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He grabbed me up from where I lay, peaceful in the sun,
with my brothers and my sisters round about me.
I felt four digits seeming to be one of a whole,
which clasped around my form.
A fifth one, slightly broader, pressed onto me from my other side.
And then with a jolt, I found myself next lifted high into air,
the dry hot bed beneath me but a whisper of my past.
Accustomed, at the most, to being trodden upon,
I barely had the time to assimilate this rare experience
(I seemed to remember a sweeter touch long ago
from a smaller being who had picked me up,
examined me and then placed me back on the ground).
Suddenly, I was moving, this time unsupported, through the air.
I spied in a single spinning moment
a world I’d not envisioned from the spot on earth
I'd shared with pebble siblings.
In that place, we were surrounded
by greenery that blocked our view
and by giant old gray boulders, my ancestors perhaps.
Reposing heavily as if attached to land,
one such silent sentry supported him,
the creature who had flung me far from my home.
I found myself then bump, bump, bumping along,
making little rings across a shiny stretch of blue.
And when I lost momentum,
I disappeared beneath the final circle I’d created.
It felt much like the times I had been buried in cold whiteness,
but this instead was liquid cool!
I dropped down and down,
onto a different kind of ground, unusually soft and sticky,
the way earth used to feel for me after a sudden downpour.
Settled there, I noticed brown and silver shapes
that flitted past above me, much smaller
than many of the creatures of the land above me, but swifter.
Also there were tall green blades that swayed in place.
They resembled those that stood on solid ground.
Best of all, I saw around me others of my kind;
a multitude of us, small, beautiful and round,
with whom to share my soft new cozy bed!
AGE OF TEN
Way back then when I was ten
Things were so very different then
I wrote with ink in a fountain pen
Whenever we could we would build a den
And I loved to help my dad in the garden
Way back then when I was ten
I walked to school and was never late
Always ate everything on my dinner plate
Played hop scotch by the garden gate
And was not allowed to go to bed late
Way back then when I was ten
No television colours only black and white
Real Christmas trees and a glass fairy light
We all had a different size of trike
Then I got my first two wheeled bike
Way back then when I was ten
We had so much freedom to roam
But must be in for meals at home
Only a phone boxes with a dial phone
And no phone in many a home
Way back then when I was ten
Latest craze was roller skates
And hula hoop with your mates
Skipping ropes and Meccano gates
But lots of fun with wooden crates
Way back then when I was ten
Coins were in pounds shillings and pence
Mothers talked over the garden fence
Scooters that you could make go at such a pace
Noisy steam trains that always seem to race
Way back then when I was ten
With friends you played out doors
Toys for your imagination scatted on the floor
Skipping ropes, skates and many things more
Sledges of wood, a dolls house with opening doors
Way back then when I was ten
Fun was had with blackboard and chalk
Clay dolls that you could walk
And new plastic ones that wouldn’t talk
Then babies came by way of the Stork UNSUPPORTED CODE
There Winter Lonely Fallows Deeply Dream
Long after that ripe golden sunset gleam
Cool silvery tones, wavering light;
Then winter lonely fallows deeply dream
Into the grayish ghostliness of night.
Far off, yet looming bold and strangely near,
Within starry heavens they are aureoled,
Forested mountain-ranges far westward rear
Their high guardian towers as of old.
And lo! above their ancient stormy deeps,
In pensive grandeur, icy frozen browed,
One glorious forest summit there keeps
Transcendent vigil alone, pure and proud.
And we who see that shining symbol turn
A moment's while from its lone transient mood;
From that brief moment we clearly discern
Our lost souls within Nature's solitude.
Robert J. Lindley
Poem Syllable Counter Results
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10
Total # Syllables: 160
Total # Lines: 19 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically: N/A
Total # Words: 103
https://www.google.com/?gws_rd=ssl#q=fallows+meaning
fal·low1
'falo/
noun
plural noun: fallows
1.
a piece of fallow or uncultivated land.
verb
3rd person present: fallows
1.
leave (land) fallow.
Origin
Old English fealgian ‘to break up land for sowing,’ of Germanic origin; related to Low German falgen .
fal·low2
'falo/
noun
plural noun: fallows
a pale brown or reddish yellow color.
Origin
Old English falu, fealu .
Translate fallows to
Use over time for: fallows
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/aureole
Aureole
noun au·re·ole \'o?r-e-?ol\
Popularity: Bottom 40% of words
Definition of aureole
1
a : a radiant light around the head or body of a representation of a sacred personage b : something resembling an aureole UNSUPPORTED CODE
2
: radiance, aura UNSUPPORTED CODE
3
: the luminous area surrounding the sun or other bright light when seen through thin cloud or mist : corona
4
: a ring-shaped zone around an igneous intrusion
aureole transitive verb
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Note- Sorry my friend- I know I promised you a sonnet on winter and Nature written today but my muse insisted on two more verses.
I learned long ago. my muse is a very vindictive beast when disobeyed.
Sadly gone ,but not forgotten
from your dispenser full of grace
the magic colour purple
upon my lips did place.
A colour filled with wonder
that matched my bright-blue eye's
that could never set asunder
the oh-so-joyous surprise.
How good it looked, how good to see
that riotous splash; that helped me, to be
not him but HER, not he but SHE
awaiting womanhood
that's me !
Elizabeth alexander 10/12/2015.
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The current President, Donald Trump, launched his 2016 presidential campaign on June 16, 2015. One by one his opponents fell by the wayside, and the nomination was all but decided by summer. The following is an exert from a letter I wrote to Donald Trump in October of 2016:
"I chose not to watch the final debate because I felt it would be too painful to watch two Americans hurt each other needlessly. Also, by then, there was nothing more that I needed to know."
