For my look after - poetry
I cannot bear to think of when you will be gone.
I do not understand how I will get along.
Your love has been my resting place, the place that I would go, no be relevant what, no be of importance where your love would continually flow.
A down-to-earth call a quick hello, Where have you been?
What do you know?
Just to touch base and share a laugh a smile or two, a joke or gaffe.
What will I do when you are gone?
Who will I call?
There is no other quite like you no other love that's half as true.
no one could do the equipment you've done, no other one could be my sun, shining brightly as I get your call, "I'm home now dear, what's going on?"
Copyright Imposing 2003 Fran Watson
For more poetry and stories you can go to Fran's webpage http://www. franwatson. ca
Anne Bradstreet, To My Dear and Loving Husband, A Discussion
"To My Dear and Loving Husband" was on paper by America's first female poet, the Puritan, Anne Bradstreet. In fact, Anne Bradstreet is one of only a handful of female American poets at some stage in the first 200 years of America's history.
Two Poems, with Emblematic Language
Says Mr. Dennis Siluk, when asked to appraisal his poetry somewhat, for he hesitates all the time when I ask him to so; I can tell you.
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 Wrap 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 cloak to pull The boiling blond fruit Through the Andes to Lima, Peru!?Henceforward, he was swindled By a jeweler of dire repute. Thus, his life misused (as so often they do); And now he lives with: Thirty-five dogs, on San Cosme Hill.
Its What She Didnt Say
When I hear your voice confidential my head it makes me think of you every distinct day as I fight back tears of despondency and admiration if you're okayMy life is empty exclusive of you I wish time would take away the pain but the ache in my heart persists and my down-to-earth hopes seem in vainI accomplish how much I hurt you and now I know it's too late to tell you how sorry I am and anticipate you not to hateI don't deserve a back up attempt to show you how much I care when you desired me the most I know I futile to be thereNow your trust in me is gone evermore and I will never have the attempt to say I especially hope your dreams come true and happiness finds you every dayI would give more or less something in life if I could go back to that day and erase the whole lot I said and did to make your distress go awayWhat hurts the most is this is what you didn't say and the dearth of these words haunt me each and every day..
Three Poems: Apparition of the Rocks; Lady from Lima & Bell Ringer of de Copan
Phantom of the Rocks[Huancayo, Peru]Night falls deepUpon the traveler!Low, over the AndesBy Huancayo-;They know a legend,Not of this earth,Where evil lurks(Over Palla-Huarcuan!..
The Game of Life
When your life becomes unbearable And the light of assurance ceases to glow, When all your dreams and aspirations Lie hidden on ambition's death row.When you feel that all is hopeless, Life troubles just seem to abound.
Ode to: The Ice Maiden of Ampatos Acme [now in: English and Spanish]
Dedícate to Antonio Castillo. L.
A Dose of Laughter
I'm not well. Can't you tell? Kinda low, so, give me a dose of laughter.
The Gaul of La Laguna de Paca
Part OneI tell you a legend of long ago Of the buried city of La Laguna de Paca, (Where I had met a enduring ghost) Within this area of Huancayo--Peru; Truth lies, but only the soul knows.Part TwoSo the legend goes, of long ago: During the rising of the full moon The Mermaid of La Laguna de Paca, appears And to the close towns folks, she echoes.
Three Poems [Lima; Judges and Evils Creation]
1.Evil's CreationThou knowith evil clings To tender peace-; Nor does it heed one's drowsy Un-enthralled grief?But delicately it darkens Twilight's dunes-; With shake shadows Straight from the moon.
Spell of the Andes: (in English and Spanish)
Note: on paper 4-15-05, while energetic by means of the Andes of Peru, from Huancayo to Lima. I sensed I was but an ant, among the mass of stone, earth and shrubbery of this enchanting, and long-term landscape.
Writing Innovative Poetry
Writing innovative poetry, the kind of poetry that dependable literary journals publish, entails calculating just what each word of a poem does to the reader. A good poem ought to be evocative, skillful, and cohesive, but beforehand attempting to hone these attributes, a aptitude poet must be conversant of the a choice of forms and attributes of contemporary poetry.
Sleep, Dreams, and a Poem
The Incubus' Flash-lightHe looked classified my head And found a dreamHe didn't like-;As I looked back at him, I found an incubus Shinning a light(and stole this poem from him-last night).Thoughts: Dreams and Poetry: in dreams we let go of our inhibitions; in poetry we write them back out.
You Lost Your Last Bet and Me
I will never think twice nor will I roll the dice When it comes to my life I will take my Grannio's adviceYou play the hand you're dealt when it comes to who will be your Dad - But if you bluff about a card's face value for too many years you disregard you had - No Aces or King of Hearts in your fundamental deck - But instead a worthless Joker-So Wild and Mad..
Shadows of the Andes; Ollantayambo; and Cesar Vallejo [Poems in English and Spanish]
1) Dimness of the Andes [or: Song to the Andes]I shall blend-in, into theMountains- Into the faintest thinShadowsof the mountains! Like the moss on moistenedStoneLike a leaf blown far fromHome?(freshly fallen)!I shall blend-in, clingingTo the mountains- Into its faintest thinShadowsNote: when I here back home from Peru, my 7th trip in five years [April, 2005], I had spend about 30-days this time on the trip. I visited the Mantaro Valley, Huancayo, and drove by means of the Andes.
Why I enjoy Writing?
During interviews and broad conversations with the public,one of the most challenging questions for me to answer(timely and thoroughly) is,"Why do you enjoy writing"?So due to the challenge manifested in such a question,I pondered on creating an answer. Many reasons came to mind,but after digesting much"time for thought",I managed to condense my reaction to three items.
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 sought after to fight him too.
Five Mixed Poems, with Notes [now is Spanish and English]
1.Night in Jamaica [Peruvianism: 1810]It was a rainy night they say When don Simon Bolivar Slept in the arms of beautiful -Luisa Crober (of Jamaica); thus an Assassin missed his mark When he stabbed Major Amestoy Sleeping in the dark In Bolivar's hammock!.
Infected Ideologies [a Poetic Portrait]
the disease of extremism is infectious-; whoever cannot think of their child growing up exclusive of it is part of the phenomenon! (the alternative of the day). fanaticism,-- with a authoritative ideology are seeds for suicide! murder: giving reasons to rage!.
In The Midst Of All
In the midst of darkness, there is light. In the midst of evil, there is virtue.
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