Long Neruda Poems
Long Neruda Poems. Below are the most popular long Neruda by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Neruda poems by poem length and keyword.
Pablo Neruda, the great Chilean poet,
Was exiled in an isolated Italian island during WWII,
Only communication he had with the world,
Were thru the letters delivered by the postman(Mario).
Mario: What's a poem?
Neruda:
It's a metaphor, it's a metaphor,
Mario: What's a metaphor?
Neruda:
'It is a device for seeing something in terms of something else.
It brings out the thisness of that, or a thatness of this.'
Mario: How do I write a metaphor?
Neruda:
Think of rain as the cry of the heavens,
Think of love as a rose,
Think of burning candle as the agony of a lonely heart.
Mario: How do I piece together metaphors?
Neruda:
On a moonlit night, I see my love reflected in the moon's silvery light,
Holding her tight, I smell the fragrance of jasmine tonight,
Adoring her smile, I see the beauty of monarch butterflies,
Staring in her eyes, I see the oasis of love in my high desert lonely life.
Mario:
How do I write a poem?
I love her but have not a spoken a word.
Neruda:
You have the inspiration, put in some romantic words.
On a beautiful moon lit night, I wonder who is prettier,
When I look at you, I forget about the moon.
Knit together love, loneliness, fear, and tears of heart,
Into a beautiful tapestry of emotions and feelings that mask your heart,
Stitch some metaphors, make it a heartwarming comforter.
"I want to see thirst In the syllables, touch fire In the sound; feel through the dark. For the scream." ~ Pablo Neruda
I
taste the
pulse of stars
coursing through rhymes,
stirring my moon-swept
soul, as I ache for your
soft blue sparks of poetry,
breathless and lost in the musky
heat of phrases etched beneath champagne
skies, wrapped in threads of chiffon-laced heartbeats.
And I think of you ~ the pearl warmth of dusk,
for in your arms, I felt a wistful
verse, glowing like fervent fireflies
but if love could color the
blush of secret sunsets,
would you be the gold
that binds me to
Romeo’s
silent
sighs?
"As if you were on fire from within.
The moon lives in the lining of your skin." ~ Pablo Neruda
When the sky unfurls your silhouette,
like moonlight glazed in sequined haze,
I breathe the ache, cradle the air~
on tiptoes beneath quivering stars,
to taste poetry within your warmth,
free-flowing on the sighs of silence,
where silken veins mirror tender dreams
of soulmates engrossed in rainbow mists.
But am I to remain a veiled verse,
an irrelevant flame ~ a blemished rhyme,
as songs within your heart fall out of sync,
amidst paper promises, still forged in love,
beneath the wings of gossamer sparks,
raining tears of memories...
“Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair”
Words that brought eroticism to bear
Penned by a man from the town of Parral
A poet for whom there’s no parallel.
Poetry won him acclaim,
Politics tarnished his name;
Pablo Neruda on the Noble Prize
Neftalí Ricardo Reyes Basoalto in his parents’ eyes.
Upon his death, people forbidden to mourn
Due to his political views
Thousands of Chileans honored this man
Beyond established curfews.
As a man myself who fancies the verse
Writing poetry my ultimate curse
I envy the works of Pablo Neruda
My only wish? That I knew ya.
Entry in the Pablo Neruda contest
Captain of the most distant islands
living poem among my prose
that each one was exchanging for roses
with the moonlight and wandering mornings
II
You loved as few have loved
with crazy sea and clear letter
the greatest poet who remained in us
as he calmly portrayed ...
III
The island was your light and your horizon
witnessed your lot, luck
let me read my verse
IV
Time mate here awaits you
beyond this letter and this death
I follow your companion brand ...!
PS TRANSLATION / ADAPTATION OF THE POEM by alkas poetry
SONET OF POETISA ADELA CARPORAL
POEMS FOR PABLO NERUDA.
