The Valuable Time of Maturity - by Mário de Andrade

 

 

The Valuable Time of Maturity 

~ by Mário de Andrade ~

I counted my years
and realized that
I have less time to live by,
than I have lived so far.
I have more past than future.
I feel like that boy who got a bowl of cherries.
At first, he gobbled them,
but when he realized there were only few left,
he began to taste them intensely.
I no longer have time to deal with mediocrity.
I do not want to be in meetings where flamed egos parade.
I am bothered by the envious,
who seek to discredit the most able,
to usurp their places, coveting their seats,
talent, achievements and luck.
I do not have time for endless conversations,
useless to discuss about the lives of others
who are not part of mine.
I no longer have the time to manage
sensitivities of people who despite their chronological age, are immature.
I hate to confront those that struggle for power,
those that ‘do not debate content, just the labels’.
My time has become scarce to debate labels,
I want the essence.
My soul is in a hurry …
Not many cherries in my bowl,
I want to live close to human people, very human,
who laugh of their own stumbles,
and away from those turned smug
and overconfident with their triumphs,
away from those filled with self-importance.
The essential is what makes life worthwhile.
And for me, the essentials are enough!
Yes, I’m in a hurry.
I’m in a hurry to live with the intensity that only maturity can give.
I do not intend to waste any of the remaining cherries.
I am sure they will be exquisite, much more than those eaten so far.
My goal is to reach the end satisfied
and at peace with my loved ones and my conscience.
And per Confucius “We have two lives
and the second begins when you realize you only have one.”

 

Love and Death ~ by Hénock Gugsa

 

Love and Death 

~ by Hénock Gugsa ~

{} {}{} {} {} {}

The Best Place for Crying ~ by TPO

 

 

The Best Place for Crying ~ by TPO 

//// <><><> \\\\ 

🌟🌟🌟 Shower is the best place for crying.*
============================

The best place I have found to cry
is in the shower
You become one with the water
It drinks your tears faster than they come
You don’t feel them
You only feel what’s necessary
Your sorrow
Your grief
The shower envelopes you
Hugs you
Holds you
In it’s also
Tearful embrace
-------------------------------------------
* Dara Louisa Karadag on tumblr.com

 

Le cheval ~ Louise de Vilmorin

 

 

Le cheval (1954)
~ Louise de Vilmorin ~
===================
J’aime porter de longs cheveux
Comme une femme,
J’aime porter un amoureux
Près de sa dame,
J’aime porter le poids fatal
Des inconnus,
J’aime porter le long du val
Les bienvenues.
J’aime la poudre du chemin
Sur mon visage,
J’aime le conseil de la main
Qui m’encourage.
Je fuis mon ombre de cheval
Courant la plaine,
Je crains mon reflet animal
Dans la fontaine.

 

Once - by Ambrose Harte

 

Once - by Ambrose Harte 

I used to dance,
but the music's gone,
I once had love,
but I'm now alone.
I used to sing,
but I lost my song,
I used to rhyme,
now the timings wrong.
I used to work,
but they shut us down,
I love the country,
but I live in town.
I used to smile,
now I cry instead,
I once had feasts,
now I've only bread.
I once had children,
but now they've grown,
I used to laugh,
but now I moan.
I once was clever,
but I lost my head,
I used to sleep,
now I've got no bed.
I used to swim,
but the sea's dried up,
I once drank water,
now there's ne'er a drop.
I once was good,
but now I'm bad,
I had a soul,
now I'm empty and sad.
I once was fearless,
now I'm filled with dread,
I used to live,
but now I'm dead.
I had directions,
but now I'm lost,
I had a body,
now I'm just a ghost.
 

Silence ~ by Thomas Hood

 

Silence ~ by Thomas Hood 

\\\\ ()()() ////

There is a silence where hath been no sound,
There is a silence where no sound may be,
In the cold grave - under the deep, deep sea,
Or in wide desert where no life is found,

Which hath been mute, and still must sleep profound,
No voice is hushed - no life treads silently,
But clouds and cloudy shadows wander free,
That never spoke, over the idle ground.

