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
{ 2452 comments… read them below or add one }
← Previous Comments
Next Comments →
Más allá de la Muerte
De : Federico Barreto
Es invierno, y una noche negra, fría y tempestuosa.
En la lúgubre capilla de un asilo monacal,
yace el cuerpo inanimado de una joven religiosa
que, agobiada por la pena se murió como una rosa
arrancada de su tallo por el fiero vendaval.
Blanco traje que realza su magnífica belleza,
simboliza su inocencia, su bondad y su candor;
rosas blancas en capullo le circundaban la cabeza,
y parece aquella virgen que murióse de tristeza,
una novia desmayada en su tálamo de amor…
El silencio que allí reina es tan sólo interrumpido
por el viento que sacude las vidrieras al pasar,
por el viento, y otras veces por el tétrico graznido
de los búhos que allí moran, que han formado allí su nido
y que atisban lo que pasa, por las grietas de un altar.
Cuatro cirios iluminan con fulgores inseguros
el cadáver de aquel ángel de belleza y de virtud,
y las sombras que proyectan esos cirios en los muros
van y vienen en silencio por los ámbitos obscuros
como un coro de fantasmas circundando el ataúd.
Mil rumores misteriosos, mil incógnitos sonidos,
llegan vagos y confusos a la casa del Señor…
Es un lúgubre concierto de sollozos y gemidos,
de susurros y plegarias…de mil ecos doloridos
que acongojan y estremecen, que dan pena y dan horror…
Dan las doce lentamente sobre el viejo campanario,
Y al vibrar en la capilla la hora tétrica y fatal,
sale un monje de albo traje por la puerta del sagrario,
atraviesa a pasos lentos el recinto solitario
y se postra de rodillas ante el lecho funeral.
Se diría que le agobia todo un mundo de tristeza,
que le mata el desconsuelo, que se muere de aflicción…
¿Por qué crispa sus dos manos?…¿Por qué inclina la cabeza?…
¿por qué tiembla? ¿por qué gime? ¿por qué llora? ¿por qué reza?…
¡Hay misterios que estremecen hasta el fondo el corazón!…
De repente se alza el monje del helado y duro suelo,
a la muerta se aproxima y la llama a media voz:
y al ver que ella sigue muda, sigue fría como el hielo,
la acaricia con ternura, la mirada eleva al cielo
y murmura entre los dientes: ¡Que injusto eres, Santo Dios!
Luego clava sus pupilas en la pálida doncella,
la contempla largo tiempo con recóndita piedad
y cogiendo entre sus manos una mano de las de ella,
la aproxima hasta sus labios, con un ósculo la sella,
y habla y gime y llora a gritos como un niño en la orfandad.
‘¡Dora, clama, Dora mía!’ Te estoy viendo muda y yerta,
y no creo que la muerte haya osado herirte a ti…
¡Muerta tú…! ¿Será posible? ¡No, mil veces…! No estás muerta.
Duermes…Sueñas…Estás viva…¡Por piedad, mi amor, despierta.
No te mueras…No me dejes…¡Vive, y vive para mí!
‘Yo era huérfano, yo estaba triste y solo en este suelo:
más Dios quiso que te hallara y no tuve penas ya.
¿Lo oyes Dora? ¡Dios lo quiso! Piedad tuvo de mi duelo
y para ángel de mi guarda te envió un día desde el cielo,
tú no puedes, pues, morirte…¡Dios no quita lo que da!
‘Así, envuelta en blancos tules, coronada así de flores
te ofrecí llevarte al templo y jurarte esclavitud…
¡Sueño efímero! Tus padres, por matar nuestros amores,
te encerraron en este antro de recónditos dolores,
y hoy que vengo aquí a buscarte, te hallo aquí en un ataúd.
¡Pobre novia de mis sueños! ¡Pobre tórtola sin nido!
¡Virgen mártir que viviste con el alma rota en dos!
¿Por qué callas si te llamo?¿Por qué no oyes mi gemido?
¿Te cansaste de esperarme y a los cielos has partido?
¡Vuelve, vuelve…te lo ruego…yo te quiero más que Dios!’
Calla el monje, más de pronto, como un loco que se excita,
coge en brazos a aquel ángel que en la vida tanto amó,
y besándole en la boca: ‘Vuelve en ti, por Dios, le grita,
toma mi alma en este beso. ¡Resucita! ¡Resucita!
Toma mi alma, toma mi alma…¿Vive tú aunque muera yo!’
Un prodigio se ve entonces: ella agita sus despojos
como herida de repente por el dardo del dolor:
en sus pálidas mejillas aparecen tintes rojos:
quiere hablar; mueve los labios; ya despierta; abre los ojos;
todo alienta… hasta la muerte…a los besos del amor…!
Un aurora clara y bella a la noche ha sucedido:
en el templo que el sol baña y comienza a iluminar,
yace el monje de albo traje, junto al féretro tendido,
y los búhos que allí moran, que han formada allí su nido,
le contemplan con asombro por las grietas del un altar.
Está muerto y se diría que perdura su hondo duelo,
que repite entre los dientes: ‘¡Qué injusto eres Santo Dios!’
Está muerto. Le mataron el dolor y el desconsuelo.
No halló aquí a su prometida y a buscarla se fue al cielo.
¡Ya están juntos! Una tumba es la tumba de los dos.
————
sé que es muy larga, pero es una historia dentro de un poema…es bella, simplemente bella
Milan, le 29 Decembre 2002
NOTRE DAME DE LOURDES
Gens qui viennent dans la peine,
gens qui viennent plein d’espoir,
gens qui viennent demandant
de la pleine grâce,
gens qui viennent prieant pour
les vivants et pour les morts,
gens qui viennent chargés
de mauvaises et lourdes pensées,
gens qui viennent vetûs
seulement de triste curiosité,
gens qui viennent
de toutes directions,
gens qui viennent
souffrant et pleurant,
gens qui savent
que la Dame est toujours la,
gens qui savent
qu’elle écoute et demande…
et demande de la vie, de la mort
et de la prière.
Notre Dame est
une souffrance et une libération
qui se nourri d’amour et d’aurore.
Love & Peace…
The barrel organ
Me, I play the piano
said one
me, I play the violin
said another
me the harp, me the banjo
me the cello
me the bagpipes, me the flute
and me, a rattle.
And they talked talked
talked about what they played.
