Poems, Poems, Poems
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Mesmerized
I'm looking in the Mirror of my soul
And Seeing the most enticing you
In your Eyes i see mine
Twinkling with that same Desire
Glowing with the strength of our Love so true
In your Smile i find mine
Playing with Thoughts untold
Holding a Promise to come through
In your Kiss i feel mine
A moment of the Essence
Beholding our future we View
(Poem from Bram Jarom)
*we build the poses together and all details of this work... was soooo great!!
Somehow I inherited old books from my family of origin. Such as this one, printed in 1900, entitled "The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas More; Collected by Himself with Explanatory Notes". The thin piece of tissue or vellum protects an old photo or lithograph of the man himself.
Do you remember when vintage or antique books were assembled with such care?
Less than 3 inches/ 7.6 cm across.
Once upon a time, the pine tree, that spring is already approaching.
The mole croaked grimly: - He will surely come by car.
The hedgehog turned stern: - Rather on a scooter.
The snake hissed: - I don't believe it, he'll come on a bicycle.
The blackbird whistled: - I know something about it, he will come by plane.
- From where again," said the magpie, "I do not take my eyes off her
and last year in May I saw her on the streetcar.
- Not true spring usually arrives by motorcycle!
- And I will prove to you here that it is by car.
- Not true, because in a carriage!
- In a carriage? - What are you saying?
I can briefly declare that he goes by his own boat!
And spring has come on foot.
Already the flowers are enjoying her , already the grasses are growing before her
And they are humming - welcome spring!
my unprofessional translation of a poem for children - ,,Spring is coming'' author Jan Brzechwa
The 8mile long freshwater Loch Katrine is a Jewel in the heart of Loch Lomond & The Trossachs National Park. It was made famous by the poet and writer “Sir Walter Scott” in his poem “The Lady of the Lake" published in 1810. Scott’s inspiration for this poem came from visiting the loch in 1809, and the loch is still enjoyed today by thousands of visitor’s as it was on Scott’s first encounter.
The things that make us different
Are things that make us the same
We don’t share a first
Or even a last name
You don’t dress the way that I do
And my music hurts your ears
But as the earth is spinning
We share all seasons and years
Listen to my story
I want to hear all yours too
Then maybe at the end you’ll see
I’m just the same as you. . .
" 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
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
April is National Poetry Month, a celebration of poets and poetry that's been in place for 25 years.
Last month, as the U.S. grieved over attacks against Asian Americans, NPR's Morning Edition collected poems on how people grapple with the increased violence and discrimination.
Over 500 listeners shared powerful, poignant poems — in the form of a list beginning with the word "today." They showcased fear, anger, empathy and motivation to make the world a better place.
NPR's resident poet Kwame Alexander took lines from the submissions to create a community poem, "Today, I Am A Witness To Change."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To quote just a few:
Today I hesitate
for the first time, I wonder if I should stay home and not walk the neighborhood.
it's not the weather or the virus — the day is beautiful
Today
I'm frozen
Terrified.
I cannot hide
This skin
This hair
These eyes.
I see the punch, punch, punch of a community at war.
Today I am a witness.
I rush past the jeering white boys that say I brought corona to America.
My soul is wary.
Today, a video call full of empty boxes
Stares at me, apprehensively.
Students locked behind a screen
Their hearts and minds
Severed
From one another.
Today, the headlines say March Madness
Today, I don't watch basketball.
The madness is in the streets.
In broad daylight.
On the concrete sidewalks of New York.
In the silence of bystanders.
It's in the textbooks. The classrooms. The family dinners. The lies we tell.
Today the rain falls
and falls
and falls
and falls.
a silent tear from a weeping woman.
Today, I will say their names
I will cancel class and try again tomorrow.
That's a scary thought to commute to NYC nowadays for me, even I'm FULLY inoculated. :-(((
~ Home Sickness ~ Poem by me ~ 03.27.2015 - 06.04.2015
I don't understand cold souls and their relentless need,
The ever-empty longing they fill with vampire greed;
The wasted energy to feed a black hole,
In an elusive quest to find a complete whole.
In their endless hunts to sully new prey,
To suck warm life (fresh blood every day);
They crave a warm passion they silently yearn for,
Yet trade it for cold heat they're willing to burn for.
... Still...
In their callous naïve arrogance they miss an obvious irony,
Home lives in your own core, the hearth inside you and me.
+++++++++++++++++
Snapshot_202_205_215_220 HermitsTrailMerge7
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
UN DÍA...
Un día y otro día...
así voy tejiendo mi vida,
con la trama de alegrías
y la urdimbre de tristezas.
