Passion and poetry, and life - poetry
Ironically, the passion that can deactivate the nausea for difficulties depends on the energy to overcome these difficulties. The irony resides in the circularity of this code - which applies to all areas of activity, counting poetry: One must make the attempt to overcome difficulties to attain hit and feel capable, and one needs this achievement and ambiance to have a passion for construction this effort.
How can one enter this circumnavigate not including this passion? In other words, how does one resolve the quasi-contradiction according to which one cannot keenly start the crack to overcome difficulties ahead of it has ended successfully?
If difficulties are deemed insurmountable, mistakenly or not, the disgust for them is absolute. In that case, naught will motivate the attempt to succeed, but an exterior ability that can dictate this effort, or an exterior control that can create faith and stimulate courage. In every other case where the seriousness of the difficulties is open to doubt, one may try one's luck with mixed feelings.
Assuming one tries, the consequence of this endeavor will constitute further self-knowledge that will enlighten one's forthcoming choices. A categorical outcome will act as a activist fortification that emboldens one to try again, with augmented confidence and cheap hesitation; a destructive outcome will do the opposite.
Should one decline to try one's luck, this would slow one's progress, but not of necessity stop it. Confidence can be amplified and delay compact by degrees, by means of a run of baby steps that can in the long run lead to triumph. All in all, colonize have more than one trick up their cover to achieve something in life, all the same they cannot break away from the must of achieving sensation to acquire a passion for the challenging task of living.
As regards poetry, accomplishment may be achieved in a roundabout and gradual way. Take a young educated man who has a sense of images and a ask to articulate himself. While his learning has all set him for the printed air of his feelings and thoughts, this sense and this aspiration all together drive him to write poetically, despite the fact that he has no pretensions to composing a poem.
This first step is a approach of commencement that gets the ball rolling. He becomes aware of his poetic aptitude contained by the limits of his poetic writing. What is more, he catches a foretaste of the poetry that is a blur in this inscription and could emerge from the prose like a landscape from the fog. His capability as a hope poet is thus barely discernible. It assumes the form of an feeling whose fogginess will gradually dispel as auxiliary poetic hard work are made successfully. In the end the young man sees himself as a young poet. He is eager to fight with the difficulties of copy poetry for the reason that he is assertive that he will overcome them and delight in this achievement.
Laurent Grenier's characters career spans over twenty years. For the duration of this time he has broadened and deepened his worldview, by dint of much evidence and study, and in the end has crafted "A Basis for Living," his best work to date.
Official web site: http://laurentgrenier. com/ARFL. html
"I heard what you said, Red. Yet, I have to disagree.
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 dream to write its tunes.
Find the Magic
FIND the MAGICFind the Magic As you announce 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 amiability 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 celebrate in this exclusive wonderFind the Magic As you listen in to the conflicts and Watch in horror And emerge from the water whole and exquisite 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.
Ed Gallagher Dec. 11, 1907 - Sept.
Blind Designs [a Poem] and a Note by Rosa on The Other Door
Blind DesignsBorn today, gone tomorrow Like a butterfly with no stomach Born n the morning, dead by night Oh-let me whisper Oh-let me cry What man has not learned? What man will not learn! In his pomposity, his expression With his abstract concepts With his intellect With his creativeness He has develop into enslaved By-them? By them all, he will fall. Ah! Yes-abstract concepts Bombast and language His intellect His cleverness This he plants behind To his decedents!.
The Game of Life
When your life becomes unbearable And the light of agreement ceases to glow, When all your dreams and aspirations Lie quiescent on ambition's death row.When you feel that all is hopeless, Life troubles just seem to abound.
Famous Poets Quotations - Top 30 Poetry Quotations by Illustrious Poets
"For this argue poetry is a bit more philosophical and more laudable of critical awareness than history."-- Aristotle"Every American poet feels that the whole accountability for contemporary poetry has fallen upon his shoulders, that he is a literary lords and ladies of one.
Lamenting Poetic Moods [six Poems]
Advance: in Mr. Siluk's poetry one finds symbolist values, deep impressions; verbal magic and even childish jingles; at times the common 8-syllable verse (ballad metre).
