View allAll Photos Tagged Poem
Tuesday, January 21, 11 am - 12 pm SLt at Surreal Art Gallery
BRYN OH
The Standby Sketches
with Special Guest Performer: Rapa Tone
The Standby sketches is an exhibit of the various drawings, paintings, sculptures and even discarded poems such as the one above that were created for the artwork known as the Standby Trilogy on Immersiva. If you enjoy seeing the artists process when creating then please come visit.
I pluck chrysanthemums under the eastern hedge, Then gaze long at the distant summer hills.
-TAO QIAN
The Poem
There sleeps a poem in my mind
That shall my entire soul express.
I feel it vague as sound and wind
Yet sculptured in full definiteness.
It has no stanza, verse or word.
Ev'n as I dream it, it is not.
'Tis a mere feeling of it, blurred,
And but a happy mist round thought.
Day and night in my mystery
I dream and read and spell it over,
And ever round words' brink in me
Its vague completeness seems to hover.
I know it never shall be writ.
I know I know not what it is.
But I am happy dreaming it,
And false bliss, although false, is bliss.
Fernando Pessoa
Não resisto à estas flores. E você?
I can't resist! What about you?
Merece um Denver...
It deserves a John Denver's...
Talk of poem and prayers and promisses
And things that we believe in
How sweet it is to love someone
How right it is to care
How long it's been since yesterday
What about tomorrow?
What about our dreams
and all the memorry we share?
A transgender girl, in a world so cold
A life of conflict, of stories untold
Of sorrow and pain, passion and apathy
Admiration and loathing, in a constant disparity
Freedom and captivity, a constant fight
Discovery and concealment, hidden from sight
Joy and misery, a delicate dance
Navigating a world that gives her no chance
But she persists, with strength and with grace
Fighting for her place in this human race
A painful journey, to be who she is
In a world that refuses to give her that bliss
She may be different, but she is not alone
For in her heart, her true self has grown
And though the journey may be hard today
To become her true self, it is a price she will pay
For she is not just a label for someone to define,
She is a person that knows what it means
Her mind is clear, her heart is strong
Breaking the chains in search of her dreams
Juan Moreno (electrónica pasmosa ) y Angel Claro (bajo y voz verdosa) actualizan el sonido de 13 poemas adolescentes. Música y poesía no es como pan con tomate pero sirve para hacerse una idea.
The wide expanse of sky above me was just so lovely, early morning a week or so ago.
I have a whole series of shots of these cirrus clouds. Brushing the sky with their delicate, wispy, feather-like strokes.
It was altogether a very special moment. As if mother nature had written a poem just for me. Silence, except a few early-rising birds. One of those moments that make you feel simultaneously tiny, yet an integral part of the universe.
Don't forget to look up!
How lucky we are to experience and share in nature's beautiful gifts such as this.
© All rights reserved.
This is the Quilt with a poem by the irish poet Samuel Lover.
I love it.
I used a Tula Pink Plume layer cake, a grey cotton and some Plume yardage for the binding.Which I already had in my stash.
blogged here:
Poema 12
Your breast is enough for my heart,
and my wings for your freedom.
What was sleeping above your soul will rise
out of my mouth to heaven.
In you is the illusion of each day.
You arrive like the dew to the cupped flowers.
You undermine the horizon with your absence.
Eternally in flight like the wave.
I have said that you sang in the wind
like the pines and like the masts.
Like them you are tall and taciturn,
and you are sad, all at once, like a voyage.
You gather things to you like an old road.
You are peopled with echoes and nostalgic voices.
I awoke and at times birds fled and migrated
that had been sleeping in your soul.
Pablo Neruda
Stepping into Spring!, St. Martin
Next Soldiers
Outside the kitchen window
there wasn't a birdhouse,
but a German pillbox
tucked in the woods
at some strategic World War II
location
and my children stood in the
shattered glass
below the surface
and imagined they had guns
.
.
©Christine A. Owens 7.19.18
.
I really appreciate your comments and faves. I'm not a hoarder of contacts, but enjoy real-life, honest people. You are much more likely to get my comments and faves in return if you fit the latter description. Just sayin. :oD
.
If you like b/w photography and/or poetry check out my page at:
expressionsbychristine.blogspot.com/</a
SUBEIBAJA
.
poema: divanni david
postal: se desconoce autor
.
.
Perfecto
pero criticable.
.
Genio
pero muy frío, imnutable.
.
Guapo.
(dicen las mujeres que lo admiran)
Sus ademanes son afeminados.
Será músico o poeta?
-Yo, paso-
.
Erudito
pero vacio.
Compromete en, y con las necedades.
.
Rico,
moltto corruptus.
Cosmopólita
pero sin "Suave Patria"
.
Valiente.
Sin embargo, exento de acción.
En la reacción, le tiembla el pulso.
.
Filósofo
pero incoherente,
sólo, el solo se comprende.
.
Literato
pero le huye a la idea
o no comprende a Sancho Panza y su burro.