No music was heard
everyone talked
talked talked
and no one played
but in a corner one man remained silent:
“And you, Sir, who remain silent and say nothing,
what instrument do you play?”
the musicians asked him.
“Me, I play the barrel organ
and I also play the knife,”
said the man who until now
had said absolutely nothing
and then he advanced knife in hand
and killed all the musicians
and played the barrel organ
and his music was so true
and so lively and so pretty
that the daughter of the house’s owner
came out from under the piano
where she lay bored to sleep
and said:
“Me, I played hoop
ball, chase
I played hopscotch
I played with a pail
I played with a shovel
I played house
I played tag
I played with my dolls
I played with a parasol
I played with my little brother
with my little sister
I played cops
and robbers
but that’s over over over
I want to play assassin
I want to play the barrel organ.”
And the man took the little girl by the hand
and they went into towns
into houses, into gardens
and killed as many people as possible
after which they married
and had many children.
But
the oldest learned piano
the second, violin
the third, harp
the fourth, the rattle
the fifth, cello
and they all took to talking talking
talking talking talking
so that no more music was heard
and all was set to begin again!
Jacques Prévert
Madness
By ALoma
I can´t say that I miss you
but I do
I can´t say that I want you
but I do
I can´t say that I love you
but I do
what I feel deep inside, only my heart knows
what I dream about, only my soul knows
I am lost in myself
trying to find a reason why
trying to figure out how life will be
without you at my side
I need help to find the way
I need to be stronger and don´t lose my head.
WOW excelent poem
This poem is from “Divan-e Shams” no.113
Away bitterness, keep my taste sweet
My mouthful of wine, never deplete
Unveil and disrobe my morning gown
Naked come forth, and the dawn greet.
In the house of efforts there is no chance
He ceases not, my goals how can I meet?
In that wine, I find, my treasures lie
Seeing His face my soul will complete.
Not enough room in the seven skies
When He makes my garment his seat.
From His essence I am Lion-Heart
My sweet songs simply his roar repeat.
He said, “you are the harp in my grasp
I, your maker, play you to my beat.”
I am your harp, and each vein is a string
Pluck my strings, this of Thee I entreat.
You are the sky and I am the earth
From Thy grace grows my barley and wheat.
Mon cœur perdu
Des notes de piano dans mon oreille
Je te vois, et je trouve ta chevelure belle
Tes yeux me fixent d’un regard de miel
Et tu survoles mon cœur comme une abeille.
Ton corps parfumé de mille parfums
Tu sens la rose, l’amour et le paradis…
Mes narines dans le creux de tes seins
Je sens la vie, la chair et l’envie.
Un bruit dérange mon ouïe
Et je sors du beau rêve que tu es
Je te vois marcher avec lui
Et le diable me dit de vous tuer.
Je t’ai confié mon cœur, et tu l’as perdu
Ton erreur est fatale comme le destin
J’ai pleuré et mes lèvres j’ai mordues
Ta plaie est éternelle comme un gouffre sans fin…
DON KAMELEON
SoulMate
She soars with the birds
She smiles with the flowers
She whispers into the wind
She soaks in the showers
Red Blue Yellow Green
She paints her dreams
She builds her castle in air
And in delight she screams
Her world is upturned
Her thoughts stealin’ sleep
She escapes to an abode of bliss
The memories are hers to keep
The spiders speak wisdom
The moon smiles serene
Faith and fate guide her
Imaginations reign the scene
She walks in hope
As she colors her love
Multitude hues n strokes
White so pure as the dove
In glory she celebrates
The truth in her heart
Rejoicing and welcoming
Her life, her Soul Mate
silentSoul
as she tiptoed out o’ her cocoon
unto the curiosity of her existence
into the night sky upon the moon
a thirst for clarity and guidance
reflections of her inner silence
torn in a paradoxical reality
questions beckonin’ infinite patience
traversing thru’ time unto eternity
blanketed in a plethora of desire
darkness illuminating her fears
expressions buried in a quagmire
concealed in melancholy, silent tears
as she battles an inner turmoil
navigating omens on her path
bundled in an intimate coil
clouding a metaphoric truth
myriad forms of explanation
an insight into cosmic conscience
seeking purpose with inner vision
love, joy, freedom, renaissance
in her heart the answers dwell
painting rainbows across the sky
as she tiptoes back to her shell
she dreams of the butterfly
Mannequins
————————————————————
mannequins have unseeing breasts
the shape of calves like a taut string
ringing forever
in the same cool tone
mannequins have finite hair
and slender faces
inward looking
from underneath the lowered eyelids
mannequins
scorn the crowd
they do not tremble
perfect in their existence
immobile
they spread the fingers of moments
over the passing chroma of silk
with face glued to shop window
under a dress
under a rustling dress
i am a splendid supple mannequin
author: Maria Poswiatowska (Poland)
You are
The horizon
Shadow hard
Blinded by the desert glare
I reach
Fingers touch air
Will you always be just beyond
Or will your arms surround?
Catch me before black sunrise
And sand flows over
My body
Stone heavy
I wrote the poem above (public domain) but I like the style of John Hegley. My favourite poem by him is below:
Edinburgh – John Hegley
I’m afraid I won’t be going to the Edinburgh tattoo
because to me
a parade of weaponry
and the capacity to hurt
is about as pleasing
as dog dirt
on the shoe
only poo
is easier than the tattoo
to get rid of
To you
it may be taboo
to poo-poo
the tattoo
but to me
the tattoo
is something to say ta-ta to
Thank you for your nice comments!
The first one is written for someone very special to me.
I wrote another funny one this morning (for HER, just to be cheeky!):
I’m having a shower
I’m thinking of you so fair
I’ve drawn your face on my soap
And now you’re kissing me, ‘down there!’
I often ask myself
I often ask myself
Why is it that a builder
Very seldom owns a house?
I often ask myself
Why black people do not have
The same rights as the white people?
I often ask myself
Why do hairless dogs
Just about everywhere are being maltreated
being kicked?
I often ask myself
Why we leave aside
The young children
Abandoned at birth?
I think we ought to think about that.
I often ask myself
Why is it that Summer roses
are being pulled up?
Why trees are being cut
When it took them so many years to grow
To protect us.
I often ask myself
Why the ones that are armed
Always end up killing the truth.
Why in the name of equality
We lock-ip the ones that always
Dream of Liberty.
