Poems, Poems, Poems
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Dawn & poem. Tuscany.CF011538
Ogni giorno è diverso dall’altro, ogni alba porta con sè il suo speciale miracolo, il suo istante magico, in cui si distruggono gli universi passati e nascono nuove stelle. I Navajo,infatti, insegnano ai loro bambini che ogni mattina il sole che sorge e’ un sole nuovo. Nasce ogni giorno, vive solo per quel giorno, muore alla sera e non ritornera’ piu’. Dicono ai loro piccoli: Il sole ha solo questo giorno, un giorno. Vivi bene la tua vita in modo che il sole non abbia sprecato il suo tempo prezioso.
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Fabrizio Massetti.
Papilio thoas — Porte-queue thoas
Événement : Papillons en Fête au Cente Jardin Hamel
Ville de Québec (Québec) Canada
Papillons en liberté provenant des 4 coins du monde
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© Guylaine Bégin. L'utilisation sans ma permission est illégale.
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Papilio thoas — Thoas Swallowtail
Event : Papillons en Fête au Cente Jardin Hamel
Quebec City (Quebec) Canada
Butterflies from the 4 corners the world
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© Guylaine Bégin. Use without permission is illegal.
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rose from the depths
mountains, nebulae, oceans
in the infinity nest
they became a silvery and golden echo from afar
Every morning
the world
is created.
Under the orange
sticks of the sun
the heaped
ashes of the night
turn into leaves again
and fasten themselves to the high branches ,
and the ponds appear
like black cloth
on which are painted islands
of summer lilies.
If it is your nature
to be happy
you will swim away along the soft trails
for hours, your imagination
alighting everywhere.
And if your spirit
carries within it
the thorn
that is heavier than lead ,
if it’s all you can do
to keep on trudging ,
there is still
somewhere deep within you
a beast shouting that the earth
is exactly what it wanted ,
each pond with its blazing lilies
is a prayer heard and answered
lavishly,
every morning,
whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray.
~Mary Oliver, Morning Poem
taken at stunning :
Visit this location at Witch`s Rock Costa Rica - Pura Vida! in Second Life
Though this episode begins in a more traditional non fiction way, with many facts about how many mushrooms perish when the snow falls and temperatures plummet, the episode evolves further with a more empathetic feel. Even a mushroom documentary film maker must show the human side to the mushrooms and how they can suffer. Thus, there is a definite arc to the episode with a thrilling culmination of the collective voices of the mushroom community as they proclaim the following poem:
For days, we witnessed the ominous
“Winter is Coming!"
Well, winter is here, with it’s equal
wonder and terror
We cling to each other
like words in a sentence
without as many spaces.
We are withered, weathered,
and struggling to survive.
Lost souls shivering below flying doves
Past selves and Future selves
Culminating in a grim present moment
How much longer must we suffer and
Yearn for each sliver of daylight?
Oh, won’t some sweet soul
Come gallantly along
Crunching on the oppressive white
Pick us up out of our misery
Tear us from the dark tree bark
With all the dirt that hides under fingernails
And eat us alive?
**All photos are copyrighted**
Poem
From the short and intense evening,
your light seeps into my face,
the smell of your hair is strong
like the smell of the sea
I think you're a poem
and everyone before you
has been a story,
you move in different
languages.
what's the word for,
your very heartbeat
has a thousand bluebirds
lined up at the window
in anticipation.
-pavana
T'was the night before Christmas
he lived all alone
In a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone
I had come down the chimney with
presents to give
and to see just who in this dweling did
live
I looked all around a strange site to
see
No tinsel, no presents, not even a
tree
No stockings on the mantle just boots filled
with sand
On the wall hung pictures of far
distant lands
Medals and Badges, Awards every
kind
A sobering thought came alive in my
mind
This house was different, it was
dark, it was deary
I had found the home of a
soldier
I could see that most clearly
The soldier lie sleeping, silent, alone
Curled up on the floor in this one
bedroom home
His face was so gentle, the room in
such disorder
Not at all how I pictured a
United States Soldier
Was this the hero of whom I'd just read
Curled up on a poncho, the floor for
a bed
Then I realized the other families
that I saw on this night
Hold their lives to soldiers, who are
willing to fight
In the morning around the
world, the children would play
Grown-ups would celebrate a bright
Christmas Day
But they all enjoy freedom each
month of the year
Because of soldiers like the one lying
here
I couldn't help but wonder, how many
lay alone?
