They are like food for the soul. So, we were talking about soulmates, loneliness, fear…This week I want you to share your favorite poem. It can be in your language. I’m going to share my favorite poem, one of them of course. And you’re always welcome to return to this blog and share another poem. But if you have to single out one poem, what would it be?
I suggest you to post in English/Portugues/Françai/Espanol. But you can also post in your mother tongue. In this case, it will take more time to be moderated, because we need to translate to avoid spam.
Please feel free to put your favorite poem and share with other readers. I selected one Greek (in English) and one in Portugues. They are in the post # 1
Thank you!
Paulo
UPDATE: I am surprised with the quantity/quality of posts. Today I suggested a good friend in HP Printer Division consider publishing around 200 poems that are pubic domain. An anthology by popular vote! He is considering
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another poem. one of my favarite poets attila ilhan. unfortunately only turkish :(
Attila İlhan ‘Aysel Git Başımdan’
Aysel Git Başımdan
Aysel git başımdan ben sana göre değilim
Ölümüm birden olacak seziyorum.
Hem kötüyüm karanlığım biraz çirkinim
Aysel git başımdan istemiyorum.
Benim yağmurumda gezinemezsin üşürsün
Dağıtır gecelerim sarışınlığını
Uykularımı uyusan nasıl korkarsın,
hiçbir dakikamı yaşayamazsın.
Aysel git başımdan ben sana göre değilim.
Benim icin kirletme aydınlığını,
hem kötüyüm karanlığım biraz çirkinim
Islığımı denesen hemen düşürürsün,
gözlerim hızlandırır tenhalığını
Yanlış şehirlere götürür trenlerim.
Ya ölmek ustalığını kazanırsın,
ya korku biriktirmek yetisini.
Acılarım iyice bol gelir sana,
sevincim bir türlü tutmaz sevincini.
Aysel git başımdan ben sana göre değilim.
Ümitsizliğimi olsun anlasana
hem kötüyüm karanlığım biraz çirkinim.
Sevindiğim anda sen üzülürsün.
Sonbahar uğultusu duymamışsın ki
içinden bir gemi kalkıp gitmemiş,
uzak yalnızlık limanlarına.
Aykırı bir yolcuyum dünya geniş,
Büyük bir kulak çınlıyor içimdeki.
Çetrefil yolculuğum kesinleşmiş.
Sakın başka bir şey getirme aklına.
Aysel git başımdan ben sana göre değilim,
ölümüm birden olacak seziyorum,
hem kötüyüm karanlığım biraz çirkinim.
Aysel git başımdan seni seviyorum…
This is a great poem Paul!
William Blake from his book: Songs of Innocence
THE DIVINE IMAGE
To Mercy Pity Peace and Love
All pray in their distress,
And to these virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.
For Mercy Pity Peace and Love
Is God our father dear,
And Mercy Pity Peace and Love
Is Man his child and care.
For Mercy has a human heart,
Pity, a human face,
And Love, the human form divine,
And Peace, the human dress.
Then every man of every clime,
That prays in his distress,
Prays to the human form divine,
Love Mercy Pity Peace
And all must love the human form
In heathen, turk or jew.
Where Mercy Love & Pity dwell
There God is dwelling too.
—————————————-
When Paulo asked us to share our favourite poems, only one came to my mind. This poem for me is the greatest gift I have ever received and I am so happy to have an opportunity to share it with you all. This poem was written by my father, Costas Tsicaderis, who himself was a passionate artist, composer of music and a wonderful, generous human being. My father passed away suddenly at home at Christmas 2004, he was only 59. He left behind a legacy of beautiful music but this poem is his greatest gift to me. My father had a little artists studio at the back of our house where he would write his music. The day after he passed away, still in shock and disbelief, I went into his little studio to sit and contemplate. There on his desk was a sheet of white paper and a poem written in his lovely hand. I had never seen it before but I read words that uplifted a grieving heart and filled it with love. It was like my father had left it there, waiting for me.
A Guest at God’s Table
by Costas Tsicaderis (1945-2004)
“We are all visitors here on Planet Earth
All guests at God’s Table
We have to ask ourselves
What have we brought to the table to share?
What are the many gifts given to us?
And what will we leave behind, in gratitude
For the hospitality, and for the guests that follow us?
Costas TSicaderis 2004
This is such a great poem for reflection! Thanks alot for sharing. And you must be proud to have such great father! Thanks to our Father in heaven. =)
I would like to share two poems by Steve Champion, who is on death row in California:
WE WERE BROTHERS BEFORE COLORS
We were brothers
before colors
created an illusion of differentness
with artificial boarders of
street signs & gang symbols
that give & take away identities
like overcharged credit cards
Ask any painter
who mix paint
and they´ll tell you
red & blue equals brown
brown-faced soldiers
with razorlike stares
parade cluttered ghettos
waging street wars too old to recall
whose beginnings are lost in bitter hatred
because the rage cuts deep
like knife wounds
and every insult, beatdown, drive-by shooting
fuel flames of revenge & retaliation
ending with pallbearers carrying caskets
while weeping relatives
mourn the loss of those voices
that speak no more.
We were brothers
before colors
had us maiming each othr
like prize fighting pit bulls
over words & colors
neither of us owned or control
we kill over flags
cous & blood
which reveal our blood relations
but remain far apart as
Palestinians & Israelis are on
the question of land
but we don´t fight for land
we´re locked in this bitter battle
of false bravado/and inflated egos
where self hatred
is played out in a
twisted ritual of
who can kill who
who can stack the most
bodies for a ghetto reputation
while cemeteries grow full/end
politicans build careers off
of our tragedy.
COSMIC DANCE
We are born on earth
to learn lessons about our journey
to fulfill our destinies
we travel on winding roads
we share
we struggle
we anger
we laugh
we rage
we love
we make up
we circumnavigate the univers
with out imagination
one day the dance will end
new thems will be rewritten
for another incarnation
to complete our evolution
midwifing a new vision
if we fail to get it right, today
we´ll pay for it tomorrow
no regrets for yesterdays
thanks for the cosmic dance
The Cosmic Dance is a poem I can relate to with sentiment. My son passed away a few months ago. We thought of him as forever cosmic. He truly had no regrets and lived each day to the fullest. One of his favorite sayings was La’ bon vie! He truly did live the good life. I plan to carry on as he did and live the good life I should. May peace with you on your journey.
