| |
| |
|
Poetry Information brought to you by free Poetry contests |
|
|
|
Burning Autumn Leaves [a poem in Spanish and English]
Burning Autumn Leaves My long steel pointed rake punctured But every leaf that now appears, in autumn This tiredness of mine will never go away, I fear #771 7/24/05 In Spanish Hojas ardientes de otoño (Los años de 1950 en St. Paúl. Minnesota) Mi rastrillo de acero largo y puntiagudo pinchó Pero cada hoja que ahora aparece, en otoño para rastrillar esas colinas; bichos (hojas) Este cansancio mío no se irá jamás, yo temo que encontrar #771 7/24/05 Poet Dennis Siluk http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
MORE RESOURCES:
Poetry - Google News |
|
|
|
RELATED ARTICLES
Two Poems Written During Recovery Since my wife and I are moving, or preparing to move, we've been going through our things as most people must, to prepare for the new location, and in doing so, I found two poems, ones I wrote in 1990, now 15-years old, never published, and so I'd like to publish them today. I was a heavy drinker up to 1984 (some twenty years drinking), when I quite, and so these poems must have something to do with it, a slight reflection perhaps. 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 copying them. I Saw the Universe I can see the cerulean blue of the skiesOr the indigo of the nightI can see the stars wink, the grin of the moonDuring the changes of it's monthly face**I am in awe**I see the sun on it's annual trekAlternately awakening the life in the earthAnd then fading away to allow it to sleepUntil the next spring**I am told the Universe is "out there"Beyond those stars, moon and sun,Yet the power of what I can seeIs a fathoming beyond my comprehension**I am in awe**"Out there" no time, no seasons passNo sense of age, hatred or loss existOnly the infinity0f the Universe**What IS "out there"?What IS the Universe that has no end?What IS the power that creates all this?I want to see it too**And then I remember.. Asha of Darfur [A poem with a commentary by the author] Asha of DarfurCry, cry-oh little Darfur woman For your sister Janjaweed- [in Sudan's merciless region-who was raped to death); Where rape and death run ramped;And Asha prays the Arabs don't' hear Here sobbing little black tears? ?in fear she will be chained to a bedIn Darfur, by the insidious justice Of the Arabs, who run ramped?Ah, yes! In Darfur you've guessed, It is not a crime to raped and arrested; By the very one who raped, and terrorizedYou; it is the conquest?Satan's ribs!.. Biography of Charlotte Bronte Charlotte Bronte (1816 -1855) Novelist and Poet.Charlotte was the daughter of the Rev. Two Poems, with Figurative Language Says Mr. Dennis Siluk, when asked to review his poetry somewhat, for he hesitates all the time when I ask him to so; I can tell you. Never Ever More Once upon a midnight dreary, coffee cold and vision bleary, all night sat there writing COBOL, coding spread across the bed sheets, changing syntax for the mainframe, having checked my final line, I took the floppy from the drive.Typing with a steady hand, I then invoked the SAVE command, but there below my effectuation, appeared the cryptic communication, "Abort, Retry, Ignore" and nothing more. Two Poems with Triggers [and a commentary] So Many Einstein'sThe morning mist, insists there is a God. The earth remains faithful to its orbit. New Poetic Work By Ethiopian Immigrant Promotes Respect, Courage And Cultural Sensitivity McLean, VA - "The Healing Conscious" tells the story of an Ethiopian immigrant boy on his fascinating journey to America and adulthood. Author Kifle Bantayehu, a 23 year-old second-generation Ethiopian immigrant, recounts this poignant tale in poetic format. How to Write Bad Poetry "All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling."--Oscar WildePeople write poetry for a plethora of reasons, but this article has a sharpened arrowhead aimed directly at the fingertips of amateur poets who wish to be published yet refuse to learn the attributes of a well-crafted poem. The Plane from Iquitos [1959-Part One] Iquitos & the Amazon Part OneIt was December 2, l959, I was sitting on a small prop-plane leaving Iquitos, Peru for a trip down the Amazon toward the opening, the mouth of the mighty Amazon,--to Manaus. As we flew low one could see the waters of the Amazon, the city always impressed me, but more from this birds-eye view, you could see the mighty river in its squid like form, with all it tentacles [contributories: waters linking to the river]. Burning Autumn Leaves [a poem in Spanish and English] Burning Autumn Leaves [1950s in St. Paul, Minnesota]My long steel pointed rake punctured And twisted 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. To My Friend, With Love All is still; all quiet; The world seems to be at peace. My soul is singing its rhythmic melody And I'm led like in a trance to write its tunes. Changes I am not the one I was before yesterday.I cannot go back. Become A Poet In Ten Minutes Have you ever sat there staring at the paper, ready to write, but unsure where to begin? Want a solution that will overcome even the worst writer's block? Anyone can start writing poetry today using a few simple techniques.One, two, . Tsunami Day A Poem - By Lorraine KemberIt was a day like any other and mother, father, sister, brother, were carrying out the customs of their land. When suddenly without warning, Mother Nature came calling, shook the earth and stole the ocean from the sand. Caught in the Arms of ED YOU MIGHT THINK I AM STRONGI THINK YOU GOT IT WRONGI LIVE LIFE DAY TO DAYHOPING IT WILL GO MY WAYI HAVE MY FRIENDS AND MY FOOD PLANMY THERAPIST AND MY THOUGHTSMY EXERCISE AND MY EXCITEMENTTHEN SOMETHING HAPPENS AND I GET CAUGHTCAUGHT IN THE ARMS OF EDTURNING MY EYES AWAYFROM MY FOCUS TO WIN THE FIGHTTHAT I THOUGHT WAS GOING TO STAY.HE TELLS ME THAT I AM SELFISHTHAT I SHOULD DOUBT MY EVERY MOVEONE MINUTE I AM HAPPYDO I HAVE A RIGHT TO FEEL THIS GOOD?DOUBTING MY STRENGTH AND CONFIDENCEAS ED ALWAYS KNEW I WOULDI AM LOSING INCHES AROUND MY WAISTAND MY PANTS ARE FALLING OFFI SEE THE FACE OF ED IN MY HEADAS HE BEGINS TO LAUGH AND SCOFFYOU THINK YOU ARE GOING STRONGYOU THINK YOU GOT ME BEATLET ME SEE YOU LOSE EVEN MOREYOU WILL SEE THAT YOU WERE WRONG. Shakespeares Sonnet XVIII, Shall I Compare Thee to a Summers Day? Shakespeare's sonnets require time and effort to appreciate. Understanding the numerous meanings of the lines, the crisply made references, the brilliance of the images, and the complexity of the sound, rhythm and structure of the verse demands attention and experience. Memoirs of a Wastelands Rim [a Poem: now in Spanish and English] Memoirs of a Wasteland's RimIt still was light when she paused at the wasteland's rim- Over, the rim rest like a sleeping brute, a wooden frame Adjacent to the blue where early stars hung like oil lamps Hanging from old beams and shade?the wooden frame Her footing caught the beams, as she had fallen onto it Alone, she watched the forenoon, climbing around her A drifter woman, marked by life, and slanting dreams With appearance of hurt and molded muscle on her face Her figure etched against the wooden frame, She tried to jump, and lost her balance, hanging like a bird Now sipping the gloom in the ledge and shattered hopes She yielded before the sluggish advance of sunset Blood dripped, with her dying darkness And a crimson moon hurled a flame across The shadowy clouds, burning throughout the sky The tormented sky above her?Crossing the valley's floor her eye gripped it Rocky images, highest points Thrusting herself up boldly from to the ledge The painted morning blushed over the rim Her brows and nose, face against the granite stone Massive injuries was taking form, Her silhouette floating so indolently across the sun It was too great a task-to die alone?she wished now She had not jumped?a thousand feet below, yet to go. Too much for any woman in a lost world Out of the weak wood her mind had peace; She knew soon it would all be over-alas Mute and protesting against life's uselessness A narrow path lay below her slender body Between death and attainment, a careless foot The rocks beneath her weakening, she plunged Plunged to her death, in the carving hands of the valley Thinking of it, as she fell, thinking with a smiled, Saying, looking up-dead before her echoes: 'Time is short?time is short?time is short!' When they found her, her face was unafraid of falling. The Game of Life When your life becomes unbearable And the light of promise ceases to glow, When all your dreams and aspirations Lie dormant on ambition's death row.When you feel that all is hopeless, Life troubles just seem to abound.
|
| home | site map |
| © 2006 |
.jpg)
