| |
| |
|
Poetry Information |
|
The Cat
Truth is stranger than fiction according to many people who have seen what happens around me and to them, on many occasions. Sometimes I have had others affect me in the same way. This is part of the story told in my article The Man who Loved Jail. The Cat: the cat meowed and moved slowly out of his way he knew it wanted something but it didn't come to his outstretched hand so he meowed she winked he felt they parted friends perhaps never to meet again the Earth was pliant under foot the trees engulfed his heart and took his mind to the tree tops so his soul could feel, forever the timeless beauty and purpose of life ~ the relative unimportance of his human fears and frailty she stood next to him in a place far away from the cat and the trees in a town where spirituality is raised to a new low he felt the cat's friendship and wisdom he knew how unimportant his worries were, and the roots of the tree... seemed to tie their feet entwined; lovingly with certainty and timelessness he awaits the mountain top with excited anticipation still fearful, he might fall ~yet fully confident in its rightness Author and activist for Ecumenicism and egalitarian creative potential.
MORE RESOURCES: Unable to open RSS Feed $XMLfilename with error HTTP ERROR: 404, exiting |
|
|
|
RELATED ARTICLES
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. 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 people of this land pray and understand-for He cometh! Thereof, toss yourself to thy knees, for the roar of rebellious men will bleed: black blood, through the vines of Jeremiah. An Old Wood Pile [a poem with notes] Old skin, once held tightAgainst her skeleton-Rose no more, just drapedLoosely over unpadded flesh;Un-tightened muscles, and tissue,Lost its courage, no-fortitude-,Gone are the days and yearsThat stood against the Indomitable elements; The skeleton, now a landmarkHidden under flesh and bloodGuts and moral fiber, backbone?Collapsed from drudgeryTime, time: cascading inside-.Bones now leaving impressionsAccepting fateLike tarnished silver!. Asha of Darfur [A poem with a commentary by the author] Asha of DarfurCry, cry-oh little Darfur womanFor 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' hearHere sobbing little black tears??in fear she will be chained to a bedIn Darfur, by the insidious justiceOf 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!.. Man Unbowed [A poem] Man UnbowedUnbowed by sin, the world of man, standsUpon his feet he gapes into the sky,The indifference of centuries within 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 pushed up his jagged brow?(To make him look so grand, so proud-so tall. 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 follow the blindThe dumb follow the foolBut 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. Ballade of an Inca King Ah! Leave the gold, wealth and landSays the Inca King?;In Spain, they leave the bustling streets,For sail to Peruvian shores;The murmur of the gold is sweet,It glows and glistens like the sunA mountain of gold, or the graveAwaits the human, Inca-god?!Spaniards sing their songs of victoryWhere breaks the green Peruvian sea;Who now, worships the Inca King (?) Guarded behind prisons doors-?They chatter about his golden ringsThey watch the winds cross the shores?They count the days that idle by,For gold they worship and will die.Envoy. Rules for Writing Poetry You've been writing poetry since that first assignment in your high school writing class. You know the rules about writing poetry, right? Are there rules? Well, if you frequent the poetry forums across the Internet as much as I do, you'd find that there are a lot of amateur poets who adamantly declare that there are no rules for writing poetry and if someone even suggests reading poetry or books on poetry, many of the amateur poets will throw up a defensive front. Two Poems: San Jeronimo Brook & [in English and Spanish] Fair Andes! Thy arms reach highOf iron-woven solid stoneThu art a condor to the skyOf glory hidden in thy heartSo many paths, a maze of art?In thy old, Mantaro ValleyWhere adobes, breathe and trembleBeyond your rustic shadowsThere lays the prettiest of brooksIs my heart, within its stream!My image deeply carved, rippledIn its undiluted shallow watersWaiting, just waiting for me?As it opens up, opens up my soulMy rippled soul-searching-eyes!.. Mechanical Poetry Do you ever stare at the paper, waiting for poetic inspiration? Well, you can stop waiting and start using systematic techniques for creating poetry. If it seems too mechanical or artificial at first, don't worry. Arizona Blue--Gunfighter: The Wolves Nest [Chapter One of Seven: The North] [Episode Five]Arizona Blue-GunfighterThe Wolves Nest-in the North[Episode Five]Northern Minnesota Area-Winter of 1877Chapter One of Seven: The NorthThe area was known as Pigs Eye [St. Paul, Minnesota]; Northfield was a little more notorious since Jessie James robbed the 1st National Bank, in September of last year, and more to the West. 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, . A World That Doesnt Care War bombs may explode demolishing man and land.Hurricanes may devastate and leave us entirely bare. Grandpas House & From Iraq with Love [Two Poems] Grandpa's House[The ole Real House]The house needed paintingSun-blistered and flakingGrandpa started to have usBoys-Mike and I- startDoing some scraping-While he, pealed off the olePaint, and started painting?Just a humble wooden houseWith several rooms, but Strong enough to keep theWinds and winter snows out,How he loved that ole house!.. 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. Ive Learned You cannot make someone love you. All you can do is be someone who can be loved. Superman So many looked to you for inspiration,Unlikely hero for the wheelchair nation.Proudly you fought and proudly you believed,Everyone loved you Christopher Reeve. The Power of Eating Disorders I want to get closeI am afraid.Afraid of what you might see. Footprints to Mantaro Valley (a poem in Spanish and English) Footprints to Mantaro Valley(English version)In what retreat art hid?-Where falling mountains groanIn shadow and amongThe rapids of the Rio?Is not your name Mantaro Valley?Beyond the footprints of the Andes--?I can hear your voice in echoesI can hear thy voice, divinely low.I do but know thy by a glanceAs the clouds above me know? . Rocks Take some time to stop and look at nature. Pick up a rock or two and think about where it might have started out and what it might have gone through to end up where you found it.
|
| home | site map | contact us |