Hi Paulo…I am glad that you said we could return with a second poem if we wished. This is by the Irish poet Austin Clarke. It is a brave poem speaking out against Catholic Church’s power over women.
The Redemptorist by Auystin Clarke
‘How many children have you?’ asked
The big Redemptorist.
‘Six, Father.’
‘The last,
When was it born?’
‘Ten months ago.’
‘I cannot absolve your mortal sin
Until you conceive again. Go home,
Obey your husband.’
She whimpered:
‘But
The doctor warned me…’
Shutter became her coffin lid. She twisted her thin hands
And left the box.
The missioner
Red-bearded saint, had brought hell’s flame
To frighten women on retreat:
Sent on his spiritual errand,
It rolled along the village street
Until Rathfarnham was housing smoke
That sooted the Jesuits in their castle.
‘No pregnancy. You’ll die the next time,’
The doctor had said.
Her tiredness obeyed
That Saturday night:
Herf husband’s weight
Digging her grave. So, in nine months, she
Sank in great agony on a Monday.
Her children wept in the orphanage,
Huddled together in the annexe,
While, proud of the Black Cross on his badge,
The Liguorian, at Adam and Eve’s,
Ascended the pulpit, sulphuring his sleeves
And setting fire to the holy text.
Love to you Paulo
Dağlar üstüne çeşitlemeler…
Aşk, o kadar ne ise
Uzaklığın yanında
Uzaklar o kadar aşk oluyor
Adamın canında.
Ne demeli ateş, alev, can
Sormalı önce uzaklardan
Kime kül olur söner gider
Kimi yanar rüzgarlardan.
Uzaklar denince dağlar aklıma gelir
Dağlar olsa da, olmasa da
Dağsız uzak yoktur bana sorarsan
Dağlar arada olmasa da.
ÖZDEMİR ASAF
Sometimes
Sometimes
I drift in the air
a thousand feet up high
Sometimes
I don’t even see a sky
as life goes by
Sometimes
I want to be carried
by the windy moon
as sometimes
I think it’ll all be over soon
but most times
I don’t think I deserve myself to be
the person that I long is me
Then said Almitra, “Speak to us of Love.”
And he raised his head and looked upon the people, and there fell a stillness upon them.
And with a great voice he said:
When love beckons to you follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God’s sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life’s heart.
But if in your fear you would seek only love’s peace and love’s pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love’s threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.
When you love you should not say, “God is in my heart,” but rather, I am in the heart of God.”
And think not you can direct the course of love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.
Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.
from Khalil Gibran: The Prophet
Words spoken
Hearts broken,
Tears, Pain
Forever remain.
Letting go
Longing so
Soul’s key
Forgive me
Beginnings, endings
Hearts mending
Love, joy
Girl, Boy
Simplicity. Beauty.
I like it!
Dear Paul,
I love Kipling. Irish television made an advertisement for some sport (I think it was sport!) using the last verse. It worked very well actually. Thanks :)
Stufen ( Steps)
Wie jede Blüte welkt und jede Jugend
Dem Alter weicht, blüht jede Lebensstufe,
Blüht jede Weisheit auch und jede Tugend
Zu ihrer Zeit und darf nicht ewig dauern.
Es muß das Herz bei jedem Lebensrufe
Bereit zum Abschied sein und Neubeginne,
Um sich in Tapferkeit und ohne Trauern
In andre, neue Bindungen zu geben.
Und jedem Anfang wohnt ein Zauber inne,
Der uns beschützt und der uns hilft, zu leben.
Wir sollen heiter Raum um Raum durchschreiten,
An keinem wie an einer Heimat hängen,
Der Weltgeist will nicht fesseln uns und engen,
Er will uns Stuf’ um Stufe heben, weiten.
Kaum sind wir heimisch einem Lebenskreise
Und traulich eingewohnt, so droht Erschlaffen,
Nur wer bereit zu Aufbruch ist und Reise,
Mag lähmender Gewöhnung sich entraffen.
Es wird vielleicht auch noch die Todesstunde
Uns neuen Räumen jung entgegen senden,
Des Lebens Ruf an uns wird niemals enden…
Wohlan denn, Herz, nimm Abschied und gesunde!
Hermann Hesse
Francisco de Quevedo
AMOR CONSTANTE MÁS ALLÁ DE LA MUERTE
Cerrar podrá mis ojos la postrera
Sombra que me llevare el blanco día,
Y podrá desatar esta alma mía
Hora, a su afán ansioso lisonjera;
Mas no de esotra parte en la ribera
Dejará la memoria, en donde ardía:
Nadar sabe mi llama el agua fría,
Y perder el respeto a ley severa.
Alma, a quien todo un Dios prisión ha sido,
Venas, que humor a tanto fuego han dado,
Médulas, que han gloriosamente ardido,
Su cuerpo dejará, no su cuidado;
Serán ceniza, mas tendrá sentido;
Polvo serán, mas polvo enamorado.
Dear Hildegarde,
Really beautiful :)
Here is another one of my favorites, it is written by me.
Love
Dead at heart,
No pain or joy
Emptiness.
Seeds grow, they awaken,
Life lives in us yet we die
Look at me now,
What do you see?
Tell me now.
I long for nothingness
Absolutely nothing
Except warmth
Or pain or joy or
Sex and lust
And love and hate
Or death and life.
Mostly you, pressing and sensing
The texture of my earthly skin
Where so eagerly you enter the tunnel of life
Yet why must it be so dark
So beautiful
Where you and I are one,
Let’s multiply.
Feel me,
Dare you not
For you might regret your closeness,
Your loss at heart,
Joy,
And you
Vague,
You ask why must it be?
You know because you see and feel and love,
And are
Where chance has given you the chance to see be and let be.
You love
And I feel
You,
The inspirational fire of death.
I long for the end of the circle
why?
must you ask at all?
