Blanches Poems - Poems about Blanches

...I can’t stop thinking, That the earth is round, round Like African women, That the seagulls are white, That dogs are crazy, They bark at poets, writers, I can’t stop thinking, That the sun i......

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...In open schools, On the laziness of orange trees, On the beds of straw, I’m looking for it, In the naked mills, On the guest books, On the square roofs, I’m looking for it, Under the shee......

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...Je vois partout de beaux bouquets de clochettes blanches à l’air fragile ; Ces petites fleurs aux têtes courbées feuilles vert-foncé et tiges graciles. Sur une pelouse forestière un tapis blan......

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...Autumn Memory comes back, Piece by piece, dropping into mind, as leaves falling one by one, These colors reflect the sweetness, and bitterness of memories I stood in the midst of a road ......

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...Autumn Memory comes back, Piece by piece, dropping into mind, as leaves falling one by one, These colors reflect the sweetness, and bitterness of memories I stood in the midst of a road ......

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...Waterlilies brighten black ripples, reeds, and rocks below. An even flow, bane and blight recedes to bare raven’s bones. A grave of darkness blanches In austere light on bloodless banks, ......

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...Nature ages like Youth, a bougainvillea wrapped around a strapless watch. Youth doesn’t look at the clock but ignores passing hours unknowing, innocent of the melting water. It leaps and l......

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... So full of empty between the ears; void breeze reasoning, zero thoughts a-blowing Banished to the barren cornfields, multi-grain years of accumulated wisdom bear no pleasant, golden......

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...Translation of Eric Mottram’s Courbet: Elegy 8 by T. Wignesan Blanches oeuvres ouvertes résident dans les jours la surface du banc de travail est noire les géraniums-lierres les fougères et......

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... Translation of Eric Mottram’s TIME SIGHT UNSEEN - Part Four by T. Wignesan "Instead of an item in a school of rhetoric, the poem could have variety of articulations, continuity and discontin......

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...Her crimson heart blanches, broken, her soul aches never to numb her loss. When songbirds silently retreat to tallest treetops, shaken she lights her solitary restlessness. On the wind......

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...Red to Black Pink? Pinkish! The first flush of youth on the face at the gate. Who? Pat Bouwer. Then she’s ......

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...Aux lacs italiens Douce l'italie, ca n'est pas moi qui raillerai jamais tes amants, méme quand la passion les emportant Bien au contraire, les exces m'enchantent. Je me rapelle l'ent......

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...The atmosphere rings with the bell like calls of the plover flock, long before they are spotted. The flight herringbones a grey fedora sky. Markings of white and coal black weave, wing-stitched, ......

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...Why is there anything, anything at all? It’s a question that blanches the brain. A question that holds thinkers in thrall. And the answer is by no means plain. What are we to make of endless sp......

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