Tinnie Moe
Tinnie Moe Poems
Let's hope we do not break you
and
we keep you from harm and
illustrious ideas.
...
In the deepest morning of Gaia's green
in the deepest yearning of all unseen
there lies a harsh mourning vast
it seems
...
how Quiet my ears delude me
as in a whisper of a nothingness
Somewhere something touches a peacefull void
...
Fluffed air, baked in sunlight, twirls between green
shivering leaves
of the refreshing mark it them leaved
...
Let me tell you this story, as eager as you are to hear. For what i'm about to tell you, might frighten you to rear. This is not a disneyplot or a teddybear's roar that nightly comes to soar, this is cold hearted darkness, utter deception further more.
In a brownbricked little factoryhouse, with a big white door with ocrish and bronse handle and windowcage, a pure evil started to spread. A blonde ponytailed girl tried to save to world and to this it has all lead. The earth is bad and nearly dead, she said, we must defend our nature's green, for if we don't our earth shall never again be seen.
...
The birds in the sky remind me of why
such an automn came to thus
an awefull lots of winds of browns and greens
...
Green windfields on cows
and pigs a little with a weathleaf at my lips
Windmills and faeries around
...
Drifted in by tidal waves
with hugs of attachment
on the shore of the North Sea
a poem from Burma washed up.
No sun, no moon, can be seen
on the Norwegian beach.
Wearing the robe of mist
going up the Scandinavian mountain
with a shaken, broken voice
singing a home-sick song.
Someday
I will surely arrive at some point.
Though our homeland is under darkness
it will be short-lived.
Soon in the sky
dull darkness will clear,
a brightly coloured dawn
will arrive.
A journey of ten years
as short as a snap of the fingers.
A poem
will pack treasure
enter the village gate
greet 'hello'
a chance to hug the public.
But now . . . atop a snow-covered mountain
while hoping for the light
singing homesick songs
lighting up a lantern of hope,
to keep singing of what I miss.
...
My cigar is burnt up
the red-brown sun about to set.
Will you take me home?
...
Shakespeare and U Punnya.
Not enough chanting and singing.
Learn at school and read at home.
Know all the texts.
Once put to memory, in the crowd
drop references boastfully.
Articulate but cannot plough.
Go hungry
when the pitaka pot breaks.
...
When blood boils, it explodes.
When blood freezes, it ices over.
Hushed and anchored
without deliberation.
Our Burmese derive from Shakya
insulated.
The sight of blood agitates,
cools to extreme fear.
Be brave and be afraid.
Young heart
a moment brave
close to a hay fire
opportunistically following grandfather.
The chase is constant
perhaps like paradise or a wish
perhaps without knowing
on a trip without a path.
The cow eats plums
obscured.
This is our Burmese people.
...
The fluctuating graph
of my dream
deformed and curved
inverted,
sprawled.
Wandering in Germany, England,
Belgium and Holland,
Have I become stateless?
I miss this, I miss that,
at each of life's junctures
one thing today, one thing tomorrow
my mind dyed
a dull colour,
forests on fire,
my winter dreams
deranged.
My own country without peace
I take refuge in other nations
How can I feel secure?
The path I believe
still vague,
the door not yet ajar.
In my village, country
I would spread a mat
compose poems and read,
hum songs,
sip tea,
pick at tea leaf salad,
my hope
a life where I can do as I want.
When will my wish be fulfilled?
I search but I cannot see.
Marching a long way
towards China
a revolution launched
sacrificed lives,
today is Victory Day
I shall also march
grabbing my pen to victory.
For the democracy movement
to meet victory
I'll pray at Shwedagon
renewing strength.
I yearn, of course I yearn,
but I don't.
I must support
my fellow millions
to hoist the victory flag.
We are repressed
our chests crushed
a life without liberty,
the common saying
'death would be better'
echoes in my ear.
For liberation
from imprisonment and control
I will sacrifice my wishes
for the cause of freedom,
the people, distressed,
the lords of war all powerful
as in the past, they rule by sword
and must be changed,
for the cause of the fighting peacocks
with strength
with a clap
along with others
we give the weak a hand.
Hoist the peacock flag!
Flowers of victory shall be worn.
...
If I
had
wings.
That would
be a poem.
If I
have
a poem.
To all humanity
fly, glide
spreading music.
Just in case
I
don't have a poem.
Far from humanity
in a dark place
without wings and without friends.
The caged chicken
gazes in a stupor.
...
There in a moment
I floath over
sunrayed flowered fields
and paralysed
...
Well I guess I got my wishes
I got them all so soon
A deep dark core of despair
How long I withered in there
...
How can they wish for something more
to fraily knock at their withered cabin?
So much fools envy what it looks to be
...
An Endless Well of abandoned tears
A transparant moon hides all my fears
Something so full of sorrow
holds no more room
...
Tinnie Moe Biography
Tinnie Moe is not my birth name it's a childish wink at Poe. wanted to be a pathologist, but got into arts first drawing sketches, eating paint Create kindness and respect Urbex fascinates as so all deadly sins in a row Reading and writing to ease the mind, together with good drone and lovely wine No I'm lying, it's supposed to be whiskey and gin But for the worth of rhyming, i'd let a lie in... Open the portals of Earth's history and let your fantasy begin!)
The Best Poem Of Tinnie Moe
Gasp
Let's hope we do not break you
and
we keep you from harm and
illustrious ideas.
How many ways to kill a heart?
You can break it, that's so easy.
But so is easily mend.
You can hurt it, somewhat funny, pherhaps?
because a knife is easily bend.
You can hide it.
For so long in a place you didn't knew.
And it might call, it might shout
loud through the dark,
you must search a way out
to the light and where it blooms.
But never, no never,
Or pherhaps in dark panic,
smother it.
Because with no air,
every life is doomed.
Rebreath.
Tinnie Moe Comments
Tinnie Moe Quotes
' It's not how far and how much you travel, but with whome and by what means. '
Alone and utterly abandoned but by whome first, when life is merely just energy, there is no love to be found, Tina sang. But at least she sang.
This is not a story, for whom want to listen. For those who really want to, they've already heard.
It's better to be a devil, disguised as a god, and have the mass to follow you, than a god appears to be a devil, and the mass following him.
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5/7/2024 5:16:53 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Tinneke Moe is not my birth name it's a childish wink at Poe. wanted to be a pathologist, but got into arts first drawing sketches, eating paint Create kindness and respect Urbex fascinates as so all deadly sins in a row Reading and writing to ease the mind, together with good drone and lovely wine No I'm lying, it's supposed to be whiskey and gin But for the worth of rhyming, i'd let a lie in... Open the portals of Earth's history and let your fantasy begin!