Poems blog: poems

Showing posts with label poems. Show all posts

Poem--Friendship, Love and Fear by Kathryn Lim

friendship; a dance on the razor's edge
feelings; tender like the silken clouds
words, unpredictable like the dancer's steps

what is friendship
perhaps i don't know
what is love
perhaps i don't know
but surely this is a great place to start the ride

fear kept me from loving
loving kept me from fear
I love in order to die and surrender
I die in order to love and let go
i notice myself asking what is going on
things becoming less and less significant
i become more and more vulnerable
you came along my way in an angel's form
receiving me just as i am
painting the possibilities of life
adding colors onto the canvas of my heart
vulnerability became my friend
you became my vulnerability

Latest Times

I saw him cry
I saw him smile
I have seen him angry
I saw him laugh

Now I see
And for the last time
But today it is
His little smile fendant

And all this
Because heating
There is an innocent
Returned to him in

Other post:

A Belle Rose

Like a rose in a bouquet of daisies
You distinguish your beauty
And your beautiful brown hair
You see you can see for miles
So your eyes shine

You can be discreet
But you do not pass unnoticed
We love watching your smile
Always makes us happy

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Silence Barrier

She's tall and dark
And remains in the shadows
But it is out of the beyond
And you came tonight chercerh

As cruel as it is
Perhaps it is beautiful
For you it was a release
For us, a conviction

She has come for you
She came to hurt us
I do not ever see you again

Too young you left this life
Knowing something better in paradise
Why suddenly
The next day departure

You have crossed the barrier of silence
Without notify us in advance

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Poem Voice 2. A Pity Bird v1.0 - Audio & Multimedia::Speech Software

Poem Voice 2. A Pity Bird - narahana released on www.narahana.com
It was made by computer voice that possible to hear on screen and
also it shows a character who speaks the poem.
There are aslo some poem voices beautifull.

2. A pity bird

Though it has the wings free,
A pity bird,
because no sky
to fly.

Forgotten how to fly,
Caused by the solitude of iceberg.

Waiting, too waiting.
A pity bird,
to be done
a sculpture.

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Poem Voice 1. At the next world v1.0 - Audio & Multimedia::Media

Poem Voice 1. At the next world - narahana released on www.narahana.com
It was made by computer voice that possible to hear on screen and
also it shows a character who speaks the poem.
There are aslo some poem voices beautifull.

1. At the next world

I did not know
you thought of me so much.
I will do it, Yes, I will do it
at the next world.

I wanted to rise up the brilliant sun shining in the sky
on my stage of life.

I did not know, really I did not know it
you are happy�@only with me.
I will do it, Yes, I will do it
at the next world.

Other post:

Poem 1. I will be Happy - naranuri

1. I will be happy.

Even if your sorrow gets wet with me
I who loved you was happy.
Morning dew glitter
A beloved heart is unchanged.
It be smiled your love
I will be happy if it streams down to me

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Poem Voice 3. Love Design v1.0 - Poem Voice

Poem Voice 3. Love Design - narahana released on www.narahana.com
Beautifull girl speak the poem elegantly.
It was made by computer voice synth by KwangBin Baek.
Original poem was wrote by KwangBin Baek.

3. Love Design

Lighting the colors of a yellow flower
I design the love.
Walking stone way
If I draw a good old patterns.
The white butterfly in a flower garden
Be sexy as having been a fragrance,
Every blade of blue-like grass
It draws a jewel pattern.
It seems to have been the starlight that it had forgot
shinning fireworks,
Dancing the butterfly
It is so beautiful to become together.
The azalea which has low height
The pink color is so beautiful,
To a dead tree in winter branch
A green sprout is elegant,
Waving with spring,
Sunlight designs the love in the morning.

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Poetry Critique - Critique The Poem - Not The Poet

The act of writing poetry is something that is very personal to us poets, and sharing it for the first time can be a very frightening experience. The first experience of having your work criticized can boggle your mind and set you back a step in your writing. However, critique is essential in any writer's career. Accepting criticism is something that we all must face, even if we don't like it.

When I received my first harsh critique, it was on an Ezboard workshop, and right then I wanted to give up writing. My critics were arrogant and, in my opinion, very mean. It was a most painful experience. After running an online writing community for the last four years, I have met a few arrogant and mean people, just like the one on Ezboard. I think that some of these poets have gone to workshops, and have been critiqued in this manner, so now they think this is how one critiques. Wrong!

How to give a critique:

Short reviews like: "good poem," "I like this," and "awesome," are not useful to any poet. When giving a critique, remember that poets are looking for an in-depth critique. As writers, we thrive on and grow as writers by getting both positive and negative comments on our work. At all times keep your responses respectful. You don't have to take a critical, lengthy review approach, when commenting on others' poetry. You might just want to comment on the way the poem struck you, what you liked about a poem, or what threw you off about a poem. Maybe you can quote part of the poem and tell why you liked that verse. You don't have to write a book; just a few comments can really help someone know what works and what doesn't. Remember to be tactful, and never disrespect the writer. Poets are sensitive souls, and they take their poetry to heart. There is a wrong way, and a right way to say everything. You can offer constructive criticism, where the poet is going to learn from it without being disrespectful; never mock your fellow poet.

