English

Come back to me, O ye, my children;
Come back to the home as of yore;
As my longing eye peers through the vista of years,
Comes the heart-throbbing more and more.
I sit by the casement and listen
To the fall of the soft, sobbing rain,
E'en the winds gently sigh as if loth to reply—
In vain, fond mother, in vain.

Are ye gone for aye? Shall I no more hear
The ring and the din of glee?
Have my nestlings flown and left me alone?
Shall their faces, I no more see?
I sit, and I wait while the days go by,

Christ is a nigger,
Beaten and black:
Oh, bare your back!

Mary is His mother:
Mammy of the South,
Silence your mouth.

God is His father:
White Master above
Grant Him your love.

Most holy bastard
Of the bleeding mouth,
Nigger Christ
On the cross
Of the South.

Cap'n, I believe,
Cap'n, I believe,
Cap'n, I believe, believe, believe I'll die.

“Oh, no you ain't gonna die.
Come on with that motah!”

Brother Alberto, one hot summer day,
Tried banishing his sloth and other smarts
By flashing novices his private parts.
Was this profane or proper, would you say?

Since idleness will lead us to bad ways,
Showing the boys his tool so each one starts
Was good; but had he tried the bugger's arts
Alberto would have earned a hero's praise.

Brian O'Linn was a gentleman born,
He lived at a time when no clothes they were worn.
As fashions were out of course Brian walked in--
"I'll soon head the fashions,' says Brian O'Linn.

Brian O'Linn had no breeches to wear,
He got an old sheepskin to make him a pair,
With the fleshy side out and the woolly side in,
"They'll be pleasant and cool,' says Brian O'Linn.

Brian O'Linn had no shirt to his back,
He went to a neighbour's, and borrowed a sack,
Then he puckered the meal bag in under his chin,

write poems when I'm sober, and sing when I'm drunk
I leave my fancy lute untuned,
throw down my book, and sleep.
I don't dream dreams of empire
to have a little idle time is good enough
the sun and moon race like the weaver's shuttle
wealth and rank are blossoms, bloom and fall
spring goes
why not enjoy it?

A blacksmith courted me, nine months and better.
He fairly won my heart, wrote me a letter.
With his hammer in his hand, he looked so clever,
And if I was with my love, I'd live for ever.

And where is my love gone, with his cheek like roses,
And his good black billycock on, decked with primroses?
I'm afraid the scorching sun will shine and burn his beauty,
And if I was with my love, I'd do my duty.

Strange news is come to town, strange news is carried,
Strange news flies up and down that my love is married.

whoever reads my poems
must guard his purity of heart
his greed at once be modesty
flattery suddenly honesty
banish and be rid of evil karma
trust and accept his true nature
get his buddha body today
hurry as if these were orders

Beside the idle summer sea,
And in the vacant summer days,
Light Love came fluting down the ways
Where you were loitering with me.

Who has not welcomed even as we
That jocund minstrel and his lays
Beside the idle summer sea,
And in the vacant summer days?

We listened, we were fancy-free;
And lo! in terror and amaze,
We stood alone--alone at gaze
With an implacable memory,
Beside the idle summer sea.

Peach blossoms are red, willow catkins white,
Shimmering in the sun and swaying in the wind;
Their shape emerges beyond the vermilion walls,
Their fragrance goes back to the blue hall.
Mirrored in the water, parasitic bamboos,
Lying across the hill, a half-dead paulownia tree;
The list of awardees announced, I realize the great bounty;
Grasping my writing tablet, I am chagrined by my paltry talent.