Biography of charlotte bronte - poetry
Charlotte Bronte (1816 -1855) Writer and Poet.
Charlotte was the daughter of the Rev. Patrick Bronte,with her sisters Emily and Anne, Charlotte was brought up in a small church house in the Yorkshire village of Haworth. At the same time as still in her childhood the Bronte sisters lost their look after and as the eldest Charlotte took up the a role of looking out for her sisters Emily and Anne. Charlotte was described as: "the caring associate and protector of her younger sisters,"
The sisters had an curious upringing in that their house overlooked the village graveyard. To avoid from these surroundings and the loss of their look after they would often spend time creating stories of fantasy lands. These fantasy stories were often based on the soldiers of their strict, devout aunt, Elisabeth Branwell. Later in a poem Charlotte wrote:
"We wove a web in childhood, / A web of sunny air. "
After a range of pains as schoolmistresses and governesses, the sisters took to journalism and in print a capacity of poems under the names of Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell Alas these early publications were a advertisement failure. But this did not deter Charlotte and she continuous with her novels such as "The Professor" and "Jane Eyre". Jane Eyre proved to be tremendously accepted with the broadcast when it appeared in 1854. The novel has gained class as one of the classic's of English journalism for its freshness and concentration of writing.
Charlotte was married to her father's curate, the Rev. A. Nicholls, but after a short despite the fact that happy married life she died in childbirth in 1855.
Quote by Charlotte Bronte
"Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is not religion. To argument the first is not to beat the last. To pluck the mask from the face of the Pharisee is not to lift an sinful hand to the Crown of Thorns. "
Poem by Charlotte Bronte - LIFE
Life, believe, is not a dream So dark as sages say; Oft a barely crack of dawn rain Foretells a amiable day. Sometimes there are clouds of gloom, But these are transient all; If the shower will make the roses bloom, O why cry its fall ?
Rapidly, merrily, Life's sunny hours flit by, Gratefully, cheerily, Enjoy them as they fly !
What although Death at times steps in And calls our Best away ? What even if distress seems to win, O'er hope, a heavy sway ? Yet hope again expandable springs, Unconquered, all the same she fell; Still afloat are her blonde wings, Still bright to bear us well. Manfully, fearlessly, The day of trial bear, For gloriously, victoriously, Can courage quell despair !
Written for http://www. poetseers. org
For More Female Poets http://www. poetseers. org/the_great_poets/female_poets/
Written by Richard Pettinger
http://www. richardpettinger. com/
Growing hurts sometimes; saying goodbye to friends, to effects you've known and done to equipment you required to do. Growing heals sometimes the traumatized dreams and hopes of a life you once knew leading you to a new acquaintance of yourself.
Africa - Wheres The Profit?
A poetic criticism that just welled up classified my head - why cant we just do a little - beforehand many more are dead?How pious those politicians are, When up there on T.V.
Death & the Supernatural: Poetry/Five Poems
Supernatural PoetryHere are five poems,-what I call-death and supernatural poems. I don't know a bit bizarre, a few stanzas may be, but with constant subtlety of course, and a ting of acuteness, but we have to hag on if we want a good ride:1.
Portrait Of The Actor As A Young Dog
Emlyn Williams Theatre, Mold, North Wales: 20th February 2003Clwyd Theatr Cymru commemorated the 50th anniversary of the death of the Welsh poet, Dylan Thomas (1914-1953) with a superb run of performances by a small but accomplished cast of actors.Described in the programme as "A dramatic journey by means of the prose journalism of Dylan Thomas", the creation was bent by Tim Baker, an Assistant of the Royal General Theatre, who won the Manchester Nightfall News Best Visiting Assembly award in 1992 for the abundantly commended To Kill a Mockingbird.
Tsunami -a Poem Devoted To Help Aid and Awareness and Cheer Forthcoming Harmony. Make Peace Not War
Real Power.One Tsunami, and all our armies, Seem belittled by their wars, What Animals fled, and tribesmen read, Finally Arrives with crushing roar, Wholesale slaughter, chastely by water, Makes us seem an irrelevance, Concepts of power, alter by the hour, Faced with original elements.
Review Of Stephen B. Wileys First Book Of Poetry: HERO ISLAND
Poet Stephen B. Wiley's first book of poetry, Hero Island, reflects tender snapshots and reminiscent overviews of a number of stages of his life as a kid effective on a farm in New Jersey, summer vacations spent with his children in Northern Vermont, and his assured stance on life.
Arizona Blue--Gunfighter: The Wolves Nest [Chapter One of Seven: The North]
[Episode Five]Arizona Blue-GunfighterThe Wolves Nest-in the North[Episode Five]Northern Minnesota Area-Winter of 1877Chapter One of Seven: The NorthThe area was known as Pigs Eye [St. Paul, Minnesota]; Northfield was a hardly more notorious since Jessie James robbed the 1st Inhabitant Bank, in September of last year, and more to the West.
