Tag Archives: poems

Wonder

 

Wonder

 

There are questions we may never learn

the proper answer for

And wonder in the wondering

beyond each unsealed door

 

We first must learn to take one step

in order that we may

begin the onward process

which will set us on our way

 

To paths we find before us

which were never known before

And now we have the answer

Since we opened up the door!

 

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Inspired by the poem, “Is Life But A Dream?”, by Keith Garrett: http://keithgarrettpoetry.com/2016/03/19/is-life-but-a-dream/.

 

 

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Perhaps

Perhaps, too,

What I’m seeing is this in you!

——————————————————————-

In response to the reply of Ogbeni Asaaju O’lag regarding my commentary on his beautiful poem, The Warriors’ Legacy:

https://ogbeniasaajublog.wordpress.com

 

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Inspired

 

Inspired

 

I’m proud of you for being real,

For stating rightly how you feel;

For what you say and what you do,

Inspiring me by being you!

 

 

————————————————————

 

Inspired by the author of the web site:

http://www.ajoobacatsblog.com

 

 

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The Anchor Book of Chinese Poetry

The Anchor Book of Chinese Poetry: From Ancient to Contemporary, the Full 3,000-Year Tradition; Anchor Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, New York, 2005, and Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto; Edited by Tony Barnstone and Chou Ping, copyright 2005 by both, above.

From the Zhou Dynasty (1122-256BCE) to the present century, this work pulls together a good representation of the various styles that evolved over the years, and gives a good glimpse into the times, summing up in quick history the events and feelings of the times in which the poems were written. Some of my favorites from these selections include:

Meng Jiao (Male) (751-814), whose down-trodden style livens his work (unappreciated by some) in the works, “Complaints” and “Song of the Homebound Letter.”

Liu Yuxi (Male) (772-842): His outspoken political poetry caused his repeated exiles and demotions from posts he had attained. “Mooring at Niuzhu at Dusk”, “Black-Uniform Lane” and “Looking at Dongting Lake” are all nice.

Liu Zongyuan (Male) (773-819): Nice imagery drawn in his many styles, he is one of only two Tang Dynasty poets to have been included in “Eight Great Prose Masters of the Tang and Song (sic).”

Zhang Ji (Male) (c.776-c.829): Contemporary of Meng Jiao, who helped him obtain employment alongside himself. “Song of a Virtuous Woman” and “Arriving at a Fisherman’s House at Night” are both good.

Yuan Zhen (Male) (779-831): Appreciate a paragraph taken from “Missing Her After Separation.”

Li He (Male) (791-817): Led a very short life, and was mostly unappreciated during his days. I think he’s fantastic. “Twenty-Three Horse Poems” and “Shown to my Younger Brother” are both very nice.

Wei Zhuang (Male) (836-910): Very nice poetry. Beautiful wording, some as simple as simplicity — “To The Tune of Daoist Princess.”

Wang Anshi (Male) (1021-1086): Torturously pulled words beat into beautiful configurations — “Plum Blossoms” and “Late Spring, a Poem Improvised at Banshan” are particularly nice.

Su Shi (Su Dongpo) (Male) (1036-1101): “Boating at Night on West Lake” is nice. “Brushed on the Wall of Xilin Temple” is perhaps an allegory of how one cannot see one’s true self as one is, just as a mountain appears different from where one stands. In “To the Tune of ‘Prelude to the Water Song'”, he notes that the same moon can be shared by people who are even a thousand miles apart.

Other notable poets include:

Yang Shen (Male) (1488-1599): “On Spring.”

Feng Ban (Male) (1602-1671): “A Poem in Jest.”

Huang Zongxi (Male) (1610-1695): “A Stray Poem Written While Living in the Mountains.”

Jiang Shiquan (Male) (1725-1785): “A Comment on Wang Shigu’s Painting Portfolio.”

Zhao Yi (Male) (1727-1814): “In A Boat.”

Wen Yiduo (pen name of Wen Jiahua) (Male) (1899 – 1946): “Miracle” has nice phrasing. Parts of it I didn’t like, as he calls the miracles of nature ordinary, but it seems like he is saying that he can’t help but to cry at the birdsong of orioles. How beautiful.

Lin Huiyin (Female) (1904 – 1955): “Sitting in Quietude” has a dainty feel.

