Could I get people that post their comments, to please make a poem out of them?
To Anthony
by me
I spent spring break in Urbana,
I had a lot of fun.
Got to see all of my friends,
but one friend really shun.
Thanks Anthony for hosting me,
but now I gotta run.
A Leonor
by Amado Nervo
Tu cabellera es negra como el ala
del misterio; tan negra como un lóbrego
jamás, como un adiós, como un «¡quién sabe!»
Pero hay algo más negro aún: ¡tus ojos!
Tus ojos son dos magos pensativos,
dos esfinges que duermen en la sombra,
dos enigmas muy bellos... Pero hay algo,
pero hay algo más bello aún: tu boca.
Tu boca, ¡oh sí!; tu boca, hecha divinamente
para el amor, para la cálida
comunión del amor, tu boca joven;
pero hay algo mejor aún: ¡tu alma!
Tu alma recogida, silenciosa,
de piedades tan hondas como el piélago,
de ternuras tan hondas...
Pero hay algo,
pero hay algo más hondo aún: ¡tu ensueño!
A Mockingbird Remix
by Rives
9 comments:
I'm at work now, but when I get a chance I'll translate the poem into english and post it here.
Leo, lioness of the Bongaloo,
Can I go on much longer without you?
Though stood up by my sister,
You did not really miss her --
It was April *16*, 1982! ;)
i hate poems that rhyme.
our heads on the ground, circumscription on a hardwood floor,
we stared doe eyed into the flash of a polaroid as our memories were crystallized in print,
only striving to grasp fleeting moments as they slip through our fingertips,
the night shattered leaving fragments of starlight hanging in the air,
i almost had a blacktop back out.
when parisa,leo and peter visited berkeley.
To Leonor
by Amado Nervo
Your hair is as black as the wing
of mistery; as black as a bleak
never, like a goodbye, like a «who knows!»
But there is something even more black: your eyes!
Your eyes are two pensive wizards,
two sphinxes that sleep in the shadow,
two beautiful enigmas... But there is something,
but there is something even more beautiful: your mouth.
Your mouth, oh yes!; your mouth, made divinely
for love, for the warm
communion of love, your young mouth;
but there is something even better: your soul!
Your reserved soul, silent,
of mercies as deep as the open ocean,
of such deep tenderness...
But there is something,
but there is something even deeper: your dream!
There's definitely something lost in translation. Sounds a lot better in Spanish :-(
Thank you for the post
I'm a terrible poet
I only know Haiku's
our tiptoes placed carefully among the hastily laid vinyl floor, eyes of musicians fixed on the ceiling awaiting revolution, as the bottle of wine gave all of itself.
inspiration found the lock and key,
and we stepped to find others who too longed for this blossom of gold.
yours found time behind both of our ears before realizing the role of the sacrament, smoked in anticipation of a laugh.
words written a century earlier
fall short in their description,
for the beloved had yet to walk a street lined in flowers who live and who die for Leonor.
[my apologies and compliments to Steve Hanna for any similarity in our poems. apparently "floors and polaroids" is a recurring theme in the lives of those who know Leo.]
Blog Comments
An electronic fingerprint, remembered but not permanent.
Change it or leave it, only I will really know.
A thought in passing just for you; and everyone else.
Worthless words and halfwords and bytes,
always serving a reminiscent giggle.
Sitting uncomfortably in the corner of the room,
Our silent hero plans his game.
Strategy or procrastination,
We shall never know the motive.
Eyes -- bloodshot and weary,
Rest is not a commodity that can be bought or sold;
It must be taken, stolen from time.
But he is a convict already,
Imprisoned for sleeping before
And he cannot break parole…
He will rest when he is dead.
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