Poet's Corner

[Dante Reawakened]

By morning, you will be invisible, mon dream—
You are every rush-moth in your story, every torso, every bitch.
Now, you are distracting Moi.
This is my work, the infidelities of me, my own ivory hillocks, my toy
Pram filled with slippery mice, my own mares fetlock-deep in squalls
Of snow.

LB-B

 

[lg325]

Tomino’s Hell Poem in English​

Tomino’s Hell1
Elder sister vomits blood,
younger sister’s breathing fire
while sweet little Tomino
just spits up the jewels.
All alone does Tomino
go falling into that hell,
a hell of utter darkness,
without even flowers.
Is Tomino’s big sister
the one who whips him?
The purpose of the scourging
hangs dark in his mind.
Lashing and thrashing him, ah!
But never quite shattering.
One sure path to Avici,
the eternal hell.
Into that blackest of hells
guide him now, I pray—
to the golden sheep,
to the nightingale.
How much did he put
in that leather pouch
to prepare for his trek to
the eternal hell?
Spring is coming
to the valley, to the wood,
to the spiraling chasms
of the blackest hell.
The nightingale in her cage,
the sheep aboard the wagon,
and tears well up in the eyes
of sweet little Tomino.
Sing, o nightingale,
in the vast, misty forest—
he screams he only misses
his little sister.
His wailing desperation
echoes throughout hell—
a fox peony
opens its golden petals.
Down past the seven mountains
and seven rivers of hell—
the solitary journey
of sweet little Tomino.
If in this hell they be found,
may they then come to me, please,
those sharp spikes of punishment
from Needle Mountain.
Not just on some empty whim
Is flesh pierced with blood-red pins:
they serve as hellish signposts
for sweet little Tomino.
—translated by David Bowles
The

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[expat500]

 

[lg325]

Portrait Of Fall​

© Alora M. Knight More By Alora M. Knight
Published by Family Friend Poems September 2017 with permission of the Author.
Looking out my window
In October's golden light,
I see a beauty unsurpassed,
A truly lovely sight.

Leaves are saying soft good-byes
As they come floating down
To make a nature's carpet
Of yellow, red, and brown.

Mountain tops, now turned to white,
Forewarn of winter chills,
While trees, like golden rivers,
Wind their way up through the hills.

Throughout our world's creation
You will ever find it thus,
Kaleidoscopes of color,
In God's hand, the artist's brush.



Alora M. Knight. "Portrait Of Fall." Family Friend Poems, September 14, 2017. Poem About The Beauty Of Autumn, Portrait Of Fall

 

[expat500]

American Literature.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
By Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

 

[expat500]

WELCOME NOVEMBER…

There is something about November that says ‘keep going’.
We are not quite through the year, yet the finish-line looms.
We are plunged into darkness by Mother Nature.
We are faced with the ‘season of joy’,
and yet many of us wonder where we will find it.
And I think November is a great time to take a little peek behind you,
and see just how much you’ve done.
To take stock of your achievements, your endurance,
your survival.
To rest, reinforce, before the festivities envelope us all.
Before beautiful new beginnings.
And most importantly, November is a time to seek out light.
As the natural order darkens, we must find it ourselves.
We must do whatever we can to brighten our day,
our home, the world.
Seek out light wherever you can my friends,
and pay no heed to those who condemn your sparkle.
You are much-needed.
Keep showing up, in that special way only you can do.
And show up for yourself too
(which can sometimes mean not showing up at all).
This year has been hard.
Again.
But beautiful.
Again.
As is the way of life.
As is the way of life.

Donna Ashworth

 

[expat500]

 

[expat500]

 

[expat500]

Travel and tell no one,
live a true love story and tell no one,
live happily and tell no one,
people ruin beautiful things.

• Kahil Gibran
• Pokhara Valley, Nepal c.1971

 

[lg325]

The Path
by Jimmy Carter

The path we choose in life, or fate,
Is rarely straight and never great.
It leads us on to who knows where,
Through valleys deep and mountains bare.

We follow it with hope and dread,
And wish that we could see ahead,
To know the outcome of each choice,
And hear the music of each voice.

But all we have is here and now,
To do our best and take a bow,
And trust in God to lead us right,
Through the darkest day and longest night.

So let us walk with head held high,
And never falter, never die,
But keep our faith and love alive,
And in the end, we will survive.