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View with a Grain of Sand…(Wislawa Szymborska)

This book of 100 poems by Wislawa Szymborska won the Nobel Prize for literature in 1996. Translated from the Polish by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh, it is a compendium of selections from books published between 1957 to 1993, previously copyrighted by the poet, with this latest book edition being copyrighted in 1995 by Harcourt, Brace and Company, New York.
While the author was born in 1923, the poetry she has written has classical permanence, breaching the effects of time over several decades with regard to the pertinence these poems affect on our present day souls.
Some of my favorites include: Brueghel’s Two Monkeys; Nothing Twice; Rubens’ Women; Coloratura; Bodybuilder’s Contest; Birthday; Psalm; Lot’s Wife; Seen from Above; The Onion; Children of our Age; Into the Ark; and No Title Required.

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For You

Once we were lovers

sharing our love

the way only lovers do

Then something suddenly happened

which kept me away from you

I passed away each lonely night

wishing you were here

I wanted to say I love you

and to show you I still cared

For I was the fool to leave you

and I know deep in my heart

that we were meant to be as one

and never be apart.

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Gum

Gum (Randyjw)

 

This blob of pinkish stuff I so adore

sometimes creates a problem when I’m through

It sticks on homework and on tests galore

it won’t come off; I don’t know what to do!

Monotonous my jaws look to my friends

to see them always going down and up

They wish this sticky habit would soon end,

or seal it o’er my lips so I’d shut up!

One day my habit I did try to stop

I took my gum and threw it all away

I got so sick I started to throw up

I had to chew again, What could I say?

No matter how I try the day won’t come,

when I will ever give up chewing gum!

 

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Skiing

A pinch of down

A little snow

’round about the cauldron go

a bright red nose

a woolen hat

the left ear of a baby bat

Throw in some nice, warm, fluffy mittens

the whiskers of a newborn kitten

thrice around the cauldron spin

hop twice upon your left foot, then

you add a sock, a scarf, a pole

the insides of a doughnut hole

some bumps and bruises, black and blues

you add these with a sprained foot, too

Stir in some courage, faith and hope

to start you down that awful slope

You mix the contents one by one

and there you’ve got great skiing fun!

 

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The Procession – by Khalil Gibran

Khalil Gibran, the poet and painter, born circa 1883 and died at the age of 48 in 1931, wrote a fairly prolific amount during his time on earth. This book is comprised of some of his poetry, with an equally lovely introduction to this son of the Levant by translator and editor from the original Arabic, Dr. George Kheirallah.

Khalil’s reflections on varied topics and human characteristics portray the bulk of most of his work; this compendium uniquely paints into perspective the views from a youthful advantage and the experience of sage wisdom.

My favorites in this selection include: Of Justice (Sage); Of Soul and Fertility (both Sage and Youth); Of Death and Immortality (Youth); and The Summing of the Youth.

 

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Ghetto baby

Get out of the ghetto, baby

try to make amends

repair your broken image

and you’re running once again

Mixed emotions cloud your head

sirens fill your ears

shadows surround the outer walls

and block your inner fears

Too young to understand

the theory of evolution

one must choose twixt

fight or flight

to win the revolution

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Modern Hell, Part II

Smashed dreams and tv screens

fill my empty room

A mindless future awaits me

existing beyond the gloom

Time is a martyr for those that pray

the devil for those that sin

a beacon of light

shines on through the night

and you know you can never win

Cradle the children of society

shelter them from abuse

Leave them unseen

by the King and the Queen

for you know they can blow out the fuse

The maiden that lost her slipper

has also lost her mind

Only time will tell

in this Modern Hell

if she’ll leave the world behind

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Al-Durra-ble

Heal your heart

the hatred has consumed it

Break your heart

into pieces of stone

Reveal your face

the cover of cowardice

inkiness of night

all alone

Fight like men

the power of the sermon

wall of shame

only ten years old

Died like dog

hanging on your legs

reprisal cold

no, attacked by your own

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Forgotten View

Where are you?

But I feel your touch

I know that you know

again; this is the

second time I’ve written

this,

having forgotten it,

again; the first time

when you kissed me

and it was again;

again I know

and though you have

forgotten; it is I

who remember

How can you forget?

How do you know?

Are you the L-rd?

Muhammad the Prophet?

