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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Field.
Dos teus olhos luz irradia,
e tens o perfume adocicado de flores,
lembro disso ao escrever essa poesia,
nesse campo de tantas cores,
onde a beleza que não é rara se desfia,
espalhando pétalas de nostalgia.
A part of me
By Vanessa (on fibromyalgia)
You lean in and whisper
That you can’t live without me
My body aches
Sore from the relentless torture
That is you
The years before you were too short
I sob as I remind myself
I will never know a life without you
You are a part of me now
As much as my curls
And my beauty marks
You smile devilishly as it sinks in
As I get it
You take me in your arms
And every part of me stings
My eyes flood with tears
Unable to control them
They stream unto my cheeks
And I surrender
I embrace you limply
Helpless
Knowing that I have no choice
But to accept you as
A part of me
I found this here: http://stankcheese.wordpress.com/2009/07/27/a-part-of-me/
Before this, the Listeners was always my favourite but this blew me away.
The Listeners
BY WALTER DE LA MARE
‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest’s ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller’s head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller’s call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
’Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:—
‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word,’ he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.
Bright autumn moon.
Garden snails,
undressed to the waist,
crying in a frying pan.
“The Nature of This Flower Is to Bloom”
by Alice Walker
“Rebellious. Living.
Against the Elemental Crush.
A Song of Color
Blooming
For Deserving Eyes.
Blooming Gloriously
For its Self.
Revolutionary Petunia.”
From the book “Her Blue Body, Everything We Know”
Vuelvo porque se me quedo la dedicatoria de este poema.
Dedicado a la Coral de niños especiales de la Uneg
Estos Ángeles cantores.
Niños con limitaciones físicas
han podido ser un problema o molestia para la sociedad,
pero canalizados por sus padres y un noble espíritu de Dios…
y dedicado por amor, ya han sido galardonados con premios nacionales e internacionales.
Director de orquesta y Corales… Larry Salinas.
Estos niños han encontrado su justo lugar,
y se han convertido en un ejemplo
para esta tierra Guayana y el mundo…
llevando su amor al servicio de cantos de paz, armonía.
Gracias Almas bellas sensibles y cariño siempre apoyando a los niños del planeta.
Maria Rial . Issisora
¬ ALONE ¬
From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
POEMA XX ( Pablo Neruda )
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Escribir, por ejemplo: “La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos.”
El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.
En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos.
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.
Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.
¡Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos!
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.
Oír la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.
¡Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla!
La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo.
Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.
Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.
La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.
Yo no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise..
Mi voz buscaba al viento para tocar su oído.
De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.
Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.
Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos,
mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.
Aunque éste sea el último dolor que ella me causa,
y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.
Pablo Neruda, poeta chileno (1904-1973)
Sentimental story
by Nichita Stanescu – Romania
Then we met more often.
I stood at one side of the hour,
you at the other,
like two handles of an amphora.
Only the words flew between us,
back and forth.
You could almost see their swirling,
and suddenly,
I would lower a knee,
and touch my elbow to the ground
to look at the grass, bent
by the falling of some word,
as though by the paw of a lion in flight.
The words spun between us,
back and forth,
and the more I loved you, the more
they continued, this whirl almost seen,
the structure of matter, the beginnings of things.
I KNEW THERE WAS A TIME .
I KNEW THERE WAS A PLACE .
I KNEW THERE WAS A MOMENT.
I DREAMED OF THIS DAY ALL MY LIFE.
I WANTED TO BE SOMEONE’S WIFE.
WANTED A DIAMOND RING AND A WHITE PICKED FENCE HOUSE.
WANTED TO RUN MY FINGERS TROUGH SOMEONE’S HAIR AT NIGHT.
WANTED TO BE LOVED , WANTED TO BE A WIFE!
WANTED TO HEAR A BABY CRY
DRIVE TO SWIMING LESSONS
AND BE CALLED MOM!
I KNEW THERE WAS YOU AND ME AMD WE HAD TO MEET.
I KNEW MY SOUL WAS THIRSTY
AND MY LIFE WAS EMPTY.
SOMEWHERE THE OTHER HALF OF ME
WAS WAITING AND I WAS ANXIOUS TO KNOW
WHO WOULD BE THE ONE I SO MUCH WAITED.
THERE WAS LIFE
HOLDING ME BY ONE HAND
SAYING PLAY WITH THE SAND,
ADORE THE MOON THAT LITS YOUR HAIR,
SAVOUR EACH MOMENT AS FAST AS YOU CAN.
LOVE WILL COME ONE DAY DON’T WORRY.
THE OTHER HALF SAYING “IS THIS THE TIME ?
IS THIS THE MOMENT?MANY MISTAKES AND BROKEN HEARTS COME WITH NO PATIENCE.
NO ONE SAID FINDIND LOVE WAS EASY .
PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE AND A GIFT,
NOT EVERYONE HAS IT!
TODAY AM SOMEONE’S WIFE
TODAY AM SOMEONE’S MOM
AND TODAY I KNOW BEING
SOMEONE’S WIFE IS VERY DIFFICULT .
NEVER KNEW BEING SOMEONE’S MOM WAS SUCH A CHALLENGE.
FROM THE WHITE PICKED FENCE HOUSE I HAVE A WINDOW
I SEE THE BIRDS THAT SING
THE TREES THAT BLOOM IN SPRING
THE ROSES THAT SURROUNDS THE VIRGIN MARY IN THE GARDEN
AND A LIFE FULL OF DREAMS.
