A dose of laughter - poetry
I'm not well.
Can't you tell?
Mirth will heal my every ill
Glee can revive, keep me alive
I'd crawl a mile for a smile;
Isn't it plain that I'm in pain?
Laughter is pure and can certainly cure.
I can't be bright for very long.
I don't need a pill for my ill.
I must hang on to what still remain;
Though insecure, I want to endure.
Even though, I don't know
It works somehow, so come on now;
If you wait about I'll clearly be found
Rev. Saundra L. Washington, is an intended clergywoman, communal worker, and Break down of AMEN Ministries, http://www. clergyservices4u. org. She is also the biographer of two auburn table books: Room Beneath the Snow, Poems that Preach and Negative Disturbances, Homilies that Teach.
Beautiful Dreamer, Stephen Foster, Americas First Folk Song Writer
"Beautiful Dreamer" was on paper by Stephen Care for just already his death in 1864 at age 37. The song became one of his most celebrated and most popular.
Africa - Wheres The Profit?
A poetic commentary that just welled up contained by my head - why cant we just do a bit - beforehand many more are dead?How pious those politicians are, When up there on T.V.
Exalted Poetry; Two poem [and commentary]
Bells for Belphegor!..
Azra, Azra, Wake up Azra. Wake up Azra, It is time to go.
Find the Magic
FIND the MAGICFind the Magic As you circulate old repression Come out of hiding And see the starsFind the Magic As you expose the pain Let the tears flow And find beauty in your bodyFind the Magic As you scream from the beating Run from the threats And feel the conviviality of a hugFind the Magic As the a small amount girl is silenced Told she is too smart for her own good And she finds her place of honor as she speaks her mindFind the Magic As the ghosts creep into dream Haunt your daily life And you meet them at the crossroads and move onFind the Magic As you drift out of your body, avoiding the anger Observe the separation And you join the body temple once again to be glad in this exclusive wonderFind the Magic As you listen in to the conflicts and Watch in horror And emerge from the water whole and delightful in a rainbow of colorsFind the Magic, For you are whole once again© 2004 Susan BaconSusan Bacon is an researcher, coach and author. Call her because of her web site http://www.
Lima, City with the Stretched out Wings [In English and Spanish]
Lima, City with the Stretched out WingsIt's an ink-black night: no stars: a moon in sightJust dots of: red, green and white-white lightsAs the plane descends, descends, slides down On the long-drawn-out-spun-out lasting city of illumination Uneven as a crumbled cake, lit up like a Christmas tree-The wakeful city, with its stretched out wingsStretching from the mountains to the sea- Winding because of the valley's, forests, and streams Stretches, stretches its naked wings-endlesslyAs,I'm descending, down, over and about the city (descending, descending, and sliding to the ground)The city with stretched out wings-and endless lights Down, behind, around, the ground, it's immune to me I'm just part of its evening, a induction in its inky seaInvisible people: cats, dogs, birds, and rats-infiniteUncountable: dots; streams of lit dots, dot-lights; People: walking, talking, sleeping, consumption by the dots People: waiting, killing, robbing, praying, by the dotsFor tomorrow, tomorrow and a different tomorrowThey say-:you are ruthless, and I know this to be trueAnd they tell me you have thieves and murders-And this, I dare say-but shall-is also true, very true But show me a city to the defiant of eight-million-? I shake my fist and say: '?show me! But no one does'So alive, so brave, with bright and hungry hearts;I say, show me one that sings in poverty and smiles Prove me one that celebrates year-round of its heroes Show me painters that are as good-that sell on streets-As good as: Picasso, Dali, Rembrandt, and Yang YangAnd that welcomes the world with stretched out arms-Show me all this, or some of this, and I will say no moreWith this,I descend to its streets, its crowed winding streetsAs well as, to its neighborhoods with dust and mucky air, And hear the laughs of the children; the dogs on roofs Sights of the shoe-shiners: men and boys, in the parksAnd the frequent food carts; -- musicians, paper sellersAnd with its naked featherless