But in green ruins, in the desolate walls
Of antique palaces where Man hath been,
Though the dun fox or wild hyena calls,
And owls, that flit continually between,

Shriek to the echo, and the low winds moan -
There the True Silence is, self-conscious and alone.

 

The Anatomy of Peace ~ by John Roedel

 

The Anatomy of Peace ~ by John Roedel 

~~~ **** ~~~ 

 The Anatomy of Peace ...
"When every breath becomes a prayer."
- John Roedel's poetry !

🙂  🙂 🙂

 

In Autumn - by Rosemary Danielis (on tumblr.com)

 

- In Autumn - 

by Rosemary Danielis (on tumblr.com) 

In Autumn
the leaves have
a sparkle all
their own
✨🍁✨

A Walking Tree ~ by TPO

 

A Walking Tree ~ by TPO 

() () () () () () ()

     "I came upon a child of God
     He was walking along the road
     And I asked him where are you going
     And this he told me
     I'm going on down to Yasgur's farm *
     I'm going to join in a rock 'n' roll band
     I'm going to camp out on the land
     I'm going to try an' get my soul free ." ~ Joni Mitchell 1970 🌟
__________________________________________
     * Max Yasgur's dairy farm in Bethel, New York.


 

Elsa's Eyes ~ by Louis Aragon

 

Elsa's Eyes
by Louis Aragon (1897-1982)

  Your eyes are so deep that leaning down to drink
    I saw all suns mirrored in them
    All desperate souls hurled deathward from their brink
    Your eyes are so deep my memory is lost there

    In the shadow of birds the ocean roars
    Then suddenly the day clears and your eyes change
    Summer carves the clouds on the angels’ pinafore
    The sky’s never as blue as it is above grain

    In vain the winds pursue the azure’s griefs
    Your eyes are brighter, even through a veil of tears,
    And your eyes make the heavens jealous after a shower:
    Glass is never so blue as it is when it breaks
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tes yeux sont si profonds qu'en me penchant pour boire
J'ai vu tous les soleils y venir se mirer
S'y jeter à mourir tous les désespérés
Tes yeux sont si profonds que j'y perds la mémoire

À l'ombre des oiseaux c'est l'océan troublé
Puis le beau temps soudain se lève et tes yeux changent
L'été taille la nue au tablier des anges
Le ciel n'est jamais bleu comme il l'est sur les blés

Les vents chassent en vain les chagrins de l'azur
Tes yeux plus clairs que lui lorsqu'une larme y luit
Tes yeux rendent jaloux le ciel d'après la pluie
Le verre n'est jamais si bleu qu'à sa brisure 

 

Running Orders ~ by Lena Khalaf Tuffaha

 

Running Orders 

~ by Lena Khalaf Tuffaha ~*

  They call us now,
  before they drop the bombs.
  The phone rings
  and someone who knows my first name
  calls and says in perfect Arabic
  “This is David.”
  And in my stupor of sonic booms and glass-shattering symphonies
  still smashing around in my head
  I think, Do I know any Davids in Gaza?
  They call us now to say
  Run.
  You have 58 seconds from the end of this message.
  Your house is next.
  They think of it as some kind of
  war-time courtesy.
  It doesn’t matter that
  there is nowhere to run to.
  It means nothing that the borders are closed
  and your papers are worthless
  and mark you only for a life sentence
  in this prison by the sea
  and the alleyways are narrow
  and there are more human lives
  packed one against the other
  more than any other place on earth
  Just run.
  We aren’t trying to kill you.
  It doesn’t matter that
  you can’t call us back to tell us
  the people we claim to want aren’t in your house
  that there’s no one here
  except you and your children
  who were cheering for Argentina
  sharing the last loaf of bread for this week
  counting candles left in case the power goes out.
  It doesn’t matter that you have children.
  You live in the wrong place
  and now is your chance to run
  to nowhere.
  It doesn’t matter
  that 58 seconds isn’t long enough
  to find your wedding album
  or your son’s favorite blanket
  or your daughter’s almost completed college application
  or your shoes
  or to gather everyone in the house.
  It doesn’t matter what you had planned.
  It doesn’t matter who you are.
