Long Bly Poems
Long Bly Poems. Below are the most popular long Bly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bly poems by poem length and keyword.
Die Lewens gang
So dwaal ek rond in die lewens gang
vol van verlange en oral teen di mure
hang potrete van herineringe.
Die tyd het geloop sy eie loop
geloop. Hy het ons mee gesleep en
wys gemaak. Tyd het geleer ons
geleer dat ale wonde genees, maar
tyd was ook te kort om vergaane
geliefdes weer te groet.
Soms is ons spyt gewees, soms het
ons net n sug van verligting, tyd sal
ons weer verder vat, Die onbekende
in die lewens lange gang af en oral
sal daar weer nog potrete by kom
van vriende en geliefdes wat in die
niet verdwyn. Maar die herinepringe
sal weer trug kom waneer ons stil
raak en trug blik na tye wat verby is.
Daar loop weer 2rye spore deur my
lewe, soos in die lewens gang van
ons lewe, verskyn daar ook n potrret
van jou op my muur, en ek weet uit
eindelik is jy ook op geteken in my
lewe. My gemoed raak stil want soos
van soveel kere van tevore moet ek
woner sal die potret bly hang, want
hier in die gang van di lewe is daar
onbekende dinge, dinge wat kan
uitwis dit wat eens mooi was. Dinge
wat gedagtes kan sper en gevoelens
kan koud laat, en ek skuif die prent
weer reg want met vetroue en geloof
sal die potret ook bly hang en die
kloue van liefde sal hou en nie laat
gaan.
Want die gang van die lewe is nooit
reguit nie.
Nuwe uit dagings wag. Om elke
draai, maar as ons om ons heen kyk
is ons geliefde daar, om te help te
hou op dit wat reg en eg is.
Want die mense rondom ons sien n
masker n masker wat niemand
behalwe ons geliefdes weet wat
agter aan gaan nie
Ek was gevra om ietsie oor Pa te sê
Maar waar begin ek nou
Wanneer daar eintlik net een ding is wat ek nou wil doen
Om steeds my arms om Pa te vou
Maar nou is Pa weg
Na ‘n plek waar Pa tog graag wou wees
Bo by Liewe Jesus
Maar bly steeds hier by ons in gees
‘n Man met ‘n hart van goud
Wie slegs goeie dinge oor mense kon sê
‘n Bonatuurlike liefde vir ons
En wie slegs die beste vir sy kinders wou hê
Streng het ons grootgeword
Maar dit was oor Pa lief was vir ons
En alles wat ek as Pa se dogter wou hê
Was dat ek Pa se hart van trotsheid laat bons
Nou is ons Pa en Ma se maatjie weg
Ons belowe om mekaar te ondersteun
En aan die herinneringe te hou van ‘n besonderse man
Wat God slegs vir ons kon leen
‘n Man met ‘n Hart van goud
Dit is hoe ek Pa altyd sal onthou
En nou is dit tyd om totsiens te sê
Al wens ek, ek kon steeds my arms om Pa vou
*Dear PoetrySoup Members. I apologise to those of you who does not understand Afrikaans, but this poem is dedicated to a dear friend of mine who is Afrikaans. She told me a little bit about her father who recently passed on and I decided to put it together in a poem for her. I hope you guys do not mind. TS poetry was an absolute gem and translated what I wrote in my poem in his comment below. Thank you TS Poetry*
If gold coins and silver dollars
Could turn hollow and float
On the quivering skin of Torch Lake
July backstroke of jingle
Belly rings nipple rings
This would be it
Drowning Japanese Beetles
Tossed by handfuls to the surface water
From jewelry boxes kept by robbers
What better way to give it back?
Bringing justice to generations
Of those who’ve always wondered
What exactly happened to my keepsakes?
Sky
Lake
I am cut in half at my cold waist
Like a poor boy on a rural road
Who’s come across a tipped over Brinks truck
Coughing in the hot dust
Of swimming nickels and pennies
I look around
Then wade through my newfound riches
My beggar’s palms
Scoop up the reflections
Collect to the dock bits and pieces
Of the struggling metallic creatures
And wisps of cloud sun and wind
A stirring gaudy pile
Grows of second chances
To be picked over by my kids
Who say “Eweee. Yuck. and Beautiful.
Daddy
You are a pirate. Captain Bly!”
Ey
I don’t know why I do these little things
Saving these treasures
As coin by coin takes wing
Flies away
To my kids’ great wonder.
Mid February dreams amongst the winds of change
I am waiting for the season to relinquish its hold
like the frost on the rooftops, the snow at my door
sooner or later will be no more...
I am watching the pine tree swaying in the cold sun
dipping its branches, courtesies of a winter's day
A piano plays softly in the background
as I sit here contented as a well fed cat
Mid February dreams amongst the winds of change
From my rocking chair, lavender fields remembered
sun born kisses with eyelet flashes of white linen
suntanned arms raised before a blue, blue ocean
airborne on a surfing board secured as an eagle
like a beach boy I flew, and who ever knew
She came to me like an August dream and
slipped her tiny hand in mine, we became one
like the summer stars in the sky when they bly
from my rocking chair lavender fields, I remember
Winter enclosures well aged in composure I sit to admire
the view, amazed at how everything secretly, expires.
Net soos Noag, David & Abraham
word dissiepels van die ware lam.
Net soos Johannes, Lukas of Filamon
leer die word en vertrou net op Hom.