wings, cover all-My Lima, Peru with its distinguished Cathedral:Golden blond with high crowns, andWithin its plaza-square, a water fountain-celebrated.Under its sins, with its furrowed aged men, lovely women,They all stand tall and bow to its Inca history, its glory- Its world that once ruled all, like the Roman Empire,Like the American Dream, they were the noble, the kingsAnd now, from chore and toil, sweat and strive, all, all Grinding, grinding away, each and everyday, lover of the, King of Kings: Jesus Christ-this is the Lima I know today; a mighty ship that has by now sailed the seven seas, now resting!?Spanish VersionLima, La ciudad con las alas extendidas Translated by Rosa PeñalozaEsta es una noche oscura: no estrellas, ni luna a la vistaSolo puntos: rojo, verde y blanco-luces blancasMientras que el avión desciende, desciende, bajando A la larga-extendida-plana persistente ciudad de luces Plana como un panqueque, encendida como un árbol de navidad-La despierta ciudad, con sus alas extendidasExtendidas desde las montañas hacia el océano Zigzagueante a través de los valles, bosques y riachuelos Estirando, estirando sus alas desnudas-interminablesMientras,Voy descendiendo, abajo, por encima y alrededor de la ciudad (Descendiendo, descendiendo, y deslizándose a la tierra)La ciudad con las alas extendidas-y luces interminables Abajo, Abajo, detrás, alrededor, la tierra, es inmune a mí Sólo soy parte de esta noche, un bautizado en su oscuro océanoInvisible: gente, gatos, perros, pájaros, y ratas, infinidadIncontables: puntos, riachuelos de luz, puntos de luz; Gente: caminando, conversando, durmiendo, comiendo bajo los puntos de luz Gente: esperando, matando, robando, rezando bajo los puntos de luzPor mañana, mañana y otro mañanaEllos dicen--:Tu eres implacable, y yo se que esto es verdadY ellos me dicen tú tienes ladrones, y muertes-Y esto, me atrevo a decir, que esto también es cierto, muy ciertoPero muéstrame una ciudad de ocho millones contraria --? Sacudo mis puños y digo: "?muéstrame," pero nadie lo haceTan viva, tan valerosa, con corazones fuertes y hambrientos:Digo, muéstrame una que canta en pobreza, y sonríe Pruébame una como esa, que celebra alrededor del año a sus héroes Muéstrame pintores tan buenos-que venden en las calles-Tan buenos como: Picasso, Dali, Rembrant y Yang YangY que recibe al mundo con extendidos brazosMuéstrame todo esto, o algo de esto, y no diré masCon esto,Desciendo a sus calles, atiborrada, zigzagueantes callesAsí como su raro vecindario con polvo en el aire Y oigo la risa de los niños, los perros en los techos Vista de los lustrabotas, hombres y muchachos, en los parquesY los numerosos carros de comida, músicos y vendedores de periódicosY con su desnuda y desplumadas alas, cubriendo todo-Mi Lima, Perú, con su renombrada catedral:Amarilla dorada con su coronadas torres, yDentro de su plaza cuadrada, una celebrada piletaBajo su piel, con sus arrugados ancianos, tiernas mujeres,Todos ellos parados altos, y reverenciando a su historia inca, sugloria- Su mundo que una vez gobernó todo, como el Imperio RomanoComo el sueño de América, ellos fueron los nobles, los reyesY ahora de pesadez, y esfuerzo, sudor, lucha, todos, todos extenuados, fatigados, este y cada día, amantes del Rey de los Reyes: Jesucristo-esta es la Lima que conozco, hoy; un poderoso barco que ya navegó los siete mares, ahora descansando?Author/Poet Dennis Siluk, web site: http://dennissiluk.
The Business of Copan [In English and Spanish]
English VersionThe Business of Copan [480 AD]Advance: The ballgame at the Honduras quad in Copan, the year was 480 AD, Copan's 3rd ruler, Mat Head, whom succeeded Quetzal Macaw, whom was the break down of the city is now the new ruler. Mat Head, was a female, the other half of Quetzal Macaw, and here is where the story begins.
Mother, I Dont Mind The Pain
I am among those who know that one never recovers from the loss of one acutely loved. We come to acknowledge the death and alter our lives - instead begrudingly, but we do not recover, we survive.
Satirical Poetry About Tony Blair
All Hail.Is your rest home full of aliens, even though new cleaning firms, Antenna waving buggies, And frightening crawly germs, Then dont waste a new second, now were into ballot vote spin, Just complain, over and again, and up pops smiley smiley grin.