Here is an example: You just read a poem and all you can find are reasons you disliked it. Maybe it had a number of spelling/grammar mistakes, and run on sentences. Instead of commenting on just the bad parts of the poem, start out by pointing out the good things. For instance, you could say," I think you've done a really fine job expressing your emotions. However, I believe that your poem could use some work on the structure to make it complete. I noticed a few spelling and grammar mistakes. I really think this is a good attempt and, if you are looking for a more in-depth critique, I would be happy to work with you to tighten up the poem."

How not to give a critique:

Never critique the author; critique the poem. Never change the poem, and put it in your own words. When you do this, it is no longer the poet's thoughts. Never think that you are an expert in your field. All poets have room for improvement. Never look at another poet as a failure. Instead, keep in mind, just as in movies, not every poem will appeal to you. Don't point out every line in the poem that needs work. You should save that for a more in-depth critique, if the poet desires it. Don't come off as an arrogant critic, which is not the way to help people, or win friends in the writing business.

Critique is important to all poets. However, if you feel that you are an expert on poetry with no room for improvement yourself, then maybe you should stay away from critique groups. Instead, turn your creative energy toward your own work to see how you might improve it."

Other post:

How To Do A Baby Handprint Poem

It can be a lot of fun creating a baby handprint poem keepsake. As it involves paint and a child it can also very quickly get very messy so be sure to do it at a place where you can easily clean up after you're done creating the keepsakes.

Before you get started you will need to find a poem that you can put place the baby hands on. There are a lot of poems available on the internet that you can borrow. Be sure to read any disclaimer or copyright information that is posted along side the poem that you choose. I always recommend that you contact the author (if possible) to make sure that it is okay to use the poem they created.

Most of the time they are only glad that someone likes their poem. They might even have more poems that you can use for additional keepsake ideas that you might have.

If you haven't got the time to look around for a poem to use then here is one that you can print:

Sometimes you get discouraged
Because I am so small
And always leave my fingerprints
On furniture and walls

But every day I'm growing
I'll be grown some day
And all those tiny handprints
Will surely fade away

So here's a little handprint
Just so you can recall
Exactly how my fingers looked
When I was very small

-- Put a date here --
Love, -- put child's name here --

Be sure to print out a few copies in case the first handprint isn't perfect.

The other ingredients that you will need is: Your child in play clothing (obviously), a small photo (not necessary), water based paint (or finger paint), a bowl or similar to hold the paint, a sponge or a brush to apply the paint to your child's hand, paper towels to easily clean up your child's hands afterwards.

Now you apply the paint to your baby's hand and place the hand on the paper with the poem at the exact place that you want it to appear. It might take several tries before you get it right so be sure to bring your patience.

When you have finally made a baby handprint poem that you like be sure to clean the hands (and the rest) of your baby before moving on to anything else. Otherwise you might end up getting paint all over the place.

Now you'll have to wait for the paint to dry and if you want to you can glue a little picture of the baby to the handprint poem. To add a final touch you can frame it to make it last for years to come. Be sure to add the baby's name and the date to the handprint poem before you frame it.

Other post:

Breathing-in, Minnesota [a poem: now in Spanish and English]

In early fall, in Minnesota, the rain falls, falls,In buckets, buckets and more buckets-: dropsLikened to music from its many streams-landOf ten-thousand lakes; moistened gravel, gravelEverywhere?

Grandpa sits on the porch-daydreaming of, ofSomething, perhaps winter around the corner-;As the flies disappear, with the mosquitoes?Leaves will soon vanish, shadows will come early

Maybe he's thinking about summer: miles and milesAnd miles and miles of cornfields; his childhood nowLong gone, he hums a hymn, a song; looking at theMetal-piped fence, he made, with three poles, on theEmbankment, leading up the steps to the porch;It's worn-out like him.

The winds in Minnesota smell fresh, fresh from allThe foliage, there's a lot of it. The eighty-threeYear old man looks about, on his screened inPorch -fetches his pipe, lights it up, sucks in aDrag, pushes out some smoke: it drifts and driftsIn the corners of the house

"Ah!" he says-proud of his life events-I say toMyself (I'm but ten): "No doubt He's already lived this?"

There are many stories he wants to tell, but first heWants to smell the fresh air, the burning of autumnLeaves-He, never intended to have lived this long ofA life, I believe, the old bear, came from Russia in 1916;He accepted life-adjusted to it

He hears the sparrows, their feathers flapping, faintlySoiled feathers, flapping, covering every inch of theirBodies- He notices frost on the nearby tree. It seems toHim, the sun is bouncing off of the ground, he gets bitsAnd pieces of it on his face, it warms it, somehow,Thaws it out?