I KNOW THIS PLACE HAS A TIME AND A MOMENT
AND FROM EAST TO WEST THE WIND BLOWS
FROM THIS CORNER OF THE WORLD I WONDER
WHO IS THAT LITTLE CHILD THAT STOPPED
EVERYTHING JUST DREAMING TO BE SOMEONES WIFE AND
MOTHER?DO THEY KNOW TO LIVE EACH MOMENT
FOR LOVE WILL FIND YOU
BUT LIFE WONT STOP FOR NO ONE.
Beautiful poem Cuqui!
I wonder how your name is pronounced :)
love
C.
Interesting
Hey dis is cool! 1 of ma fav poems is dis 1 by Mr. William Yeats!
WHERE dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we’ve hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
Away with us he’s going,
The solemn-eyed:
He’ll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than he can understand.
Kudos 2 all! Peoms indeed make life beautiful………luv u all!!
Leisure by W. H. Davies
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare?—
No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows:
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night:
No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance:
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began?
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
la solitude qui nous entoure
fait comme un compte a rebours
qui nous prend et nous pend par les pieds
sans prendre garde bien de bien nous enlever
le poids de l’existence, l’amer tueuse d’ivoire et d’ebene
qui nous rappelle qui nous assenne des verités harrassantes
et qui nous lient les pieds tels des jouets en plastique
de verre et d’acier fantastique
gens, ne vous encombrez pas du passé
il fait mal il est lourd comme un soldat de plomb
et quand bien meme vous arivez a l’effacer
il vous revient un jour en pleine tete tel un boomerang violet
laisser donc voguer votre liberté
de ton, d’expressions
laisser donc courir la rangaine enchantée
qu’est ce bel et bleu été
celui qui nous illumine de toute sa clarté
celui la meme qui vous a fait aimer
cette enchanteresse cette fée
qui vous attendait sur le sable allongée
laisser courir la liberté
laisser partir les bateaux
laisser s’enfuir le soleil quand vient la nuit
laisser, laisser donc cet oiseau qui s’enfuit
moi je poetise au fil de mes envies
je versifie selon mon inspiration
les relations que font les mots entre eux
j’ecrits sans savoir quoi ni où, je le fais c’est tout…
suivez donc ce chemin que tant d’autres ont emprunter
le chemin de la vacuité
le chemin de la paresse
celui la meme qui fait s’evanouir la detresse…
Qual tem a borboleta por costume
Qual tem a borboleta por costume,
Que, enlevada na luz da acesa vela,
Dando vai voltas mil, ate que nela
Se queima agora, agore se consume,
Tal eu correndo vou ao vivo lume
Desses olhos gentis, A�nia bela;
E abraso-me por mais que com cautela
Livrar-me a parte racional presume.
Conheco o muito a que se atreve a vista,
O quanto se levanta o pensamento,
O como vou morrendo claramente;
Porem, nao quer Amor que lhe resista,
Nem a minha alma o quer; que em tal tormento,
Qual em gloria maior, esta contente.
Luis de Camoes
In desperate hope I go and search for her in all the corners of
my room; I find her not.
My house is small and what once has gone from it can never be
regained.
But infinite is thy mansion, my lord, and seeking her I have to
come to thy door.
I stand under the golden canopy of thine evening sky and I lift
my eager eyes to thy face.
I have come to the brink of eternity from which nothing can
vanish–no hope, no happiness, no vision of a face seen through
tears.
Oh, dip my emptied life into that ocean, plunge it into the
deepest fullness. Let me for once feel that lost sweet touch in
the allness of the universe.
Deity of the ruined temple! The broken strings of _Vina_
sing no more your praise. The bells in the evening proclaim not
your time of worship. The air is still and silent about you.
In your desolate dwelling comes the vagrant spring breeze. It
brings the tidings of flowers–the flowers that for your worship
are offered no more.
Your worshipper of old wanders ever longing for favour still
refused. In the eventide, when fires and shadows mingle with the
gloom of dust, he wearily comes back to the ruined temple with
hunger in his heart.
Many a festival day comes to you in silence, deity of the ruined
temple. Many a night of worship goes away with lamp unlit.
Many new images are built by masters of cunning art and carried
to the holy stream of oblivion when their time is come.
Only the deity of the ruined temple remains unworshipped in
deathless neglect.
GITANJALI – TAGORE
I believe true romantics
Live in a fantasy world.
They have a photographic memory
That permits them to admire sunrises and moon shadows.
They know it is an illusion
but…heck! It quenches their thirst.
and that is when the magic happens,
When reality kicks in …
- in the space in between -
Marie-Christine
Je crois que les vrais romantiques
Vivent dans un monde de fantaisie
Ils ont une memoire photographique
Qui leur permet d’admirer les levers de soleil
Et les ombres de la lune.
Ils savent que c’est une illusion
Mais que diable….. Ca desaltere leur soif.
Et c’est a ce moment la que la magie arrive..
Lorsque la realite entre en jeu ….
- dans l’espace entre les deux -
Marie-Christine
Querido Mago,
demorei-me um bocado, mas cheguei em tempo exato para deixar registrada a Força Poética de BRIGIT que inspira meus dias.
Sendo assim, nada melhor do que uma poesia/convite para abrir os portais da mente, da alma, do coração e do espírito:
VENHA
(Lydiah de Arddhu)
Venha para mim, que te espero há tanto.
Venha, sem o medo de um desengano.
Com o coração aberto, venha.
Venha porque sou tua verdade escondida,
porque sou a metade da tua vontade.
Venha, por querer vir, simplesmente.
Venha conhecer teu passado no meu tempo.
Tempo de quem não passa,
apenas espera a tua vinda.
Tempo de quem sabe esperar
com o coração aberto.
Venha.