IFIGENIA EN ÁULIDE
Mediterráneo - Poemas de la Vida y del MAR
When someone is inspired to create a Poem, he/she is uplifted!!
When someone is uplifted, he/she is temporarily found in a very original, private, personal world of Beauty (or not…), inspiration, and refinement, extreme pleasure (or not…). He/she feels strong emotions and sensations, while creating his/her poem; a huge creativity!!
Poetry in Nature is the creation of Mother Nature’s upliftment!! Which creates enchantment, creativity and inspiration in certain humans..
Lake Genval in Autumn is a Pure Poetry!
Il pleut de la brume. Elle déborde.
comme une vague, une épaisse bouffée.
Dans l'écroulement des lointains
tu croyais pourtant percevoir un soleil. (inspiré d'un poème de L. Rey)
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.
Lies waiting a spark, to invigorate a flame
A spark pervasive, in darkness always
Every atom advancing, perpetual in ethereal waves
Every Sun an atom and every atom a sun
Though candles are different, with same fire they burn
Like atoms of life of vain personalities
Every living being, deriving motivating force
From the living ocean of power, the unlimited source
All bodies are mine, one and same consciousness pervading
'Beyond' is just what the senses can't perceive
- Anuj Nair
------------------------------------------------------
© 2010 Anuj Nair. All rights reserved.
-------------------------------------------------------
Contact : www.anujnair.net
________________________________________________
© 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.
“You were the poem I never knew how to write because no words could describe the wind you cannot see, but feel.”
― Shannon L. Alder
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
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 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!
*
*
* Fantasía de la Alhambra 03. Vista de un capitel sobre una de las columnas que sustentan los baños reales en el Palacio Nazarí de la Alhambra en la ciudad de Granada. Andalucía.
* Estos baños fueron construidos siguiendo el modelo de las termas romanas. Así pues, la Sala de las Camas, primera estancia al entrar en los baños, sería el «apoditerium», que se utilizaba para desvestirse antes de entrar al baño, y posee un espacio cuadrado en el centro, delimitado por columnas, en el que encontramos una fuente y galerías a su alrededor ampliamente decoradas como el capitel de la fotografía.
Dispone la sala de un espacio abierto al piso superior, desde cuya galería el monarca se asomaba para ver a sus mujeres desnudas, y después lanzaba una manzana a aquella que había elegido para pasar la noche.
Ilustrativos son los versos de Ibn al-Jatib (1313-1375) dedicados a esta estancia de Granada
«Esta obra ha venido a engalanar la Alhambra;
es morada para los pacíficos y para los guerreros;
Calahorra que contiene un palacio.
¡Di que es una fortaleza y a la vez una mansión para la alegría!
Es un palacio en el cual el esplendor está repartido
entre su techo, su suelo y sus cuatro paredes;
en el estuco y en los azulejos hay maravillas,
pero las labradas maderas de su techo aún son más extraordinarias;
fueron reunidas y su unión dio lugar a la más perfecta
construcción donde ya había la más elevada mansión;
parecen imágenes poéticas, paranomasias y trasposiciones,
los enramados e incrustaciones.
Aparece ante nosotros el rostro de Yusuf como una señal
en donde se han reunido todas las perfecciones.
Es de la gloriosa tribu de Jazray cuyas obras en pro de la religión
son como las aurora cuya luz aparece en el horizonte.»
(IBN AL-JATIB. i>Poemas a la Alhambra.)
"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
my dreams are filled with
abandoned places and
closed doors
and
realms that can't be explained in the real world.
and often,
I am curled up into a ball while Lewis screams in the background,
and still,
the echo of silence
reverberates off the walls
until I find an open door-
and ignore it.
Enjoy the beauty of the land, let the twilight caress your soul and collect your tears.
These words came into my mind on reflecting on this image of a sunset in Wilmington Churchyard, Sussex, England, on a February afternoon. This is what happens when a poem starts to form in my mind. Perhaps it will end up on my website....
To see more images and read my poetry go to:
Bring light into your shadows.
And except that there will be new shadows followed by the light.
All is a circle.
No end, no beginning.
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Light and shadow mingle with moving water and grasses by the soft, muddy banks.
This is the 3rd of 3 steps of this photo poem.
Thanks for your looks, likes and comments!
WM
Fauré by
Thylacine
Music by French composer Gabriel Fauré (1845-1924).
remixed by Thylacine, French electronic music producer.
m.youtube.com/watch?v=Kuk0Bq2BMkQ&list=RDKuk0Bq2BMkQ&...
* * * * * * * * * * *
The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry's cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.
The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I'll put a trinket on.
By Emily Dickinson, 1862
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.