Rhyming Ecclesiastes: Chapter 6

Another evil I’ve seen ‘neath the sun,
and this weighs heavily upon mankind:
God gives some people honor, wealth, and goods,
their heart’s desire, lack none of that, they would
but God does not grant them ability
to them, enjoy, and strangers what they’ll feel:
enjoyment of what they once had instead.
A grievous evil, this is meaningless.

A man, a hundred children, he may have,
and many-numbered are the years he lives;
yet it’s no matter how long is his life
if his prosperity, joy, won’t provide,
his burial has no propriety,
a stillborn child is better off than he.
It comes, no meaning, darkness, it departs,
its name is always shrouded in the dark.
Though it ne’er saw the sun, knew anything,
than that man has more rest compar’tively–
e’en if, a thousand years, twice o’er, lives, he,
fails to enjoy it, his prosperity.
Do not all men to the same place proceed?

For everyone, their mouth, their toiling strife,
yet never satisfied, their appetite.
What, over fools, advantage, have the wise?
What if they knew how to conduct themselves,
the poor, ‘fore others, they could gain some wealth?
It’s better that, the thing the eye will see,
than how the appetite roves ceaselessly.
This too is meaningless, like chasing wind.

Whate’er exists already has been named,
and what humanity is has been known;
with someone stronger, no one can contend.
The meaning, less, more words upon the tongue
and how would that e’er profit anyone?

For who knows, for a person, what is good
in life, his days, both meaningless and few,
they, like a shadow, all them will pass through?
Who can inform them, underneath the sun,
what there will happen after they are gone?

Rhyming Ecclesiastes: Chapter 5

Fulfill Your Vow To God

When you go near the house of God, your steps,
what you should guard. To listen, there, instead
of off’ring up the sacrifice of fools
who’re ignorant of that, the wrong they do.

Your mouth, you never should be quick with that,
do not be hasty in your heart’s intent
to utter anything before our God.
For God’s in heaven, here on earth, you trod
so let your words be numbered very few.
A dream comes when man’s cares, he can’t eschew
and many words will mark the speech of fools.
When you, to God, would ever make a vow,
make no delay, you should fulfill it now.
No pleasure that he ever has in fools.
Fulfill your vow. It is a general rule:
it’s better if, a vow, you never would
have made than making ones that’s not fulfilled.

Don’t ever let your mouth lead you to sin.
And to the temple messenger, don’t e’er, to him,
protest and say, “My vow was a mistake.”
Why should God, anger, have, at what you say,
and, of your hands, their works, he would destroy?

Riches Are Meaningless

Much dreaming, words, them both are meaningless.
Therefore fear God. If you see them oppressed,
the poor, within a district, they’re denied
both justice, rights. You shouldn’t be surprised,
for one official, by them, he is eyed,
those higher up, and others, o’er them still.
The increase from the land is took by all;
the king will profit from the fields himself.

Whoe’er loves money never is fulfilled;
their income with it, they ne’er satisfied,
whoe’er loves wealth. This, meaningless, is too.

As goods increase, so do those who consume
them. And what benefit are they to them
who own them but their feasting, ocular?

It’s sweet, the sleep, that of the laborer,
if they eat little, much, but for the rich,
abundance, theirs, no sleep does it permit.

I’ve seen a grievous evil ‘neath the sun:
an owner’s wealth is hoarded to their harm,
through some misfortune, all their wealth is lost,
when they have children, there is nothing left
for their inheritance. Their mother’s womb,
will everyone, from there, they, naked, come.
In that condition they’ll depart as well.
It’s nothing that they’ll take from all their toil
that they can ever carry in their hands.

This too is grievous evil: to a man,
as all will come, so they’ll depart again
and what, their gain, they’re toiling for the wind?
All of their days, in darkness they will eat,
affliction, anger, their frustration, great.

This is what I’ve observed as being good:
that it’s appropriate that they’d consume
their food, their drink, and satisfaction, find
from all their toilsome labor, how they strive
beneath the sun, the few days of their life
God’s given them–for this is what’s their lot.
Moreover, wealth, possessions, them, when God
gives someone and too, an ability
to them, enjoy, and also, happy, be,
with that, their toil–this is, of God, a gift.
They seldom will, upon their life, reflect,
for God will keep them fully occupied
with gladness in their heart, where it’s inscribed.

Rhyming Ecclesiastes: Chapter 4

Oppression, Toil, Friendlessness

All the oppression, what I saw again,
when I looked out, occurring ‘neath the sun:
I saw the tears that the oppressed oft’ cried–
no comforter, they’ve; their oppressors’ side
was where all of the power did reside–
no comforter, they have. And I declared
the dead who’d died, already been interred,
are, than the living, surely happier,
who’re still alive. But better than them both
is he, the one, that ne’er was given birth
who hasn’t seen the evil that’s been done,
no witness to that underneath the sun.