Quanto à sua extrema delicadeza em abrir esse espaço de poemas, minha gratidão e, ainda maior, respeito e admiração.
Beijos e bênçãos,
Lydiah de Arddhu.
CXVI
1. Let me not to the marriage of true minds
2. Admit impediments. Love is not love
3. Which alters when it alteration finds,
4. Or bends with the remover to remove:
5. O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
6. That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
7. It is the star to every wandering bark,
8. Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
9. Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
10. Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
11. Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
12. But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
13. If this be error and upon me proved,
14. I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Sonnet CXVI – Shakespeare
The Invisible Elephant
When in pain, I try to keep away from the muddy waters.
That is when I withdraw from the school.
Sometimes also – to compensate – I eat more than my share
Of branches and foliage -
I then get in touch with my creativity.
I-pod safely installed in my ears, I dab with painting,
Balancing with my trunk, exploring with calligraphy,
Learning more about mathematics.
I do a bit of tap-dancing with my “Blue Suede Shoes”
- It helps to release the rope around my beautiful ankle -
I also plan – Synchronising swimming, getting acquainted
With the new language.
I do the “Hokey-Pokey” and that’s what its all about”.
Marie-Christine
Dear Paolo Coelho,
I find this blog fascinating!
I already posted one poem of Odysseas Elytis among the many of this poet that I adore. I also noted your favourite Cavafi’s poem, which is written in the very heart of greek people, I think.
I do not claim to be a poet; although my soul seeks for poetry, and, even, from time to time, like today I send something of my own, especially if the timing brings back to memory events landmarks of my country and life. It is an act of what I would describe as a humble contribution of unknown ‘poets’ to keep the love of poetry growing and make poetry ‘touchable’ by as many people as possible.
I tried twice today to post something; and twice it seemed that my posting have dissappeared. This does not bother me. What I wanted to ask is whether the blog about poetry is still on and whether there is some filtering mechanism that chooses among the postings what would go through. The `search the blog’ mechanism does not seem to my awareness to work on names; I would like to make sure that I didnt send multiple copies of the same posting.
I look forward for your next theme,
A faithful reader of yours,
Christiana
INDIA by W. J. Turner
They hunt, the velvet tigers in the jungle,
The spotted jungle full of shapeless patches
Sometimes they’re leaves, sometimes they’re hanging flowers,
Sometimes they’re hot gold patches of the sun:
They hunt, the velvet tigers in the jungle!
What do they hunt by glimmering pools of water,
By the round silver Moon, the Pool of Heaven:
In the striped grass, amid the barkless trees
The Stars scattered like eyes of beasts above them!
What do they hunt, their hot breath scorching insects,
Insects that blunder blindly in the way,
Vividly fluttering they also are hunting,
Are glittering with a tiny ecstasy!
The grass is flaming and the trees are growing,
The very mud is gurgling in the pools,
Green toads are watching, crimson parrots flying,
Two pairs of eyes meet one another glowing
They hunt, the velvet tigers in the jungle.
The Alphabet
Thanks to the Alphabet
I have discovered my freedom.
My freedom to dream
And to communicate
With the Alphabet
I can arrange and mix
My creativity
And see what is happening in my reality.
The Alphabet allows me
To play and win.
Even when I am distraught
I know that I can find
All my possibilities in the Alphabet.
All I need to do is find the rythm
And I am on my way….
Marie-Christine
L’Alphabet
Grace a l’Alphabet
J’ai decouvert ma Liberte.
Ma Liberte de rever
Et de communiquer.
Avec l”alphabet
Je peux arranger et melanger
Ma creativite et voir
Ce qui se passe dans ma creativite.
L’Alphabet me permet
De jouer et de gagner
Meme quand je suis desamparee
Je sais que je peux trouver
Toutes mes possibilites
Dans l’Alphabet.
Je n’ai qu’a prendre le rythme
Et je m’en vais…
Marie-Christine
Zingari by Paolo Buzzi
Forse è la vita vera.
Il carro dipinto,
i cavalli salvatici e docili, ebbri di vento,
le belle figlie in cenci,
la mensa a bivacco furtiva sotto gli astri,
la strada bianca del mondo.
Io tornero’ nella prigione potente
dove comando
e sono comandato:
io sfrenero’, di rabbia, i miei puledri ideali
sulla pista del sogno, a cuore morto,
a stanca sera:
e per l’amore
mendichero’ la mendicante mia
a qualche buio di strada.
Io pago la carne con mano che sembra
chiedere anzi donare elemosina.
E la mia via
e’ una rete di fogne
dove altro non luce che l’occhio del sorcio.
O Zingari, scoiatemi vivo,
allo spiedo arrostitemi
fra due tronchi di selva!
Sono un poverissimo figlio di civili
che adora la barbarie.
I started exchanging favourite poems with my collegues
(now see what you started Paulo! *lol* )
and here I will post three of them!
Wild Geese by Mary Oliver
Wild Geese
by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
from Dream Work by Mary Oliver
published by Atlantic Monthly Press
© Mary Oliver
————————————-
Meditation under Stars by George Meredith
What links are ours with orbs that are
So resolutely far:
The solitary asks, and they
Give radiance as from a shield:
Still at the death of day,
The seen, the unrevealed.
Implacable they shine
To us who would of Life obtain
An answer for the life we strain
To nourish with one sign.
Nor can imagination throw
The penetrative shaft: we pass
The breath of thought, who would divine
If haply they may grow
As Earth; have our desire to know;
If life comes there to grain from grass,
And flowers like ours of toil and pain;
Has passion to beat bar,
Win space from cleaving brain;
The mystic link attain,
Whereby star holds on star.
