Accept to the town of air - poetry
Happy, Sad, Mad and Glad,
Cautious watched them, from her window,
Confused came in with overwhelmed and said,
Then Hopeful called the carefulls,
Anxious came in with the news,
To take a vote for Mayor,
Feeling was a busy town,
Happy was voted as Feeling's Mayor,
Happy took the Mayors Job and took it seriously.
Thinking the town,
If all and sundry were Happy.
Now Happy asked for their suggestions,
Soon, Happy was out and Chaos was in,
Gathering the folks from Feeling,
While Bored and Lonely ran into town,
While Chaos was in succession with Crazy,
They knew that Lazy was out of the question,
When the two groups came together,
Who would watch over the town of Feeling,
Happy, Sad, Mad and Glad,
Then balanced and elated came to town,
The ancestors that lived in Feeling,
The time they had with neighbors and friends,
When you find by hand in Feeling,
Making associates in this brilliant place,
Mary Pat uses the recovery deal with to get to know her feelings in a own way. You can too. http://www. reflectingrace. com
Burning Autumn Grass [a poem in Spanish and English]
Burning Autumn Leaves [1950s in St. Paul, Minnesota]My long steel cutting rake punctured And twisted all through tons of autumn leaves (back in the '50s); And there's a hill yet, I didn't rake, I see Behind it, two embankments Leaves I didn't rake a day ago; The essence of fall sleeps on the ground.
In the Mountans of Haiti [A Poem: in English and Spanish]
In the Mountains of Haiti(In the City)-July is a hot month-sweating Poverty out on every street (In Port de Prince); mixingMemory with aspiration causes stirring. Not much rain in Haiti (in 1986); Summer kept us busy, building A health clinic, in the mountains?.
The Game of Life
When your life becomes unbearable And the light of agree ceases to glow, When all your dreams and aspirations Lie inactive on ambition's death row.When you feel that all is hopeless, Life troubles just seem to abound.
Poems have assorted cores, or so I believe, and can only be structured well for a few emblematic language-heart beats; like all counselors are not made for all clients, so all poems are not made for the same person, or purpose; when we read we all have our likes and dislikes; I do not automatically know what poetry is per se, but I do know what the distinction of poetry has, and great poetry is close to an illusion?it carries an echo I do believe-figurative yes, at best, and questionable yes, by far. Here are five poems I've in recent times wrote, all with a another core, focus and style.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning: A Debate of How Do I Love Thee?
"How Do I Love Thee?" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning was in print in 1845 while she was being courted by the English poet, Robert Browning. The poem is also patrician Elegy XLIII from Sonnets From the Portuguese.
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, bunged again. So, often are those misled? by luxury and pride, who push meekness aside-: thus, exchange their vanity and perfection their virtue? and in the end, they all collided.
So many looked to you for inspiration,Unlikely hero for the wheelchair nation.Proudly you fought and pompously you believed,Everyone loved you Christopher Reeve.
I never attention I would have to say GOODBYE to my best friend? But that's what I had to do today I had to let go of her eternally -There was no other way For me to face authenticity Or pretend to be okay I had no conception -Of how hard it would be To essentially let go Of this huge part of me? Not tomorrow or ever -Will my life be the same Not including my Grannio here Life seems to be a game - Of accidental and questions?Questions that never end And have no answers That can begin to mend The wide open hole classified of meNor come close to medicinal My heart and soul that Seem to be atmosphere Lost, numb and empty-Completely hollow? Like I have minion left To certainly adhere to - All through life with respectShe was so much more Than my Grandmother I knew that already She left this earthAnd I told her so More than once or twice As she had to know Just how very exceptional -And truly blessed I felt to have her as my associate She was the best Devoid of a doubt -My Grannio gave me More than any person Will ever especially see? It was an implicit -Kind of love That came with no setting And went far above The conventional caringAnd arithmetic mean assist For a grandchild - Or children of any sort She gave more of herselfTo me than everybody In my life ever will Minion could have done What she did for meWith so much devotion, Conclusive honesty And true emotion? Her dependability was -Sincerely endless I accomplish so much Now that I'm crying - And wishing thatI had just one more day To spend asset her hand And difficult to take away Her fears and her pain -That took over her Body and her mind Like never before? In our lives -I would have earnestly Given 20 years of my life To have her simply Be here tomorrow -I cannot clarify The way I feel today Or how much I pain Is contained by of me -That will never go away No affair how much time passes I know this ache will stay With me forever?Just as her elite touch Will continually be with me And mean so very much - To me and my son?Jakob Thomas Her "BabyDoll" And I agreement To never disregard -What she would have done If she was still here For him - her only one Great-grandchild?Resource Box - © Danielle Hollister (2004) is the Publisher of BellaOnline Quotations Zine - A free newsletter for quote lovers featuring more than 10,000 quotations in dozens of categories like - love, friendship, children, inspiration, success, wisdom, family, life, and many more. Read it online at - http://www.