James Douglas Morrison, Poet and singer here my favourite lyrics of one song and a little poem of him:
LOVE HIDES
Love hides in the strangest places.
Love hides in familiar faces.
Love comes when you least expect it.
Love hides in narrow corners.
Love comes to those who seek it.
Love hides inside the rainbow.
Love hides in molecular structures.
Love is the answer.
————————————————-
Now is blessed
The rest
remembered
Love it! – glad to see other see another appreciating his words
i posted up, his poem The Opening of a Trunk.
THE OPENING OF THE TRUNK
Moment of inner freedom
when the mind is opened and the
infinite universe revealed
& the soul is left to wander
dazed & confus’d searching
here & there for teachers & friends.
I would like to add my poems which I like it as it is natural
O, My God,..
What is going out
in that autumn night
I hear the birds singing only for us
I see all world lights spread just to us
Through the gray clouds,
That ray of light comes
With some drops of rains
from that far sky
just For us
They are celebrating our day of forgiveness
We sing with them
Oh God forgive us
And lead us
I know you do not forget
And everything is there saved in the holy book
But God, could you forgive us
, if you please
Just for our week hearts
Amen
*****
Oh my lord
Our souls ascend for you in heaven
Would they go to paradise or hell?
This is by your choice
You are the most merciful
So, if you please
Give us your choice to go to paradise
By your choice only,
We do not have any will
In that world
Even our work and what we did
We know that we are full of sins
So please God choose upon your choice
Not our work
We are very poor
We do not have any good activities
Even if we have, these will not enough or the paradise
****
My lord
Even words cannot adore or esteem Him
Silently, I ask Him
as I have no proper words to say
All words are less than He deserves
So, I ask Him directly
Please forget us
Please give us
You are the only
Who forgives and gives
O. my God
Dear Paulo,
Great choice for the blog. It inspired me to pull out my poetry books which I neglet to do sometimes. It soothes my soul and calms my mind to read them. Thank you!
I carry your heart with me
(I carry it in my heart)
I am never without it
(anywhere I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling)
I fear
No fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you
Here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)
Author: E. E. Cummings
I love Hymn to Isis!..thank you Hildegarde for sharing…
oxooxx…
lezah
BUTTERFLY
(by Valeria M)
I have a sweet and bitter soul,
A restless soul
I want to hide and explode into passions
Of a thousand colors, a thousand loves
I want to dance like a ballerina over the suffocating concrete
I open the wings, Butterfly
And leave the cocoon of myself
I evolve, transform and add
Turn into an worm, an insect
and turn into colors and lovers
I go out shining, transforming the world with my beauty
A gate between material and spiritual
I take the souls
To the gardens of infinity
I can be whatever you want
Feeding from the honey of flowers
I open the wings, Butterfly
No more a snail
I am a Butterfly, freed from myself
Flying the skies of the infinity!
I couldn’t possibly pick a favourite poem but this is my favourite of this particular poet:
yesterday I wrote poems
just as today I dispense kisses
my kisses have become cheaper
poems grow more and more scarce
poems I now write only
when the flower’s colour hurts me
or when a bat
flying through the night
touches my cheek
I kiss in every season
I kiss those randomly met
students doctors poets
they then write poems about it
just as I dispense kisses
by handfuls
carelessly
rashly
Author: Halina Poswiatowska
A favorite poem, for me, is a difficult choice, as I am literally in love with so many. In my life, I have needed and craved words almost as much as the air I breathe. That being said, there is one poem that has been a part of my heart since I was a child. I memorized the words when I was young and they have never left me:
The Arrow and the Song
by: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.
I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?
Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.
Since then, I have loved many poems, many lyrics, and many beautiful constellations of words. One poem that I found shortly after my mother died and carries me through my adulthood is Philip Roth’s First Lesson. It reminds me that that I have the power I need to guide me inside already and that I need to trust myself to God and the universe and all will be as it should be.
First Lesson
by: Philip Booth
Lie back daughter, let your head
be tipped back in the cup of my hand.
Gently, and I will hold you. Spread
your arms wide, lie out on the stream
and look high at the gulls. A dead-
man’s float is face down. You will dive
and swim soon enough where this tidewater
ebbs to the sea. Daughter, believe
me, when you tire on the long thrash
to your island, lie up, and survive.
As you float now, where I held you
and let go, remember when fear
cramps your heart what I told you:
lie gently and wide to the light-year
stars, lie back, and the sea will hold you.
I also invite you all to my favorite website and search tool for beautiful words on the web: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poetrytool.html
Paulo, thank you for this beautiful menagerie of favorite poetry this week! This week will be a lovely walk through the words….
~Melyssa
Психея. Не самозванка-я пришла домой, И не служанка-мне не надо хлеба. Я-страсть твоя,воскресный отдых твой, Твой день седьмой,твоё седьмое небо. Там,на земле,мне подавали грош И жерновов навешали на шею. Возлюбленный!Ужель не узнаёшь? Я ласточка твоя-Психея! Вот тебе,ласковый мой,лохмотья, Бывшие некогда нежной плотью. Всё истрепала,изорвала,- Только осталось что два крыла. Одень меня в своё великолепье, Помилуй и спаси. А бедные истлевшие отрепья- Ты в ризницу снеси. Марина Цветаева.
Paul,
That is a wonderful poem…a gift to any young person from a respected mentor…I teach with this poem often because of its strength.
~Melyssa
Yes, this is love – and slight obsession…
Very hard choice.
P. B. Shelley
CCLXXV. Ode to the West Wind
O WILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being—
Thou from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes!—O thou 5
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
The wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow
Her clarion o’er the dreaming earth, and fill 10
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odours plain and hill—
Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere—
Destroyer and Preserver—hear, O hear!
Thou on whose stream, ‘mid the steep sky’s commotion, 15
Loose clouds like earth’s decaying leaves are shed,
Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,
Angels of rain and lightning! they are spread
On the blue surface of thine airy surge,
Like the bright hair uplifted from the head 20
Of some fierce Mænad, ev’n from the dim verge
Of the horizon to the zenith’s height—
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge
Of the dying year, to which this closing night
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, 25
Vaulted with all thy congregated might
Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst:—O hear!
