ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Dec 16, 2016 12:04:25 GMT -5
Street kid:
yeah, I used to be that girl out on the street, trying to look grown-up, selling sex for drugs, closed mind and open legs
all the edges inside you jut out jagged, easy to bruise; I know each breath you take ices the air around
don't be that wasted girl, messing up your body and your mind; come back to the light: warmth means love
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Dec 19, 2016 13:37:49 GMT -5
Amaro djilia (Our songs)
boshengro, play your bosh, not for bestipen but as a kosh, revealing the mysteries of mestipen
the wild flamenco danced like a sappengro, or a sho-sho before our vardo
mishto, racklo! ne warfedo, kak mokardo
yn iach, tu gajitanos: amaro chokkers jaul o lungo drom, rockers miri shevengro, miri rom
ne pooch soski? collico amaro cam like a bikkin guides us to our rightful home
---- I've used a few Romanes words so here's the English translation.
fiddler, play your violin not for riches but as a stick, revealing the mysteries of life and death (mestipen means both 'life' and 'death' in Romanes - confusing, I know!)
the wild flamenco danced like a snake-charmer or a rabbit before our caravan
all right, young fellow! not low, not depraved
farewell, you strangers (in this context gajitanos means strangers rather than non-gypsies and could apply to Roma not met before) our boots travel the long rooad says my chief, my man
don't ask why: tomorrow our love like a hawk guides us to our rightful home
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Dec 19, 2016 13:47:17 GMT -5
Vision Expression:
1)
when I woke I wondered why; I held your hand, I touched your face, brushing your lips, silent in sleep with my own
2)
had I truly dreamed of drowning, or was it only another of my nightmares? at times it's hard to tell my visions from unwanted dreams
3)
there was a barn, a stable for horses, and woods around us as if to camouflage our unseen selves from prying eyes
4)
the power isn't a gift, more like a curse; I remember seeing death in her face when we met, I even knew what she would die of
5)
damn prophecy - I feel like a tourist intruding on secret ceremonies, and though I try to be close to the spiritual world I'm not keen on being involved with the spirit world
I can read cards, sure: but what Roma can't? so can gorgers with an open mind
6)
we keep getting pushed further and further away, the West doesn't want us, and we don't particularly want it
don't get me wrong: one day I'd love it if our weary footprints somehow made their ancestral return
7)
there are too many deaths between us now, too much insincere braying by asses, too many spectators at new Roman games, indifferent to suffering, even applauding it
8)
oh, as I kiss your lips, lap my tongue inside your mouth, I feel you stir, I feel your hands reach out to touch the twin rocks of my breasts, and your suddenly firm rod I gently coax to enter my aching tunnel
9)
love is always a warm jacuzzi, chasing away dark demons from my heart
go away, beng! I cast you out from me with the glow of love
(Beng is the Romanes name for the Devil - it's also what we call a frog)
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Dec 24, 2016 7:32:08 GMT -5
Our living Earth:
this earth of ours, bedecked with flowers and trees, mounted with mountains, streaming with the streams of living liquid, gilded as it gleams by sunlight stroking it; the cool chemise of water washing earth, enticing ease rather than rancour, softening the screams of tumult, tempest, as the torrent tears with such abundance, all admire the frieze dame nature draws upon our dandled earth, a canvas carved out of the living land, her artist's hand achieving actual birth and transformation, turning rigid rock into innumerable specks of sand, eternity enough for her calm clock
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Dec 24, 2016 7:33:03 GMT -5
Nightfall:
night casts its shadow over the meadow, draws down its veil across the dale
our grief and shame invisible as a quenched flame
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Dec 24, 2016 7:33:40 GMT -5
Nature speaks:
I am the sky, the roof of this fair earth, higher than all the towers that humans build, and all the scurrying ants with their heads filled with trivia, can never bring to birth a single raindrop; in their vaunted girth of steel and concrete not a jot's distilled of wisdom, love. When the lark's song is trilled that's music of abiding, priceless worth.
I am the ocean, sweeping to and fro across the land, retreating with each tide, a girlfriend, jilted by her faithless beau, compelled, however often I collide to leave the land once more, to let it go and dream perhaps next time I'll be his bride.
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Jessiealan
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Post by Jessiealan on Dec 25, 2016 11:27:41 GMT -5
These are excellent, Lin. Thank you for sharing them with us. You are very talented.
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