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.
Hello everyone,
Thank you so much for your visit and support ..
All Right Reserved. Pictures can not be used without explicit permission by the creator .
Fabrizio Massetti.
Poem by Kathleen Ossip
www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/58458/old-s...
A story is only good if it’s made up
but convinces you it’s true.
Even better if one of the characters
is someone who could be you.
How else do you know who you are?
Photo taken in SL @ Naturally Naughty Studio
The other plants you passed up because
they were too prickly or
too ugly...
they were the safe ones.
Me, I am intoxicating
my beauty is transfixing.
You cannot resist admiring
or leaning in.
But, the joke is on you, fool.
Because I am going to eat you alive
Devour you like the carnivore I am
and eat your heart out first.
The other plants will watch in terror
In a way, they are weak of heart and spirit
They spend all their energy
trying to get you to trust them.
Yet, you fall prey to me!
Devoured like a sworn enemy
and yet, I have nothing against you
except maybe you should have heeded the words...
Don’t ever trust in the unkindness of beautiful strangers.
**All photos and poems are copyrighted. Please no graphics**
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
" I was born on the holy ground,
Running wild and free,
Across wide meadows by the stream,
Between the mountains and the sea,
I grew up there in boyhood days,
Filled with sights and sounds,
My roots run deep here in the clay,
Upon this hallowed ground,
Our children came in the early years,
They ran wild but not so free,
For the meadows gone and the stream lies still,
Between the mountains and the sea,
Now I am old and not so wise.
As I am supposed to be,
And the nights draw in and the wind blows cold,
Between the mountains and the sea,
I was born on this holy ground.
And once ran wild and free,
Across wild meadows by the stream,
Between the mountains and the sea "
© Pat Hogan
My Photos on FLICKRIVER;
flickriver.com/photos/137473925@N08/
Keep well and positive everbody!!!
Best of everything!
Pat
In the minds of mad men
Echoes the darkness of wars,
And in that dark grows the
Media images of death and destruction.
And from the shade of our limitations,
we will scream into the void, peace and freedom, then close our eyes and pray, his,
is not the hand that stops the ticking clock.
When the bidding is done, the madness will stop, but only for a while, and we will try and release this Dove with a broken wing, and call it peace.
Words by, Broken Beacon.
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
------------------------------------------------------
© 2011 Anuj Nair. All rights reserved.
-------------------------------------------------------
________________________________________________
© 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.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Runa Photography, Daniel © 2022
© Some rights reserved, don't use this image without my permission
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tu color es el color del agua,
oh cuerpo del lenguaje
allí donde el agua es
levadura, rayo o fuego.
El agua se enciende y se convierte en rayo, se convierte
en levadura y en fuego,
en nenúfar
que pide mi almohada
para dormir...
Oh río del lenguaje,
viaja conmigo dos días, dos semanas por la levadura de los secretos,
recogeremos mares, descubriremos madreperlas,
lloveremos rubíes y ébano,
aprenderemos que la magia
es un hada negra
que no se enamora más que de el mar.
Viaja conmigo, aparece aquí... desaparece allí...
y pregunta conmigo, oh río del lenguaje,
por la concha que muere para convertirse
en nube roja
de lluvia,
en isla
que camina o vuela,
pregunta conmigo, oh río del lenguaje,
por una estrella cautiva
en las redes del agua
que lleva entre sus pechos
mis últimos días.
Pregunta conmigo, oh río del lenguaje,
por una piedra de la que brota el agua,
por una ola de la que nace la roca,
por el animal del almizcle, por una paloma de luz.
Desciende conmigo por el tragaluz de las tinieblas
al lugar
donde habita el tiempo roto
para que el lenguaje sea
un poema que se viste con el rostro del mar.
ADONIS (ALI AHMAD SAID)
Mute Swan and 2 Cygnets, Lake Morton, Lakeland, Florida. Title adapted from the poem "Down the stream the swans all glide" by Spike Mulligan.