Thou who didst waken from his summer-dreams
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, 30
Lull’d by the coil of his crystalline streams,
Beside a pumice isle in Baiæ’s bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave’s intenser day,
All overgrown with azure moss, and flowers 35
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou
For whose path the Atlantic’s level powers
Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
The sapless foliage of the ocean, know 40
Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear
And tremble and despoil themselves:—O hear!
If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share 45
The impulse of thy strength, only less free
Than thou, O uncontrollable!—if even
I were as in my boyhood, and could be
The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven,
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed 50
Scarce seem’d a vision,—I would ne’er have striven
As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.
O lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!
A heavy weight of hours has chain’d and bow’d 55
One too like thee—tameless, and swift, and proud.
Make me thy lyre, ev’n as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
Will take from both a deep autumnal tone, 60
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
My spirit! be thou me, impetuous one!
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe,
Like wither’d leaves, to quicken a new birth;
And, by the incantation of this verse, 65
Scatter, as from an unextinguish’d hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawaken’d earth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? 70
Self-Knowledge by Khalil Gibran
And a man said, “Speak to us of Self-Knowledge.”
And he answered, saying:
Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days and the nights.
But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart’s knowledge.
You would know in words that which you have always know in thought.
You would touch with your fingers the naked body of your dreams.
And it is well you should.
The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise and run murmuring to the sea;
And the treasure of your infinite depths would be revealed to your eyes.
But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure;
And seek not the depths of your knowledge with staff or sounding line.
For self is a sea boundless and measureless.
Say not, “I have found the truth,” but rather, “I have found a truth.”
Say not, “I have found the path of the soul.” Say rather, “I have met the soul walking upon my path.”
For the soul walks upon all paths.
The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow like a reed.
The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless petals.
DREAM (RÊVE (SUEÑO (SONHO (SOGNO (TRAUM (DRÖM (DREAM (
D
R E
A M
dream
drum
dream
sun
noon
moon
soon
sound
come
cosmos
come
there are seven
thousand rainbows
in my angel
amor
- tambor
noturno
!
?
(!)
.
:
…
words
works
wor(l)ds
(herculano villas-boas)
Eu te amo,
sem saber como
nem quando nem de onde.
Te amo simplesmente,
sem complicações nem orgulho.
Assim te amo porque não conheço outra maneira.
Tão profundamente,
que sua mão em meu peito é a minha.
Tão profundamente,
que quando fechas os olhos contigo eu sonho.
(Um ator declama este poema no filme Patch Adams, por isso não lembro-me do nome do autor)
Este lindo poema chama-se A Dança e é do grande Pablo Neruda.
One of favorite is the ‘Road less traveled’ by Robert Frost:
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
O Rio
Ser como o rio que deflui
Silencioso dentro da noite.
Não temer as trevas da noite.
Se há estrelas no céu, refleti-las
E se os céus se pejam de nuvens,
Como o rio as nuvens são água,
Refleti-las também sem mágoa
Nas profundidades tranqüilas.
Manuel Bandeira
Te amo Paulo!
Paulo, como não sei ler em inglês, tive poucas opções pra escolher, mas esse de Manuel Bandeira achei muito interessante.
TO HIM THAT WAS CRUCIFIED – Walt Whitman
My spirit to yours dear brother,
Do not mind because many sounding your name do not
understand you,
I do not sound your name, but I understand you,
I specify you with joy O my comrade to salute you and to
salute those who are with you, before and since, and
those to come also,
That we all labor together transmitting the same charge and
succession,
We few equals indifferent of lands, indifferent of times,
We, eclosers of all continents, all castes, allower of all
theologies,
Compassionaters, perceivers, rapport of men,
We walk silent among disputes and assertions, but reject not
the disputers nor anything that is assereted,
We hear the bawling and din, we are reach’d at by division,
jealousies, recriminations on every side,
They close peremptorily upon us to surround us, my
comrade,
Yet we walk unheld, free, the whole earth over, journeying
up and down till we make our ineffaceable mark upon
time and the diverse eras,
Till we saturate time and eras, that the men and women of
races, ages to come, may prove brethren and lovers
as we are
agora sonhar
as auroras no alto
mar
[haiku. herculano villas-boas]
These are the lyrics to the song “Io ho te” by Italian singer Biagio Antonacci. My own translation.
I’ve got you
and a lot to do
I’ve got you
inside my suitcase
I’ve got you
on my way home
I’ve got you
in my empty thoughts
my skin prays for you
will you forgive me
if I tell you this?
I’ve got you
even when you’re not watching
in the long silences
I’ve got you
when you don’t even notice
I’ve got you
but it will never be a burden
just think of it as poetry
that I’m writing you tonight
you are now
where no one has ever been
Hi Paulo, my favorite poem is from the book – Footprints, by Margaret F. Powers:
One night i dreamed a dream. I was walking along the beach with my Lord. Across the dark sky flashed scenes from my life. For each scene, I noticed two sets of footprints in the sand, one belonging to me and one to my Lord. When the last scene of my life shot before me I looked back at the footprints in the sand, There was only one set of footprints. I realized that this was at the lowest and saddest times of my life. This always bothered me and I questioned the Lord about my dilemma. ” Lord, you told me when I decided to follow you, you would walk and talk with me all the way. But I’m aware that during the most troublesome times of my life there is only one set of footprints. I just don’t understand why, when I needed you the most, you leave me. He whispered, ” My precious child, I love you and will never leave you, never, ever, during your trials and testing. When you saw only one set of footprints it was then that I carried you.” Margaret F. Powers
Thank you Hildegard!!
That might be one of the most beautiful things anyone has ever told me…I will remember that.
…and light ;)
Helen
How do I find you Hildegarde? Please come by my blog more often, I’ll do a dance for you xx
poema:ES UN BELLO AMANECER:”ES UN BELLO AMANECER,AUNQUE AFUERA ESTE NUBLADO,Y AUNQUE EL VIENTO SOPLE,CON IMPETU,COMO ENOJADO.ES UN BELLO AMANECER,NO NECESITO UN SOL BRILLANDO EN LO ALTO,NI UN CIELO,TODO AZUL,DESPEJADO.ES UN BELLO AMANECER,HOY DESPERTASTE,A MI LADO”….chm.-(es un poema que hice yo)….