It makes you think that perhaps everything is distorted.
I often ask myself
Why some people are hungry
Whilst others die of over-eating
I often ask myself
Why we try to separate
People that have find themselves.
How we can spend a fortune
So that it shakes the whole world.
Forgiving to share
All that love that we have paid
Trying to make amends for all our sins.
But one day – we are going to pay for it -
Richard Anthony
You can watch RIchard Anthony video on You Tube under
Je me suis souvent demande
A beautiful song.
Thank you.
A veces me pregunto yo
A veces me pregunto yo
Si en vez de odio y de rancor
No puede hallarse mas amor.
A veces me pregunto yo
Porque un negro habra de ser
Solo inferior por su color.
A veces me he de preguntar
Porque a patadas trataran
A los perrito callejeros sin hogar
A veces me pregunto yo
Porque la gente abandono
Al inocente ser que sin querer nacio.
Como yo quien ho lo penso.
A veces me pregunto yo
Porque sera que se arranco
Para venderla tanta flor.
Porque los hombres con afan
Aquellos arboles que buena sombra dan
Las cortaran
Y a veces me he de preguntar
Porque hay tan poca caridad
Porque es la fuerza la que impone
La verdad.
Porque faltando a la moral
Ha de triunfar lo material
Y el que persigue un ideal acaba mal
Pobre de este mundo actual
A veces me pregunto yo
Porque la prisa se invento
Y tanta gente se mato.
A veces me pregunto yo
Si un muro debe separar
Los que se quieren abrazar.
Y a veces me he de preguntar
Porque millones gastaran
En cosas que de angusta nos
Haran temblar.
Se los podrian repartir
Para aliviar tanto sufrir
Y asi al mundo del pecado redimir.
Tu tambien le debes pensar
Y tal vez podras ayudar…
Puede mirar la video de esta cancion de Richard Anthony sobre youtube
Je me suis souvent demande
Je me suis souvent demande
Je me suis souvent demande
Comment se fait-il qu’un macon
N’a presque jamais sa maison
Je me suis souvent demande
Pourquoi les noirs n’avaient pas
Comme les blancs les memes droits
Je me suis souvent demande
Pourquoi les petits chiens peles
Un peu partout etaient traites
A coup de pieds
Je me suis souvent demande
Pourquoi on laissait de cote
Les petits enfants qui sont nes
Abandonnes
Il faudrait pourtant y penser.
Je me suis souvent demande
Pourquoi les roses de l’ete
Etaient arrachees par milliers
Pourquoi les arbres etaient coupes
Quand ils avaient mis tant d’annees
A grandir pour nous proteger.
Je me suis souvent demande
Pourquoi ceux qui etaient armes
Finissaient toujours par tuer la verite
Pourquoi au mom d’egalite
On finissait par enfermer
Ceux qui avaient pourtant reve
De Liberte.
C’est a croire que tout est fausse.
Je me suis souvent demande
Pourquoi certains sont affames
Quand d’autres meurent de trop manger.
Je me suis souvent demande
Pourquoi on cherche a separer
Ceux qui se sont enfin trouves
Je me suis souvent demande
COmment on pouvait depenser
Une fortune pour faire trembler
Le monde entier.
En oubliant de partager
Tout cet amour qu’on a paye
Pour essayer de racheter
Tous nos peches.
Mais un jour il faudra payer.
Richard Anthony
Vous pouvez regarder la video de Richard Anthony sur You Tube
Je me suis souvent demande.
potrei sempre e solo essere una scintilla di ossigeno nel solitario soffio di vita
I could always and ever be an oxygen sparkle in our lonely living blow
Je pourrais toujours et seulement etre une etincelle d’oxygene dans notre solitaire souffle de vie
Podria siempre y solo ser una chispa de oxygeno en nuestro soledoso soplo de vida
Paolo Masi (360 Degrees ART)
http://www.mpdesigneurope.com/profile/
WOW Such a wonderful site you have Paolo!
I really like that “Graphic poetry” side of it, the first of several “bubbled emotions” oh that was so cute! Thank you.
I have bookmarked your site.You have done so much at such a young age.I love that!
Love
Marie-Christine
“Reasons For Waiting” (Jetro Thull)
What a sight for my eyes to see you in sleep.
Could’ve startled the sunrise hearing you weep.
You’re not seen, you’re not heard
but I stand by my word.
Came a thousand miles
just to catch you while you’re smiling.
What a day for laughter and walking at night.
Me following after, your hand holding tight.
And the memory stays clear with the song that you hear.
If I can but make the words awake the feeling.
What a reason for waiting and dreaming of dreams.
So here’s hoping you’ve faith in impossible schemes, that are born in the sigh of the wind blowing by while the dimming light brings the end to a night of loving.
This is my most favorite poem but I did not know who the author is. I just had this poem in my notebook back in high school and I just found the author’s name today. :D
Imprints
- Donna Miesbach
When I resolve into the essence
That I most truly am,
I feel a deep connection
With every living thing.
For that which most imbues me
With my identity
Is somehow in the other, too,
So that when I look around
I see myself- reflected.
Hidden in this union
Is the wonderful discovery
That if indeed the angels
Have wings-
Then so do I.
And if the essence of flower
Drifts out on a gentle breeze-
Then so do I.
And if the midnight sky
Is radiant with light-
Then so am I.
And if the silent mystery
Somehow becomes revealed
In tiny dewdrops fair-
Then so will I.
For every lovely thing
Manifests the essence
Of which I am a part,
So beware, my soul, beware,
And move with gentle heart
Throughout this mystic veil.
For if Love has left its imprint here-
Then so have I!
Dear Paulo,
I know I am a bit late with my poem, but I was not able to post it before. I think it is a beautiful love poem, it is written in Slovene by myself about 23 years ago. I hope you will like it as well.
Iscem nekoga, ki bi mu podarila
svoj nasmeh,
ki bi mu stisnila dlani v
hrepenenje
in zaplesala z njim tango,
zavit v tancico ljubezenske igre.
Iscem nekoga, ki mu poljub
mojih ustnic ne bil bi le trenutek,
temvec sladka usedlina.
Iscem nekoga, ki moje besede bi
znal stkati v naljepso melodijo
in skupaj bi se objeta v travi
spojila s harmonijo narave.
