Recent Poetry
The smile without dwells not within,
Its "warmth" is shallow and thin;
The happiness which once was there -
Will it ever come again?
The smile shows on the outer part;
But does not touch the heart;
The eyes which seem so jovial -
Do they show any hint of the wart?
The smile I wear is deceptively still;
When of sorrow my heart's had its fill;
The pain that I bear in my loneliness -
Is it moving in for the kill?
-Oladon, 12-28-2008, 12:18am
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"חפצי בה"
La llamaré a ella.
עז היא תיזכור
Que soy su amor.
הבת שלי
Volverá a mí.
...אני רוצה את יום הזה
De mi corazón:
Daughter, come home.
-Oladon, 12-29-2008, 12:09pm
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I'll have to post the quadralingual one when I get back... I apparently didn't bring it with me.
Its "warmth" is shallow and thin;
The happiness which once was there -
Will it ever come again?
The smile shows on the outer part;
But does not touch the heart;
The eyes which seem so jovial -
Do they show any hint of the wart?
The smile I wear is deceptively still;
When of sorrow my heart's had its fill;
The pain that I bear in my loneliness -
Is it moving in for the kill?
-Oladon, 12-28-2008, 12:18am
----------------------------------
"חפצי בה"
La llamaré a ella.
עז היא תיזכור
Que soy su amor.
הבת שלי
Volverá a mí.
...אני רוצה את יום הזה
De mi corazón:
Daughter, come home.
-Oladon, 12-29-2008, 12:09pm
----------------------------------
I'll have to post the quadralingual one when I get back... I apparently didn't bring it with me.
1 Comments:
Very good poetry, dear niece.
Do you know this one? I think it's mindbogglingly brilliant.
If trees were tall and grasses short,
As in some crazy tale,
If here and there a sea were blue
Beyond the breaking pale,
If a fixed fire hung in the air
To warm me one day through,
If deep green hair grew on great hills,
I know what I should do.
In dark I lie: dreaming that there
Are great eyes cold or kind,
And twisted streets and silent doors,
And living men behind.
Let storm-clouds come: better an hour,
And leave* to weep and fight
Than all the ages I have ruled
The empires of the night.
I think that if they gave me leave
Within that world to stand,
I would be good through all the day
I spent in fairyland.
They should not hear a word from me
Of selfishness or scorn,
If only I could find the door,
If only I were born.
*leave = permission
"By the Babe Unborn" -- G.K. Chesterton
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