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Erhard Hans Josef Lang Genaral Santos City, Min.. / Philippines, Male, 58
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Erhard Hans Josef Lang's last comments on poems and poets

  • POEM: Mandela - The Immortal Icon by Chinedu Dike (10/8/2014 5:43:00 AM)

    A very good poem with a deep meaning about a great soul that the whole world looks up to with respect for his achievements in the name of the equality of races, freedom, peace and justice. Thank you for sharing this poem.

  • POEM: Sleeping Volcano by Vijay Sai (5/1/2014 12:50:00 AM)

    Well said! And how can we extinguish the fires inside the depth of the volcano?

  • POEM: My Last Letter To My Lovely Beauty Lady With All My Sadness by Ali Sabry (6/26/2012 9:21:00 AM)

    The eternal well of cosmic love in the person of one poemhunter with greatest longing for the one and only true love. While destiny's decree is yet hidden in a hide-and-seek game the heart in its overflowing with romantic feelings just will never stoop to an attitude of don't push it, don't force it; just let it happen naturally...

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Erhard Hans Josef Lang's comments on forums

  • Erhard Hans Josef Lang (10/30/2006 11:08:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Dear poets and interested readers,
    I have received one message from a certain poet who questions me of having a sick mind after he read one of my latest pieces titled STRICTLY SARCASTIC - BOHEMIAN DECREE.
    It is, admittedly, a bit of a heavy writing, but actually I mean exactly - the piece being sarcastic - just the opposite of what is said there - keeping alive and fostering (in order for groups of different standings in socity to come to terms with one another) , instead of flatly killing.
    In case if any other readers felt similar sentiments on reading this poem of mine unprepared, for those here the copy of my response to the one complainant mentioned above:

    Hadn't happened exactly in Bohemia... but somewhere in Transsylvania under some Earl in the latter Middle Ages - a predecessor of late Ceausescu - but something historic it is nevertheless, thus not at all born of a sick mind, AS YOU YOURSELF SO SICKLY HOLD, and besides, so to speak, it is also something experienced even today, if interpreting poor people's exploitation as another form of an equal level of cruelty that, in any case, comes close to 'having them [at the least, their lives] burned down.'

    All the rest of my poem is to be understtood in likewise manner - and doesn't the title explicitly 'warn' of a sarcastic language? ?

    Those who pretend they cannot stand such tones about society's disregard and irresponsibility towards its marginal groups that are chronically in big need or in big trouble, in the past, always were seen to be those who were among the first to jump on the bandwagon of exactly what they earlier had sworn to be sickening them, as soon as only a newly imposed fascist dictatorship had taken over the rudders in their respective countries, and opened the doors to abuse and cruelty.

    Such bad things but might not as easily ever have happened either in the past, if only any thinker or poet as myself had had the wits and courage to project the devil onto the wall way ahead and before things had come to a head - for all to see and for alerting people all around ahead in time so as to recognize the devil at the very moment when he comes 'riding into town in disguise' right on time.

    Think it over, dear poet

  • Erhard Hans Josef Lang (10/18/2006 8:54:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Dear poets, one small, but substantial change was made to my latest poem

    Eclipsing Untimely Queues On Whims Of Practical Intuition,

    which has made it all the more readable now, as I think, in its final form. Still, I'm always open to any suggestions by yourselves on matters of how to improve on my writings linguistically, dear poets, especially by you poets born with the English tongue (I, a German, was held and spoken to as a baby for some time by a colored American G.I.'s wife who then lived with us as tenants) .
    Please don't be hesitant to inform about anything in my use of language, or even of style, for that matter, in case something had striked your senses on reading my poems. Thanks a lot for your attention. It'll be a rewarding thing!

  • Erhard Hans Josef Lang (10/18/2006 8:43:00 PM) Post reply

    Eclipsing Untimely Queues On Whims Of Practical Intuition

    Nor briskets nor biscuits,
    No greens, no grains to eat left over on the shelves
    Where to feed on at home
    Time again it was to go shopping for life's victuals.

    Money that buys the things first was needed to get more of.

    Ah, what a terribly huge crowd of clients
    Inside that bank then again, and
    How many hours again of life's precious time
    I'd lose over waiting for my numbered deal
    After I was through with this queue?

    'I could have easily done my shopping in the meantime
    While I'll be waiting in here -
    50 numbers ahead of my own turn, '
    I heard another one say, likewise caught
    In the waiting's turning-mill.

    And suddenly, carried on a
    Whim of practical intuition,
    Making true on the word just heard
    I went to betake myself away, out from the bank,
    On the very same thought of what my wearied by-stander had sighed.

