A Body - جسد by Al Saddiq Al Raddi

A Body - جسد
by Al-Saddiq Al-Raddi

The body of a bird in your mouth
breathing songs.
Raw light spills from your eyes,
utterly naked.
You must breach the horizon, once,
in order to wake up.
You must open window after window.
You must support the walls.

I let alphabets cling to me
as I climb the thread of language
between myself and the world.
I muster crowds in my mouth:
suspended between language and the world,
between the world and the alphabets.
I let my head
listen to the myth,
to all sides praising each other.
And I shout at the winds from the top of a mountain.

Why does my tongue tell me to climb this far?
What is the distance between my voice and my longing?
What is there?
A body transcending my body.
A body exiled by desire.
A body sheltered by the wind.

http://www.poetrytranslation.org/poems/255/A_Body

Places - Emad

PLACES
by Emad

All places miss you
and the eyes where your shadow were drawn
and the motions which took my soul to you
it's not me only dear all places miss you

Everything arround me remind me with something
even my voice and smile to you there is something
if the whole world disappear you will be with me
can't you see what happen to me when I remember you?
the places all of them miss you

When you are not with me all voices melt in the emotions
because of your turture nights torture the silence which is inside me
till I became afraid of that day makes my heart dried
and makes all my branches dead
darling I wish you knew how days steal the life and pass
peace where is the peace
my heart forget the taste of peace since you left
why whenever I ask the place I hear the past says :
it's not me only honey, all the places places miss you

The places where you passed through are living in my soul and I want it
but I couldn't find you
you came to my mind before the perfume gets cold even before melting in silent words
and I have been waiting for you
I have been thinking that the wind brought you
your scent touches me
I have been thinking that the yearning brought you
just to sit with me for a moment
I have been thinking and thinking and thinking

Finally I'm diappointed and there is nothing in life
and insoite of all I'm still waiting
all places miss you miss you

http://www.poems-and-quotes.com/sad/poems.php?id=729808

Full Moon

Full Moon

By: Ahu Baser

The fullmoon

The face of me from high above

Watching and smiling

My pure face that I haven't seen yet

The fullmoon

The soul of me from high above

Waiting and whirling

My pure soul that I haven't reached yet

I am the moon and my moonlight too

I am the sun and my sunlight too

I become the moon in the dark

I become the sun in the light

I cry and cry

For pureness

For awareness

For wisdom

For happiness

And I beg 

For Love

And they whisper

We are your moonlight and your sunlight too

Your shadow and sorrows too

Your blessings and cursings too

Your dizziness and emptiness too

Ohhh our poor existence

Don‚t cry and beg

Live simple for pureness

Close your wordy eyes for awareness

Give an ear to your loneliness 

And share all that you have for happiness

And for Love

Die to deathless

Speak to speechless

Live to timeless

Be the source of existence

Merge with us and become One 

And One 

For Love

Good Bye My Child

Good Bye My Child

Where cradled canyons sing
Of ebony wood in the forest
There lies a gurgling spring
Where cockcrows sing their chorus
To the melody of singsong birds
There I’ve concealed my sensuous words
Filled with befitted signs
The saccharine whiff of my designs

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Where the fogs of night are fountains
Spills of glistened moon ignite
By distant silhouette mountains
We dance with passion of fight
Entwining ancient stance
Mingling hand in hand we dance
Till the mountains smile on high
Near and far we spring
To pursue the realest of dreams
While the world cries at its seams
Anxious in trouble to cling

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

To where the ridges merry make
From the beaks of wooden bright
In sparkly pools the ghouls awake
That scarce to stir our night
We watch for seekers down under
Muttering secrets in their soul
We bid them lucks of shivers
Dipping gently in
From reeds that hide a tear of a foal
Under the gentle rivers

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Far away she shall ever churn
The taciturn eyed
She’ll listen no more to turn
To the working mills beside
Or the scrubbing of the barn
May peace weave in her song
She shall wave in the yarn
To a haven known as Belong

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

For she comes, the mortal youth
To the wild realm of her truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only her tears be found

Written by: Laura Breidenthal

http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=456080

Water: By Ralph Waldo Emerson

Water

By Ralph Waldo Emerson

The water understands

Civilization well;

It wets my foot, but prettily,

It chills my life, but wittily,

It is not disconcerted,

It is not broken-hearted:

Well used, it decketh joy,

Adorneth, doubleth joy:

Ill used, it will destroy,

In perfect time and measure

With a face of golden pleasure

Elegantly destroy.

A Christian Poem: Crying Is A Gift From God

A Man Who cries Is A "Wise Man"

A father said to his son
Who had a tear in his eye
If you want to be a man
You absolutely cannot cry

You won't be a man if do
And you'll be brought to shame
You'll be looked down upon
Some will call you a dame

The son looked up
Towards his dad
With eyes of sorrow
And his face drooping and sad

He said, dad I believe
Crying is from God a gift
To release what's inside
And give us a lift

If we don't cry
And release our pain
It will stay inside
And come back again

When our pain builds up
And we can't take it anymore
Our frustration breaks out
With destruction galore

Dad, I believe crying
Is from God above
To prevent us from hurting
The one's we love

Would it be pleasing to God
If I were hurting others around
Or would He rather see me crying
With my head bowed down?