Best regards
Darja
Including one of my favorite stanza’s from a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow:
“As unto the bow the cord is,
So unto the man is woman;
Though she bends him, she obeys him,
Though she draws him, yet she follows;
Useless each without the other!”
L’Amour après l’Amour.
Le temps viendra
où plein d’allégresse
tu salueras ta propre venue
à ta propre porte, dans ton propre miroir,
et chacun sourira devant l’acceuil de l’autre,
et dira : assieds-toi. Mange.
Tu aimeras à nouveau l’étranger qu’était ton être.
Offre du vin. Offre du pain. Rends ton coeur
à ton coeur, à l’étranger qui t’a aimée
toute ta vie, que tu as ignoré,
pour un autre, qui te connaît par coeur.
Descends les lettres d’amour de l’étagère,
les photographies, les billets désespérés,
détache ta propre image du miroir.
Assiéds-toi. Savoure ta Vie.
Derek Walcott
skip to main | skip to sidebar luzdalma
jeudi 6 août 2009
Leaves of Grass
Seja você quem for
agora segurando minha mão,
sem uma coisa ha de ser tudo inutil
-é um leal aviso que lhe dou
antes que continue a me tentar:
não sou aquele que você imagina,
mas muito diferente.
Quem é que gostaria
de vir a ser um seguidor meu?
Quem é que gostaria de lançar
sua candidatura a meu afeto?
O caminho é suspeito,
o resultado é incerto, destrutivo talvez;
teriam que abrir mão de tudo mais
tendo eu a pretensão
de ser seu padrão unico e exclusivo;
sua iniciação haveria de ser ainda assim
extensa e fatigante,
toda a teoria da sua vida passada
e toda conformidade com as vidas em redor
precisam ser abandonadas;
por isto deixe-me agora
antes de pertubar ainda mais,
deixe cair sua mão no meu ombro,
coloque-me de lado e siga seu caminho
Walt Whitman (tirado do livro ” o Vencedor esta so ” Paulo Coelho)
Bits of starry night are placed
in the images of her mind
They speak to her of
the colours of her dream
Black sweeps in the sadness
like the darkest night
Twinkling silver stars glow
to show the morning bright
Warmth of purple gold scarlet shine
while she rest in her dreams
She could feel the sun on her face
as yellow rays came to realm
Dusty green elephant grasses
Pierce through her reddish white skin
She runs through grey wind wanting to hold
Ah! No presence of love, dark dim and cold
Almond blossom peeked into her cheeks
As she thought about the love of her life
With royal blue the blues ran away
As she dreamt to be His wife ;-)
Heart delighted on His sight
verve no longer detained pain
Closing her deep brown eyes tight
She dreamt of colors again….
Rigid, like the rocks
Raged might be the sea, Thunderous the sky,
Indifferent I be and stay.
I brake when the earth quakes, I crumble into the ocean.
No loss, no fear, only motion.
Indifferent I be and on the seafloor lay.
Monotony of time and season,
Passions of the sea and loss of reason,
Have changed me, deformed my beauty,
And taught wise things, slowly.
Powder I become and to the wind obey.
I flow lightly; but indifferent I stay.
Lighter than a feather, but as rigid as a rock.
Fluid powder comes from a block
Saudades
Sinto saudades de tudo que marcou a minha vida.
Quando vejo retratos, quando sinto cheiros,
quando escuto uma voz, quando me lembro do passado,
eu sinto saudades…
Sinto saudades de amigos que nunca mais vi,
de pessoas com quem não mais falei ou cruzei…
Sinto saudades da minha infância,
do meu primeiro amor, do meu segundo, do terceiro,
do penúltimo e daqueles que ainda vou ter, se Deus quiser…
Sinto saudades do presente,
que não aproveitei de todo,
lembrando do passado
e apostando no futuro…
Sinto saudades do futuro,
que se idealizado,
provavelmente não será do jeito que eu penso que vai ser…
Sinto saudades de quem me deixou e de quem eu deixei!
De quem disse que viria
e nem apareceu;
de quem apareceu correndo,
sem me conhecer direito,
de quem nunca vou ter a oportunidade de conhecer.
Sinto saudades dos que se foram e de quem não me despedi direito!
Daqueles que não tiveram
como me dizer adeus;
de gente que passou na calçada contrária da minha vida
e que só enxerguei de vislumbre!
Sinto saudades de coisas que tive
e de outras que não tive
mas quis muito ter!
Sinto saudades de coisas
que nem sei se existiram.
Sinto saudades de coisas sérias,
de coisas hilariantes,
de casos, de experiências…
Sinto saudades do cachorrinho que eu tive um dia
e que me amava fielmente, como só os cães são capazes de fazer!
Sinto saudades dos livros que li e que me fizeram viajar!
Sinto saudades dos discos que ouvi e que me fizeram sonhar,
Sinto saudades das coisas que vivi
e das que deixei passar,
sem curtir na totalidade.
Quantas vezes tenho vontade de encontrar não sei o que…
não sei onde…
para resgatar alguma coisa que nem sei o que é e nem onde perdi…
Vejo o mundo girando e penso que poderia estar sentindo saudades
Em japonês, em russo,
em italiano, em inglês…
mas que minha saudade,
por eu ter nascido no Brasil,
só fala português, embora, lá no fundo, possa ser poliglota.
Aliás, dizem que costuma-se usar sempre a língua pátria,
espontaneamente quando
estamos desesperados…
para contar dinheiro… fazer amor…
declarar sentimentos fortes…
seja lá em que lugar do mundo estejamos.
Eu acredito que um simples
“I miss you”
ou seja lá
como possamos traduzir saudade em outra língua,
nunca terá a mesma força e significado da nossa palavrinha.
Talvez não exprima corretamente
a imensa falta
que sentimos de coisas
ou pessoas queridas.
E é por isso que eu tenho mais saudades…
Porque encontrei uma palavra
para usar todas as vezes
em que sinto este aperto no peito,
meio nostálgico, meio gostoso,
mas que funciona melhor
do que um sinal vital
quando se quer falar de vida
e de sentimentos.
Ela é a prova inequívoca
de que somos sensíveis!
De que amamos muito
o que tivemos
e lamentamos as coisas boas
que perdemos ao longo da nossa existência…
[Clarice Lispector]
YOU
The You I refer to is
Your inner-self,
The little voice that is inside of you to guide you.