He's breathing in, frail like,-like reading Faulkner, slowlyDoes it, a ting uneasy. He never left Minnesota once, onceHe arrived back home from WWI (1918), "?no need to," heSays-he's happy?The fields are clean, animals in the barns; in the city,People getting haircuts-everything shutting down.Winter is now-it came last night, a Minnesota winterIs like no other. He just woke up, his bones chilled. TheWind blows, now it whistles, no foliage to stop its echoes.

"There are only a few left like me," he murmurs. TheFlavor of winter he likes; warm biscuits, hot coffee, aSmoke from a pipe or cigar. Black branches that wereGreen a few months ago-: it's 10-below zero.

He sees the beauty of Minnesota in a glance here andThere-It makes his brain swim with life; it is nature at itsFinest!...

For Kathy [#800 8/14/05]

In SpanishTranslated by: Nancy Penaloza

Respirando en, Minnesota[un poema]

Al comienzo del Otoo, en Minnesota, la lluvia cae, cae, En cubos, cubosY ms cubos-: gotas Comparadas con la msica de sus muchos arroyuelos deDiez mil lagos; grava humedecida, grava por todas partes?

El abuelo se sienta sobre el prtico, soando despierto, de Algo, quizs el invierno rondando la esquina-; mientras las moscas desaparecen, con los mosquitos?Las hojas pronto desaparecern, las sombras vendrn temprano

Tal vez l esta pensando en el verano: millas y millas y millas y millas de maizales;Su niez ahora, hace mucho tiempo ida, l tararea un himno, una cancin; mirando

La valla metlica-entubada, que l hizo, con tres postes, sobre el Terrapln,Conduciendo los pasos hacia el prtico; Esto esta desgastado como l.

Los vientos en Minnesota huelen fresco, fresco por todo el follaje, hayMucho de ello. El anciano de ochenta y tres aos mira alrededor, sobre su proteccinEn el Prtico - trayendo su pipa, encendindolo, aspiran una Rastra, eliminando el humo: esto va a la deriva y llega las esquinas de la casa

" Ah!" l dice - orgulloso de los acontecimientos de su vida- me digo a mi mismo (pero yo slo de diez): Sin duda "l ya vivi esto?"

Hay muchas historias que l quiere contar, pero primero, l quiere oler el aire fresco, la combustin de Hojas de otoo - l, nunca tuvo la intencin de haber vivido esto a lo largo de una vida, Yo creo, el viejo oso, vino de Rusia en 1916; l acept la vida- adaptado a ello.

l oye los gorriones, su batir de plumas, plumas apenas Manchadas, batir, cubriendo cada pulgada de sus Cuerpos - l nota la helada sobre el rbol cercano. Le parece, el sol esta saltando en el campo, l consigue aicos y pedazos de ello sobre su cara, esto calienta, de algn modo, Lo deshiela hacia fuera?

l esta respirando, frgil como, - como leyendo Faulkner, despacio hace esto, un tintineo difcil. l nunca dej Minnesota alguna vez, una vez que l lleg a casa de WWI (1918), "?ninguna necesidad", l dice - que el es feliz?. los campos son limpios, los animales en los graneros; en la ciudad, la gente que consigue cortes de pelo - todo cerrando abajo. El invierno esta ahora - lleg anoche, un invierno del Minnesota no Se parece a ningn otro. Justo cuando el se despert, sus huesos enfriados. El Viento sopla, ahora esto silba, ningn follaje para parar sus ecos.

"Hay slo unos pocos dejados como yo " murmura l. El Sabor del invierno le gusta; bizcochos calientes, caf caliente, fumar de una pipa o cigarro. Las ramas negras que eran Verdes hace unos meses-: esto es 10 bajo cero.

l ve la belleza de Minnesota en un vistazo aqu y All - Esto hace a su cerebro nadar con la vida; esto es la naturaleza en su fineza!...

Other post:

Poem of the Sky by Kathryn Lim

The sky is blue and the clouds are pure
I ask God
Release my soul
Let me seek not other's approval nor acceptance
But to experience your sweetness and grace in the beauty of your presence

May I drink the holiness of your splendor
And taste the freshness of your breathe
Release and relieve my passion
Truly I witness the beauty and art
Of silence and solitude within once again

Your love touched my feet and washed me clean
My soul renourishes itself in your awesome unfathomable depth of love
Burn my impurities in my heart away with the intense heat of the sun
Let me see the glory and beauty of all other beings around me

Teach me patience teach me love
Teach me that failures are inevitable in life yet a must to success
Give me courage Give me joy
That I may continue to dwell in your Highness
That I will continue pursue myself to greater depth
To unlock the gift within the gifts
That innate truth power within me "

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