.
Poeta o librepensador dice ser
pero le vibran de sudor
índice, pulgar y dedo medio.
(A la hora de coquetear o conquistar a la musa.)
.
Congruente,
aunque sumamente egoista.
Calculador
pero sin una hand held computer
o de perdida, un ábaco.
.
Humanista
pero, otra vez, su inmenso vacio.
.
Sin sociedades, ni siquiera la anónima.
.
Todo eso parece ser
al otro lado de la ventana
el mejor amigo de mi enemigo.
.
Mientras yo, simple soñador revisando el techo, mientras llueve.
Contando las gotas esparcidas por el suelo y por el cálido lecho.
.
Entre!
A porta da vida está aberta e convida,
pessoas com coragem para arriscar,
a rir, chorar, trabalhar, se esforçar, amar,
ser ouvido ou incompreendido,
receber atenção ou sofrer uma desilusão,
ser amado ou perder-se numa paixão,
a vida pede atenção...
A vida oferece muitas possibilidades,
até para quem já ñ acredita mais em nada,
sempre haverá algo novo sob o sol,
um fio de esperança que poderá te levar ao paraíso,
uma nova oportunidade de ser e crescer.
Só ñ vale ter medo de si mesmo,
só ñ vale não se conhecer, ñ se respeitar.
Tem que pegar todas as experiências,
boas e ruins, doces e amargas,
e colocar no grande caldeirão da alma,
para entender o que vale e o que ñ vale a pena.
Assim, você terá uma bússola precisa,
que vai indicar o seu Norte, a sua direção,
que ñ tem tempo nem idade,
rumo a realização dos seus sonhos,
rumo a felicidade.
Acredite na vida, acredite em você
(Paulo Roberto gaefke)
During St. George (St. Jordi) in Girona, one of the most well-known bridges of the city is full of lovely poems and stories. People leave them there for your enjoyment and I managed to get this take while the bridge was full of people trying to read the content of them.
Thank you all for your appreciation.
Follow me on:
© 2016 Jordi Corbilla - All Rights Reserved.
Do not use any of my images without permission.
*Note that groups and albums are machine handled by Flickr Photo Analytics app and we apologise for any inconveniences caused.
to gradually fade my presence
to strive for the status of figment
to lessen the pain
as my body shudders
when my engine shuts down
ticking and cooling into eternity
Poem by Tom Lee
Aunt Gertie
I’ve been visiting Aunt Gertie
We’ve had lunch out at the pub
She always has the same thing
She really likes her grub
The others there all know her
They always say “hello”
They keep a table just for her
(She sometimes meets her beaux)
The pub dates back five centuries
With old and low hung beams
I wonder who has passed through there?
I wonder what their dreams?
Now here’s her steak and kidney pie
A side of mushy peas
(She doesn’t eat them singly
She eats them all in threes)
She never discards her fine hat
And on her head it stays
And she never opens up her purse
And it’s always me who pays!
(But I don’t really mind)
Coloured version here www.facebook.com/photo/?fbid=1815537705453759&set=a.1...
Trees are poems that earth writes upon the sky,
We fell them down and turn them into paper,
That we may record our emptiness.
~Kahlil Gibran
A little mini-series I'm doing inspired by William Blake's poem "Auguries of Innocence"
I have 2 now, the rest are coming soon =]
From my collaboration with wonderfully talented author Sussy Santana for her upcoming book Domestic Poems. Check out more of her extraordinary work here: www.sussysantana.com/
(Cropped only)
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.
© Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, 1927
………………………………….
The Little Charmer… (not about me…)
Oh! What a person can get, with the right charm!
And all those tales, she'll tell, regardless of harm...
Convinced to help out, by her little sweet song -
You won't be aware, of the fun ride, you're on...
The heart and the purse strings will soon be untied,
To meet her own needs - you'll not know, that she's lied....
You! Unwittingly taken, to be a soft touch,
While She! cannot believe such a run of good luck,
Congratulating herself, that it's all under wraps -
Not thinking, two stories conflicting, at some stage, perhaps,
Might collide with each other, when they shall reveal
How dishonest, she is, to give you a raw deal...
If end results turn awry, I think, she would not relate,
Be conscious enough, to differentiate -
When inflow outweighs the exit amount,
Leads to, sooner than later, a surplus account...
To get something for free, someone else always pays,
Universal Laws never cease to amaze...
Regarding her ongoing greed, her delight to connive...
It may not ever happen, but she could realise:
All those things, she does have, and did so crookedly earn,
Karma's decided, This Little Charmer, just did not deserve!
© Pearl, 25th April, 2013.
………………………………………………………………….
Não podendo ser diferente,
estou aqui à frente
de uma tarte de maçã que não há
porque ninguém a fez.
Corto-a devagar com a faca que não tenho
nem preciso
e levo uma fatia de coisa alguma à boca
num prato vazio
que não vi.
Curioso...
cheira e sabe a maçã
a fatia
deste poema
que (não) comi.