Leef soos Titus, Markus & Daniël
wys vir almal dat God maak ‘n verskil,
of
wees dan net soos getroue Job,
die beste dienaar van onse God.
As jy is soos die kind van God,
dan hoop ek jy besef –
jy’t ‘n baie groot job
Vertel die mense van onse
PA.
Wees ‘n voorbeeld en hou op
om te kla.
Sing ‘n lied van Salemo
en help die volk om dan te glo.
Vertel hulle almal van Matteus
En openbaar aan hulle God se heilige gees.
Jy weet Paulus het vir God om die aarde geloop, sonder ‘n staf of selfs ‘n stukkie brood.
Só moenie nou word soos die Romeine,
want jy berhoort aan God – Ja jy is syne.
Kry die doop & breek die brood,
bly in Hom & vrees nooit die dood.
Die koningkryk van die Hemel het gekom,
so maak seker dat als wat jy doen is net vir Hom.
Wees opreg soos ‘n duif,
Dan sal jy vir ewig bly in ons Vader se huis.
Sprake vs Skrywe
‘n Geskrewe woord kan nie vergaan, sal altyd sigbaar bly.
Maar hy wat nou die woord kan hoor, kan waarneem wat jy voel.
Die letter deur die oog gesien kry later eers sy doel.
Waar mondelings gesprekke vloei - sal die siel sy pasmaat kry
Want onpersoonlik koud en kul is woorde op papier:
Geen oogkontak, geen liggaamstaal, slegs twee-dimensioneel
Te maklik om dit uit te laat en te vinnig om te deel
word srywe, e-pos, SMS gesels se nuutste gier
Waar ons verbale wisselwerk die wonder laat gebeur
Groei siel-tot-siel uit mond-tot-mond; ‘n Liefde kan nou bot…
Want in die begin was daar die Woord, en Hy was self ook God
Teenwordig in ons kuiertjie kan Hy ons woord verwerp of keur
Slegs dan is dit wat binne in die siel en hart aangaan
Gelyk in tempo, en in pas, met die woorde van jou maat.
Want dialoog is almal s’n, en almal kan dit praat
Maar ‘n warm woord van jou na my – Maak dat ek jou verstaan
Form:
Verdwyn
Gespruit en toe vergete met gewete van papier
Besluit te neem om als te los wat hierso agter bly
Eers drie; toe een; toe twee; toe vier
Die som van toekomsblik vir jou - maar eerder meer vir my
Die aand was koud en hunkring sterk sou waardes my verpas
Uitnodigend - en kort voor lank was jy my warm jas
Maar soos ‘n fondament bly ek die een wat agterbly
Ek doen en werk verwagtend want die vrug het my verly
As steunpilaar vir jare nog, sou ek die las moes dra
Vergete hoe die woeker-nag my meer as dit sou vra
Ons oes is nou die vrugte van die saad van liefdesdaad
Jou jas in my kas wil nie meer pas – ‘n las bly inderdaad
Eers twee, toe vier; toe drie dan een
Jou beurt die anker rol te speel, wyl ek die winter nag alleen
tot in die lente steeds sal wees – al is die kinders ook by my
Groei my enigheid tot bo, waar die Wysheid met sy hulp my lei.
Form:
I stopped what I was doing. I got very still, and I breathed like I do when I hear noise
outside my room at night.
I listened to my poem.
It told me to stop expecting, stop thinking
and just be there for it.
I quickly squeezed one out.
I wanted to be a chef and
feed my friends a poem.
No.
That wasn’t it.
The poem peeked out at me again and said
I want to say to you what the wind says to you and what the warm breezes say.
Now, listen.
I stopped to listen.
I took from my book of seeds and crumbs.
I wanted to share a story like the stories that begin with, “Yesterday, I…”, or “I heard
this…”, or “Can you imagine…”.
I stopped chasing the poems.
I let the poem catch me.
The poem may hold you for a moment, then let you go, or it may become part of you
-- and you are one.
Title quote-attributed to Robt. Bly
I wonder how a poet thinks?
Bound by circumstance or random occurrences,
as they rise and fall like changes in weather,
lost in the turmoil of cloud cover and threatening wind storms?
If I were a poet perhaps I would know of it,
and better understand and recognize
the idiosyncrasies of time and space, word and phrase
when feelings and emotions. love and hate rise and fall.
I am neither Shakespeare, Browning, Frost nor Bly
not even Whitman, Plath, Bishop, Yates or Hughes
but surely their thought and imagery portrayed
could tantalize and tweak my interest into some form of expression.
A new generation rises, hopefully, I am one
who often lacks conformity to form and meter, which might be best
for each of us who must write the words most meanigful to us,
cannot help but ring true to who we are within ourselves.
Moving On
Days darkened, shadows followed memories I could not escape.
Streets I knew well, seemed to shift under the weight of my heart.
Songs, that once lifted me on Angels Wings, now bury my soul
with regret.
By chance, I found friends who gave me hope! Walt Whitman, Robert Bly,
Carl Sandburg and Robert Frost, brought expressions of life,
found in their poems. Suddenly my world seemed brighter! Flowers
nodded in thanks at my words! Streams rushed by with excitement
when I wrote of their journey! stars above me blinked with joy!
And invited me to share in their dreams!
As long as I can hold this pen…….Never shall I travel alone!
Never,
Shall I travel alone!
…for Laura’s contest