On a cold Christmas Eve in lands far
from home
The very thought brought a tear to my
eye
I dropped to my knees and I
started to cry
The soldier awakened, I heard his
ruff voice
Santa don't cry, this life is my
choice...
...I fight for freedom, I don't ask for
more...
...My life is my God, my country, my
core
The soldier rolled over and drifted to
sleep
But I couldn't control it and I
continued to weep
I kept watch for hours... so silent and
still
as both of us shivered from the cold
nights chill
I didn't want to leave him on that cold
dark night
This guardian of honor, so willing to
fight
then the soldier rolled over with a
voice soft and pure
He whispered Carry on Santa, it's
Christmas Day...
...all secure One look at my watch
and I knew he was right
Merry Christmas my friend, may God
Bless you this night
“The men dem gon' fall in love
With you and all of your glory
Your skin is not only dark, it shines and it tells your story
Keep dancin', they can't control you
They watchin', they all adore you
If ever you are in doubt, remember what mama told you
Brown skin girl (brown skin girl)
Ya skin just like pearls . . .”
- “Brown Skin Girl” Beyoncé
Mediodía con sol,
redondo y sin final como el deseo.
Cuerpo y roca o sopor que los omite.
Soledad absoluta y el silencio
tan especial del mundo cuando calla.
Ausencia y plenitud.
Estancias y retornos.
Existir:
luz ya que en mí confluye. Sobrevivo.
VICENTE GALLEGO
Artwork made for "Visual Poems" Exhibition at THE EDGE Art Gallery
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Purple%20Haze/208/222/21
ANCIENT CATHEDRALS
How many lives passed
within these cold stormy walls
Saints, heroes, murderers, poor people
Everybody looking for something
Now the clamor of the centuries is over
I will await here silently
among this gathering of rustling shadows
that someone tells me about your broken lives
In the middle of that thick scrub
between erased names
faded photographs
where all ambitions end
behind corroded stone writings
© Eli Medier
Taken at Netherwood
Time, just a bodily experience;
With the change of times...
Events unwarranted , undesirable
Mere glimpses as it appears,
Of ever-changing substance...
The viewer and the view
Change like a flicker
Every perception an illusion
Every perceiver the same
Certain is the state
Before birth and after death
Uncertain is the state
In between birth and death
Look at those changes
Like an entertainment
Scenes changing in a play
Queer, and a source of enjoyment
Open the inner eyes
Awaken the Soul
You are neither body nor a living being
Your power knows no bounds.
- Anuj Nair
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© 2011 Anuj Nair. All rights reserved.
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________________________________________________
© 2011 Anuj Nair. All rights reserved.
All images and poems are the property of Anuj Nair. Using these images and poems without permission is in violation of international copyright laws (633/41 DPR19/78- isg 154/97-L.248/2000). All materials may not be copied, reproduced, distributed, republished, downloaded, displayed, posted or transmitted in any forms or by any means,including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording without written permission of Anuj Nair. Every violation will be pursued penally.
The German poem "The Three Sparrows" by Christian Morgenstern (see below) dates from 1921 (Era of Expressionism).
Because of copyright, I can't simply translate the poem, but the content is about the three sparrows Erich, Franz and the "cheeky" Hans, who sit in a bare hazel bush in winter.
The poem describes in impressive atmospheric density the protection and security that the three little birds can give each other in the icy cold, with Hans, who sits in the middle, he has the warmest.
Die drei Spatzen
In einem leeren Haselstrauch
Da sitzen drei Spatzen, Bauch an Bauch.
Der Erich rechts und links der Franz
Und mitten drin der freche Hans.
Sie haben die Augen zu, ganz zu,
Und obendrüber da schneit es, hu!