Those visible immortals beam
Allurement to the dream:
Ireful at human hungers brook
No question in the look.
For ever virgin to our sense,
Remote they wane to gaze intense:
Prolong it, and in ruthlessness they smite
The beating heart behind the ball of sight:
Till we conceive their heavens hoar,
Those lights they raise but sparkles frore,
And Earth, our blood-warm Earth, a shuddering prey
To that frigidity of brainless ray.
Yet space is given for breath of thought
Beyond our bounds when musing: more
When to that musing love is brought,
And love is asked of love’s wherefore.
‘Tis Earth’s, her gift; else have we nought:
Her gift, her secret, here our tie.
And not with her and yonder sky?
Bethink you: were it Earth alone
Breeds love, would not her region be
The sole delight and throne
Of generous Deity?
To deeper than this ball of sight
Appeal the lustrous people of the night.
Fronting yon shoreless, sown with fiery sails,
It is our ravenous that quails,
Flesh by its craven thirsts and fears distraught.
The spirit leaps alight,
Doubts not in them is he,
The binder of his sheaves, the sane, the right:
Of magnitude to magnitude is wrought,
To feel it large of the great life they hold:
In them to come, or vaster intervolved,
The issues known in us, our unsolved solved:
That there with toil Life climbs the self-same Tree,
Whose roots enrichment have from ripeness dropped.
So may we read and little find them cold:
Let it but be the lord of Mind to guide
Our eyes; no branch of Reason’s growing lopped;
Nor dreaming on a dream; but fortified
By day to penetrate black midnight; see,
Hear, feel, outside the senses; even that we,
The specks of dust upon a mound of mould,
We who reflect those rays, though low our place,
To them are lastingly allied.
So may we read, and little find them cold:
Not frosty lamps illumining dead space,
Not distant aliens, not senseless Powers.
The fire is in them whereof we are born;
The music of their motion may be ours.
Spirit shall deem them beckoning Earth and voiced
Sisterly to her, in her beams rejoiced.
Of love, the grand impulsion, we behold
The love that lends her grace
Among the starry fold.
Then at new flood of customary morn,
Look at her through her showers,
Her mists, her streaming gold,
A wonder edges the familiar face:
She wears no more that robe of printed hours;
Half strange seems Earth, and sweeter than her flowers.
——————————-
If…
IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
‘ Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!
By Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936).
” On a warm sunny day, when the sky had the same colour as a pure turquoise stone, I saw a beautiful white dove resting in my garden.
A question came to my mind. Gently I went closer and softly asked: ” Please, can you tell me what you see from up so high?”
With kindness in its eyes, it looked at me and answered:
“I see the waves caressing the land. Sometimes they are gentle and soft; sometimes they are so violent that you can feel the anger and sorrow within.
I see children playing in the sand, happily and joyfully running all around.
I see lovers whispering sweet words to each other and with a kiss to seal the promise they’ve made to one another.
I see loneliness.
I see hunger, desperation, pain, and the question “Why?” in everybody’s minds.
I see hope. Hope that a better world is possible, if only we learn to listen more to one another.
I also see the light that guides us through life getting brighter, and the flame that burn inside us getting stronger.
All this and more I see; but above all I still see Love and that is what gives us the power to go on, to fight and never give up.”
With love to you all.
my poetry …. is my paintings….
my inspiration….. is the palm…..
the palm?……
she is like the iraqi woman……
the iraqi woman? …..
roots….
deep in the mesopotamian soil…..
head….
held up high with pride…..
towards to sun….
uneasy to brake …
or bend…..
through all times…..
To Ride a Wave
Although it seemed as though life had played
a cruel and bitter trick,
he now moves forward with grace
and ease, smiling as he remembers
the old adage,
“Good things come to those that wait,”
for in accepting this,
he has come to know his future.
[I dont claim to be a poet. Thirty five years ago my hometown was
captured by war. For more than 30 years, I could not have visited
my own home. This brings feelings, especially these days, since my
hometown was occupied on the 15th of August.]
To Famagusta –
FingerTips of a Childhood..
She could not count them then,
she cannot spell them now…
Some thirty-five years ago
There, was a child and
This, was her home!
Forty-five years of age now.
Hands, softened by the touch
The touch on the walls..
Grasp the tender fingertips
Dive beneath
the crystal curiosity of
the firm undoubtful touch
The wall with no boundaries
Unravelled your demand!
The child
Not a very happy,
Not a very sad
A normal, lively child
of All.
Strokes and layers of
different colours:
pink, red,..,
thousands of them
cannot wipe away
the living blood
of a dead soldier
And before,
At the same place,
in the outside veranda
– stretch the ears -
children’s laughter
can still be heard.
The blond boy,
with the ocean eyes
is gone;
When adulthood rests
Oh! how they meet and play
And play,and play,
In their secret place.
I came to take you
the adult’s voice says:
Safe and Free,
you will be set.
Take my hand and this time
we will leave together
for the other side,
of the same Land…
But, we must get moving, fast!’
A Shelter and Tender offered to
A child when no longer requested
Is strength to
Hesitantly looked
Transparency
Sweeping the Pride
from an adult’s eyes.
The child asked: ‘WHY did you leave me, then?’
And she replied: ‘I was too young!’
The child asked: `And, why, again, do we have
to leave so fast?
We need a moment to get detached
from everything that holds us back’.
A solitude
child’s moment
to get detached:
A call to eternity,
A cry in demand.
An invisible, broken,
glass of wine
she was asked to hold
and drink from, safely
Then, hand it back,
untouched.
I am here to take you!…
The moment pauses
As the Sun is crasped by
childhood hands.