Your DNA – what you are made of -
Your strengths, your weaknesses, your values,
Your dreams, your hopes, your imperfections.
Confronting your fears,
The way you write,
Your uniqueness,
What makes you shine,
The “You” that feeds your soul,
The “You” that finds and knows the language of
The Universal Love and Freedom.
That “You” is inside all of us.
Marie-Christine
TOI
Le “Toi” dont je fais reference est
-Ton fort interieur,
Cette petite voix interieure qui te guide
Ton ADN – ce dont tu es fait -
Tes qualites, tes defauts, tes valeurs, tes reves,
tes espoirs, tes imperfections.
Confronter tes peurs,
La facon dont tu ecris,
Ton charactere exceptionnel,
Ce “Toi” si rayonnant,
Ce “Toi” qui nourrit ton ame,
Ce “Toi” qui cherche, trouve et connait le language
Universel de l’Amour et de la Liberte.
Ce “Toi” est en chacun de nous.
Marie-Christine
I wrote this a long time ago but somehow it always makes me go back to time.
Yo no quiero que me entregues las estrellas,
tampoco que alcances el cielo gris,
y en el dibujes nuestos nombres,
no quiero que queden huellas…
Yo no deseo crueles lisonjas,
que solo burlan mis sentimientos,
no voy a ser otra mas,
no quiero que queden huellas…
Yo no pretendo me mires,
sabiendo que esa mirada es el espejo del sufrimiento,
de noches oscuras y amargas,
de la tristeza que me persigue y derrota,
no quiero que queden huellas…
Yo no ambiciono una noche encantada bajo la luz de la luna,
que pretenciosa me indica mi hado desgraciado,
eso seria demasiado y no creo poder soportarlo,
no quiero que queden huellas…
No quiero canciones romanticas,
ohh palabras y mas palabras,
que solo se empenan en recordarme de esta suerte,
esta vez no,
no quiero que queden huellas….
I thought I had posted this already, but, couldn’t find it….it is a favorite of mine since I found it many years ago…it has become even more relevent to me through the years………I hope you enjoy.
THE WAY HE’D LIKE IT – Al Zolynas
Let me be the man who
walking among tall trees
is struck by lightning,
but is not killed;
who somersaults in a cloud
fizzing with burnt hair
and lands on his feet, shoes smoking,
and shakes his head saying,
“Jesus, that smarts!”
Let me be the man
hit by the last ash
of a dissolving meteorite.
Let it light on my head
like a benediction.
Let me be the man who walks
away from shipwrecks.
In a leveled city,
let me be the man found
17 days later under a former
insurance building sucking
air through the plumbing saying
“I never really thought of giving up.”
From all disasters let me rise
wholly. On my face,
let me have beautiful dueling scars.
it speaks to the resliancy of the human spirit…..
¡Oh, Amanecer!…
Despierta musa de aureola fecunda.
Abre tus libros, muestra tus sutiles hojas.
Tus radiantes plumas, llenas de risas y congojas.
En poesía o prosa desata tus efluvios vitales
lleva vida y luz a esos manantiales.
Sutil reverencia…
oro radiante
y nobleza.
Estrella del alma desplegando sentimientos
de iluminados momentos.
Sabios encuentros traspasando las edades,
destilando chispas de beldad en el paso hacia la eternidad.
Musa DESPIERTA entre musas, vida… sueños…
Nutre con tu diamantina tinta
este preciado jardín del tiempo.
Que mis manos, pulsen las notas de tus esencias.
Dones de los corazones con halito
del viento fecundado por el fuego del firmamento.
Disfrute, deleite en versos
pasiones de quien tiene el amor despierto.
Sentimientos o acciones en el tiempo
¡Oh, diamante precioso!
impregna con la fuerza de un coloso
llena de templanza un día doloroso.
Soy tu simiente
iluminada por un momento silente.
Una melodía
proveniente de la luz del mediodía.
En tu Corona Radiante destello fragante…
Pluma, tinta y corazón es lo que se necesita
para escribir una nueva creación.
Libre voz sin preceptos, contenidos…
Más que la dulzura que renueva
esta eterna vestidura…
Maria Rial . Issisora
This is a great poem by the Persian Sufi Poet Rumi. It is called “Gone to the Unseen”
At last you have departed and gone to the Unseen.
What marvelous route did you take from this world?
Beating your wings and feathers,
you broke free from this cage.
Rising up to the sky
you attained the world of the soul.
You were a prized falcon trapped by an Old Woman.
Then you heard the drummer’s call
and flew beyond space and time.
As a lovesick nightingale, you flew among the owls.
Then came the scent of the rosegarden
and you flew off to meet the Rose.
The wine of this fleeting world
caused your head to ache.
Finally you joined the tavern of Eternity.
Like an arrow, you sped from the bow
and went straight for the bull’s eye of bliss.
This phantom world gave you false signs
But you turned from the illusion
and journeyed to the land of truth.
You are now the Sun -
what need have you for a crown?
You have vanished from this world -
what need have you to tie your robe?
I’ve heard that you can barely see your soul.
But why look at all? -
yours is now the Soul of Souls!
O heart, what a wonderful bird you are.
Seeking divine heights,
Flapping your wings,
you smashed the pointed spears of your enemy.
The flowers flee from Autumn, but not you -
You are the fearless rose
that grows amidst the freezing wind.
Pouring down like the rain of heaven
you fell upon the rooftop of this world.
Then you ran in every direction
and escaped through the drain spout . . .
Now the words are over
and the pain they bring is gone.
Now you have gone to rest
in the arms of the Beloved.
Un classique de Victor Hugo:
Je respire où tu palpites,
Tu sais ; à quoi bon, hélas !
Rester là si tu me quittes,
Et vivre si tu t’en vas ?
A quoi bon vivre, étant l’ombre
De cet ange qui s’enfuit ?
A quoi bon, sous le ciel sombre,
N’être plus que de la nuit ?
Je suis la fleur des murailles
Dont avril est le seul bien.
Il suffit que tu t’en ailles
Pour qu’il ne reste plus rien.
Tu m’entoures d’Auréoles;
Te voir est mon seul souci.
Il suffit que tu t’envoles
Pour que je m’envole aussi.
Si tu pars, mon front se penche ;
Mon âme au ciel, son berceau,
Fuira, dans ta main blanche
Tu tiens ce sauvage oiseau.
