My Poem>A Freeze
A deepest winter night,
the lean little woman
hardly made her stiff hands warmed
in the hollow corner.
Her infant laying quiet in the narrow cradle
is silent, and just
has been stared at it's mother long;
listening to her thin repeat
to breathe out a spring coming.
then a chill wind opens the door suddenly,
with a wreath the fair flowery woman walks into and
passes by, around the dark house
white candles come and brightened
and on their faces soon turn bright and
glow with heaps of
glorious SMILES.
2009/11/14
2009/11/02
Reading>Poem: A Little Budding Rose
A Little Budding Rose
By Emily Bronte
It was a little budding rose,
Round like a fairy globe,
And shyly did its leaves unclose
Hid in their mossy robe,
But sweet was the slight and spicy smell,
It breathed from its heart invisible.
The rose is blasted, withered, blighted,
Its root has felt a worm,
And like a heart beloved and slighted,
Filed, faded, shrunk its form.
Bud of beauty, bonnie flower,
I stole thee from thy natal bower.
I was the worm that withered thee
Thy tears of dew all fell for me;
Leaf and silk and rose are gone,
Exile earth they died upon
Yes, that last breath of balmy scent
With alien breezes sadly blent!
http://http//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emily_Bront%C3%AB
By Emily Bronte
It was a little budding rose,
Round like a fairy globe,
And shyly did its leaves unclose
Hid in their mossy robe,
But sweet was the slight and spicy smell,
It breathed from its heart invisible.
The rose is blasted, withered, blighted,
Its root has felt a worm,
And like a heart beloved and slighted,
Filed, faded, shrunk its form.
Bud of beauty, bonnie flower,
I stole thee from thy natal bower.
I was the worm that withered thee
Thy tears of dew all fell for me;
Leaf and silk and rose are gone,
Exile earth they died upon
Yes, that last breath of balmy scent
With alien breezes sadly blent!
http://http//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emily_Bront%C3%AB
Reading>Poem: A Dead Rose
A Dead Rose
By Elizabeth Barrett Browning
O Rose! who dare to name thee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet;
But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubble-wheat, ---
Kept seven years in a drawer--thy titles shame thee.
The breeze that used to blow thee
Between the hedgerow thorns, and take away
An odour up the lane to last all day, ---
If breathing now, ---unsweetened would forego thee.
The sun that used to smite thee,
And mix his glory in thy gorgeous urn,
Till beam appeared to bloom, and flower to burn, ---
If shining now, ---with not a hue would light thee.
The dew that used to wet thee,
And, white first, grow incarnadined, because
It lay upon thee where the crimson was, ---
If dropping now, ---would darken where it met thee.
The fly that lit upon thee,
To stretch the tendrils of its tiny feet,
Along thy leaf's pure edges, after heat,---
If lighting now, ---would coldly overrun thee.
The bee that once did suck thee,
And build thy perfumed ambers up his hive,
And swoon in thee for joy, till scarce alive, ---
If passing now, ---would blindly overlook thee.
The beat doth recognize thee,
Alone, alone! The heart doth smell thee sweet,
Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most complete, ---
Though seeing now those changes that disguise thee.
Yes, and the heart doth owe thee
More love, dead rose! than to such roses bold
As Julia wears at dances, smiling cold!---
Lie still upon this heart---which breaks below thee.
http://http//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Barrett_Browning
By Elizabeth Barrett Browning
O Rose! who dare to name thee?
No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet;
But pale, and hard, and dry, as stubble-wheat, ---
Kept seven years in a drawer--thy titles shame thee.
The breeze that used to blow thee
Between the hedgerow thorns, and take away
An odour up the lane to last all day, ---
If breathing now, ---unsweetened would forego thee.
The sun that used to smite thee,
And mix his glory in thy gorgeous urn,
Till beam appeared to bloom, and flower to burn, ---
If shining now, ---with not a hue would light thee.
The dew that used to wet thee,
And, white first, grow incarnadined, because
It lay upon thee where the crimson was, ---
If dropping now, ---would darken where it met thee.
