I gazed, silent, at my notebook.
I gazed for hours seeking a word;
a word that's worth your eye colour.
Your eyes are a mystic maze of colours;
a forest under the sea:
ambiguous, profound,
transparent, Brilliant!
A warm touch, a melody,
a breeze that smells of pine,
a fresh literary genre, a history,
a greek myth I never get tired of hearing.
Your eyes are two crystals
manipulating colors;
Illusive, surreal.
Your eyes are worth a million words,
yet not a word shall encompass
the full charm of your eye colour.
They say that Snow White
fell out with Cinderella,
And with her she was clinging,
pulling her hair...
So said the maiden...
- She is as dry as a mango
in the mouth of a toothless gal.. !
Ps Cordel...Cordel Literature is a popular literary genre in Btazil, often written in a rhyming way, originating from oral accounts and later printed in pamphlets. Cordel literature became popular in Brazil in the North and Northeast regions, and is now widespread throughout the national territory.
THIS cordel WAS writen BY a POET FROM THE book rescue OF ZE LIMEIRA
translation by \alkas poetry
Yucatan, etc.
Cortez, DeMille are gone.
It's now the locus
of postgraduate honeymoons,
urban fugues, a minor literary genre.
Knowledge and ejection predispose us
to technological parody--
antique busses, burros, plumbing, pyramids--
as if nothing ever caught on.
There is no CHRONOLOGY, the pace and mores
are too counterproductive--
poster Indians pee along the road,
the women never dust.
We like the Sartrean-Spanish askewness--
bugs, sex, dysentery, moonlight--
as if, though settled with us,
the Fates vacation here.
Poetry is not meaningless.
It helps the writer,
To get his or her point across,
In rhyme,
And sometimes
None.
Poetry is a unique expression.
It is the writer’s way,
To pass on God’s blessings,
And life’s lessons.
It is my way to combat hate,
From the past and present dates.
Poetry drives punches and puns,
In such view words.
It gives haters or readers
In short what they need or deserve.
It is here to help us all
Pass life’s promising tests.
Poetry is the literary genre,
That I love the best.
wrote 2-5-10
The only communion I want to make these days
Is with the trees, the grass, the flowers, the sky.
Having traveled the River Styx for many a year--
Having been an actor in a Greek tragedy
Set in the wrong century--
I ask, in what literary genre
Am I to participate now?
None.
It's time to claim my artistry, my certainty,
my own beauty.
Trying to align my life with cause and causation
Left me begging for constant forgiveness.
The communion of saints is under my feet.
It fills my nostrils and envelops my mind.
I give up the foregone conclusions
of polite society.
I jump into the stillness of my heart, the unknown.
I swim in its vastness.
I, like Odysseus, will never give up
Telling the stories of my adventure homeward.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.