Que veux-tu que je devienne
Si je n’entends plus ton pas ?
Est-ce ta vie ou la mienne
Qui s’en va ? Je ne sais pas.
Quand mon orage succombe,
J’en reprends dans ton coeur pur ;
Je suis comme la colombe
Qui vient boire au lac d’azur.
L’amour fait comprendre à l’âme
L’univers, salubre et béni ;
Et cette petite flamme
Seule éclaire l’infini
Sans toi, toute la nature
N’est plus qu’un cachot fermé,
Où je vais à l’aventure,
Pâle et n’étant plus aimé.
Sans toi, tout s’effeuille et tombe ;
L’ombre emplit mon noir sourcil ;
Une fête est une tombe,
La patrie est un exil.
Je t’implore et réclame ;
Ne fuis pas loin de mes maux,
O fauvette de mon âme
Qui chantes dans mes rameaux !
De quoi puis-je avoir envie,
De quoi puis-je avoir effroi,
Que ferai-je de la vie
Si tu n’es plus près de moi ?
Tu portes dans la lumière,
Tu portes dans les buissons,
Sur une aile ma prière,
Et sur l’autre mes chansons.
Que dirai-je aux champs que voile
L’inconsolable douleur ?
Que ferai-je de l’étoile ?
Que ferai-je de la fleur ?
Que dirai-je au bois morose
Qu’illuminait ta douceur ?
Que répondrai-je à la rose
Disant : ” Où donc est ma soeur ?”
J’en mourrai ; fuis, si tu l’oses.
A quoi bon, jours révolus !
Regarder toutes ces choses
Qu’elle ne regarde plus ?
Que ferai-je de la lyre,
De la vertu, du destin ?
Hélas ! et, sans ton sourire,
Que ferai-je du matin ?
Que ferai-je, seul, farouche,
Sans toi, du jour et des cieux,
De mes baisers sans ta bouche,
Et de mes pleurs sans tes yeux !
A+
Merci! (**)
SONNET 17
I don ’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries
the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose
from the earth lives dimly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or
from where
I love you directly without problems or pride:
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way
to love,
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.
—Translated and © Mark Eisner 2004, from City Lights’ The Essential Neruda
What a beautiful poem… bought tears to my eyes.
So touching, so beautiful…
A love that is silent yet strong.
no se si aun puedo enviarlo… ( lo escribi hace un tiempo)
y tu amor … que es lo que sientes?
puedo sentir el olor a tierra mojada
antes que caiga la lluvia
puedo ver las gotas de agua en tu pelo,
y sentir tu piel antes que se funda en la mia
sentir tu presencia en esa loca espera antes de tu llegada…
y tu amor…
que ves….., que sientes?
pasion, deseo, desenfreno, dulzura…. quiza amor?
que sientes cuando soy yo quien se funde en tu piel?
que sientes amor
mientras yo tiemblo entre tus brazos,
mientras mis manos te buscan
dime amor…
que es lo que sientes?
-Sonetto XLVIII-Cento Sonetti D’Amore-P.Neruda-
..Due Amanti Felici Fanno Un Solo Pane..
Una Sola Goccia Di Luna Nell’Erba..
Lascian Camminando Due Ombre Che S’Uniscono..
Lasciano Un Solo Sole Vuoto In Un Letto..
Di Tutte Le Verità Scelsero Il Giorno..
Non S’Unirono Con Fili..Ma Con Un Aroma..
e Non Spezzarono La Pace Nè Le Parole..
è La Felicità Una Torre Trasparente..
L’Aria..Il Vino Vanno Con I Due Amanti..
Gli Regala La Notte I Suoi Petali Felici..
Hanno Diritto A Tutti I Garofani..
Due Amanti Felici..Non Hanno Fine Nè Morte..
Nascono e Muoiono Più Volte Vivendo..
Hanno L’Eternità Della Natura..
If You Forget Me
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
Pablo Neruda
love it!
it’s all about fear, loneliness and soulmate
it’s all there
FAZER ACONTECER
Não quero mais
Ter o que não se perde
Deixar pra traz o que seguirá em frente;
O que nos serve
Se ajusta às nossas mudanças
Faz com que a gente entenda e enfrente;
O que deve ser feito
Pra que seja feito
À nossa vontade;
Fazer acontecer
Escrever em fatos
Suas letras de música.
ESPAÇO-TEMPO ETERNO
Nos prolongamos contra a fonte que nos consome
Tudo passou, tudo passará
No meio de tudo a gravidade do instante
Atraindo em você momentos a passar;
Cada estrela tem seu brilho
Chama da combustão
Do que se passa em sua mente
E atinge a realização;
O que nos falta não completa
O que a gente preenche
No espaço-tempo eterno
Embrulhado no presente.
this is mine, it’s titled (IT’S ALRIGHT)
yesterday i was blind again
i made a wrong choice
and i’m really sorry about it
please stay by my side
i need an angel to purify my mind
yesterday i was controlled by the devil
and i’m really exausted of this
please give me the way to find
the way to fight what is leading me to hell
please tell me that it’s alright
even if i was just like a fool
please tell me that i wasn’t wrong
please tell me that it’s alright
even if my life was ever cool
please tell me that i was here inside
it’s alright … is it alright
I first read this poem in college 14 years ago… and just loves it. Over the years, I would reread it every so often to remind me that this is how I choose to live my life.
I will not die an unlived life
I will not live in fear
Of falling or catching fire.
I choose to inhabit my days,
To allow my living to open me
To make me less afraid,
More accessible
To loosen my heart
Until it becomes a wing,
a torch, a promise.
I choose to risk my significance,
To live
So that which came to me as seed
Goes to the next as blossom
And that which came
to me as blossom
goes on as fruit.
- Dawna Markova
Here is a poem I wrote for your birthday when I was 14 years old…. So that’s 12 years ago! (Pre Coelhoien times!)
A Flower
A flower blooms and blossoms,
It blooms out big and bright,
But once a year it blooms out,
Blooms out above the rest,
Then lays its head back down,
Back down to the earth’s soft breast,
To wait for another year.
By
Kealan Moore (Breda’s son!)
thanks again -the best present ever-well except for THE Party in Paris in March !!!
Love,
Breda
Love after Love by Derek Walcott
The time will come
when,with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door,in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,
and say,sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine.Give bread.Give back your heart
to itself,to the stranger who has loved you
all your life,whom you ignored
for another,who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs,the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
A calm gentle poem which I love : )
Love
Breda
La mort n’est rien,
je suis seulement passé, dans la pièce à côté.
