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Poetry Information |
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Poetry Information
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My hero, my best friend, my Grannio (a.k.a my Grandmother) She raised me like I was her own daughter from the day I was born 32 years ago.She loved me like nobody else has ever loved me in my life. 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? . The Man Who Could Not Say Sorry For His Sins Sorry would be a start.Though you cant take back your mistakes, and you cant unravel time,you'd think there would be remorse, for such a self serving crime,to send others out to die, to pay the blood price you have decreed,when its purely posturing and posing, all about vanity and greed,to secure a perceived niche in history, glowing down the years,is the extent of your ambition, is the puny limit of your fears,when those you have sent to die, believing implicitly in you,leave relatives behind who see, that nothing you said was true,there is no thought now for those, whose number you dont count,they are yesterdays forgotten, though daily they still mount,no thought of resignation, no apology to those left behind,just onward with the ego, fast forward from those times,as if nothing ever happened, as if your lies are quite ok,as if now is what to focus on, and then was another day,lost back in the mists of time, obscured by clouds half seen,not an affront to the living, not impeachable and obscene,you may want to move on now, and ignore your past infamy,but you should be tried for treason, and jailed for blasphemy. Passion and Poetry, and Life Ironically, the passion that can neutralize the repulsion for difficulties depends on the effort to overcome these difficulties. The irony resides in the circularity of this principle - which applies to all areas of activity, including poetry: One must make the effort to overcome difficulties to achieve success and feel capable, and one needs this achievement and feeling to have a passion for making this effort. Ceasar Vallejo: Black Roses [In English and Spanish] Cesar Vallejo: Black RosesBow down your head ol' poet-To face God's grace aheadThere are no more trenchesTo dig today?In the forest of your head,So-:Bow down, bow down,Ol' barbaric poet!Death rides the horse aheadI hear the crackling of a whipSee the crazed eyes of death.He summons you to his den-The devil and his wind,So-:Bow down, bow downYour blood stained browsHe will take you to the edge. Expressing an Emotion - The Art of Writing Poetry Writing poetry is an art, a way of expression, finding meaning in few words. A melody of passion flowing out onto the pages, words that flow into each other and yet express the inner most thoughts and feelings of those who read the words. Banana Republic Like a cat I slumber, blissfully unencumbered,Through eighty per cent of my allotted span,Occasionally awoken, when dissent is spoken,And I invent another cunning five year plan,Lately it was pensions, that were being mentioned,So I borrowed from the French and Robespierre,Scrap all that went before, saved by tooth and claw,And let my all equal Citizens appear,Currently it is time, for me to be in my prime,For there is another election looming,I have to appear sincere, for part of this coming year,And assure everyone that everything is booming,Never mind strict quotas, Ive imported multitudes of voters,And told them which party let them stay,Though Ive rigged the postal vote, and defamed everyone of note,You never know what might happen on the day.So to be on the safe side, I swallow all my pride,And allow my people to hear my hallowed voice,And roll out the charade, put on the facade,And even make believe they have a choice,Next time around the crown, will be trampled underground,House of Lords and Lord Chancellor history,With the other Chancellor gone, I alone will soldier on,Yes, then there will only ever be me,Ill hold elections for you, as all dictators do,And fill positions with those that grease my palm,As for civil unrest, there is always house arrest,Or secret imprisonment for those that mean me harm. Stones As I picked up some of the polished gemstones in the rock store I began to think about what the stones looked like before they were polished. The store had several rocks on display showing the before and after and I realized that unless you knew what you were looking for, you could easily pass by a valuable gemstone. Since Youve Been Gone... My life has changedin so so many waysIt seems to always bein a state of disarray.. Im Sorry Mom! A Mothers Day Poem Mother's Day Poetry,I'm Sorry Mom!I'm sorry for the troubles And the worries I brought you.I'm sorry for my mistakes, I didn't mean to make you blue. Lucky... You make me smilelike I've seldom done beforeYou give me a reasonto want more and more.. Find the Magic FIND the MAGICFind the MagicAs you release old bondage Come out of hidingAnd see the starsFind the MagicAs you expose the painLet the tears flowAnd find beauty in your bodyFind the MagicAs you scream from the beatingRun from the threatsAnd feel the warmth of a hugFind the MagicAs the little girl is silencedTold she is too smart for her own goodAnd she finds her place of honor as she speaks her mindFind the MagicAs the ghosts creep into dreamHaunt your daily lifeAnd you meet them at the crossroads and move onFind the MagicAs you drift out of your body, avoiding the angerObserve the separationAnd you join the body temple once again to rejoice in this unique wonderFind the MagicAs you listen to the conflicts andWatch in horrorAnd emerge from the water whole and beautiful in a rainbow of colorsFind the Magic, For you are whole once again© 2004 Susan BaconSusan Bacon is an researcher, teacher and author. Contact her through her web site http://www. House of the Goblin [Part Two of Three/with notes] House of the Goblin[Part Two of Three]Here is where, where the air is stillAnd the mountains shadows disappear!Here is where, unnumbered spirits dwellWhere harp and memory expire?Where the rainbow-leaps, from itsStoreroom-keep, and cries; And the sands along the oceans coastEcho then die?as in sleep?;And where enchantment turns into ghouls!.. Eight Poems Out of the eight poems provided here [all previously unpublished], four are Poetic Prose, a few Visionary [what I call Vsionary anyhow], a few Free Verse, and a few with more form and structure, more closely to the Auden style of: stanza, metrical rhythm, and rhyme. In saying that, I do believe all the poems are conveying a rich network of meaning, some of them painfully close bond between pleasure and destruction. Tale of the Brick Maker, of San Jeronimo, Peru [In English and Spanish] Tale of the Brick Maker, Of San Jerónimo, Peru[A Cup of Sorrow]-1In the Andean mountains, within theMantaro Valley region of Peru, Isolated, secluded, tranquil, is the littlevillage of San Jerónimo.Near the village, here lay the fertile valleywith bent-grass, and hugeMountains stretching northbound,And heading towards the ocean's coast. Growing Growing hurts sometimes;saying goodbye to friends,to things you've known and doneto things you wanted to do. Growing heals sometimesthe shattered dreams and hopesof a life you once knewleading you to a new knowledge of yourself. Mechanical Poetry; Part Two What do you do when you want to write poetry? I hope your answer is "I start writing." Even writing a bad poem is better than waiting for the "right words. Ode, to the Mighty Midget Omac [In English and Spanish] Part OneMidget HistoryI am thirty-six inches tall, that is all-Honest to god I amMy hair is green, my eyes red, and IHave a very thick neckMy eyebrows are thin, and my beardHas three hairs?And I bore abuse, when I was youngYes! It happened to be; day by day??folks laugh at me, my appearanceYou see?I make them appalled.. The Gaul of La Laguna de Paca Part OneI tell you a legend of long agoOf the sunken city of La Laguna de Paca,(Where I had met a lingering ghost)Within this region of Huancayo--Peru;Truth lies, but only the soul knows.Part TwoSo the legend goes, of long ago:During the rising of the full moonThe Mermaid of La Laguna de Paca, appearsAnd to the nearby towns folks, she echoes. The Crusader: A Search for the Virtue Inside (an excerpt of an Epic Poem) On through the darkness she searches the bonesSeeking the hand of her love;Deep in the stillness, the maid searches on,Petitioning help from above.Onward she gropes through the flesh and the bloodOf the warriors disfigured and maimed;She carries no hope for the life of her love -For naught but his body she came.
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