As, suddenly the shadow
is drifted away
by the blow of tenderness
As two small hands
swiftly entering an elderly’s hands
Join together an adult’s Mind
and a child’s Heart!
And an unfamiliar voice is heard:
Yes, you were a happy child once!
Beautiful!!!
De tudo ficam três coisas…
DE TUDO FICAM TRÊS COISAS:
A CERTEZA DE ESTARMOS SEMPRE COMEÇANDO
A CERTEZA DE QUE É PRECISO CONTINUAR
E A CERTEZA DE QUE PODEMOS SER
INTERROMPIDOS ANTES DE TERMINARMOS.
PORTANTO:
FAZER DA INTERRUPÇÃO UM CAMINHO NOVO,
DA QUEDA UM PASSO DE DANÇA,
DO MEDO UMA ESCADA,
DO SONHO UMA PONTE,
DA PROCURA UM ENCONTRO
FERNANDO SABINO
Out of many choices, the toughness and economy are striking with this and so it keeps haunting.
From my mother’s sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.
– Randall Jarrell
The poet provided notes:
A ball turret was a Plexiglas sphere set into the belly of a B-17 or B-24, and inhabited by two .50 caliber machine-guns and one man, a short small man. When this gunner tracked with his machine guns a fighter attacking his bomber from below, he revolved with the turret; hunched upside-down in his little sphere, he looked like the foetus in the womb. The fighters which attacked him were armed with cannon firing explosive shells. The hose was a steam hose.
(Randall Jarrell was a flying instructor during WW2)
Dear Paulo,
Hello all,
I write here one more poem about myself. The translation
will return, I hope, in the approximately expression.
I wish You all one nice Sunday.
Only the stars were witnesses of our night
Intoxicated from Us –
in the flow of shaking bodies into each other
Felt hand,
so softly in my senses
Sounds to the desire,
have woken up the moon
Your eyes undress me
with the fierceness in desire
Fulfilment of the being!
The night in the change by the morning
the face of the sun still concealed,
If I awake on the step of new desire
My thirst for Us lets tears flow
Perfection in the ray of the first hours
Your lips swear to the sweetness of the honey,
Floating I receive you
You adorn my skin with the spice of your words smell
Painting you escort me from the depth – in you
Our islands open
Far
The bird in the sky roof pulI leave anyway the original text of myself.ls his circles
Shouts of our love go with him,
on his trip up.
I leave anyway the original text of myself.
Nur die Sterne waren Zeugen unserer Nacht
Berauscht vom Uns – im Fluss bebender Körper ineinander
Gespürte Hand so zart an meinen Sinnen
Laute an die Lust, haben den Mond geweckt
Deine Augen entkleiden mich –
mit der Heftigkeit an Verlangen
Erfüllung vom Sein
Die Nacht im Wandel zum Morgen
das Gesicht der Sonne noch verdeckt
Erwache ich auf der Stufe neuen Begehrens
Mein Durst nach Uns lässt Tränen fließen
Vollkommenheit im Strahl der ersten Stunden
Deine Lippen beschwören die Süße des Honigs
Schwebend empfange ich dich
Du zierst meine Haut mit der Würze deiner Worte Duft
Malend geleitest du mich aus der Tiefe – ins dich
Unsere Inseln öffnen sich
Weit
Der Vogel am Himmelsdach zieht seine Kreise
Schreie unserer Liebe gehen mit ihm,
auf seiner Reise empor.
Gabriele (Pinselpoet)
(The paintbrush poet)
Gabriele
Thank you dearest Hildegarde!! Your choice here made me think of my .. next question .. regarding the Pilgrimage.
LOVE,
Thelma xxx
Thank you, beautiful Hildegarde. It seems that this Blog is a place for ‘real’ communication. Thank you for opening new paths for me too. I am looking forward for our ‘loving writer’s’ answer.
LOVE,
Thelma xxx
This is more than a poem..it is a philosophy for a compassionate life :-)
Desiderata – Max Ehrmann
Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even to the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexatious to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter,
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love,
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Desiderata
Before There Was
By Kufunya 2005/6
Before There was Hate- Jealousy – Lies-and Tricks
There Is LOVE
Baby Baby where did LOVE go?
LOVE -It never went anywhere!
LOVE is quietly watching- as ones go through various motions
Before There was Hate- Jealousy – Lies and Tricks
LOVE ruled and still does and always will-
U say well what happen with LOVE-
Nothing it is still around and always will be-
LOVE is watching the E- motions
Before There was Hate- Jealousy – Lies and Tricks
There Is LOVE
U C LOVE always gives Grace- Forgiveness- Compassion- Honor- Mercy-
That Burns/Melts Hate- Jealousy- Lies- Tricks-
So LOVE can find it’s way to embrace itself with more Love
Hate- Lies- Tricks- Jealousy – is hype and no real substance
-it only recycles more of it’s garbage-
That smells like rotten eggs- cheese and milk brewing like a volcano ready to erupt – disrupt and cause more disruption
Yet LOVE stands and does not run- Never gets weary!
LOVE is the Gentle yet ultimate One Force that stands when all else is done
LOVE will always be standing in the Gaps- Spaces and Cracks waiting for you and I and all to Embrace LOVE.
Surrender To LOVE- Embrace LOVE- Honor LOVE- Be LOVE- LOVE- LOVE
GOD Is LOVE -Allah is LOVE- ALL Is LOVE- The Universe is LOVE- Life Is LOVE
Before There was Hate- Jealousy – Lies and Tricks
LOVE Ruled and Still Does-
Melt into LOVE, LOVE
I have choosen a Hungarian poem.