BUENISIMOO!!!!!!!!!! FUE EL MEJOR POEMA.
CUANDO ERAS BOHEMIO Y ASI COMENZO NUESTRO AMOR CON ESTE POEMA.
I am doing the translation
“Its a beautiful day oh oh ohoh oh ,it’s a beautiful day”
it’s a shame you can’t see the action.I am doing my Max.. just for You.
Have a beautiful day you deserve it!
Não reparem neste poema. Foi escrito por mim mesma no auge de uma paixão platônica. Os apaixonados cometem excessos.
Não me arrependo de tê-lo amado desta forma sem nunca ter sido correspondida.O que não mata, fortalece.
“Amo-te”
Amo-te com a paz da minha alma
Amo-te com o ardor do meu coração
Amo-te com a sabedoria do tempo
Amo-te eternamente
Amo-te com fervor
Amo-te com verdadeiro amor
Amo-te renunciando a tudo
Amo-te querendo que me queiras
Porque te quero
Te quero mais do que a mim mesma
Amo-te além da eternidade
E mesmo que a morte me amedronte
Sei que te amarei além dela
Amarei-te até a aternidade
Amo-te e contigo quero casar-me
Amo-te e a ti quero devotar-me
Amo-te e a ti quero consolar
Amo-te e desejo amar-te por toda a vida
Amo-te com a paciência de um monge
Amo-te com a entrega de Cristo
Amo-te com a certeza de um dia encontrar-te
Amo-te com o profundo desejo disto entregar-te
Amo-te mais que a mim mesma
Amo-te sem medo de sofrer
Amo-te sem medo de amar
Amo-te ansiando pelo momento em que nos encontraremos face a face
Amo-te enlouquecidamente
Amo-te desesperadamente
Amo-te como eras
Amo-te como és
Amo-te como serás
Porque és tudo para mim
Amo-te no silêncio do meu quarto
Amo-te no barulho de uma canção
E hei de amar-te sempre
Ainda que eu não seja tua
Tu já és meu e sempre serás
Ainda que o tempo passe
Ainda que minha vida acabe
Amo-te!
Amo-te Amor Meu
É unicamente contigo que desejo viver
Amo-te no beijo ausente
Amo-te na distância presente
Amo-te nos sonhos
Amo-te quando acordo
E amo-te mesmo sem que eu queira
És meu!
Sou tua!
Vem então e ama-me.
Amo-te
Porque o amor que sinto é constante
Porque a dor da tua ausência já é irrelevante
Ninguém te amará como eu
(Mary Lobo)
Geeeeeeeeente! Entendo perfeitamente quem ler isto e achar brega ou redundante demais. Como disse antes, eu era apaixonada demais… Portanto, brega e redundante. Mas vale a pena amar, ainda que você não seja correspondida. No fim, você acaba entendendo que aquele alguém tem o direito de não te amar e que você tem o direito de admirá-lo,sem contudo perder a razão.
No fim, você compreende que ama e é amada e que tem o direito de ser feliz!
Are you the river, or am I
- by the South African poet Shabbir Banoobhai
are you the river or am I
do I flow into the sea or do you flow into me
why is it when I try to slake my thirst you disappear
when you try, I appear
you have never stopped calling me
I have never stopped answering you
whose longing elicited this longing in me
whose love buried me in sorrow
I, even I, even as I am
know the loneliness of separation
as sails of clouds, like memories
flee across the windswept sky
you are all that I love, all that I can love
yet how do I love you, know you, know that I love you
when all that you are remains unknown to me
and all that I am is known only to you
I carry within me the grief of all loving
would you be different if I knew you
would I be different – can a flower know
what it means to be a flower
all the silt of my journeying
all the salt of my yearning flows into you
and all longing, every love, all knowing, every loss
everything you are comes to rest in me
Yes, it is a wonderful poem from the collection “inwardmoon.outwardsun” who became the inspiration for my blog. Here is another beautiful one: http://inwardsun.wordpress.com/2009/07/26/closer-than-the-clinging-rain
Really enjoyed it! Thanks :)
I am speechless. Thank you so much for sharing this.
Guest House by Rumi
This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
Dear Mona,
I think after reading that I shall be more accepting of every feeling I experience. It’s beautiful. Thank you :)
The Invitation
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon…
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”
It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.
Author: Oriah Mountain Dreamer
Beautiful…wow.
~M
It is so honest and true this poem.
WOW That is quite something!
Thank you so much. I definitively be getting writers cramp by the end of this week. They are all so beautiful
:)
Dear Ivana,
I don’t think we ever know someone well enough to know the answers to these questions but what beautiful thoughts. I love it :)
I have just finished the book inspired by this poem and feel as though my soul has been opened and drenched in a beautiful light. Thank you Oriah Mountain Dreamer :)
poema:ES UN BELLO AMANECER:”ES UN BELLO AMANECER,AUNQUE AFUERA ESTE NUBLADO,Y AUNQUE EL VIENTO SOPLE,CON IMPETU,COMO ENOJADO.ES UN BELLO AMANECER,NO NECESITO UN SOL BRILLANDO EN LO ALTO,NI UN CIELO,TODO AZUL,DESPEJADO.ES UN BELLO AMANECER,HOY DESPERTASTE,A MI LADO”….chm.-
si,parece un bello amanecer Chm. Gracias
BUENISIMOOOOO PERO ERA PARA MI.
Epilogue
The waterfall has beard like L.N.Tolstoj.
That’s
actually
the morning foaming itself and stretching out the rainbow
I’ve confessed to a woman
That life is something simple inside me,
- but it’s not all that simple.
I thought I’d go straight
until I turn into a ruler,
but they’ve found me in a circle.
They’ve found me after roaming
lowered from screaming to whispering.
October is gone.
Between trees’ legs it slowly begins to smell of moisture
and blood.
The street is getting wet, for the last time, in the raw sun.