Do not be fearful to shine. This world needs what you have to give.
Growing hurts sometimes; saying goodbye to friends, to clothes you've known and done to effects 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.
Ceasar Vallejo: Black Roses [In English and Spanish]
Cesar Vallejo: Black RosesBow down your head ol' poet- To face God's grace ahead There are no more trenchesTo dig today? In the plant of your head,So-: Bow down, bow down,Ol' barbaric poet! Death rides the horse ahead I hear the crackling of a whip See the demented eyes of death.He directive you to his den- The devil and his wind,So-: Bow down, bow down Your blood marked brows He will take you to the edge.
There are many times I set up barriers and walls, invisible if you come too close, And then you hit them.You awe what happened.
Its What She Didnt Say
When I hear your voice classified my head it makes me think of you every free day as I fight back tears of despondency and amazement if you're okayMy life is empty lacking you I wish time would take away the pain but the ache in my heart persists and my clean 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 ability to show you how much I care when you desired me the most I know I disastrous to be thereNow your trust in me is gone evermore and I will never have the accidental to say I actually hope your dreams come true and happiness finds you every dayI would give just about whatever thing in life if I could go back to that day and erase the whole lot I said and did to make your anguish go awayWhat hurts the most is this is what you didn't say and the nonappearance of these words haunt me each and every day..
Farewell to Lester Graybill
I never met a man, who could shake my hand, and make my heart feel like a grate afire.I never met a man, who could smile so easy, real honest.
Antidotes for an Alibi
Amy King's first full-length collection, Antidotes for an Alibi, insists that we appraise the not to be trusted clarity of our procedures and the goals that motivate us. How does one in fact get from "A" to "B"-and is there ever exceedingly a "B"? What color is the white space concerning "A" and "B"? Upon nearer inspection, become known realities bare themselves to be spongy and fragile, encrusted with textures and grains that lead the eye on unreliable pathways.
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 long drawn out city of illumination Uneven as a crumbled cake, lit up like a Christmas tree-The restless 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 induction 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 beefy 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 abundant food carts; -- musicians, paper sellersAnd with its naked featherless wings, casing all-My Lima, Peru with its famous Cathedral:Golden fair-haired with high crowns, andWithin its plaza-square, a water fountain-celebrated.Under its sins, with its craggy 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 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.
In The Midst Of All
In the midst of darkness, there is light. In the midst of evil, there is virtue.
Savage Nature: The Life of Ted Hughes
One of the most critical poets of the post-war period, Edward James Hughes (1930-1998), was drawn towards the primitive. He was enthralled by the beauty of the biological world, habitually portraying its cruel and savage humor in his work as a consideration of his own delicate distress and magic beliefs - committed that current man had lost touch with the primal side of his nature.
A Another Place...
I wish we had met 20 years ago..
Life is a Fantasy
LIFE IS A FANTASY!A pink-eyed rabbit, fuzzy whiteHops in bedrooms packed with frightA child of six with much to knowHer father's basest feelings showShe knows of LOVE, only all the way through himHe satisfies his every whimHe leaves, she wipes himfrom her chin!Her look after NEEDS to see the bestHe answered her God requestTo have a roof to comfort bringA yard where all the birdies singTell me how she could exceedingly knowWhat cause for knowledge could she go?Her look after frequently beaten if not worseThe cycle of violence - a woman's curseConflicting visions, dependenciesOne can continue many idiosyncrasiesShe could not make him defendant beDenial, avoidance? she disbelievesThe rabbit hides beneath tall trees.At thirteen a step-grandfatha'Finds a well-trained girl that oughta'Do what athletic men requestNever aware what is bestAnd run away she does at lastFreedom can be such a 'blast'A rabbit's foot upon a chainThe FANTASY her 'safe' domainHow long in life must it remain?To guard her from these menWho all the time for her lips, do 'yen'A state trooper in Tennessee Like every other man does see Her lips so full and juicy red Through the bars, not in a bed.
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