No Child’s Mythic Mystic Journey (version 2)

Through this driving, bitter, rain,

Off to Grandma’s once again.

Sadly muted Christmas songs-

No one wants to sing along.

Only mournful background sound,

Dragging all our spirits down,

Drowned without a hesitation

By adolescent recitation

Of somber death, poetry

From the nineteenth century.

Perfect mirror for my mood-

Spending hours with this brood!

I must ask you, my old friend,

Will this winter ever end?

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A Beacon for Peace

Let this tree stand tall

An icon for all cultures

Monument to peace

~

Пусть это дерево стоять в полный рост

Значок для всех культур

Памятник мира

~

دع هذه الشجرة تقف شامخة

رمز لجميع الثقافات

النصب التذكاري للسلام

~

בואו העץ הזה לעמוד זקוף

סמל לכל התרבויות

אנדרטה לשלום

~

इस पेड़ लंबा खड़े हो जाओ

सभी संस्कृतियों के लिए एक आइकन

शांति के लिए स्मारक

~

讓這棵樹站高

所有文化的圖標

和平的紀念碑

~

この木を高くしてみましょう

すべての文化のアイコン

平和への記念碑

~~~~~~

Image and poem ©2016

by Andy Garrabrant

Please feel free to correct my offered translations. I am no linguist and I know that “Google Translate” often falls short in translation. I welcome both literal and figurative translation.  Thank you.

America: beaten black and blue

I saw three young men clad all in black

Except for bright white tennis shoes.

I’m rather pleased that my first thought

Was “They could use a fashion muse!”

No sense of dread came rising up

From deep within some hidden core

Of long forgotten biased fears.

No deeply planted racial lore.

Just three young men clad all in black

All wearing bright white sneakers

Out for a stroll this Saturday

Not some heartless violence seekers.

Perhaps they want more festive dress.

I pray they avoid unpleasantness.