Sit beside me for a minute, like next to a grave.
A minute of silence for my deceased rosiest ages.
Sit beside me for a minute
You see: I’m good again.
Behind my ear, there’s a hardened shaft of curdled defeat
like on an executed deserter.
A great gold carriage has flown
through our numb eyes,
- and we haven’t saved it.
Something young neighed on our lips and withered
Bitter from laughing and sweet from crying.
After all, allow me to
write a letter to a distant young lady,
just a bit nostalgic,
the way that senile retired admirals write
to the surviving crew of a sunk destroyer.
Miss,
I will say,
Miss,
it’s all,
it’s all,
it’s all over.
In this place, dead flowers
are sold poured into perfume bottles.
And everything is,
everything is,
everything is peaceful
as if the wind never slapped the row of trees
and meddled with the window.
Miss,
I will say,
this Autumn,
as frigid as a tourist with a Scandinavian passport,
the fact that I’m all of a sudden gray, doesn’t mean that I’m white.
You were the only one to completely feed my hunger
with the little flesh and dream.
Only you were satiated by the little of my nails
and palms.
I wish your future sons would inherit the tone of my voice
and your daughters carry my sadness in silk vests.
I wish you’d save my most splendid heights
on the horizontals of your worst
and that you’d carry my eyes through the silence of strange eyes
and apartments,
and my October through all strange Aprils.
This is not a confession.
This is worse than a prayer.
One thousand times since this morning, I love you like in the old times.
One thousand times since this morning, I’m coming back to you. One thousand times I’m, again, worried
about you, lost in the whirlpool of geographic maps,
about you, handed out like posters to who knows what kind of people.
Am I still the unit by which you define who hurts you
and how much the others were naked in front of you, the unit by which you know who’s grabbing you
and who’s paying you?
Am I still among all those lives of yours
the little piece of the bluest sky in your chest
and of the bloodiest honeycomb?
Here, where I am
the days taste like beer and boredom.
Rain sometimes drops
strangely,
serene.
I have no will neither to live nor to kill myself.
I’m completely like a boat wandering around with no crew
and doesn’t want to erase
from its eye, something vain,
something deceased,
something tender.
Maybe it’s good for you to know:
after you, women have no right to imagine anything. Once upon a time – the first novice in the republic,
today – I can lift dropped socks
to the mother of God herself
disguised in dignity.
All of my tenderness still sleeps at your doorstep
like the little yellow dogs
on wet,
swollen,
black tits of Mrs Female Dog.
I’m completely indrawn, from mucous membrane to the soul.
These 32 teeth still sob love only for you, like they used to
and still hum the same way.
You surely understand me:
it’s all,
it’s all
it’s all over.
I’m shuddery drunk
and empty
and alone.
Sometimes someone comes along to worryingly love me and take care of me,
someone to whom I show all of your road signs
leading to my hothead.
Don’t ever tell anyone
but I,
being the one to know the least about happiness,
would like to give a bit of clumsy happiness to that someone new
and while the trees are dying and the wind is stepping on the leaves
I’d like that someone to feel good in the name of a certain aorist of my love
and of the past perfect tense.
Maybe you wont believe it:
I’ve finished with hotels completely unnoticed.
All hotels somehow resemble the same fairytale
and beds in the rooms smile at me in the same way.
All the doormen worry in the same way
a bit friendly when we tell them goodnight.
All the doormen worry in that same way,
I swear,
as if they know about us.
There’s nothing more I’d like to tell you
Drunk from coldness, the Saturday night stumbles around.
The clocks have, long ago, played taps.
There’s really nothing further I’d like to tell you
maybe only that you’re still the most beautiful medal
from the most beautiful war in which they amputated my heart.
Miss,
I wasn’t just ordinarily,
in a high school kind of way, infatuated
Everything inside me, down to my soles, was mined.
By the way,
I’ve remembered:
love is the sweetest only in the cries
given to the first ones.
Therefore, allow me to smile
in this Autumn, because of something inside me,
a bit secretly
through tears,
a bit out of style
me, your most gentle stallion among poets,
me, your most ruthless poet among stallions.
Author: Miroslav – Mika Antic
Mine is the following. It is part 4 of Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself (It’s a very long poem after all. 52 parts!). I love this part because…well…I can’t really explain it but I guess I can relate to it, as in, it speaks to me. I could of course have misinterpreted the poem but at the same time, if a poem touches you or if you can feel it, then I believe that that is how it is suppose to be :) I especially love the ending. Well, I actually love it all or else it wouldn’t be a favourite!
Anyway, here it is!
Song of Myself by Walt Whitman
4
Trippers and askers surround me,
People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and
city I live in, or the nation,
The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new,
My dinner, dress, associates, looks, compliments, dues,
The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love,
The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss
or lack of money, or depressions or exaltations,
Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news,
the fitful events;
These come to me days and nights and go from me again,
But they are not the Me myself.
Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am,
Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary,
Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest,
Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next,
Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.
Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with
linguists and contenders,
I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.
A last one cause i’ve been inspired to put it there now!After I go promise!:D
WHY ARE YOU SINGING THAT SONG AGAIN? (31/07/09)
Why are you singing that song again,
Singing it over and over on the top of your mountain?
Sing it to the lost birds who don’t know how to fly
Sing it to the broken who don’t know how to cry
I don’t need no song and I don’t need healing
I have never asked to enter in the parties you’re throwing
Why are you standing by my door,
While you should be on the dancefloor?
Dance for the princess who wants to be queen
Dance for the actress who don’t know how to sing
I don’t need your sweet voice to tell me
Tell me about rain drops that are falling
Why are you still here?
What is it that you want from me?
My heart belongs to you and you don’t see
Or is it why you came for?
I do not understand anymore
If you’re gone,I wasn’t told
If you’ve stopped,I felt no cold
But you’re singing that song again
And I don’t know what has happened
But I know for a fact that the sun always comes after the rain
It might not be the right place,nor the right season
But there are no valuable lesson
To learn from that inflicted pain
The words I might throw can be misinterpreted
I’m in love,I do not hate
So why all that fuss about it?
Why are you smiling now?
You didn’t think you were important?