Sie rücken zusammen dicht an dicht.
So warm wie der Hans hats niemand nicht.
Sie hören alle drei ihrer Herzlein Gepoch.
Und wenn sie nicht weg sind, so sitzen sie noch.
(Das Gedicht "Die drei Spatzen" schrieb Christian Morgenstern 1921, Epoche des Expressionismus).
The park's has a collection of over 1,000 statues and 150 giant tableaux centered around Chinese folklore, legends, history, and Confucian ideology.
On the pillars is a poem couplet written by Yu Da Fu, aptly describing Haw Par Villa then.
In the quietness of the hills amidst the rolling white clouds
There stand a bright glorious house like blossoming flower petals
You can see the vast and clear blue ocean
And grazes into the and ripples of the sea waves in the far horizon
Every morning
the world
is created.
Under the orange
sticks of the sun
the heaped
ashes of the night
turn into leaves again
and fasten themselves to the high branches–
and the ponds appear
like black cloth
on which are painted islands
of summer lilies.
If it is your nature
to be happy
you will swim away along the soft trails
for hours, your imagination
alighting everywhere.
And if your spirit
carries within it
the thorn
that is heavier than lead–
if it’s all you can do
to keep on trudging–
there is still
somewhere deep within you
a beast shouting that the earth
is exactly what it wanted–
each pond with its blazing lilies
is a prayer heard and answered
lavishly,
every morning,
whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray.
~ Mary Oliver.
My little black panther 8
Happy Caturday 11.1.2020 "Poem"
Nik Silver efex pro 2
A poem from Mr. Goethe:
Zum Fressen geboren, zum Kraulen bestellt
in Schlummer verloren gefällt mir die Welt.
Ich schnurr' auf dem Schoße, ich ruhe im Bett
in lieblicher Pose, ob schlank oder fett.
So gelte ich allen als göttliches Tier, sie stammeln
und lallen und huldigen mir, liebkosen mir
glücklich den Bauch, Öhrchen und Tatz
ich wählte es wieder, das Leben der Katz.
translated by deepl.com:
Born to eat, ordered to crawl
lost in slumber I like the world.
I purr on your lap, I rest in bed
in a lovely pose, whether slim or fat.
So I am considered to all as a divine animal, they stammer
and slur and worship me, caress me
happy belly, ears and paw
I chose it again, the life of a cat.
Happy Caturday! :-)
This is my favourite poem by Joseph Freiherr von Eichendorff:
Schläft ein Lied in allen Dingen, die da träumen fort und fort, Und die Welt fängt an zu singen, Triffst du nur das Zauberwort
This is my TRANSLATION:
There sleeps a song in all things that are dreaming on and on, and the world starts singing when you only find the magic word.
This first edition of the poems of Nathan Lanesford Foster was printed and bound in 1841 in the print shop in Philadelphia where my great-great-great grandfather worked at the time.
For those of you who know Philly: the print shop was located in what is now the 'Old City' section of Philadelphia, near the Betsy Ross House and Independence Hall.
More modern editions of this volume are available at select booksellers:
www.abebooks.com/book-search/author/nathan-lanesford-foster/
In real life, the horizontal dimension of the photo is about 2.5" (6.3cm)
HMM!
Ah vastness of pines, murmur of waves breaking,
slow play of lights, solitary bell,
twilight falling in your eyes, baby doll,
snail of the earth, in you the earth sings!
In you the rivers sing, and my soul in them flees
as you desire it, and you send it where you will.
Mark for me my road on your brows of hope
and I in my delirium will release the flock of arrows.
Around me I see your waist of fog
and your silence accosts my troubled hours,
and you are with your transparent arms of stones
where my kisses anchor and my damp desire nests.
Ah your mysterious voice that love colors and tolls
in the resonant and dying evening!
Thus in deep hours over the fields I have seen
the ears of wheat tolling in the mouth of the wind.
Pablo Neruda
Lemon Trees Mediterranean, Auto 1 (122, 83, 22) - Moderado
It is a morning full of storms
in the heart of summer.