Black Blood, in Jeremiahs Vines - A Poem and an Article
Black Blood, in Jeremiah's Vines [A Dream Poem]And I heard the crackling of wood, and I noticed the Lord God had made men of wood, and fire came from his mouth.Then the wind poured its grief upon us-over our sins; and I heard the words for the seventh time, "Go to the mountains!"Foolish ancestors of this land pray and understand-for He cometh! Thereof, toss manually to thy knees, for the roar of defiant men will bleed: black blood, all the way through the vines of Jeremiah.
Kafka lands resurrected in Crewe deposited by a gray alien craft, And even as he is wondering what to do He is asked to show his pass Or pay an instantaneous one off fine At a cash machine of his choice And they are glance all the time On his irises face and voice.And of classes they find that he is not, They detect he just cannot be there, Although he seems as if he is visible, And has hands and toes and hair, If he is not on the Great Data Bank, He plainly and easily cannot be, He is not programmed and he is not ranked He is certainly not like you and me.
Four Poems: Grendels Nature...the Racetrack...Counting days...[Now in English and Spanish]
English Version1) Grendel's DivorceYou must know that I do not hateAnd that I hate you, Because the whole thing dead has twoSides; A sound is one arm of the quiet, Ice has its warm half.I hate you in order to start hating you To begin life again And never to stop hating you: That is why I do not hate you yet.
The Poets Area [Three Poems with a review]
The Poet's Corner [Three poem/ see analysis of poetry under the poems]The Poets CondorThe condor fly's Amongst the hillsIn open skies Of San Jerrónimo, Near Huancayo?Forbidding any To near his path-Lest he dare To risk a attack, Near Huancayo!..
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.
Man Unbowed [A poem]
Man UnbowedUnbowed by sin, the world of man, stands Upon his feet he gapes into the sky, The coldness of centuries contained by his eyes, And in his heart the curse of the old world. Who made him dead to love and God? A thing that breathes only for wants and needs, With a lack of emotion, a brother to the fox? Who tightened and pressed up his pointy brow? (To make him look so grand, so proud-so tall.
Contract of Death [Now: in SPANISH and English]
Contract of DeathI heard today, the monk say: "Daniel has warned us long ago, Of the trials and troubles we Are now facing, with our foes?"He says the 'Antichrist' was now In Europe crying: 'peace,' and the 'Axis of Evil,' had previously 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 biased Gun for Revelation 3:10;America. A 'Contract for Death,' Is what he called it.
AFRICA (to africans in diaspora)africa here i come, africa africa of the black soul the soul of an antediluvian background the cultivation of your timid tribes.its your voice i hear africa your voice of the discussion drums your beaded drums and the royal trumpeter the metal gong of your town crieri have come to see your music dance i have heard of your classic minstrels have i not heard of your fluctuation hips! i have heard a sufficient amount and have come to watch wouldn't you dance for me africaafrica here i come africa would you not show me to your tribes the timid tribes of your syrupy tongues the assorted tongues of your moral menafrica, black soul africa tell me about your gods your gods of the sky and of the nurse earth your gods of the hills and of the rivers aboundshow me to your kings africa your kings of the antediluvian dynasty the antique house of rusted spear and shield africa, here i come africaHEAVENLY GUESTheavenly guest heralding thunderously in its own awake pelting on men as well, the gods gathering itself drop by drop.
You cannot make a big name love you. All you can do is be a big name who can be loved.
Article on Poetry and Two Poems
Writing Poetry for TomorrowWhat does a man need to be a poet, or tomorrow's literary giant? Questions many a scholar has asked, from Harvard all the way to the convergence seminary in one's hometown. What is the answer? Well, I can give you mine, and I'm sure if you asked a hundred writers, or a hundred scholars, you'd get two hundred another answers.
The Goat and the Rope [a Poem: in Spanish and English]
The Goat and the Ropewhere there were devils I saw none. nothing.
Three Sweet Poems, and Two Not So Sweet [now in: SPANISH and English]
1) End PoemWherever you are today- Is where you were meant to be; It's where God, dotted the 'i' and the 't'?!2) God's AngelsGod asked his angels: "Why do you look so sad?" Responded one angel: "Sir, we can't find the shade."3) An Empty SpaceOut of wisdom one will wait, travel far for love; the thirst will not kill them.
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