Well let me tell you that my heart
Is really well craving for you
And that no distance can keep us apart
I love you
Candie Bracci
Yes so do I
thank you
Love Lumière :)
Meu falecido pai costumava declamar poemas para mim. Ele era um homem que apreciava a leitura diária e constante. Apesar de não estarmos mais juntos,os poemas que ele mais gostava e o que ele fez para mim continuam sendo declamados pela força do amor e da saudade que nos une.Seu nome é Aurélio Brandão de Carvalho e o poema que acho mais lindo é de um autor desconhecido.Aí vai:
– De onde vens?
– Venho das trevas.
– Para onde vais?
– Vou para a luz.
– Tão curvada a fronte levas…
– Que admiras? É o peso da cruz.
– Não tens mãe?
– Deixei-a morta quando saí do meu lar.A orfandade estava à porta sentada no limiar.
– Não tens irmã?
– Já tive uma.Era a estrela da manhã que se perdeu nas brumas de um jazigo.
– Não tens amigos?
– Conheço uns homens que dizem ser.Mas se um abrigo peço, nunca mais os torno a ver.
– Não tens amante?
– A ironia desta pergunta é cruel.Vês a taça vazia e queres enchê-la de fel?
– E tu ainda crês?
– Creio no Eterno. O sofrimento é crisol.Às vezes em pleno inverno há dias cheios de sol.
(Autor Desconhecido)
By Rabindranath Tagore
***
Come as you are; do not loiter over your toilet.
If your braided hair has loosened, if the parting of your hair be
not straight, if the ribbons of your bodice be not fastened, do
not mind.
Come as you are; do not loiter over your toilet.
Come, with quick steps over the grass.
If the raddle come from your feet because of the dew, if the
rings of bells upon your feet slacken, if pearls drop out of
your chain, do not mind.
Come with quick steps over the grass.
Do you see the clouds wrapping the sky?
Flocks of cranes fly up from the further river-bank and fitful
gusts of wind rush over the heath.
The anxious cattle run to their stalls in the village.
Do you see the clouds wrapping the sky?
In vain you light your toilet lamp–it flickers and goes out in
the wind.
Who can know that your eyelids have not been touched with lamp-
black? For your eyes are darker than rain-clouds.
In vain you light your toilet lamp–it goes out.
Come as you are; do not loiter over your toilet.
If the wreath is not woven, who cares; if the wrist-chain has not
been linked, let it be.
The sky is overcast with clouds–it is late.
Come as you are; do not loiter over your toilet.
Η ψυχούλα [The phyche by Dionysios Solomos].
Ωσάν γλυκόπνοο,
δροσάτο αεράκι
μέσα σε ανθότοπο,
κειο το παιδάκι
την ύστερη έβγαλε
αναπνοή.
Και η ψυχούλα του,
εις τον αέρα
γλήγορα ανέβαινε
προς τον αιθέρα,
σαν λιανοτρέμουλη
σπίθα μικρή.
Όλα την έκραξαν,
όλα τ’ αστέρια,
κι εκείνη εξάπλωνε
δειλή τα χέρια,
γιατί δεν ήξευρε
σε ποίο να μπει.
Αλλά, να, του ‘δωσε
ένα αγγελάκι
το φιλί αθάνατο
στο μαγουλάκι
που έξαφνα
έλαμψε σαν την αυγή.
Thank you Paulo Coelho and thank you all for this precious International Anthology! Of course, I love all the poems.. Thank you Paul from Austria. The “If” is one of my favourite poems. My mother used to read it and re-read it.. Thank you Annie, my daughter for Kavafis’s all poems.. and Sarah Yassine and Carolena.
The poem above is about a child who has died.. Every time I read it I just ..cry. Sorry I could not find a translation.
LOVE,
Thelma xxx
Thelma dear,
Translate it for us, pleeeaase?
Love you BFF,
Heart
Meu falecido pai costumava declamar este poema.Ele era um homem que apreciava a leitura diária e constante.de alguns poemas que ouvi de sua boca e q
My favorite lyrics come from a song… If Paulo will allow the *heresy*
Where the streets have no name = U2
I want to run
I want to hide
I want to tear down the walls
That hold me inside
I want to reach out
And touch the flame
Where the streets have no name
I want to feel, sunlight on my face
See that dust cloud disappear without a trace
I want to take shelter from the poison rain
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
Where the streets have no name
Were still building
Then burning down love, burning down love
And when I go there
I go there with you…
(its all I can do)
=========================================
From my own, Courage and Note to self (posted on this site before) are the ones I love the most.
Courage
Today I should be smiling
With twinkles in my eyes
I should be dreaming of your kisses
And trying ways to act surprised
… but where is my courage?
Today I should be running
Into sweet open arms
And tell you everything
Without the help of words
The way time stops inside my chest whenever you’re around
The way your presence lifts my heart only to smash it to the ground
The way you make me laugh and cry within one second’s length
The sweetness of my love for you, but God, where is my strength?
To grab your hand, go for a walk and see if we can fly,
Better yet, smash you to a wall and finally have my way
To fucking look you in the eyes and tell you who you are
Greatest love of my life by far…
Where is the goddamn courage when you need it?
Probably got lost,
Among the sea of names and smiles that steal your heart away
Yes, I should stop feeling stupid just because
You seem to be so generously signalling my way
(today)
Truth of the matter is I know I’m not the one
Simply because you told me so, you favourite’s out of town
And anyway, the way you are, my five seconds are done
Your infatuation with me should be long gone.
I ____ you!
And because I love you I can see
Your actions speaking louder than any hidden words
And painfully not for me.
Be free… and finally be happy
With whom you love the most.
…. ah, courage! There you are!
===================================================
Thank you to all posting poems. They touch so many hearts!
Love,
Anca
Oh,how could I have forgotten you?Here’s another one to who I raise my glass to!Your poems are so beautiful Anca!To dark ones to brighter ones,yes I love them all!
Hello poets!
I’ve been writing many poems,always feeling that magic when you write poetry.That’s how it all started.When you write,sometimes it’s odd,you feel there is something mystic about it,the words flowing so easily,like a invisible hand guiding yours.The angel.Many angels guiding lost poets and helping them find their way back Home again,guiding them through the storms and through the river of life.