Je suis moi. Vous êtes vous.
Ce que j’étais pour vous, je le suis toujours.
Donnez-moi le nom que vous m’avez toujours donné,
parlez-moi comme vous l’avez toujours fait.
N’employez pas un ton différent,
ne prenez pas un air solennel ou triste.
Continuez à rire de ce qui nous faisait rire ensemble.
Priez, souriez,
pensez à moi,
priez pour moi.
Que mon nom soit prononcé à la maison
comme il l’a toujours été,
sans emphase d’aucune sorte,
sans une trace d’ombre.
La vie signifie tout ce qu’elle a toujours été.
Le fil n’est pas coupé.
Pourquoi serais-je hors de vos pensées,
simplement parce que je suis hors de votre vue ?
Je ne suis pas loin, juste de l’autre côté du chemin.
Charles Péguy, d’après un texte de Saint Augustin
Bonsoir à tous un de mes poèmes préférés et que je trouve très réaliste car je crois tout à fait que ceux que l’on aime ne sont pas vraiment très loin après la mort.
Merci à vous Paolo Coelho, au grand auteur que vous êtes et à l’homme si humble et si sensible qui finalement en tire sa force.
The one writing has kept me going in my darkest times.. I believe it was written by Agnes de Mille….
There is a vitality..a life force..a quickening…That is translated through you into action. This expression is unique and if you block it…It will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost..The world will not have it.
It is not your business to determine how good it is..nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly…to keep the channel open.
You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work…You do have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you..keep the channel open.
No artist is pleased…there is no satisfaction, whatever, at any time…there is only a divine dissatisfaction..A blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than others…
with regards…jacqueline
For a New Beginning by John O Donaghue
In out of the way places of the heart,
Where your thoughts never think to wander,
This beginning has been quietly forming,
waiting until you were ready to emerge.
For a long time it has watched your desire,
Feeling the emptyness growing inside you,
Noticing how you willed yourself on,
Still unable to leave what you had outgrown.
It watched you play with the seduction of safety
And the grey promise that sameness whispered,
Heard the waves of turmoil rise and relent,
Wondered would you always live like this.
Though your destination is not yet clear
You can trust the promise of this opening;
Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning
That is at one with your life’s desire.
Awaken your spirit to adventure;
Hold nothing back,learn to find ease in risk;
Soon you will be home in a new rhythm
For your soul sences the world awaits you.
This beautiful poem says it all for those of us in turmoil about a new beginning and it reflects , for me one of the core themes of Paulos writing also : )
love,
Breda
I’m from egypt , i’d like to submit 2 short poems for 1 brilliant egyptian poet , Salah Jaheen , who used to write great poems in only 4 lines !
my translation from Arabic isnt good – hope it will do …
1st :
Close your eyes and walk lightly in spirit
The world is the pretty girl and you are the macho man
If she sees your light recless step she immedietly adores you
But if you dared to look under your feet YOU will stumble and fall …
2nd:
It’s I who was seduced by the impossible dream
I saw the moon I jumped high in the air
Touched it or didn’t touch it doesn’t really matter to me
As long as my heart was overwhelmed with ecstacy …
” La Contaminación”
Hay un problema agobiante.
Que tiene la humanidad.
Es el de la contaminación..
No se sabe en que va a parar?
Es un gran dilema, que tenemos que resolver!
si queremos un mundo mejor, algo tendremos que hacer..
Contaminar menos, sería una solución.
y cada ciudad del mundo diese una colaboración..
Este mundo tan hermoso.
Debemos de conservar.
Para todas las generacioneses un regalo que dar!
La naturaleza es sabia.
Dios también nos va ayudar
Sabe que todos somos parte de este mundo
Que no se debe acabar!
Que todo el mundo unido.
Un grito único debe dar.
No, a la contaminación..
SALVEMOS LA HUMANIDAD…
Sometimes you are so far away. Still, I have you so close, with my thoughts, in my thoughts. I’m searching for words to describe them, to explain what I feel and at the same time it’s difficult since there are so many emotions and so little words. Yet I feel like I have to put some things down on paper. I’m afraid that this aura might vanish out in the air – but not if I leave marks by writing down everything. So, it’s the fear that makes the fingers typing and you, you are the source of the inspiration for the letters that I’m typing.
* * *
The most wanted and the most common – the look. Infinite – that’s the number of times I’ve imagined the look. Each time is as effortless as the habit we have to breathe. I just wanna look at you and look at you and never stop the eye connection. They say a picture worths thousands of words, I would say that this look worths thousands of lives. It’s a look that equals a flash of a moment when the time is wrapped and everything around stops. The heartbeat slows down and although the perfection does not exist, my world seems ideal. That’s the first time when I realized what it actually means, the expression – to talk with the eyes. You don’t hear words, but in spite of that, you still know what the other person is saying.
We have cheerful eyes, surprised eyes, sad eyes, evil eyes, scared eyes, laughing eyes, adventurous eyes and many, many others and at the end, there are the ones that I mostly desire, the in-loved eyes. The knowing that I can have them brings vigor in my body immediately. I can see myself gently touching them, slowly kissing them but most of all, I enjoy looking at them, looking at the look they give me. And that look happens only when they are looking at me, a look which is only for me. You might say that this sounds a little bit selfish. Now, what I would say is that I am not greedy, I am just in-love. Both of us, the two of us, we are just in-love.
* * *
The most enjoyable and the most bonding – the embrace. You open your arms and you sense acceleration and deceleration at the same time. A second is all that takes for graceful feelings to begin to multiply around the tiny circle we make. It feels like a gravitational point that magnetize us both, one to each other. My hands are around him, squeezing happiness, as if they were saying “this is what we were made for, this is the prefect place for us, this is what we want”. The heart does nothing different, it goes along with them since those are his lines as well. While laying my head on his shoulder, I knew that I finally found the hug I was searching for, I have it in my arms, I am no longer homeless, I found my shelter.
Peace is what we reach as we melt into each other. There are two hearts but only one heartbeat. Embraced, we dance slowly to the rhythm of it just as a palm tree smoothly spreads its boughs on a windy warm summer sunset. Although the sun is leaving and it’s getting darker, I have no worries. I have the light of my life in my arms and I feel safe and illuminate. You might say that this sounds a little bit surreal. Now, what I would say is that I am not day-dreaming, I am just in-love. Both of us, the two of us, we are just in-love.