    I left, with my number tag stuck in the left hand,
    Left the bank, without a note or coin for a bill to be paid,
    Hied into a nearby mall's grocery station,
    Where all the goodies are there for the buying,

    Took the shoppers basket cart and started
    Filling it with all kinds of goods, item by item
    Selecting exactly what I thought I needed.

    My purse empty, but
    The bank's number tag all the while
    Stuck In my left hand.

    Bread-fruit, canned food, some tastes of
    Liquid for drinks & morsels to snack on,
    Sugar, salt, chillie, cheese,
    Maybe something special yet for
    The unexpected valued guest that might come visiting in the house...

    Staples and extras in no time, thus, as it were,
    Filled up the shopping basket to the brim.
    And, yes, time had elapsed by then,
    Since I had unqueued myself from waiting in the bank.

    I placed my shoppers cart in a corner of the mall's
    Where it would be out of he way of all others -
    All the while with the bank's number tag still
    Stuck in my left hand -

    Went back to the bank, and lo, right
    In time for
    My turn to be served,
    I signed request and receipt scrips,
    Took and pocketed the given urgent argent agent
    - Money -

    Made it back to the trade-center
    Retrieved my barrowful of houseware
    Cashed in on my counter bill

    And hadn't I gained, on top of all,
    Paid by nothing else but a leap on a daring whim of the moment,
    One and a half hours of quality time in life?

    In another instance, on an
    Autobahn diversion forest override,
    A never-ending queue of cars and nothing but cars
    was that time
    That time-snatching chain of waiting in queue
    I once again dared to unqueue myself of.

    That queue was caused by something graver than
    What any money, even how painstakingly awaited, could purchase one:

    Due to a fatal series of crash-on
    Accidents of several cars on the run in that stretch
    Total blockage there was of all traffic
    On all lanes, on that very superhighway
    Where I was then gliding down in an automobile,

    On a drive only for shopping for the extra rare foreign article,
    There in one of cosmovillage Munich's unique railway kiosks,
    Wanted just one interesting reading material,
    Only there as they sold anything in
    That exotic language I had learnt.

    But suddenly all vehicles, small and big, slow and fast,
    Ended up being diverted, through
    The billowing far-stretching countrysides, from the
    One Autobahn outlet before the disaster spot to the
    One Autobahn entry behind the disaster spot,

    Porsches and Gogomobiles alike, back to back,
    Mercedeses and Unimogs teeming flank by flank with
    Cow-herders from the nearest village goading home over the road
    Their cattle to their night shelters,

    Smiling into the faces of frustrated racing-car drivers -
    Stuck in a queue of no end of cars
    That were all melting up into one endlessly long metal snake

    Meandering for two and half hours extra and additional,
    On a stretch they would have covered, if on the Autobahn,
    In a matter of minutes,

    Now trapped in such a mess, up and down
    Provincial hills along romantically winding hillbilly-roads
    Through forested stretches,
    Across farmers' meadows and fields,
    And through their slow-life villages.

    I was about to give it up and just
    Cancel my trip, getting delayed thus,
    When I had this glorious idea:

    Why not simply overtake the whole long line of cars ahead of me
    From inside the forest on its forest roads,
    There left and right of the main street?

    (Though entering forest grounds with a motorized vehicle
    Required a special permit
    I, a nature boy,
    Was not afraid of drives into the woods) .

    And so, one more driver, aside from the cow-herder
    Who had smiled into the frustrated Porche chauffeur's face,
    Was peeping over to that same face
    And with a similar satisfaction,
    This time I myself up there right in the woods,
    Before turning off along my chosen dark-hidden nature's path-ways.

    Eventually, after all my ways across areas of farm land,
    I found myself back by the Autobahn entry
    Where the accidental diversion was getting started.

    The traffic police by then were still busy
    Diverting more & more of on-rushing cars.
    But I was the only one that came from the other direction
    And I crossed the Autobahn on a bridge right there
    To go from where I also was to pass back into the next possible
    Autobahn entry,
    Coming but down all the way from the other side,
    I, the only one of
    All the other hundreds and hundreds of other vehicles,
    Who had gone on a trip of his own,
    To the other side.

    And after some twenty minutes - only -, I was meeting
    On the first batch of all those other car buddies helplessly diverted,
    The very ones that I actually, had I stayed within the queue,
    Would have been truckling yet some two hours behind of.

    And hadn't I then experienced,
    Paid again by nothing else but a leap on a daring whim of the moment,
    Another one & a half hours or more of quality time in life?

    This is a song of freedom of one
    Who at regular times
    Toggles along with others like all the others do, too.

    Erhard Hans Josef Lang

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