Writing is a way to heal your wounded heart and lift up your soul.I don’t have any favorite poems,I love them all for they are poems and poetry is heart’s reflection!You can find many poets everywhere who aren’t specially known.They are you and me,expressing what our heart holds within.To dark poems to brighter ones!I love them all!
Today I wrote three more,that’s what this topic inspired me.
I was thinking I shouldn’t put my poems,but there is no reason why not,we are all poets after all.
A LITTLE SPIDER (15/07/09)
A little spider was on her way
On her way to Mexico
She said that the weather
Will be surely far more better
So she pulled herself with all her strength
To take that strange road she was seeing
She walked and walked and walked some more
But in the end,nowhere she was going
What is going on?What is all this?
I’ve been walking and nothing has changed
Still the same weather and the same landscape
I can see my house from where I stand
I don’t understand why I can’t escape
Well little spider,let me tell you something
You haven’t walked,you’ve been dancing
The reason I know this,it’s because that road you’ve taken
isn’t a road at all,it is just my hand
I wish I could give you Mexico
Sau Paulo or San Francisco
But I just can’t
But let me tell you something I know
Something a wise man told me once
That we can run as much as we want
But we’ll never run away from our shadow
Be brave now and go home
To find your dad and your mom
Waiting for you and worrying
But if you need anything
You know where I stand
You didn’t reach Mexico
But you did make a friend
Candie Bracci
ANGEL CARAMEL (31/07/09)
Today I woke up and a sweet smell was all around
Then it seemed like my feet were lighter as I touched the ground
It might have been a dream,some would tell you so
But I know what I felt,I know what I saw
A sweet caress from an angel
It’s a nice way to start the day
That’s what I started to say
It didn’t take long for the words to spread around
And to hit me down to the ground
People turn your truth into laughters
It’s not always good to be the believer
Nor,the story teller
Later..
At home feeling blue but relieved
I didn’t thought that I could receive
Something so beautiful that it makes your heart bigger
And your soul to fly higher
The things you can feel from a feather
And the sweet smell invading your home
We are never alone
Candie Bracci
I raise my glass to you all beautiful poets,Santosh Kalwar who writes beautiful poems and got his own style and Maithri from http://www.soaringimpulse.com/ who’s been writing so many beautiful ones!Whatever he writes is beautiful anyway.
See you later :)
Dear Candie,
I raise my glass to you too…
Thank you so much for great praise and appreciation !
What would I say, Your own creations are outstanding too ! ;)
God blesses you !
and
God bless you all !
Hello i´m Zule again.
this forum about poems i thing is exciting and wanna published two poems more , the first is of a cuban writer Jose Martí its called “the girl guatemala” in spanish “La niña de guatemala”; and second the author is Miguel Ramos Carrión a spanish writer his poem called “The black eye seminarists” , in spanish “el seminarista de ojos negros. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT.
1º)”THE GIRL GUATEMALA”
I, in the shade of a wing
to flower in this story:
the girl from Guatemala,
which died of love.
They were lilies of the classes,
and the fringes of reseda
Jasmine and the buried
in a silk box.
… She gave Desmemoria
a pad of smell:
he returned, he again married:
she died of love.
they’re loaded onto
ambassadors and bishops:
was behind the people in batches,
all loaded with flowers.
… She, on seeing it again,
came to see the lookout:
he returned with his wife:
she died of love.
As hot bronze
to kiss goodbye
was his brow, the brow!
I loved most in my life!
… It came in the afternoon on the river,
The doctor took out the dead:
say they died of cold
I know that she died of love.
There in the icy vault,
put in two banks:
kissed her hand edge
kissed his white shoes.
Quiet, at dusk,
I called the burial:
Never again do I have
the death of love!
2º) “the black eye seminarists”
From the window of an old shack
open in summer, closed in winter
by weight and thick green glass,
Salamanca a blond hair.
and eyes that seem pieces of heaven
while mixing with prayer seam,
go every afternoon to spend in silence
seminarists going for a walk.
Lower your head, the body erect,
slow march in two rows and austere
no more cheerful note on the black dress
the scholarship that fits your red neck
and that almost verges on the back ground
A seminarian among them,
always straight up with a determined air.
The black robe draws his body
gallant and graceful, slender and flexible.
The single, stealthily, and with the suspicion
that their eyes look at the clergy,
since he sees on the street in the distance
Salamanca to the blond hair.
Looks very fixed. look intense.
and if he passes lets remember
one of his eyes look black.
Monotonous and slow time passes
and dies the following summer and autumn;
and come leaden winter evenings.
From the window of the old shack.
always sad and alone, praying and sewing.
a blond hair Salamanca
go every afternoon to spend in silence
seminarians who will walk
But not everyone sees, sees only one of them.
seminarian of the black eyes.
Each time it passes gallardo and slender,
see the girl who asked that body
Instead of sweets harness his cassock.
When it sets its eyes open
with live fire and daring visions.
seems to say – I love you, ‘I love you!
I do not have to be cured! I can not serious!
If I am not yours. I die, I die!
To the girl then you press the chest,
work suspended, and forgotten prayers.
and now lives alone in his thinking
seminarian of the black eyes.
In a rainy winter morning
the cheerful girl who jumped from the bed.
heard sad funeral hymns and prayers:
passed by a narrow street burial.
A seminarian was certainly dead.
it took four shoulders in the coffin,
the scholarship covered red top,
and on the scholarship bonete black.
With their voices hoarse singing clerics;
seminarists iban silent
provided in two rows to the cemetery,
as in the evenings when hiking,
The girl looked distressed courtship:
knows all to force them …
Only one, missing only one among them.
seminarian of the black eyes.
Ran the years, spent a long time.
and there in the window of the old shack,
a poor old white hair,
with the skin wrinkled and curved body,
while mixing with prayer seam,
remember, remember, sad in the afternoon …
the seminarian of black eyes.
Zule:
You chose a beatiful poem, La Niña de Guatemala, I am from Guatemala and thank you for chosing it!
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