I hope there won’t be a big trouble with the translation…
RADNÓTI MIKLÓS: NEM TUDHATOM…
Nem tudhatom, hogy másnak e tájék mit jelent,
nekem szülőhazám itt e lángoktól ölelt
kis ország, messzeringó gyerekkorom világa.
Belőle nőttem én, mint fatörzsből gyönge ága
s remélem, testem is majd e földbe süpped el.
Itthon vagyok. S ha néha lábamhoz térdepel
egy-egy bokor, nevét is, virágát is tudom,
tudom, hogy merre mennek, kik mennek az uton,
s tudom, hogy mit jelenthet egy nyári alkonyon
a házfalakról csorgó, vöröslő fájdalom.
Ki gépen száll fölébe, annak térkép e táj,
s nem tudja, hol lakott itt Vörösmarty Mihály,
annak mit rejt e térkép? gyárat s vad laktanyát,
de nékem szöcskét, ökröt, tornyot, szelíd tanyát,
az gyárat lát a látcsőn és szántóföldeket,
míg én a dolgozót is, ki dolgáért remeg,
erdőt, füttyös gyümölcsöst, szöllőt és sírokat,
a sírok közt anyókát, ki halkan sírogat,
s mi föntről pusztitandó vasút, vagy gyárüzem,
az bakterház s a bakter előtte áll s üzen,
piros zászló kezében, körötte sok gyerek,
s a gyárak udvarában komondor hempereg;
és ott a park, a régi szerelmek lábnyoma,
a csókok íze számban hol méz, hol áfonya,
s az iskolába menvén, a járda peremén,
hogy ne feleljek aznap, egy kőre léptem én,
ím itt e kő, de föntről e kő se látható,
nincs műszer, mellyel mindez jól megmutatható.
Hisz bűnösök vagyunk mi, akár a többi nép,
s tudjuk miben vétkeztünk, mikor, hol és mikép,
de élnek dolgozók itt, költők is bűntelen,
és csecsszopók, akikben megnő az értelem,
világít bennük, őrzik, sötét pincékbe bújva,
míg jelt nem ír hazánkra újból a béke ujja,
s fojtott szavunkra majdan friss szóval ők felelnek.
Nagy szárnyadat borítsd ránk virrasztó éji felleg.
1944. január 17.
LOVE
Because of you, in gardens of blossoming
Flowers I ache from the perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face, I no longer
Remember your hands; how did your lips
Feel on mine?
Because of you, I love the white statues
Drowsing in the parks, the white statues that
Have neither voice nor sight.
I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice;
I have forgotten your eyes.
Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to
My vague memory of you. I live with pain
That is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
Make to me an irreperable harm.
Your caresses enfold me, like climbing
Vines on melancholy walls.
I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to
Glimpse you in every window.
Because of you, the heady perfumes of
Summer pain me; because of you, I again
Seek out the signs that precipitate desires:
Shooting stars, falling objects.
~Neruda
Um dia descobri o amor
Um dia, acordei nessa minha vida tardia
descobri que amizades podem esconder interesses,
Que nem todo amor é verdadeiro
E que nem todo companheiro é leal.
…
Um dia, tentei fugir do mundo,
Jogar tudo pro alto,
Começar tudo de novo,
Correr atrás do que é certo, sem se preocupar com o ego
E olhando de um lado e de outro.
…
Um dia descobri o brilho dos tolos,
Mais uma vez.
Sufocando minha alma
E me levando ao profundo do poço.
…
Um dia conheci você,
A quem me resgatou do desgosto,
Que me ensinou a enxergar,
me tirando a venda do rosto.
…
Um dia descobri o que é amar…
E no meio da euforia,
comecei a fugir denovo,
Me escondendo atrás de um sentimento tão novo.
…
Porém minha ignorância foi mais forte
E eu acabei descobrindo o libido e o desejo
E nesse ensejo, descobri que o que eu vejo é torto
E o promíscuo, um nojo.
Nojo de mim mesmo.
…
Um dia, descobri a coragem
e pela primeira vez, fiz algo diferente,
Com os olhos molhados Respiro fundo, sigo em frente,
Desafiando o obscuro da minha mente.
…
Nesse dia conheci o que é o amar,
Perdoando a mim, não tendo medo de lutar
Por um amor que ainda existe
Mas machucado pelas farpas do calar.
…
Um dia, você amadureceu e soube me perdoar.
Então descobri o que é amar.
…
Nesse dia, descobri a mim mesmo,
Um novo ser, costurado por inteiro,
Mas que precisava cicatrizar
…
Hoje to descobrindo o que é esperar.
Aguardar pelo dia mais feliz
Onde o por do sol será o raiar
E a eternidade, que se diz, não terá fim.
…
Nesse dia, te trarei as estrelas,
Uma mesa farta, com flores e sobremesa
E juntos descobriremos o que é amar
Eternamente assim….
Like This
If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and say,
Like this.
When someone mentions the gracefulness
of the nightsky, climb up on the roof
and dance and say,
Like this.
If anyone wants to know what “spirit” is,
or what “God’s fragrance” means,
lean your head toward him or her.
Keep your face there close.
Like this.
When someone quotes the old poetic image
about clouds gradually uncovering the moon,
slowly loosen knot by knot the strings
of your robe.
Like this.
If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead,
don’t try to explain the miracle.
Kiss me on the lips.
Like this. Like this.
When someone asks what it means
to “die for love,” point
here.
If someone asks how tall I am, frown
and measure with your fingers the space
between the creases on your forehead.
This tall.
The soul sometimes leaves the body, the returns.
When someone doesn’t believe that,
walk back into my house.
Like this.
When lovers moan,
they’re telling our story.
Like this.
I am a sky where spirits live.