A Man Who Cries Is a "WISE MAN"

source: http://www.things-to-say.com/Christian/crying.htm

Poem - Men Do Cry

Men Do Cry

I heard quite often “men don’t cry”
Though no one ever told me why
So when I fell and skinned a knee
No one came to comfort me.
And when some bully boy at school
Would pull a prank so mean and cruel
I’d quickly learn to turn and quip
“It doesn’t hurt”, and bite my lip.

So as I grew to reasoned years
I learned to stifle any tears.
Though “be a big boy” it began,
Quite soon I learned to ” be a man”.
And I could play that stoic role
While storm and tempest wracked my soul
No pain or setback could there be
Could wrest one single tear from me.

Then one long night I stood nearby
And helplessly watched my son die,
And quickly found to my surprise
That all that tearless talk was lies.
And still I cry and have no shame
I cannot play that ” big boy” game,
And openly without remorse
I let my sorrow take it’s course.


So those of you who can’t abide
A man you’ve seen whose often cried,
Reach out to him with all your heart
As one whose life’s been torn apart.

For men do cry when they can see
Their loss of immorality.
And tears will come in endless streams
When mindless fate destroys their dreams.

written by Ken Faulk

Rain

Rain

Rain comes down with a million beauty

always wafted its natural aroma

there are many implicit tales when it falls

what an uncountable bless it is

The air blows freshly

the sky becomes greyish just like a pale melancholy

The sound of thunder appears from afar

it keeps us to hold out

The rush of its fall embellishes every single view

falling down slowly and lost by memory

how beautiful it is with its charm

just like an angel goes down from the sky

Rain always comes with much surrprise

when everything goes silent with no worries

just like a mistery of life that is neglected

can only be revealed when it is missed

The sense of bless in the heart must be sung

for that one who creates the rain

Throw all the sigh when rain comes

because it never sighs when it falls down

This Winter by Charles Mariano

This Winter

I suppose, with the wind and rain outside, and more to come, we’ve cocooned with blankets, warm fires. I suppose, like the change of season, freezing cold, instead of sun, inward, instead of outward, the season of that endless war, killer hurricanes, loved ones lost, I’ll just turn the page, start over.

I’ve often wondered if I’m a winter writer, rather than summer. Throw on thick sweaters, coats, gloves and trek high up the mountain to my tower, to “bear” for winter. One small, frosty window to look out. “Countless tales,” I write in my journal shivering, “layers of rain, snow, and wind, to overcome.”

It is this imagination that binds. Pen in hand, fingers spread evenly on a keyboard. Wipe the frost, find the pulse. Tell them what ails, or inspires. Reveal the colors, be it agony, intense and miserably cold, or thoughts of romance, desires, engulfed or enflamed by simple candlelight. Set the temperature and tone, open the page, begin.

I suppose, from my mountain view, the lights below, mere weeks before Christmas, that I’ve got something significant to share. A vast landscape, glistening jewels of light, smoke billowing from thousands of chimneys. Don’t know, can’t tell yet. Maybe nothing.

I stroke my long beard, smoke my pipe, pull the flaps of my hat lower. We are, the words of every season, all of us, to our last breath, touching hearts and souls, scribbling blindly, breathlessly, designing, building, hunkering down.

But all is silent, save the wind, howling at my back.

Look, tell them of the pain of death, so recently endured, what my eyes have seen, tortured, beaten, abused. Tell them of flying high above the fray, a view so magnificent, it begs to say, to express, to share. Create an unforgettable character, that mighty hero of mind and heart that gives, saves, knows all. One who carries us to that tearful page of victory. Lie down here, another blanket to keep warm.

I suppose, there is no greatness, not now, perhaps later, but we trudge through, press on. Every day, every season, different.

High above the howling storm, frost on my beard, eyes searching wanefully to heartfelt losses, human touch. Seasons that follow, lead, churn deeply. Imagination does not go cold. Or does it? Here, take this pen, write it. Eyes, alive and moving beyond the snow, conjuring winters across the ridge, snowflakes dreamily to the page.

We’re not gone, only adjusting, acclimating, different sights and sounds, binding. Takes time to see, peel the layers, undress. There is nothing to say, not yet, the world at our feet.

“Countless tales,” I write, “layers of snow and wind, to overcome.”

http://poetry.about.com/library/weekly/blmarianowinter.htm

Beautiful Poetry by Mary Hamrick

Autumn

Autumn is like an old book:

Marred spines turn mean yellow,

staples rust red-orange.

Every stained page is stressed

by a splat of color. Rough-red,

like an old tavern,

we become hungry birds

and prepare for fall.

Shape and shadow are candied citron

as lanterns turn bitter yellow. Autumn

is a red fox, a goblet filled with dark wine,

a hot chilli pepper with smoky eyes.

Pressed leaves take in the colors

of seafood paella and saffron; these leaves

are like death, climaxing with a smile.

Autumn: Her dress is a net of mussels;

dark shelled, it covers up

summer’s weatherbeaten body.

So pull out your boots

and stand on an aged, wood floor

like an evergreen.

http://poetry.about.com/od/poems/l/blhamrickautumn.htm