The fly that lit upon thee,
To stretch the tendrils of its tiny feet,
Along thy leaf's pure edges, after heat,---
If lighting now, ---would coldly overrun thee.
The bee that once did suck thee,
And build thy perfumed ambers up his hive,
And swoon in thee for joy, till scarce alive, ---
If passing now, ---would blindly overlook thee.
The beat doth recognize thee,
Alone, alone! The heart doth smell thee sweet,
Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most complete, ---
Though seeing now those changes that disguise thee.
Yes, and the heart doth owe thee
More love, dead rose! than to such roses bold
As Julia wears at dances, smiling cold!---
Lie still upon this heart---which breaks below thee.
http://http//en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Barrett_Browning
2009/11/01
＊My Poem>Rain
Rain, is the major festival around the world,
The delight belongs to the heaven, at least.
Lasting existence, against the cognition
Flowing out my decades.
They kiss a little stone
On the road staring at the stars
And taste hunger and hardship on those
Guests' senseless faces or covering with
Another calling. They sign the couple
to leave or re-encounter;
Even on the cement floor a drop
Became into a dark mask and renders
Its deep shock
after a caught charged to Nature
can be doing a nameless suitor.
Rainning is indeed the time for celebrating,
There JOY ended.
Twisting and spreading out a wet handkerchief,
Taste and swallow up the sweet rainbow
For rainning is exactly the time, much earlier or later,
Which suits with keeping on dancing in earth
With those who beating their pair of white wings.
The delight belongs to the heaven, at least.
Lasting existence, against the cognition
Flowing out my decades.
They kiss a little stone
On the road staring at the stars
And taste hunger and hardship on those
Guests' senseless faces or covering with
Another calling. They sign the couple
to leave or re-encounter;
Even on the cement floor a drop
Became into a dark mask and renders
Its deep shock
after a caught charged to Nature
can be doing a nameless suitor.
Rainning is indeed the time for celebrating,
There JOY ended.
Twisting and spreading out a wet handkerchief,
Taste and swallow up the sweet rainbow
For rainning is exactly the time, much earlier or later,
Which suits with keeping on dancing in earth
With those who beating their pair of white wings.
2009/10/31
Reading>Poem:Song of the Powers
Song of the Powers
By David Mason (1954-)
Mine, said the stone,
mine is the hour.
I crush the scissors,
such is my power.
Stronger than wishes,
my power, alone.
Mine, said the paper,
mine are words
that smother the stone
with imagined birds,
reams of them, flown
from the mind of the shaper.
Mine, said the scissors,
mine all the knives
gashing through paper's
ethereal lives;
nothing's so proper
as tattering wishes.
As stone crushes scissors
as paper snuffs stone
and scissors cut paper,
all end alone.
So heap up your paper
and scissor your wishes
and uproot the stone
from the top of the hill.
They all end alone
as you will, you will.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Mason_(writer)
"You" is the symbol of the human kind and your knowledge and intelligence overcome obstacles.
By David Mason (1954-)
Mine, said the stone,
mine is the hour.
I crush the scissors,
such is my power.
Stronger than wishes,
my power, alone.
Mine, said the paper,
mine are words
that smother the stone
with imagined birds,
reams of them, flown
from the mind of the shaper.
Mine, said the scissors,
mine all the knives
gashing through paper's
ethereal lives;
nothing's so proper
as tattering wishes.
As stone crushes scissors
as paper snuffs stone
and scissors cut paper,
all end alone.
So heap up your paper
and scissor your wishes
and uproot the stone
from the top of the hill.
They all end alone
as you will, you will.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Mason_(writer)
"You" is the symbol of the human kind and your knowledge and intelligence overcome obstacles.
Reading>Poem: Bright Star
Bright Star By John Keats (1795-1821)
Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art---
Not in lone splendor hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors---
No---yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel forever its soft fall and swell,
Awake forever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.
What a beautiful poem it is---I like it.
Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art---
Not in lone splendor hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors---
No---yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel forever its soft fall and swell,
Awake forever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.
What a beautiful poem it is---I like it.
2009/10/30
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