 

[lg325]

Contemplation on Creation

The world is vast and full of wonder,
A place of beauty, awe, and thunder.
From the smallest ant to the tallest tree,
All of it is a gift to you and me.

The sky above is a canvas of blue,
A masterpiece painted just for you.
The sun and moon, the stars and space,
All of it is a wondrous place.

The oceans deep, the mountains high,
The creatures that swim, the birds that fly,
All of it is a work of art,
A masterpiece from the very start.

So let us take a moment to reflect,
On all the beauty we can detect.
Let us be grateful for what we see,
And cherish this world eternally. Author unknown?

 

[lg325]

• A Contemplation of What Has Been Created, And Why​

  • by  Jimmy Carter (1924-)
• I tried to fathom nature’s laws
  from twirling models and schoolroom sketches
  of molecules and parts of atoms,
  and nearly believed — but then came quarks,
  bosons, leptons, antiparticles,
  opposite-turning mirror images,
  some that perforate the earth,
  never swerving from their certain paths.
  I’ve listened to conflicting views
  about the grand and lesser worlds:
  a big bang where it all began;
  of curved, ever-expanding space;
  perhaps tremendous whirling yo-yos
  that will someday reach the end
  of cosmic gravity and then
  fly back to where they can restart
  or cataclysmically blow apart —
  and then, and then the next event.
  And will it be an accident? He notes that '' I don't think it was an accident''

 

[lg325]

Considering the Void
by Jimmy Carter

When I behold the charm
of evening skies, their lulling endurance;
the patterns of stars with names
of bears and dogs, a swan, a virgin;
other planets that the Voyager showed
were like and so unlike our own,
with all their diverse moons,
bright discs, weird rings, and cratered faces;
comets with their streaming tails
bent by pressure from our sun;
the skyscape of our Milky Way
holding in its shimmering disc
an infinity of suns
(or say a thousand billion);
knowing there are holes of darkness
gulping mass and even light,
knowing that this galaxy of ours
is one of multitudes
in what we call the heavens,
it troubles me. It troubles me.

 

[Blossom]

Courage​

by Robert William Service


Today I opened wide my eyes,
And stared with wonder and surprise,
To see beneath November skies
An apple blossom peer;
Upon a branch as bleak as night
It gleamed exultant on my sight,
A fairy beacon burning bright
Of hope and cheer.


"Alas!" said I, "poor foolish thing,
Have you mistaken this for Spring?
Behold, the thrush has taken wing,
And Winter's near.
"
Serene it seemed to lift its head:
"The Winter's wrath I do not dread,
Because I am," it proudly said,
"A Pioneer.


"Some apple blossom must be first,
With beauty's urgency to burst
Into a world for joy athirst,
And so I dare;
And I shall see what none shall see -
December skies gloom over me,
And mock them with my April glee,
And fearless fare.


"And I shall hear what none shall hear -
The hardy robin piping clear,
The Storm King gallop dark and drear
Across the sky;
And I shall know what none shall know -
The silent kisses of the snow,
The Christmas candles' silver glow,
Before I die.


"Then from your frost-gemmed window pane
One morning you will look in vain,
My smile of delicate disdain
No more to see;
But though I pass before my time,
And perish in the grale and grime,
Maybe you'll have a little rhyme
To spare for me.
"

 

[expat500]

November poems:

The vine leaves against the brick walls of my house,
Are rusty and broken.
Dead leaves gather under the pine-trees,
The brittle boughs of lilac-bushes
Sweep against the stars …


Amy Lowell.

 

[expat500]

~ I would like you to come to me on a winter evening and, tightly together behind the windows, looking at the loneliness of the dark and icy roads, remembering the winters of fairy tales, where we lived together without knowing it. ~

Dino Buzzati.

 

[Ropey]

Fire has no apology, it swiftly dances,
in a wish to find that which will lend it life.

Then twisting loose at last and into flight,
There is no complaint against such a release.

 

[Blossom]

 

[Ropey]

Life: ephemeral gauze woven by light
from dust and ashes known as death
cannot be named or numbered
yet only recanted in vision
bound by silence.

 

[Ropey]

Drawback through time to that tenuous vine,
as it resolvedly climbs toward the shine;
silvery twines up the tree, feeding on light;
budding with blossoms fragrant at night.

This delicate vine spans all the ages,
connecting lovers, poets, and sages;
while a breeze breathes through its leaves;
whispering secrets no one retrieves.