Stare into this deepening blue,
while the breeze says a secret.
Like this.
When someone asks what there is to do,
light the candle in his hand.
Like this.
~RUMI
Hoje
…
…
Hoje descobri você,
por debaixo dos meus olhos.
Jamais pensei que pudesse existir
alguém capaz de me tirar os modos.
e que me envolvesse numa núvem
obscura, de fantasia, desejo e gozo.
…
Hoje descobri que estou nú,
completamente desprotegido
ungido com óledo do libido
e cinzas do prazer promíscuo.
…
Descobri
que o que resta fazer
é tomar coragem,
levar-te para meu jardim,
Ser o alguém que você tanto quer
entregando-lhe todo sabor da virtude
em um prato de louça,
talheres de prata
e toalha bordada.
…
E então, quando as flores
mudarem de cor,
começarei a regar-te
todos os dias.
pois não estará mais só,
terá a mim
para segurar a sua mão
por toda eternidade.
LINDO!
Leonard Cohen – A Thousand kisses deep
(Spoken poem)
Don’t matter if the road is long
Don’t matter if it’s steep
Don’t matter if the moon is gone
And the darkness is complete
Don’t matter if we lose our way
It’s written that we’ll meet
At least, that’s what I heard you say
A thousand kisses deep
I loved you when you opened
Like a lily to the heat
You see, I’m just another snowman
Standing in the rain and sleet
Who loved you with his frozen love
His second hand physique
With all he is and all he was
A thousand kisses deep
I know you had to lie to me
I know you had to cheat
You learned it on your father’s knee
And at your mother’s feet
But did you have to fight your way
Across the burning street
When all our vital interests lay
A thousand kisses deep
I’m turning tricks
I’m getting fixed
I’m back on boogie street
I’d like to quit the business
But I’m in it, so to speak
The thought of you is peaceful
And the file on you complete
Except what I forgot to do
A thousand kisses deep
Don’t matter if you’re rich and strong
Don’t matter if you’re weak
Don’t matter if you write a song
The nightingales repeat
Don’t matter if it’s nine to five
Or timeless and unique
You ditch your life to stay alive
A thousand kisses deep
The ponies run
The girls are young
The odds are there to beat
You win a while, and then it’s done
Your little winning streak
And summon now to deal with your invincible defeat
You live your life as if it’s real
A thousand kisses deep
I hear their voices in the wine
That sometimes did me seek
The band is playing Auld Lang Syne
But the heart will not retreat
There’s no forsaking what you love
No existential leap
As witnessed here in time and blood
A thousand kisses deep
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xXaRT8CXmGE
Meus Olhos
Através dos meus olhos, vejo sua alma
A mais pura beleza
Anjo Azul de candura, sem igual
Sua simplicidade, humildade…
sinceridade.
…
Com meus olhos vejo você
Pura, sedosa, perfumada
Consigo sentir sua inocência
E então meu coração bate forte
lateja
no
meu
peito
só então você se mostra
Faceira, sorrateira, obscura.
…
Foi com os meus olhos,
que te ví.
Nua e crua.
Sem coração, pérfida
e com um sorriso
…
Sob a lua te ví,
com os meus olhos
cheios de lágrimas
e coraçlão na mão
esmagado
pela traição.
Então percebi
que meus olhos,
só vêem;
que o meu coração,
só sente
e que minha alma,
só sofre.
I`d like to share two more poems of mine.
HOW HAPPINESS COMES
People shouldn’t be lonely, it’s unjust.
We are social creatures, it’s a must.
Love and fear can rule our life.
They can lead us to pleasure and strife.
You can gain independence, success.
You can have lots of money and health.
You can see admiration in eyes,
Hear whispers of jealous surprise.
You can stay very long like this.
But one day you can feel ill at ease
And confess to yourself deep in heart,
That you’ve lost faith in people and trust.
With suspicion you look at your friend,
Guessing why he lends you a hand.
And you let fears make their nest
In your heart, and they take the best,
Leaving you uncertain and weak.
Your decisions get cruel and quick.
Then you start to complain and mourn,
Getting deeper and deeper in thorn.
Don`t you like such course of events?
Look around, your moment ascends.
Let the fears out of your glance,
Be sincere and take your chance.
Give the people your soul’s gold
And you’ll get it a hundredfold.
23
Catch your fortune with open arms.
Do you feel how the happiness comes?
and this one is written in English and in Russian-an identical translation.
SONNET
All of a sudden I heard a string.
In bewilderment I looked around.
I was all of alone and still
There was an unusual sound.
It was ringing and calling. My heart
Started getting out of its rhythm
And the mystery spreading about
Filled the air with romanticism.
That was sound of my ringing soul.
It was singing that life was fine,
That it looked like a crystal bowl,
And its sparkling contents was mine.
And since then in the silence I swing
In time with the ringing string.
This is one of my favorite poems by Amado Nervo:
En paz
Artifex vitae, artifex sui
Muy cerca de mi ocaso, yo te bendigo, Vida,
porque nunca me diste ni esperanza fallida,
ni trabajos injustos, ni pena inmerecida;
porque veo al final de mi rudo camino
que yo fui el arquitecto de mi propio destino;
que si extraje la miel o la hiel de las cosas,
fue porque en ellas puse hiel o mieles sabrosas:
cuando planté rosales coseché siempre rosas.
Cierto, a mis lozanías va a seguir el invierno:
¡mas tú no me dijiste que mayo fuese eterno!
Hallé sin duda largas las noches de mis penas;
mas no me prometiste tan sólo noches buenas;
y en cambio tuve algunas santamente serenas…
Amé, fui amado, el sol acarició mi faz.