I wish I could write
like those others before me,
Byron and Shelley and old Edgar Poe
Flowery phrases
Thy love unforgetting,
chasing a raven as ink tends to flow
Follow a sidewalk
in Silverstein footsteps,
sit neath a tree as the apples appear
Doth O’ my feelings
O’er Midsummer stanzas
Dream thee melodic as words of Shakespeare
Maybe some thoughts
in a past tense creation,
deeper in meaning like Sylvia Plath
Or Robert Frost
and the nature he touches,
meandering off through the trees down a path
Emily Dickinson,
aprons and daisies,
words overflowing the tea kettle rim
And let’s not forget
“The man”, Leonard Cohen,
what I would give if I could write like him
Neruda, Longfellow,
Kipling and cummings
so many thoughts in their own point of view
Taking our minds
to assorted locations
every piece speaks of something quite new
So many poets
who weave inspiration,
any or all I can just hope to be
But here I am
just writing my verses,
I guess I am stuck being little ol’ me
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And here’s a few more,
some you might know
Who inspire all
when their ink it does flow
Charmaine, Paloma,
Heidi and Dee
Victor and Daniel
Catie, Laniey
Holly, Alexis,
Mystic and Rick
Maurice, The Seeker
Eve and Tim Smith
Arthur and Freddie
James, Jo and Jan
Nette, Laura Loo
Broken Wings, San
And so many others
I’ve met on this site
Who each day inspire
this poet to write
If I have forgotten anyone, I apologize. I am still quite new here.
A poet
par excellence.
A pen's
best friend. He has...
kind puppy-dog eyes
his poems
dazzle;
blows the mind
and his
writing style,
distinctive,
He's the next best thing
to Pablo Neruda.
a
wonderful human!
(Yalto)
Pick a Friend on Soup Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Bobby May (Winner: 3rd Place)
Date written and submitted: 09/25/2019
It is not a fact
That the super moon arrived
after many years
And will again be seen
After so many years
It came just the other day
With a lot of tales to say
Whenever you come
As the colours come
In apple handsome
Whenever you come
As a yellow and red music
In the flute and drum
Whenever you come
Along with bees in hum
The super moon comes
And not the everyday moon
That we are used to, like our
Tobacco and eructation sour
Our brown pride and black power
No, not so commonplace an episode
Without nothing to decode
It is a super moon
When you come
As a glide trembling in a tune
Taking down the moon
It is not a fact too
That you will not come again
Very soon
May be next June
May be sooner or later
We cannot predict
When the bones and bloods will be lit
No computer to foresee
Nor there will be one
When the thunder will knock in a frisson
A lightning will flash across the horizon
Almost all on a sudden
One day we see a lovely cherry
on a deep red tree
Inside our cognitivity
There, there, upon the dunes
The moon changes
To a super moon
No more camels in a procession
In the shadows of isolation
Existential fragmentation
In the peace of night
The delighted super moon
May enter through your window
And sit beside your pillow
You may act Pablo Picasso
Neruda Pablo
Or blame it on Rio
Morning night or noon
You don't know when
But it does come
The super moon
Time does flirt
Overt or covert
According to your personality
Extro or introvert
Time does bloom
To flood our momentary rooms
With the exhilarating sensations
From the super moon
Whether a Trump
Or a dweller in a slum
All including she he and you
Can understand my view
'Cause the milieu
And the needle and thread
With which I sew this design
The visits of super moonshine
You have perceived it
You did meet it
In the recurrent current
Flooding your barren lands
Inside your chest
Your resplendent moments of crest
The super moon in our inward sky
My smiling shadow in your eyes
Our times intensify
As we both live and die
It is a succession of life and death
The desire dances underneath
------------------------------------------------
24/11/2016
John Keats - I continue to adore Keats's lush, sensuous language and his odes to beauty, nature, and love, which can deeply resonate with some of my own poetry's yearning and delicacy.