Obrigada pelas visitas =)
You will find more than 184 of my poems HERE. fno.org/poetry/index.html
Daring
To be different
To challenge
Question
Wonder
And ask why and how
It could be different
Better
Brighter
Softer
Full of song
And life
Color
And brilliant light
To wander far afield
Dive in
Explore
Roam
Get away from hohumdrum
Routines
The escapes of standing still
Retiring
Avoiding the real escape
Deliverance
Revelation
And invention
The chance to challenge
Shift it all
Rock it
Make music
Write songs
New melodies
Stories of love and longing
Hope rising
Resplendent
© Jamie McKenzie, all rights reserved
You will find more of my poems and songs here
and in The Storm in Its Passing and Flights of Fancy.
My songs are at
ÜBERLIEFERUNG DES TEMPORÄREN | POÈME ELECTRONIQUE | LE CORBUSIER , XENAKIS , VARÈSE in VR | AUTORSCHAFT | SYNTHESE , SYNÄSTHESIE , IMMERSION
Modell Philipps-Pavillon Weltausstellung 1958 Brüssel ... in einer Dachkammer ...
Sympathy Florals
This highway is alive
And empty houses passed
Like tombstones aligned in a cemetery
Their perennials in season, blooming
Memorializing a life
That used to be
Near the gates
.
.
©Christine A. Evans 10.24.17
.
I really appreciate your comments and faves. I'm not a hoarder of contacts, but enjoy real-life, honest people. You are much more likely to get my comments and faves in return if you fit the latter description. Just sayin. :oD
.
If you like b/w photography and/or poetry check out my page at:
expressionsbychristine.blogspot.com/</a
I
'Only in its being gone does it exist',
I whispered in the dark.
Your response was the art of loving
which is a part of what I meant.
And it was a masterpiece you wrote
with your tongue.
But there's no end of loving here
or wherever you are, or even where
nowhere is.
Today I was walking past my pile of old Time magazines...and saw that it was throwing up letters =/
5 minutes later...this is what I saw...a poem.
----
for an awesome friend
the time I spent on this is worth like at least 10..."learn australian slang / melbourne tour" vids.
☾ °☆¸. * ● ¸ .☾ °☆¸. *☾ °☆☾ °☆¸. * ● ¸ .☾ °☆¸*
* _██_*。*. / \ .˛* .˛.*.★Happy New Year 2013★ 。*
˛. (´• ̮•)*˛°* /.♫.\*˛.* ˛_Π_____. * ˛*
.°( . • . ) ˛°. /• '♫ '\.˛*. /______/~＼*. ˛*.。˛* ˛. *。
*(...'•'.. ) *˛╬╬╬╬╬˛°.｜田田 ｜門｜╬╬╬╬ .
.·:*¨¨*:·. .·:*¨¨*:·. .·:*¨¨*:·. .·:*¨¨*:·. .·:*¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*:·.
BONNE ANNEE**
Les voeux sont de rigueur
En cette année qui se meurt
Janvier nouveau sera t'il meilleur?
C'est l'espoir qui brûle les coeurs
Le nouvel an sera t 'il un sauveur ?
Pour ce monde fade et sans saveur
Où la crainte s'abat avec ferveur
Sur les miséreux sans faveur
Aux sans abris donner une demeure
A la solitude offrir la chaleur
Un mot ou un sourire est douceur
Qui apporte toujours le bonheur
Entamer ce nouveau cycle en vainqueur
Colorons nos jours de bonne humeur
N'oublions pas, pour encore quelques heures
De souhaiter 'bonne année' en offrant des fleurs
POESIE DE MARIE**
POEMA NO TREM DA MEIA-NOITE
1. é pouco ou quase nada o que fazemos
com a caneta, com o lápis, com as teclas.
o tufão não nos escuta, o ladrão
não nos leva a sério.
2. quem vai matar, tempo não tem
para o que vai em laudas, cadernos,
arquivos, blocos, fichários.
quem vai matar tem urgência, tanta
que até mata antes de haver matado.
3. a letra atrás de outra letra que plantamos
na lavoura, papel-lavoura, nada
demove em quem terá gatilho, em quem
possui a chave do cemitério. a letra
atrás de outra letra que plantamos
na lavoura, papel-lavoura, é cisco
que se varre para o limbo.
4. desde homero, ou antes dele, somos
essa espécie de gente feita de letras,
temos a caneta, o lápis, as teclas, só
não temos o jeito de parar o tanque,
a forca, o ácido que consome o estômago
de um menino só ossos em lugares ermos
da somália.
5. do começo ao final dos tempos, aqui estamos,
aqui estaremos, porém. mas sabemos
(ou não sabemos)
que também na tinta que da caneta
brota, feito flor, que escorre,
feito mel, vai para o papel o traço
de um sangüinolento embaraço,
de uma sangüínea vergonha,
de um sangüíneo rubor.
* * *
Paulinho Assunção
Editora 2 Luas
Belo Horizonte