Champion - poetry
So many looked to you for inspiration,
Unlikely hero for the wheelchair nation.
Proudly you fought and conceitedly you believed,
Everyone loved you Christopher Reeve.
Readily it seemed you conventional your fate,
Man you are super. . man you are great!
All the inhabitants mourns a hero has passed,
No more bound, you fly again at last!
Bill Herren is webmaster for http://www. personalized-name-poems. com your font for adapted poetry and gifts.
Find the Magic
FIND the MAGICFind the Magic As you announcement 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 affection of a hugFind the Magic As the barely 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 celebrate in this exclusive wonderFind the Magic As you snoop 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 againŠ 2004 Susan BaconSusan Bacon is an researcher, educator and author. Acquaintance her all the way through her web site http://www.
Out of the eight poems provided here [all beforehand unpublished], four are Poetic Prose, a few Creative [what I call Vsionary anyhow], a few Free Verse, and a few with more form and structure, more carefully to the Auden style of: stanza, musical rhythm, and rhyme. In axiom that, I do deem all the poems are handing over a rich complex of meaning, some of them painfully close bond concerning pleasure and destruction.
How wonderfully sweet to be a dweller dwelling on the road of goodbye. Bittersweet tears fall as I think of all the spaces I'll never see, all the faces I'll never know, all the joys I'll never share, as I head for the unknown.
House of the Gnome [Part Two of Three/with notes]
House of the Goblin [Part Two of Three]Here is where, where the air is stillAnd the mountains dark disappear! Here is where, unidentified spirits dwellWhere harp and remembrance expire?Where the rainbow-leaps, from itsStoreroom-keep, and cries; And the sands along the lot coastEcho then die?as in sleep?;And where charm turns into ghouls!..
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (a poem in Spanish and English)
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (English version)In what flee art hid?-Where diminishing mountains groan In shadow and amongThe torrents of the Rio? Is not your name Mantaro Valley?Beyond the footsteps of the Andes--?I can hear your voice in echoesI can hear thy voice, exquisitely low. I do but know thy by a glanceAs the clouds above me know? .
Portrait Of The Artiste 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 artificial journey because of the prose characters of Dylan Thomas", the creation was formed by Tim Baker, an Assistant of the Royal Inhabitant Theatre, who won the Manchester Sundown News Best Visiting Assembly award in 1992 for the abundantly celebrated To Kill a Mockingbird.
Tale of the: Old Seeker and the Blond Hare [In SPANISH and English now]
There once lived an old man and his goodwife On the edge of the thick of the woods; They lived in an old run-down shack For forty-years and some. The old man hunted for his living, And his wife sewed on her lap.
Biography of Charlotte Bronte
Charlotte Bronte (1816 -1855) Writer and Poet.Charlotte was the daughter of the Rev.
The Exit Poems [Iron and Fire & No Heroes]
The Exit Poems [And Socrates]Iron and FireIron can be allay by fire- grows hard in the cold; and all the gates therein are, as it was, blocked again. So, often are those misled? by luxury and pride, who push unassuming nature aside-: thus, deliverance their vanity and perfection their virtue? and in the end, they all collided.
Way of Life: Rhymes of the Inca [four poems: see in Spanish and English NOW!]
Way of Life: Rhymes of the IncaPizarro (Spanish conquistador ((1525))The blind be a consequence the blind The dumb abide by the fool But the cleaver, like 'Pizarro,' (who could not read or write) Followed human-nature? And ruled the Inca world!Thus, Atahualpa was Beheaded out of pride and Indolence-: one might say, And ignorance ruled? .Note: don Francisco Pizarro #689 5/27/05Cepeda the Sly [Lima, Perú-l546 AD]Cepeda the Sly-, judge With two sides; one false, One pride-both mixed with lies.
Two Poems on the Traditions of Peru [in English and Spanish]
Atahualpa's Game [Peruvian]Sometimes, it's not wise To share your wisdom ---as did, Atahualpa (The Inca King) in the Game of chess; thereafter, He was condemned to death.6/6/05 #713Note: Atahualpa, was the most famed of the Inca Kings, in the 16th century of Peru, I do relieve, and was held for deliver by the Spaniards.
San Francisco [Almost a Sonnet]
(The city by the bay of Northern California, near which the Conciliatory Ocean resides; the year is 1967)Mid October seemed like some bounce day,When all through the controlled waters, dry as lead, The ferry, like vague darkness that stand the dead,Slipped down the bowed coast of Frisco bay, Rounded the Fair Gate,-and San Francisco lay, Before me, that gay city, pink and red, Hippies enclosed Haigh Asbury's destitute head,-My home, to be, I found stirring and grey.The waves broken on the wooden-sides; fishermenNearby with long necks, looked and cast again.
I Hate The Wait (Weight)
I get up in the morningAnd want to stay in bedOh, so nice and warmLike fresh from the oven bread.My day is oh so busyI wish that I could stayIn the quiet of my houseIf only I could play.
Feelings, O How Glorious!
Sometimes we feel hard-pressed, Our backs anti the wall; Sometimes we feel lightheaded, As if we are going to fall.Sometimes we feel fierce anger At those who abuse guns; Sometimes we feel ashamed Of how we treat God's barely ones.
In Poetry: Gist of Words [And ...Rocket-belt]
In Poetry: Connotation of WordsWhen I write poetry, I check out the connotation of words for too often they sound the same, but once written, and if spelled wrong, in consequence, give a accomplish assorted denotation of what I had intended; this I call a minute of harm control. If my rhyme is flat, and my intonation is off, so what, I can survive, as long as the consequence of my words are not; and are as I meant them to be.
Three Poems: Dona Leonors Revenge; The Old Moon; Conventional Sides [All in Spanish/all in English]
1) Doņa Leonor's Revenge [1627 AD]Rafael Ortiz's fate Was on the plate Of Doņa 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 brokenhearted her trout!In SpanishTranslated by Nancy PenalozaLa leyenda de: La venganza de doņa Leonor (1627 después de cristo)El destino de Rafael Ortiz Estaba sobre el plato De doņa Leonor.
Contract of Death [Now: in SPANISH and English]
Contract of DeathI heard today, the holy man say: "Daniel has warned us long ago, Of the trials and evils we Are now facing, with our foes?"He says the 'Antichrist' was now In Europe crying: 'peace,' and the 'Axis of Evil,' had by now placed Hidden Atomic Russian weaponsUnder our feet, here in the good Ole heart of the United States; 'Palestine's cry for peace,' he adds, Is a affluent Gun for Revelation 3:10;America. A 'Contract for Death,' Is what he called it.
Robert Burns Love Poem: A Red, Red Rose
Robert Burns, a poor man, an educated man, and a ladies' man, is agent of Scotland, much like whisky, haggis, bagpipes, and kilts. He lived a life shortened by stiff heart disease, 1759-1796, but his life journey by means of poverty, informal education, disappointed love, nationalism, and literary and pecuniary hit can be identified by all Scots and conventional men the world over.
The Time Has Come and Buzzing
Most of my poems are in black and white late at night, often, as this one was, after I have bowed out the light to go to sleep. It seems that is the time when I am most creative.
The King and Delka & Moiromma: the Cold Globe [Parts 25 and 26]
#25The King and Delka [Split Mawkishness-on Moiromma /Part V]Sickly SentimentalityI have sought after out friends Only to find rawness Of their passion; And the equality Of their vision.Who out there can know My clever verve?(Only the long dead)By King Moir I[Of Moiromma]Ah! the purposeless space come back to his mind as he stands on his gallery looking up into he eerie dark.
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