  Prove you’re human.
  Prove you stand on two legs.
  Run.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* Lena Khalaf Tuffaha, "Running Orders" from Water & Salt.  Copyright © 2017 by Lena Khalaf Tuffaha. 

" Drinking Song " ~ by William Butler Yeats

 

" Drinking Song "

🤔 👍
~ William Butler Yeats ~

 

"The Banister of Life" ~ by Walter McCorrisken

 

"The Banister of Life"
by Walter McCorrisken
(the World's Worst Poet, 1979)
====================
As you slide down the banister of life
Slide with joy and not with dismay
And I hope sincerely for your sake
The splinters are facing the other way.

 

You're Not Imagining It ~ by Donna Ashworth

 

You're Not Imagining It 

~ by Donna Ashworth ~

You're not imagining it, nobody seems to want to talk right now.
Messages are brief and replies late.
Talk of catch ups on zoom are perpetually put on hold.
Group chats are no longer pinging all night long.

It's not you.
It's everyone.
We are spent.

We have nothing left to say.

We are tired of saying 'I miss you' and 'I can't wait for this to end'.
So we mostly say nothing, put our heads down and get through each day.

You're not imagining it.
This is a state of being like no other we have ever known because we are all going through it together but so very far apart.

Hang in there my friend.

When the mood strikes, send out all those messages and don't feel you have to apologize for being quiet.

This is hard.
No one is judging.

- Donna Ashworth

 

" LIMITED " ~ by Carl Sandburg

 

" LIMITED " ~ by Carl Sandburg 

 

The Parting Glass ~ by Liam Clancy

 

 

The Parting Glass 

~ by Liam Clancy ~

//////// 🇮🇪 🇮🇪 🇮🇪 ////////

 ... and may joy be with you !

 

A Smile Multiplied! ~ by Anonymous

 

 

A Smile Multiplied!
~by Anonymous~ 

 Someone gave me a smile today.
I tried my best to give it away
to everyone I chanced to meet,
as I walked down the street.

But everyone that I could see,
gave my smile right back to me.
When I got home, besides my smile,
I had enough to reach a mile.

 

Backlash Blues ~ Nina Simone

Backlash Blues *  

~ Nina Simone ~ 

 =====================================

Mister Backlash, Mister Backlash,
Just who do you think I am?
Tell me, Mister Backlash,
Who do you think I am?
You raise my taxes, freeze my wages,
Send my son to Vietnam.

You give me second-class houses,
Give me second-class schools,
Second-class houses
And second-class schools.
You must think us colored folks
Are second-class fools.

When I try to find a job
To earn a little cash,
Try to find myself a job
To earn a little cash,
All you got to offer
Is a white backlash.

But the world is big,
The world is big and round,
Great big world, Mister Backlash,
Big and bright and round—
And it's full of folks like me who are
Black, Yellow, Beige, and Brown.

Mister Backlash, Mister Backlash,
What do you think I got to lose?
Tell me, Mister Backlash,
What you think I got to lose?
I'm gonna leave you, Mister Backlash,
Singing your mean old backlash blues.

You're the one,
Yes, you're the one
Will have the blues. 

* “Backlash Blues” (1967) written by Langston Hughes  for his friend, Nina Simone. This was one of the last of Langston Hughes' protest poems before his death in 1967.  

 

Black Cat ~ by Rainer Maria Rilke

 

 

Black Cat 

- by Rainer Maria Rilke - 

================

A ghost, though invisible, still is like a place
your sight can knock on, echoing; but here
within this thick black pelt, your strongest gaze
will be absorbed and utterly disappear:

just as a raving madman, when nothing else
can ease him, charges into his dark night
howling, pounds on the padded wall, and feels
the rage being taken in and pacified.

She seems to hide all looks that have ever fallen
into her, so that, like an audience,
she can look them over, menacing and sullen,
and curl to sleep with them. But all at once

as if awakened, she turns her face to yours;
and with a shock, you see yourself, tiny,
inside the golden amber of her eyeballs
suspended, like a prehistoric fly.

 

The Patience of Ordinary Things 

~ by Pat Schneider (1934-2020) ~