Shannon O'Shea Wildlife Photography
explore #437 on 11/08/08
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
This week I am going to post the same chrysanthemums in different poses to the accompaniment of Wordsworth's Ode on
INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD (1803-6)
A most beautiful poem full of quotes we all know. Somehow have heard. Have crept into common useage. I hope you like the series.
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.
Autumn Poems - Nikki Giovanni
the heat
you left with me
last night
still smolders
the wind catches
your scent
and refreshes
my senses
i am a leaf
falling from your tree
upon which I
was impaled
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!
THE SEEKER
I am in a house, I know it well, but I have never been there before. There is no light, just me. The halls are empty, it is without life, without the things to bring it to life, no pictures, no tables, no chairs. It is a bleak house, dark, shadows, and even the light that seeps through the cracks, is dark. In the middle of the room there is foreboding, it is under the floor. I feel my hair stand on end.
I look to the door, the door, into which one must never go.
I stand and know that I can't run, I can't hide, because the dark of the house, is outside too. And I know it's time to leave, but I find myself walking, walking toward the door, the door that I must never open, as it leads to the room, the room into which one must never go.
I am sweating, I want to call out, I am trying to scream, it's primal, but there is no sound, there is no voice. I am unable to call for help. I try to move my arms, but they are frozen.
I am though the door, the room that vibrates with fear, darkness - something is moving in the secret passage, the secret passage that lies beyond the room. It is a narrow corridor, and I am bending to walk into the passage, and it leads to a room above the house, in the attic, I feel the cold, it is icy, and I fear for my very soul - I feel the negative energy that seeping into my skin. I am trying to shout, trying to leave, trying to turn away, wanting to run. A shape emerges out of the wall, it comes to me, draining all the goodness from me, and I feel terrible fear and dread, I want to fight it, but I am helpless, I am powerless, I can't move, but I know now, I must face it, I must fight for my life, and every fibre in me is screaming - and I remember .
I have been here before, and it is always the same, when the presence comes I wake up screaming and sweating, my pulse is racing. I have been through this many times before, and I am shaking and quaking, but I realize - despite these confrontations - I do not wake up dead, just terrified, and I begin to feel that perhaps, perhaps, these is no danger here. I have spent nights telling myself before I fall asleep that if this dream comes to me again, meet fear with love.
Now I know I was dreaming. I am out of the icy house. I am awake, lying in my bed. I am calmer now, I try to move, but nothing happens. I can't move anything, but I can see my room, and I feel a rising panic, and I feel the icy cold. There is someone standing at the end of my bed, staring at me. I am trying to scream and move my arms, to wake up, nothing happens. I see him standing clearly in my room, he has followed me here .
Now I will need to fight, but I can’t move, and he can, what are the rules in this situation, I am powerless. It is terrifying. Move !, Move !, Run ! Nothing. Then I remember “Do not get angry, that gives it power”. I stop struggling, start to calm down. He isn’t moving or doing anything, he never has, he just stands there.
"Hi", I think to myself.
"Can you hear me" it says in a sweet peaceful voice.
Oh that's great, he isn't even hostile, he’s doing his best not to terrify me and here I am like a wild animal, scared of the unknown, that's just great. He has been coming to talk to me, to give me wisdom -but his presence has seemed so terrifying , that he can’t even talk to me. I guess he has been coming and waiting patiently for me to meet him with love, not anger and fear. Well this is embarrassing.
I didn't expect a dialog, and I am now wanting to wake up. It's not fear this time, this guy had a very calm and gentle voice, but James Bond just climbed through my window and I sensed things were only going to go downhill from here.
Note to self, you got to do something about the quality of your dreams - oh, and thanks for the lesson in love and fear.
PS - The next day, many, many years ago - we went swimming with friends in mountain pools. The river water in Africa is dark and you can’t even see your feet in the water. We swam across a large, deep pool. I jumped into a big pothole at the end of the pool. There was a waterfall crashing into one side of it and the sandy bottom felt soothing on my feet. No one else wanted to jump in, and I realized, I had forgotten to be scared. The dream sequence has never returned.