Ballade of an Inca King
Ah! Leave the gold, wealth and landSays the Inca King?; In Spain, they leave the busy streets, For sail to Peruvian shores;The mumble of the gold is sweet,It glows and glistens like the sun A mountain of gold, or the grave Awaits the human, Inca-god?!Spaniards sing their songs of victoryWhere breaks the green Peruvian sea; Who now, worships the Inca King (?) Guarded after prisons doors-?They go on about his fair-haired ringsThey watch the winds cross the shores? They count the days that idle by, For gold they worship and will die.Envoy.
Three Poems: Dona Leonors Revenge; The Old Moon; Collective Sides [All in Spanish/all in English]
1) Doña Leonor's Revenge [1627 AD]Rafael Ortiz's fate Was on the plate Of Doña Leonor'sWhen she arrived In Lima, Peru; To taste revengeFor the beheading Of her husband. And so the plot?was now played out (in an alleyway) As she devastated her trout!In SpanishTranslated by Nancy PenalozaLa leyenda de: La venganza de doña Leonor (1627 después de cristo)El destino de Rafael Ortiz Estaba sobre el plato De doña Leonor.
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 disentangle time, you'd think there would be remorse, for such a self portion crime, to send others out to die, to pay the blood price you have decreed, when its completely affectation and posing, all about airs and greed, to confident 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 at the back who see, that nobody you said was true, there is no attention now for those, whose come to you dont count, they are yesterdays forgotten, though daily they still mount, no accepted wisdom of resignation, no assurance to those left behind, just forward 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 new day, lost back in the mists of time, obscured by clouds half seen, not an disrespect to the living, not impeachable and obscene, you may want to move on now, and close the eyes to your past infamy, but you ought to be tried for treason, and captive for blasphemy.
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (a poem in Spanish and English)
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (English version)In what departure art hid?-Where declining mountains groan In shadow and amongThe fast-moving water of the Rio? Is not your name Mantaro Valley?Beyond the footpath of the Andes--?I can hear your voice in echoesI can hear thy voice, beautifully low. I do but know thy by a glanceAs the clouds above me know? .
THe Monster Mash, A Necropolis SMASH (short story I wrote when I was 11)
The Monster Mash The Churchyard SmashHave you heard of the Monster Mash? I assume you know the story of how it came to be, right? Well, I'm here to tell the TRUE story to you.It sarted out late one night, when all monsters where out of human sight.
Mechanical Poetry - Part Three
Have you ever read the lyrics of a Simon and Garfunkle song? Pure poetry. Want to write poems like that? Start repetition them.
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 enduring city of illumination Uneven as a crumbled cake, lit up like a Christmas tree-The disturbed city, with its stretched out wingsStretching from the mountains to the sea- Winding all through 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 debut in its inky seaInvisible people: cats, dogs, birds, and rats-infiniteUncountable: dots; streams of lit dots, dot-lights; People: walking, talking, sleeping, ingestion by the dots People: waiting, killing, robbing, praying, by the dotsFor tomorrow, tomorrow and an added 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 converse of eight-million-? I shake my fist and say: '?show me! But no one does'So alive, so brave, with brawny 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 grubby 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, layer all-My Lima, Peru with its distinguished Cathedral:Golden blond with lofty crowns, andWithin its plaza-square, a water fountain-celebrated.Under its sins, with its crumpled 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 grind 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 previously 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.
Infected Ideologies [a Poetic Portrait]
the disease of extremism is infectious-; whoever cannot think of their child growing up not including it is part of the phenomenon! (the abundance of the day). fanaticism,-- with a able ideology are seeds for suicide! murder: giving reasons to rage!.
Here And There
My eyes opened. I am still alive; Living on world earth.
Key Largo - Frater Albertus
Key Largo:The fans turn slothfully in front of the doorThey open wide performance mangroves galoreAn egret in the everglades stalks its preyHaltingly it walks along its wayOn an added brilliant and sunny dayA woman's floppy hat shades her beauty not so brittleThe silky-smooth scarf that holds the hat flutters just a littleShe pauses in the threshold of the doorSurveying what she's looking forShe is looking above-board at meHer beauty flaunted all to see.'Where are you from?' while noticing I had a frownOn the other couch she in a classy manner sits downIn the small hotel lobby bar'A city north and very far.
Hindu Poet - Kamalakanta
Kamalakanta was born in Burdwan India in the late 18th Century. From an early age he spoken an advantage in mysticism and later in life Kamalakanta customary admittance into Tantric Yoga from a Tantric yogi named Kenaram Bhattacharya.
Two Poems with Triggers [and a commentary]
So Many Einstein'sThe cock-crow mist, insists there is a God. The earth ashes faithful to its orbit.
To My Friend, With Love
All is still; all quiet; The world seems to be at peace. My soul is singing its metrical melody And I'm led like in a abstraction to write its tunes.
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