And I saw that all toil, achievement spring
from one’s man’s, of another, envying.
This too is meaningless, a vain pursuit,
to chase the wind. The folding hands of fools,
the method how they bring themselves to ruin.
One handful with tranquility preferred
to handfuls, two, with toil, how they were earned,
and further chasing after it, the wind.

Again I witnessed something ‘neath the sun,
was meaningless: there was a man, alone,
he neither had a brother or a son.
To his long toil, there never was an end
yet with his wealth his eyes were ne’er content.
He asked, “For whom is all my toil expelled
and, of enjoyment, why deprive myself?”
This meaningless, too–business, mis’rable.

Two are to be preferred to only one,
for all their labor, they have good returns:
if either of them ever would fall down,
the other’d help them up, they’re not alone.
But pity him who ever, downward falls,
to help them up, they have no one at all.
As well, if two, together, would lie down,
they will keep warm, but how, if they’re alone?
Though one may, overpowered, be, two can
defend themselves, a cord wove of three strands
is strong and is not broken easily.

Advancement Is Meaningless

It’s better to, a poor but wise youth, be
than him, an old king, foolish, who can’t heed,
no longer knows how, to, a warning, yield.
From prison to the kingship, where
the youth is from, or maybe, he, born there,
in poverty, his kingdom, there within.
I saw that all who lived, walked ‘neath the sun,
the youth, they followed, the successor, king’s.
Of all the people who, them, did precede
there was no end. But those who, they’d succeed,
with the successor, they became displeased.
This meaningless, too, chasing after wind.

Rhyming Ecclesiastes: Chapter 3

There is a time for everything beneath
the heavens, and for each activity,
a season, all for these, appointed times:
a time for birthing, also one to die,
a time to plant and also to uproot,
a time to kill, then healing to pursue,
a time to tear down, one to build anew,
a time to weep, and too, a time to laugh,
a time to mourn, and also, time to dance,
a time to scatter stones, to gather them,
embracing’s time, and also abstinence,
a time to search, and also, to give up,
a time to keep and one to outwards, thrust,
a time to tear, time too, to mending seek,
a time for silence, and a time to speak,
a time to love, and too, a time to hate,
a time for war, then also, peace to make.

What, from their toil, do workers ever gain?
I’ve see the burden on the human race
that God has laid. How everything, he’s made,
in its time, beautiful. Eternity,
that, set inside the human heart, has he;
yet none can fathom things that God has done
from the beginning, to the end, its sum.

I know, for people, nothing better is
to happy, be, and do good while they live.
That each of them may eat and drink their fill,
find satisfaction in all of their toil–
this is the gift of God. It will endure,
I know that everything God does, fore’er;
can nothing to it, ever, added, be
and nothing from, can anyone delete.
God does this so that, fear of him, they’ll feel.

Whatever is, it has already been,
what’s been before, it will be once again.
To full account, how God, the past attends.
And I saw something else beneath the sun:
in judgment’s place–there, wickedness had won,
in place of justice–wickedness was done.
I, to myself said, “Both them, God will bring
to judgment, righteous, wicked, everything,
for each activity, there’ll be a time,
when ev’ry deed is judged, if any, right.”

I also said to myself, “As for them,
for humans, God will put them to the test
so they may see they’re like the animals.
For sure, the fate of them, identical:
just as one dies, so too, the other dies.
All have the same breath, how they both respire.
O’er animals, men, no advantages.
In this, I saw all things were meaningless.
All go to the same place; all come from dust,
as well, all of them, unto dust, descend.
Who knows if, upward, where it will ascend,
the human spirit, of the animal,
its spirit, earthwards, subterrestrial?

So I saw that there’s nothing better for
a person than to full enjoy their work
because that is their lot. So what’s in store?
Whoe’er can show them, how they’ll ever know?

John Dee Would Appear To Me

Performing my poetic sorcery,
if done correctly, he’d appear to me,
a white occultist, everything is free,
deny involvement, demonology.
Through time a portal opened up, John Dee
steps through it, though e’en with my eyes is seen,
I’d disbelieve. Ecclesiastes reads
there’s nothing new, the sun, that’s underneath.