¡Vida, nada me debes! ¡Vida, estamos en paz!
Among the Multitude
Among the men and women, the multitude,
I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs,
Acknowledging none else-not parent, wife, husband, brother, child, any nearer than I am;
Some are baffled-But that one is not-that one knows me.
Ah, lover and perfect equal!
I meant that you should discover me so by faint indirections;
And I, when I meet you, mean to discover you by the like in you.
-Walt Whitman
The Clock of Life by Robert H. Smith
The clock of life is wound but once,
and no man has the power
to tell just when the hands will stop
at late or early hour.
To lose one’s wealth is sad indeed,
to lose one’s health is more,
to lose one’s soul is such a loss
that no man can restore.
The present only is our own,
so live, love, toil with a will,
place no faith in “tomorrow,”
for the clock may then be still.
BELLA by Pablo Neruda
Bella,
como en la piedra fresca
del manantial, el agua
abre un ancho relámpago de espuma,
así es la sonrisa en tu rostro,
bella.
Bella,
de finas manos y delgados pies
como un caballito de plata,
andando, flor del mundo,
así te veo,
bella.
Bella,
con un nido de cobre enmarañado
en tu cabeza, un nido
color de miel sombría
donde mi corazón arde y reposa,
bella.
Bella,
no te caben los ojos en la cara,
no te caben los ojos en la tierra.
Hay países, hay ríos,
en tus ojos,
mi patria está en tus ojos,
yo camino por ellos,
ellos dan luz al mundo
por donde yo camino,
bella.
Bella,
tus senos son como dos panes hechos
de tierra cereal y luna de oro,
bella.
Bella,
tu cintura
la hizo mi brazo como un río cuando
pasó mil años por tu dulce cuerpo,
bella.
Bella,
no hay nada como tus caderas,
tal vez la tierra tiene
en algún sitio oculto
la curva y el aroma de tu cuerpo,
tal vez en algún sitio,
bella.
Bella, mi bella,
tu voz, tu piel, tus uñas,
bella, mi bella,
tu ser, tu luz, tu sombra,
bella,
todo eso es mío, bella,
todo eso es mío, mía,
cuando andas o reposas,
cuando cantas o duermes,
cuando sufres o sueñas,
siempre,
cuando estás cerca o lejos,
siempre,
eres mía, mi bella,
siempre.
Issisora, gracias por regalarnos tan hermosas poesìas, que son sencillamente, un embeleso al alma. . . !
Arte.
Perfect days, like golden sands,
are lost upon the breeze,
and only held within our hands
for long enough to tease
~ sally
Favorite poem:
Gerard Manley Hopkins “PIED BEAUTY”
This is not a famous poem, just something I wrote for a peer whose interraction touched my soul.
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=688723253&ref=name#/note.php?note_id=108381753356
AMOR SEM FRONTEIRAS
Juan Diego Torres
Eu poeta que sou,
Preparo uma grande revolução:
Uma revolução que comece dentro de cada ser
E desabroche no tempo certo e na hora certa,
E não haverá mortes traições e nem sofrer.
Pois a revolução que hoje conclamo,
Munido de caneta e tendo papel como mantimento
Fundarei outra vez a palavra AMOR
E todos irão se reconhecer na palavra
E nela não rimarei Dor…
Eu preparo uma Revolução de Sentimentos…
Revolução em que todos nasceram de novo.
E aprenderam a andar e a falar…
Aprenderam a gostar das cores e dos vegetais
E ficaram nas minhas mãos até o desabrochar…
Então, quando escutarem a palavra: SENTIDO!
E se agruparem em rimas…
Quando aprenderem o caminho a seguir
Declamarem seus versos de Amor
Antes de eu dormir…
ERRATA:
REVOLUÇÃO DO AMOR
by Juan Diego Torres
Eu poeta que sou,
Preparo uma grande revolução:
Uma revolução que comece dentro de cada ser
E desabroche no tempo certo e na hora certa,
E não haverá mortes traições e nem sofrer.
Pois a revolução que hoje conclamo,
Munido de caneta e tendo papel como mantimento
Fundarei outra vez a palavra AMOR
E todos irão se reconhecer na palavra
E nela não rimarei Dor…
Eu preparo uma Revolução de Sentimentos…
Revolução em que todos nasceram de novo.
E aprenderam a andar e a falar…
Aprenderam a gostar das cores e dos vegetais
E ficaram nas minhas mãos até o desabrochar…
Então, quando escutarem a palavra: SENTIDO!
E se agruparem em rimas…
Quando aprenderem o caminho a seguir
Declamarem seus versos de Amor
Antes de eu dormir…
Gracias Marìa Luisa. . . , solo un àngel como tù, nos puede regalar
una poesìa tan maravillosa. . .
Arte.
It was a night like any other until my eyes saw his .
We were in a boat and somehow I felt I knew him since I was born.
My heart began to tremble and my life began to change.
I went home after the ride but I could not sleep that night .
I thought of him so much that night and the days after that somehow
we met again .He was holding someone elses hand but he smiled and said “hi, we meet again!”from that moment on I knew meeting him was not in vain.After a few days we became the best of friends but I was married and he was a playboy then.Today 11 years later I still think what would of been ? i knew I never loved that way again but I learned to say Good-bye and see if God would put him in my path once again.
I have not seen him since we said Good-bye but inside me he left
a child .Today she is 8 and she does’t know him.
I quess I had to meet him so she could be born and so I say tonight
how could my soulmate be so far? I had to respect his way and so I let him part yet leaving me with a broken heart and a life full of joy each day I wake up and see her smile….
(true story)
Very touching…
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