Though I did not inform him in that letter, I had already cast my ballot for him, and expected him to win but not by such margins. I expected that when in office he would be opposed and unsupported by liberals, progressives, and some well-established members of his own party, but not by such hatred and viciousness. I do not agree with everything President Trump does nor with every move he makes, but give me a break, do we really want to destroy this great country?
I opposed most of President Obama's policies, but not everything, and I would never consider personal attacks but attacks on principles. Civil unrest cannot be avoided in a Democratic Republic, and family fights are understandable. But danger zones are created when families become dysfunctional, and when nations and governments lose the inner core of their founding principles, there is little to no recourse. Nevertheless, 'trumpets' are resounding around the world, but only God knows if other instruments will be enjoined to create a symphony.
02182019PoSoupContest, Poetry Marathon 19, Mark Toney
Start
Enclosed in a glass casket
Cuddled in a flower-decked basket
She lay serene as ever
No sign of her past fervor
Resting in her last abode
Before the journey by road
To her final burial site
For performing the last rite
Dignitaries came to pay their last respect
Placed a wreath, sad and circumspect
Consoled the members who were dear
To reduce their sorrow and repress a tear
She ruled the state for over a decade
Hailed as the Iron lady, never swayed
Adored by the masses, especially poor
She was the mother to all and a doer
Millions of mourners thronged the street
Wishing she was alive for them to meet
Sea of humanity surged in a melancholy state
Thumping their chests and lamenting their fate
Alas! She can’t hear their mourning cries
It’s a feeling no one can ever reprise
Slowly the coffin was lowered into the grave
The sea responded with a mighty wave.
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I
I AM
I
Come
I come, I came;
I AM
I AM
From the one rib,
From
ADAM
I, I AM, I AM
Not part but whole;
I AM WOMAN,
Yes, I've come from MAN;
and yes I AM;
His chosen spouse;
From God;
Though I find it quite. . .
Odd,
That the heavenly Father
Would even bother. . .
To make ME WOMAN
I, I AM taken from mere MAN;
I come, I came in Jesus Name I am
Woman
My name's EVE;
One of God's children;
Whose descendants,
yes one of them is..
I AM ONE of them,
EVE ROPER
My name is Eve;
One of God's children
Whose descendants
yes I am one of them
taken from ADAM'S rib
Not a half-man but a whole WOMAN;
Put upon this world to help, love and nurture;
And when you see me again;
I'll be in heaven;
with the first ADAM and EVE
AMEN
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(From the forth coming God's Children New Poets/Poems and New Friends)2017(c)
UNSUPPORTED CODE Wailing nature UNSUPPORTED CODE
Sorrowful, tired and hopeless I sit, watching the cruel sun setting
Looking at the few standing leafless trees, “they are lucky to be surviving”
No hope for new ones shooting after merciless cutting
As the wood millers did this, about tomorrow they were not thinking
The evergreen forest, to a new desert it’s slowly changing
But Mother Nature we are sorry, but we know dearly we will pay
We enjoy as we burn those rugs, but our nature we are destroying
Smoke and dangerous gases, factories produce in the name of manufacturing
For the flying birds we don’t care, all we need is profit making
Harmful gases we are inhaling, leaving our bodies weakening
Rising temperatures we experience, leaving many crying
But Mother Nature we are sorry, but we know dearly we will pay
On the mountain peaks and polar zones we see melting ice
Abnormal heat and wild fires we experience
Floods everywhere, since no tree stands on its place
Farmers crying, but no one to explain the rainfall decrease
Majority of us not being directly affected, we live in peace
But Mother Nature we are sorry, but we know dearly we will pay
Since all is not lost each has a big role to take
If we try we can revive everything to its original state
By planting trees and protecting forests, we will change our fate
And in clean and smooth streams flow of pure water will take place
Also let’s prevent soil, air and water pollution from taking place
But Mother Nature we are sorry, but we know dearly we will pay
By Waweru Ngugi
Calm at Sea
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When you're good and it's not enough.
What do you say? Am I just what God wants or is it
another day. When you try and it's not enough; do you give in
or do you keep going. What makes good -- Good enough!
What takes courage into the realm of high?
What do you do to reach the sky? I am better than most
But I think not. What is it that I look for? And how can I get it back?
When you're good that should be good enough. UNSUPPORTED CODE
For many people outside the Myanmar poetry, it may come as a surprise that there is such a thing as language-oriented poetry contemporary poetry scene in Myanmar. The Poetry of the bourgeoisie and the "art for the people" left-wing poetry.
I feel like I have to say to me about how this had happened in Myanmar, the country was under military rule over the past 60 years their poetry broke away from the traditional style classic writing about the monarchy the old and the Burmese Old Burmese way of life before the annexation of British Burma in 1886. The hair experimental poetry movement 1 of the 20th century, was 2 in the movement of new writing, which led pilot Dag on (which is now in his 90s and blind), after the end of World War 2. Influenced by left-wing ideology known of the historical period popular poetry, realism and the Marxist-oriented, through the 40S late. There was at that time, an ideological struggle between the so-called "art for art's sake" The Poetry of the bourgeoisie and the "art for the people" left-wing poetry. Has described those who did not support writing the new "bourgeois" and blasted the "progressives." Although the new writing system that is based on experimental poetry rhyme 4.3.2 with some changes in the number of syllables in each line rhyme scheme, which makes it more flexible, and was aimed at, faith, and the content of a revolutionary. The art for the masses, and poetry is the weapon of the masses against the landowners and capitalists and national. It is unfortunate that the writing of new, while winning the hearts and minds of an entire generation of young poets, and in some cases made just propaganda, and the adage is that the hair must be less aesthetic and utilitarian more so that even the common person would low education "appreciate" poem with ease. UNSUPPORTED CODE myanmar poem UNSUPPORTED CODE
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