PPS – Lucid dreaming is common, and trying to wake up during a nightmare is too – the immobility comes from your body preventing you from sleepwalking in response to dream situations – so it can feel disturbing while dreaming, but it is a good self preservation mechanism that is there to protect you from real harm. So the fear is gone and I am happy to dream on. And I work with dreams and treat them as an active state. If something is bugging you, think about it before you sleep, it can help resolve while you are off to never, never land
© G P F for All images and text, please do not use without my express permission. From THE Book That Dreams.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=CD-E-LDc384
Your Best Shot 2017 - Light - www.flickr.com/photos/flickr/galleries/72157689104576172/...
In darkness let me dwell; the ground shall sorrow be,
The roof despair, to bar all cheerful light from me;
The walls of marble black, that moist'ned still shall weep;
My music, hellish jarring sounds, to banish friendly sleep.
Thus, wedded to my woes, and bedded in my tomb,
O let me living die, till death doth come, till death doth come.
My dainties grief shall be, and tears my poisoned wine,
My sighs the air through which my panting heart shall pine,
My robes my mind shall suit exceeding blackest night,
My study shall be tragic thoughts sad fancy to delight,
Pale ghosts and frightful shades shall my acquaintance be:
O thus, my hapless joy, I haste to thee.
"Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds -
and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of -
wheeled and soared and swung high in the sunlit silence.
Hovering there I've chased the shouting wind along
and flung my eager craft through footless halls of air.
"Up, up the long delirious burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace,
where never lark, or even eagle, flew;
and, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
the high untrespassed sanctity of space,
put out my hand and touched the face of God."
John Gillespie Magee Jr.
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
“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
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
Ocean Of Light — David Wahler
youtu.be/LtlQJWJbREw?si=ku_kuHO63_P2bJ2c
“Doing as others told me, I was Blind.
Coming when others called me, I was Lost.
Then I left everyone, myself as well.
Then I found Everyone, Myself as well.”
— Rumi
Here I am with you dear, no yesterday nor tomorrow
Hold on to my hand, close your eyes, see the glow
No stranger am I, or you, to this land
Got this birth, deputed, not for own lots to mend
See the green boughs stirred, by the gentle wind
Free the flowers dance, merrily they unwind
From interlocking leaves, by themselves, their own will
Never solitary you are here, why fear this lovely place
What is part of you, is part of everything around
See that part of whole, and the whole this Existence
The fire is always same, whatever makes it burn
Never does the light perish, nowhere does it go
- Anuj Nair
www.flickr.com/photos/anujnair/4836720405/in/photostream/
------------------------------------------------------
© 2010 Anuj Nair. All rights reserved.
-------------------------------------------------------
________________________________________________
© 2010 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-Disg 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.
Poems Of The Atoms — Armand Amar
youtu.be/si6rLeYU5BQ?si=o3z_wtnXWcnESZeV
O day, arise! The atoms are dancing.
The souls are dancing, overcome with ecstasy.
I'll whisper in your ear where their dance is taking them.
All the atoms in the air and in the desert know well, they seem insane.
Every single atom, happy or miserable,
Becomes enamoured of the sun, of which nothing can be said.
She often forgot that her body (like all of ours) was a house of sand.
That it had been and was crumbling.
That it slipped tirelessly through her fingers.
By Han Kang, Nobel Prize in Literature 2024.
(White ,2016)
Ella se olvidaba con frecuencia de que su cuerpo (como el de todos nosotros) era una casa de arena. De que había estado y estaba desmoronándose. De que se escurría incansable entre los dedos(Blanco, 2016)
By Carmen Yáñez.
The tongues of water
spill over the valley beds.
The wounded earth
is relieved of its mourning.
Dawn breaks.
There are seeds, love,
even
beneath the secret of the dead hours.
Las lenguas del agua
se derraman sobre los lechos
del valle.
La tierra herida
se alivia de luto.
Amanece.
Hay semillas, amor,
aún
bajo el secreto de las horas muertas.