The clouds travel like white handkerchiefs bidding farewell,
the wind shakes them with its wandering hands.
Innumberable heart of the wind
beating upon our loving silence.
Buzzing amongst the trees, orquestral and divine,
like a language full of wars and songs.
A wind that swiftly steals away the fallen leaves
and deflects the beating arrows of the birds.
A wind that strikes her down in a foamless wave
and weightless substance, and fires bowing down.
It breaks and submerges its volume of kisses
fought at the gate of the summer wind.
Color The World Orange flic.kr/gm/3g65nd, Life Island (88, 133, 22) - Moderado
TREES
“You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars. In the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul.”
― Max Ehrmann
American poet, known for this 1927 prose poem "Desiderata"
Autumn in Pontypridd Park, South Wales.
“Gardens are poems
Where you stroll with your hands in your pockets.
(Les jardins sont des poemes
Ou l'on se promene les mains dans les poches.)”
― Pierre Albert-Birot
Another Sunday, another poem. First the English Translation, then the German original. Have a wonderful day!
Mist Over the River
The river drifts so still, so mild,
and carries dreams where they’ve been filed.
Tell me, what will lie ahead?
Words the wind has softly shed.
A silver mist wraps all around,
it makes the distant small, profound.
And though no eye can clearly see,
the current whispers: “Go on, be free…”
Each wave speaks gently, calm and true:
Each morning grants a power new.
And in the haze, the heart still knows:
The river softly, quietly flows.
Here the Original:
Nebel über dem Fluss
Der Fluss zieht still und sanft dahin,
und trägt die Träume fort darin.
Sag mir, was wird vor uns liegen?
Worte, die im Wind verfliegen.
Ein Silbernebel hüllt uns ein,
er macht das Ferne sanft und klein.
Denn auch wenn keiner klar es sieht,
der Strom uns flüstert: "Geht weiter, zieht..."
Jede Welle sagt uns sacht:
Jeder Morgen schenkt neue Macht.
Und in dem Dunst das Herz noch weiß:
Der Fluss fließt still, der Fluss fließt leis.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=zHnZP2FmLCc&list=RDzHnZP2FmLC...
The River - Bruce Springsteen
The poetically lovely dahlias are holding court in the gardens now. Marvels of symmetry, shapes and colors they brave the cold evenings to bask in the warm October sun.
And this, October 27th, 2014, would have been Dylan Thomas's 100th birthday.
"Poem in October" read by the poet: [www.youtube.com/watch?v=EnoHCSU5yn8}.
Have a wonderful week, everyone! :)
M'enfilo pels pensaments
de les hores callades.
Pas a pas,
sobre la corda del silenci,
escric mots que perfilen
nous horitzons.
Enrere queden les creences
d'un temps que ja m'és llunyà.
Que n'és de savi el temps!
O som nosaltres que hem après
a desaprendre?
a desfer-nos de l'innecessari,
per tornar a l'essència,
per saber el que veritablement
ens cal...
ISABEL RIBERA I CARNÉ. M'enfilo
Leaning into the afternoons I cast my sad nets
towards your oceanic eyes.
There in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens and flames,
its arms turning like a drowning man's.
I send out red signals across your absent eyes
that move like the sea near a lighthouse.
You keep only darkness, my distant female,
from your regard sometimes the coast of dread emerges.
Leaning into the afternoons I fling my sad nets
to that sea that beats on your marine eyes.
The birds of night peck at the first stars
that flash like my soul when I love you.
The night gallops on its shadowy mare
shedding blue tassels over the land.
Pablo Neruda
Pemberley www.flickr.com/groups/pemberleysl/, Pemberley (105, 196, 23) - Moderado
On the Nature of Daylight | Max Richter
youtu.be/rVN1B-tUpgs?si=ahixRyG9NaNI-ijc
I applaud thee,
pretenders in shadows lurking creating your persona seconda at will,
effortless without commandeering believable
by most but still not true to heart,
the beating heart in you is not
but I applaud thee for keeping it up
@ behind-the-vail-of-sanity