Rhyming Ecclesiastes: Chapter 1

Everything Is Meaningless

The words of him, the Teacher, David’s son,
of him who’s king o’er all Jerusalem:

“All meaningless! All meaningless!”, he says,
the Teacher. “Meaningless, it’s utterly!
“It’s everything,” he says, “is meaningless.”
What gain do people, from their labors, see?
Their constant toil, the sun they’re underneath.
The generations old, and new, give birth,
but it remains forever, here, the earth.
The sun will rise, horizon, dips below,
and hurries back again to where it rose.
It’s to the south, the place from where it blows,
the wind, and then it turns back to the north;
around and ‘round, directions that it goes,
and e’er returning on its willful course.
All streams are flowing down into the sea,
the sea, its emptiness is ne’er relieved.
Back to the place the streams come from, again,
there they return. All things are wearisome,
more than a single person can express.
Of seeing, does the eye ne’er have enough,
nor does the ear, it’s hearing ne’er filled up.
What has been once will be the case once more,
what’s done before, again, will be performed;
there is no new thing ‘neath the sun’s bright rays.
Is there not anything that one could say,
“Look! This is something new”? No, it was here
already, long ago, was here before.
No one remembers generations past,
and even those who’ve yet to come to pass
won’t be remembered by those foll’wing them.

Wisdom Is Meaningless

Was king o’er Is’rael in Jerusalem,
the Teacher, I, and I applied my mind
to study and explore, by wisdom find
all that beneath the heavens might be done.
God’s laid a heavy burden on mankind!
I have seen all the things that ‘neath the sun
are done; they’re meaningless, yes, all of them,
a fruitless chasing after blowing wind.
What’s crooked can’t be straightened out again;
that lacking can’t, enumerated, be.

I said unto myself, “Look, I’ve increased
in wisdom more than anyone who’s ruled
Jerusalem before; experienced,
I have much, both of wisdom, knowledge, too.”
Then I applied myself to wisdom’s goal,
to understanding, madness, folly, know,
but I have learned that this, too, is a ruse,
a chasing after wind that’s useless to pursue.
For with much wisdom, sorrow will attend,
the greater knowledge, grieving will expand.

Rhyming Proverbs: Chapter 31

The sayings of King Lemuel, inspired–
his mother taught him utt’rances most wise.

My son, now listen! Son of my womb, hear!
My son, hear this, the answer to my prayers!
Do not, on women, spending all your strength,
your vigor on those who would ruin great kings.
It’s not for kings, my Lemuel–it’s not
for kings to drink wine, rulers in their heart
to crave beer, lest they drink and would forget
what has been prev’iously declared as law,
and the oppressed, their rights, deprived of all.
Let beer be for those who are perishing,
and wine reserved for those who’re anguishing!
Let them drink that, forget their poverty
and no more they remember misery.
Speak up for those who can’t speak for themselves,
of all who’re destitute, their rights, you’d tell.
Speak up and fairly judge, defend the rights,
of those, the poor and needy, who’ve no might.

Epilogue: The Wife of Noble Character

A wife of noble character, who, her,
can find? Her worth, than rubies, is far more.
Full confidence her husband has in her,
of value, lacking nothing, he’ll confirm.
She brings him good, and never causes harm,
all of the days of her life. Works the loom,
selecting wool and flax, her eager hands.
She’s like the merchant ships from distant lands,
those bringing food. She gets up while it’s night
and for her fam’ly, food, what she provides,
her female servants, portions she divides.
A field, what she considers, it, she buys;
a vineyard, plants, from profits she’s derived.
She sets about her work most vig’rously;
for all her tasks, her arms ne’er lacking strength.
She sees the profits that her trading earns,
her lamp will never, in the night, out, burn.
In her right hand she holds the distaff’s shaft,
the spindle in her fingers, how she grasps.
Her open arms, to them, the poor’s demands,
and to the needy, she extends her hands.
When it might snow, no fear that she would know,
for them, her household, all of them are clothed
in scarlet. Making cov’rings for her bed;
fine linen, purple, in them she is clothed.
Her husband at the city gate, respect
he does receive, where he will take his seat
among the elders of the land. She makes
clothes, linen garments, selling in exchange.
With sashes, all the merchants, she supplies.
She’s clothed with both: strength, and she’s dignified;
she’s someone laughing at the days to come.
She speaks with wisdom, and what’s on her tongue:
instruction faithful. Over their affairs,
she watches over those her household does
and doesn’t eat the bread of idleness.
Her children call her blessed, what they assert;
her husband also, and he praises her:

“There’s many women doing noble things,
but what you do, them all, surpassingly.”

Charm is deceptive, fleeting, beauty, too,
but, to be praised, the LORD, a woman, who
fears him. Her, honor, for the things she’s done,
those, with her hands, her works, let what they’ve brung
her, at the city gates: her praises sung.

Rhyming Proverbs: Chapter 30.17

“The eye that mocks a father, one that scorns
an agèd mother, from the socket torn.
It’s out, by ravens of the valley, pecked,
and by the vultures, carrion, it’s et.”