Emily Dickinson - Dickinson's quiet intensity and exploration of death, eternity, and inner life has appeal to my introspective side.
She and I share a fierce independence of spirit and a love for solitude.
Edna St. Vincent Millay - I admire Millay's bold, feminist voice and her exploration of desire and independence.
Millay's mastery of sonnet form and ability to capture the fleetingness of passion has after multiple readings come to resonate with me.
Pablo Neruda - Known for his passionate love poems and deep connection to nature, Neruda has come to enchant me with his visceral imagery and emotional honesty.
His poems about the natural world might feel like kin ship to me, my own.
Mary Oliver - I feel at home in Oliver's reflective, nature-based poetry.
I have come to love Oliver's reverence for the world, finding in it a continuation of her own themes of beauty and spiritual communion with nature.
Sylvia Plath - I would definitely appreciate Plath's courage in delving into the complexities of self, identity, and mental struggle.
While my tone of poetry has now through evolution grown more gentler, I feel a kinship in Plath's exploration of one's inner life.
Rainer Maria Rilke - With his mystical tone and contemplative exploration of love and solitude, Rilke would be a poet that I have come to admire.
His 'Letters to a Young Poet' would also resonate as advice one might give to aspiring poets.
Louise Glück - Known for her somber tone and introspective lyricism, Glück would fascinate me with her exploration of loss, longing, and family dynamics.
I admire Glück's precision and haunting imagery.
Langston Hughes - I would appreciate Hughes's musicality, social consciousness, and exploration of personal and collective identity.
His poems on love, hope, and perseverance would feel to me like hymns of survival and resilience.
Ada Limón - I would likely be drawn to Limón's modern voice and her intimate, conversational style that draws readers into an emotional landscape. Limón's poems of self-acceptance, connection to nature, and resilience would feel like a refreshing evolution of the lyricism that I have come to cherish.
UPROOTED
“The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.”--------------------Rumi
listen not to the vagrant zephyr
seeking only sustenance of its kind
idol thinkers lolling in innocence
swayed by every whispering sigh
unaware – that secrets lie.
“We put the urn aboard ship.”---------------------------------------Sappho
Single struggling sapling
scented with the longings of leaving,
kissed by the roots of a family’s tree
adrift on a sea of doubt
holding true to its native soil.
“Wherever I am, the world comes to me.”-----------------------Mary Oliver
An ocean lapping at the shores of time’s fleeting gusts
enticing us to come aboard, sail her winds
dance the song of the gentle rains
shelter in her wooded arms and cliffs
wait as her horizon’s greet my welcome.
“the moon is a curving flower of gold.”---------------------------Sara Teasdale
grinning in the pilfered beauty of sunlight
stolen from beyond earth’s curving crust
hanging its crescent hook for lover’s
to ponder in the midst of loving’s lust
petals falling in the path of daybreaks rush.
“I like my body when it is with your”…memory-------------------e.e. cummings
tingling with the cold salt spray of
breakers overpowering the sand
softly kissing the edges ……frothily spent
bubbling beneath the screech of gulls
nestled into the arms of home
“the apparition of these faces in the crowd”-------------------------Ezra Pound
vague faces of unknown forebears
yellowing in time’s smoky rooms
stern faces seeking a future
young faces – now grown old
dancing on the branches of a tree.
“The tree is here, still, in pure stone” ----------------------------------Pablo Neruda
troubled roots strengthened by hardship
searching life’s invisible pathways
meeting pressure with practiced patience
offering shade, and presence
touching granite’s hardened heart.
John G. Lawless
7/24/2015
“Wherever I am, the world comes to me.” Mary Oliver
“the apparition of these faces in the crowd.” Ezra Pound
”I like my body when it is with your….” e.e. cummings
“The tree is here, still, in pure stone,” Pablo Neruda
“We put the urn aboard ship.” Sappho
“the moon is a curving flower of gold.” Sara Teasdale
“the breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.” Rumi