…
beautifully written. really touched me. :)
The sky that joins us,
wants to see me smiling
and brings you near me merely to look at you,
so that my heart will not be cold anymore.
The sea looks me in the eyes,
my teardrop wants to hold back,
to prevent it from getting dry,
your look to come and get me.
A drop of rain,never to cover me again,
the tears to pass me by,
and you may stay with me for life.
The Sky and the Sea
SOUL JOURNEY
By Lisa Lipman
This poem will always be my first born…I wrote it just 2 months after my sister took her own life. It was my first and only real experience of the creative process…or something, greater than myself, whereby I knew something was in there that needed to come out,and all I had to do was put pen to paper and start the first line…nothing more. From there it just flowed, like a river, out from me: like giving birth to a baby. Its the pain, the anguish, the sorrow and grief all mixed in together with the gratitude of life with all its tragedy and beauty, loneliness and isolation. Enjoy; please!
I really want to know myself
to certainty be true
to understand my every thought
and all my shades of blue
to know my every thought and feel
will help the wounds begin to heal
to this my senses do appeal
I want this life don’t you?
And if, at any given time
I struggle now to stay in rhyme
Oh, the joy its so sublime
to speak my feel and stay in time
it comes, as floods down rocks of lime
and satiates my heart and mind
oh riveting emote unwind
I conquer it anew!
Oh, troubled soul of mine unrest
with this heart so doubly blessed
to enter in this holy quest
of seeking out what comes at best
of putting sorrow to the test
of going back to mother’s nest
to pluck the root I do behest
to settle down and find my rest
and walk in peace with You!
While others conquer gods untold
and plummet for their spoils of gold
and walk with strides of somewhat bold
desirous paths that lead to cold
while others hope for stories told
upon their beds of infant mould
will wait and wait till they are old
for fantasy to not unfold
tis not the journey I behold
I am a foot where is my shoe?
And so my path with lighted way,
unfolds before me night and day
it does continue as I pray
and seek the One who might I say
gives me hope when things are grey
like a needle in a stack of hay
did choose me in my disobey
and turns to gold what once was clay
and infiltrates my morte decay
to bring me peace His life did pay
a shattered ransom gave away
my fleshly sins while I did stray
and placed my feet upon the way
of righteousness and blessed hope
which brings me closer than the pope
Unto His feathered bosum float
or nestled under His wingly robe
to talk to Him I pray.
And so I sit upon this rock
and contemplate the dreaded shock
of losing someone close to you
and note another shade of blue
I’ve said all that I want to say
and now dear reader run away.
SOUL JOURNEY
By Lisa Lipman
I really want to know myself
to certainty be true
to understand my every thought
and all my shades of blue
to know my every thought and feel
will help the wounds begin to heal
to this my senses do appeal
I want this life don’t you?
And if, at any given time,
I struggle now to stay in rhyme
Oh, the joy its so sublime,
to speak my feel and stay in time
it comes, as floods down rocks of lime,
and satiates my heart and mind
oh riveting emote unwind,
I conquer it anew!
Oh, troubled soul of mine unrest
with this heart so doubly blessed
to enter in this holy quest
of seeking out what comes at best
of putting sorrow to the test
of going back to mother’s nest
to pluck the root I do behest
to settle down and find my rest
and walk in peace with You!
While others conquer gods untold
and plummet for their spoils of gold
and walk with strides of somewhat bold
desirous paths that lead to cold
while others hope for stories told
upon their beds of infant mould
will wait and wait till they are old
for fantasy to not unfold
tis not the journey I behold
I am a foot where is my shoe?
And so my path with lighted way,
unfolds before me night and day
it does continue as I pray
and seek the One who might I say
gives me hope when things are grey
like a needle in a stack of hay
did choose me in my disobey
and turns to gold what once was clay
and infiltrates my morte decay
to bring me peace His life did pay
a shattered ransom gave away
my fleshly sins while I did stray
and placed my feet upon the way
of righteousness and blessed hope
which brings me closer than the pope
Unto His feathered bosum float
or nestled under His wingly robe
to talk to Him I pray.
And so I sit upon this rock
and contemplate the dreaded shock
of losing someone close to you
and note another shade of blue
I’ve said all that I want to say
and now dear reader run away.
Time Spent Together
Time spent together making new memories
Etching each memory deep in my heart
Time spent together brings joy to my soul
And keeps me happy even when we are apart
Time spent together makes me know for sure
That the love we are feeling is one of a kind
Time spent together makes my heart know
The trust that we share is so very hard to find
Time spent together keeps our love growing
Each moment with you leaves me yearning for more
Time spent together keeps the bond ever true
Between me and the one I am yearning for
Time spent together with you by my side
Makes me need you forever close beside me
Time spent together in your loving arms
Lets me know I am where I am meant to be
Gota Llueve, llueve y llueve… Y yo, perdido en el mar de agua en el patio busco esa gota. La única y limpia gota. De la que se educará una perla En mi corazón. (Csepp) Esik és csak esik. Fáradhatatlanul esik. És én, mint elveszve a tengerben, udvaromban keresem azt a cseppet. Az egyetlen és tiszta cseppet. Lesz belőle gyöngy, talán, majd, szívemben. Eduardo Rozsa Flores
This poem has validated all that I do and all that I am.
We are Transmitters
by
David Herbert Lawrence
As we live, we are transmitters of life.
And when we fail to transmit life, life fails to flow through us.
That is part of the mystery of sex, it is a flow onwards.
Sexless people transmit nothing.
And if, as we work, we can transmit life into our work,
life, still more life, rushes into us to compensate, to be ready
and we ripple with life through the days.
Even if it is a woman making an apple dumpling, or a man a stool,
if life goes into the pudding, good is the pudding
good is the stool,
content is the woman, with fresh life rippling in to her,
content is the man.
Give, and it shall be given unto you
is still the truth about life.
But giving life is not so easy.
It doesn’t mean handing it out to some mean fool, or letting the living dead eat you up.
It means kindling the life-quality where it was not,
even if it’s only in the whiteness of a washed pocket-handkerchief.
← Previous Comments
Next Comments →
{ 1 trackback }