Wee Love is the callant wha rules,
An' my Meg is the wifie I'll win!

poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
Added by Poetry Lover
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FM 66.6

Lattam az rdgt enni krt
Hat adtak neki hordtak a vrt
A kezekben labak a fejekben tarak
Aranyat mrtek emberrt
Rohan tzek harcra sarcok
Fnytelen szemek beesett arcok
A jllakott mg krt - ez ra vall
A gonosz meg rhgtt teli pofaval
Nztem az embert egy virust lattam
A fld szivben dgvssz valtan
A jsaggal szurt az reg mohsag
Ders mosollyal a jvt kaszaltam
Mint Nostradamus ezt mindenki vagta
De csukott szemmel csak a remnyt hagta
A jllakott mg krt - ez ra vall
A gonosz meg rhgtt teli pofaval
Nzlek tged s magamat latom
Holdfny trmet a szivedbe martom
Majd magamba dfm a ltet ellkm
Aztan bamba fejjel megint a sorsot varom
Mieltt adnal, te ktszer is veszel
A pokol tzben is gyztes leszel
Ha eleged van mg krsz ez rad vall
A gonosz meg rhghet teli pofaval
Hall, itt a Horror radi Parahirek riad!
Baltaes bilincs pofon
A Satan maga hatezer lovon
Lassan az egsz langra lobban
Ostoba szived lustan dobban... Jaaj

song performed by Quimby
Added by Lucian Velea
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Concerning the Philosophers Stone. ( alchemical verse .)

.

And also with great diligence,
Thei fonde thilke Experience:
Which cleped is Alconomie,
Whereof the Silver multiplie;
Thei made, and eke the Gold also.
And for to telle howe itt is so:
Of bodies seven in Speciall,
With fowre Spirites joynt withall;
Stant the substance of this matere,
The bodies which I speke of here,
Of the Plannets ben begonne,
The Gold is titled to the Sonne:
The Moone of Silver hath hi part,
And Iron that stonde uppon Mart:
The Leed after Saturne groweth,
And Jupiter the Brasse bestoweth;
The Copper sette is to Venus:
And to his part Mercurius
Hath the Quicksilver, as it falleth,
The which after the Boke it calleth,
Is first of thilke foure named
Of Spirits, which be proclymed,
And the Spirite which is seconde,
In Sal Armoniake is founde:
The third Spirite Sulphur is,
The fourth Sewende after this,
Arcennium by name is hotte
With blowyng, and with fires hote:
In these things which I say,
Thei worchen by divers waye.
For as the Philosopher tolde,
Of Gold and Sylver thei ben holde,
Two Principall extremitees,
To which all other by degrees,
Of the mettals ben accordant,
And so through kinde resemblant:
That what man couth awaie take,
The rust, of which they waxen blake,
And And the favour of the hardnes;
Thei shulden take the likeness;
Of Gold or Silver parfectly,
Bot for to worche it sykerly;
Between the Corps and the Spirite,
Er that the Metall be parfite,
In seven forms itt is sette
Of all, and if one be lette,

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poem by John Gower
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Faith Proves

Faith proves complex when tested
Sweet when manifested
Faith fills needs to break through
Tested it seemly sinks to depths blue
Faith is a glowing light in a dark tunnel
Faith tested is a dead ending channel
Faith is a destined escape
Faith tested loses all form and shape

Faith is the cry to all battles
Yet tested falls about in loose shambles
Faith is wholesome and complete
Yet tested it feels so much like defeat
Faith moves mountains
Faith tested seems like bondage constrains
Faith is a well planted seed
Yet tested the feeling is hopeless indeed

poem by Wes Mbanje
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The Jolly Beggar I

‘THER is a wife in yone toun-end, an she has dothers three,
An I wad be a beager for ony of a’ the three.’
He touk his clouty clok him about, his peakstaff in his hand,
An he is awa to yon toun-end, leak ony peare man.
‘I ha ben about this fish-toun this years tua or three,
Ha ye ony quarters, deam, that ye coud gie me?’
‘Awa, ye pear carl, ye dinne kean my name;
Ye sudd ha caed me mistress fan ye called me bat deam.’
He tuke his hat in his hand an gied her juks three:
‘An ye want manners, misstres, quarters ye’ll gie me.’
‘Awa, ye pear carle, in ayont the fire,
An sing to our Lord Gray’s men to their hearts’ disire.’
Some lowked to his goudie lowks, some to his milk-whit skine,
Some to his ruffled shirt, the gued read gold hang in.
Out spak our madin, an she was ay shay,
Fatt will the jolly beager gett afore he gaa to lay?
Out spak our goudwife, an she was not sae shay,
He’se gett a dish of lang kell, besids a puss pay.
Out spak the jolly beager, That dish I dou denay;
I canne sup yer lang kell nor yet yer puss pay.
Bat ye gett to my supper a capon of the best,
Tuo or three bottels of yer wine, an bear, an we sall ha a merry feast.
‘Ha ye ony siler, carll, to bint the bear an wine?’
‘O never a peney, misstress, had I lang sine.’
The beager wadne lay in the barn, nor yett in the bayr,
Bat in ahind the haa-dor, or att the kitchen-fire.
The beager’s bed was well [made] of gued clean stray an hay,
. . . . . . . . .
The madin she rose up to bar the dor,
An ther she spayed a naked man, was rinen throu the flour.
He tuke her in his arms an to his bed he ran;
‘Hollie we me, sir,’ she says, ’or ye’ll waken our pear man.’
The begger was a cuning carle, an never a word he spake
Till he got his turn dean, an sayn began to crak.
‘Is ther ony dogs about this toun? madin, tell me nou:’
‘Fatt wad ye dee we them, my hony an my dou?’
‘They wad ravie a’ my meall-poks an die me mukell wrang:’
‘O doll for the deaing o it! are ye the pear man?
‘I thought ye had ben some gentelman, just leak the leard of Brody!
I am sorry for the doing o itt! are ye the pore boddie?’
She tuke the meall-poks by the strings an thrue them our the waa!
‘Doll gaa we meall-poks, madinhead an a’!’
She tuke him to her press, gave him a glass of wine;
He tuke her in his arms, says, Honey, ye’ss be mine.
He tuke a horn fra his side an he blue loud an shill,
An four-an-tuenty belted knights came att the beager’s will.
He tuke out a pean-kniff, lute a’ his dudes faa,
An he was the braest gentelman that was among them a’.
He patt his hand in his poket an gaa her ginnes three,
An four-an-tuenty hunder mark, to pay the nires feea.

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
Added by Poetry Lover
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