The Last King of Mars [A Poetic Mytho]
[As Told by the Last] King: it was in the year 23,700 BC that one of the two moons of earth was hit by a meteor that of which, a great part of the moon broke off and hit earth's ascend with a devastating impact. Thus the solar approach absorbed a deluge in indescribable proportions, from Jupiter to Mars; knocking Earth out of its 100,000-year Ice Age.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning: A Argument of How Do I Love Thee?
"How Do I Love Thee?" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning was on paper in 1845 while she was being courted by the English poet, Robert Browning. The poem is also patrician Epic XLIII from Sonnets From the Portuguese.
Two Poems: Black Poncho, and Spirits of de Copan [in English and Spanish]
English Version12) Black Poncho(of Saint Cosme Hill, by Lima, Peru)Lost in the grottos of Peru- By the hills of Huancayo Black Cape was given A treasure of gold?; By none other than, Demonic goblins!?in the form of blistering fruit; Hence, Black Cloak fooled The goblins of oldBy using his wrap to pull The blistering fair-haired fruit Through the Andes to Lima, Peru!?Henceforward, he was swindled By a jeweler of dire repute. Thus, his life altered (as so often they do); And now he lives with: Thirty-five dogs, on San Cosme Hill.
A World That Doesnt Care
War bombs may explode demolishing man and land. Hurricanes may devastate and leave us fully bare.
The Man Who Could Not Say Sorry For His Sins
Sorry would be a start.Though you cant take back your mistakes, and you cant come undone time, you'd think there would be remorse, for such a self plateful crime, to send others out to die, to pay the blood price you have decreed, when its decently bravado and posing, all about conceit and greed, to assure a perceived niche in history, glowing down the years, is the boundary of your ambition, is the puny limit of your fears, when those you have sent to die, believing implicitly in you, leave relatives after who see, that naught you said was true, there is no belief now for those, whose amount you dont count, they are yesterdays forgotten, though daily they still mount, no belief of resignation, no act of contrition to those left behind, just on with the ego, fast advance from those times, as if nonentity ever happened, as if your lies are quite ok, as if now is what to focus on, and then was a further day, lost back in the mists of time, obscured by clouds half seen, not an injury to the living, not impeachable and obscene, you may want to move on now, and disregard your past infamy, but you must be tried for treason, and caged for blasphemy.
The Ballad of: Brawling Mad-dog Sergeant Rook [Now in: SPANISH and English]
English VersionA bunch of us guys in the hutIn ?Nam Were in concert cards, singing songs; In a solo-room, back of the hut Lay mad-dog, Sergeant Rook;And inspection from a distance Was his sidekick, Bodily Cook.When out of the night, he wantedTo fight This bully of six-foot-two Dog-drunk, smelling like a skunkI hunted to fight him too.
The Art of Being paid Poetic Critique
You can show your poem to your mom, your spouse, your co-workers, or your friends, but you might not get the responses that you can suck up into your hardly characters fingers to use in an crack to refine your craft. What does it especially mean when a celebrity who cares about you, but not for poetry says, "Wow, this is great.
Lamenting Poetic Moods [six Poems]
Advance: in Mr. Siluk's poetry one finds symbolist values, affective impressions; verbal magic and even childish jingles; at times the common 8-syllable verse (ballad metre).
Hindu Poet - Kamalakanta
Kamalakanta was born in Burdwan India in the late 18th Century. From an early age he articulated an activity in holiness and later in life Kamalakanta established commencement into Tantric Yoga from a Tantric yogi named Kenaram Bhattacharya.
"I heard what you said, Red. Yet, I have to disagree.
Daybreak at Pikes Creek [a Poem]
Daybreak at Pikes Creek [Summer of 2005]Daybreak by Lake Superior Rising out of the woods like: A swamp mist I'm ahead of you for breakfast(at the B&B) I pace the grounds The scent of green shrubbery: Trees, flora, flowers-rain Intoxicates me- Branches like big brown arms Descend? The embankment, to the right Blue eyed, like mine-reflect From the creek beneath me (my wife says 'be careful' she went to get the camera) The greens and blues touch My face and blue jeans- Reflections mirrored like Musical notes of a symphony (I'll see them later in pictures) For now, it's daybreak In Minnesota.#813 8/26/2005Note: the author, Dennis Siluk, took his wife Rosa [me: on my birthday] to Lake Superior, this summer, and I established the main lake in the world.
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