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Daily Archives: April 28, 2013

Red House

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Red House

He’s the old man

inside the red house,

ninety-four now

and alone.

.

He’s tucked away

within those red walls,

white beard flowing,

growing long.

.

Spends the time up

in his old bedroom,

all around him

photographs.

.

One of Lisa

who had just left him,

echoes of her

laughter fresh.

.

One of Rita,

gone now for decades

though her spirit

lingers still.

.

And there’s one of

his sweet youngest son,

dead at fourteen;

broke his heart.

.

I go over,

bring him some brownies,

take the garbage

out at night,

.

Listen to him

tell all the stories

of his life in

days gone by.

.

And sometimes when

I’m leaving him, he

says good-bye my

Baby Boy.

.

He’s the old man

inside the red house,

ninety-four now,

and alone.

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《梦的衣裳》The Gown of Dream

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River of the heart

《梦的衣裳》The Gown of Dream

当黑夜退下了
白天的衣裳
花儿退下了
颜色的衣裳
宁静退下了
吵杂的衣裳
梦此刻穿上的
是真实

When the Night has removed
her gown of day
and the Flower
her gown of colours
and the Silence
her gown of noise
the Dream has just slipped into
her gown of reality

祈泉
2013年4月28日于Ahmedabad, 印度。

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Visual Music: Butterflies

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Robert Custons Blog

I wanted to write a poem which details how it feels to fall in love. The problem was that I didn’t want to write a generic, soppy love poem.

I made sure that the poem did not contain locations, specifics or even gender. It just drilled into what it feels like and how the conversations usually go. Interestingly the poem actually is from two people’s view at the same time, using “we” instead of “I”,”he”, or “she”.

Poem: Butterflies

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Spring time!

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almostwritten

the sun on a leaf –
a little treat for the price
of looking up

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National Poetry Month: April 28th

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The novice who had some gold by Farid Attar (translated Afkham Darbandi and Dick Davis)

A novice hid a little store of gold.
His sheikh knew this, although he’d not been told.
There was a journey that they had to make —
The two set out, the young man and his sheikh;
Then night came to the valley where they walked,
And into two the path they followed forked.
The novice trembled for his hidden gold
(Which makes its owners rather less than bold);
“Which way do you advise?” he asked his sheikh.
“There are two paths; which is the best to take?”
The sheikh said: “Throw out what you cannot hide,
Then either way will do — as you decide.”

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love, everywhere

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the blog

love, everywhere

wandering

my feet followed

where my heart led me

and

what i found was

love, everywhere

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Let Us Go Then …

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Truth Within, Shines Without

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

~ T S Eliot

 

Let us go then, you and I

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherized upon a table;

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

The muttering retreats

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:

Streets that follow like a tedious argument

Of insidious intent

To lead you to an overwhelming question….

Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”

Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,

The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes

Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,

Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,

Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,

Slipped by the…

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MY WORDS

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LINO ROBLES

My thought of you carries so much weight
that a typical guy couldn’t lift it on his best day
our silent charm is so contagious
that i’ve realized the only vaccine for it is named us

She’s

so independent that to a normal man
she is an acquired taste
& if you don’t truly understand
then she’d be unbearable to breath like mace
why run through her thoughts; when loving her is a never ending race
that’s why my feelings for her always stays in one place

While

 

others don’t or know how to fully understand her ways

i silently map out what she wants to be witnessed in her maze
by seeing the small things & how they need to be arranged

cause she’s deserving

is all i am sayinglove-couple-kissing-htc-4g-wallpapers

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Spring – A Poem

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Caryn Moya Block

Gardens 2013The month of April is almost gone. I hope you’ve enjoyed the poems I’ve shared for National Poetry Month.

Spring

Winter is tucked into bed, awaiting autumn’s call.

While Spring dances to and fro,

encouraging buds to bloom and sap to run,

birds to sing and creeks to burble.

Spring dances until Summer comes to take the lead,

and then she too is tucked in bed.

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sunbeam

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Sirena Tales

your eyes twin suns beam

soul’s radiance sustenance

for thirsting world: shine

IMG_0191

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Secret Keeper

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Poetic musings

Image

Dark, Mysterious eyes,
Holding a hundred untold secrets
In their hidden depths
Gazed, deep into mine
Searching for my little secrets
And caught me imprisoned there.
I felt myself drowning
Deep into its unknown depths
Not a single resort to hold on.
Something stirred deep inside
The world changed in an instant
My secrets were no longer mine
But I got myself a secret keeper
I felt myself relaxing
And started enjoying the ride.

 

This poem is also available in PoemHunter & Deepaspoems

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The Writer

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Juned11blog

Image

Free thinker, liberated from the shackles of society, creative, these are some of the attributes that describes a writer. The people who will pour their heart out on a piece of paper and I think everyone has a writer in them, some write because it’s their passion, some write because they just want to have fun and some because it’s easier to pen down their thoughts on a piece of paper than to discuss it with a friend. A writer is no average Joe or Jane, they just wander off to their wonderland and create a piece that is inspiring or has a different point of view. When all is said and done a writer always has to write the truth and only the truth. They have an obligation to the society to put their hand on the bible and cross their heart, to write the truth and nothing but…

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Little Little Man – Alfonsina Storni (1892 – 1938)

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FROM THE BYGONE

Little little man, little little man,
set free your canary that wants to fly.
I am that canary, little little man,
leave me to fly.

I was in your cage, little little man,
little little man who gave me my cage.
I say “little little” because you don’t understand me
Nor will you understand.

Nor do I understand you, but meanwhile,
open for me the cage from which I want to escape.
Little little man, I loved you half an hour,
Don’t ask me again.

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