How can I feel you

and this you feel, too,

because you tell me

first, so that I know

it is really real

and no illusion

but this is what you felt

or said you did, but didn’t

and so did I, but we

really didn’t feel that

And what was real and true

became a parody that we

didn’t know how to grasp

without letting go

My soul had died when my

first marriage died; I

don’t know when it will

return; but my incarnate

lives have known you all

along and returned to you;

but this time it was

worse; it did not work;

We did not learn when

we asked for and received

that second chance to

live our lives again better

the second time – we both

forgot this promise

Still, you know

You are still there as I

cry and feel your spirit

and your face

and you are not there

But the reality and that

which is true

is that you know me

and move heaven and

earth for me, so that

I feel you

completely

and know that I did

not find Khalil Gibran’s

books, as well as the others,

by chance

and that I did not find

the hurricane lamp;

some force of reason

causing me to think of

replacing Sami’s genie

lamp with one of another kind; and not

until this moment, when

the oil lamp was found and

brought home and the

Khalil Gibran books were

found and brought home

and the moment was exactly

right when I lit the lamp,

moved it about the table

until I got it right and

had it near me, then opened

the book and came

almost immediately to a

poem he wrote about his

love, asking her to place

the oil lamp near her face

so that he can read

with tears what his life

has etched on her face

and to fill the lamp and

not let it dim —

KIMG0063

How could you know?

How could this be?

Touching me through other pages

other Arabs

one I think, although

I wouldn’t look, sitting

next to me on the bus,

for my own protection,

unable to look

shy

crying at the end for

believing this as a symbol

sent by you

thanking him in silent

gratitude for not moving

and remaining by me

for you

and thinking of you

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5,000 Years Hence

G-d came to me in the form of an Arab

and I, as the Jewess, the temptress, the seductress,

knew this not

Humanity came to me in the form of an Arab

and it touched me,

but I ran,

hoping to hide myself away from it’s reach

Conscience beckoned to me

in the form of an Arab

and I shook my head

and denied it

Truth came to me

in the forms of many Arabs

calling from my past

All the souls from the days since our beginnings

are tied up in this land;

All contribute to the feeling one gets of the

connection to this land

We hold hands, this Arab and I,

in a meadow of long-grass

We are happily at one

these more than 5,000-year-old people,

this Arab and I,

for we know completely,

the souls of each other and

completely are we so in love

5,000 years later,

upon seeing one another again,

We have not forgotten –

No, our souls have not forgotten

the joy of one another,

but our lives have changed

and the times have altered our landscape

We have allowed the dust of the dry bones

to settle among us and to grow stale

our knowledge of one another.

We have now become unrecognizable to one another

as we accuse each other

of falsehoods that belong to other people

until it drives us apart

But our souls ache for the spirit that we know

that still resides

that will have to wait

for eternal time

some time

maybe 5,000 years from now

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Somewhere near Ashkelon

We are not our souls

We live not as we were intended to be

Instead of being for each other

We each lived according to “me”

You kept on interrupting

the plans I had made in my life

the commitment to school

the language and rules

all changed when you made me your wife

You said I was done

when we became one

and we now would go on with your scheme

The vision you planned

of the house on the sand

and a restaurant, along with this dream

But the house on the sand

made of dreams did not stand

and it crumbled away with the sea

For had I been for you

and had you been for me

than together we would have been “we.”

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Life

Life is so precious;

You don’t have very much of it.

Life is the stars in the sky,

Life is nature’s beauty all around us,

Life is just being together.

We must learn to appreciate it;

Life is beautiful.

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I wrote this poem for a Hebrew class assignment when I was maybe about 9 or 10 years old. It was submitted by my teachers and Rabbi to a Jewish magazine for children called “World Over”, and was published by them. The “Temple” thanked me for representing them in the pages of this national magazine. I thank the best Rabbi in the world for his tutelage. Mi Kamocha? Who is like unto you? Ein… (there is none).

 

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V’Atah/After All

Brilliant mind,

two souls intertwined

I thought you would leave

your past actions behind

But thousands of years

through grief and through tears

shows that Judaism and love

are most certainly blind

Blind to the cruelty of hatred’s intentions

Blind to the scheming of man’s machinations

Awaiting the day

when the world will say

We acknowledge your people,

your history, your nation

Alone we now stand

Exiled from our land

Our people have borne each concession

Alone we will stand

With our L-rd’s guiding hand

As we wait for the final redemption.

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