Skip to main content

Delivery Day


Composing a poem
How hard can it be?
Post to the quorum
A remembrance of me.

White paper, blue pen?
I'll better type here.
The struggle cause pain
To an experienced ear.

Don't look disappointed,
Please wait for the rest.
It's this rhythm I wanted
And hope it's the best!

Though rhymes don't allow
I've searched for the beat.
Plain words glue somehow,
The art is complete.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Gimp

Yesterday I played with gimp . I learned how to use layers and layer mask. I also used clone tool and curves, paths tool and all kind of selects. I found some nice gimp tutorials . The results can be found on picasa . Mean time I listened to "Act venetian" by Camil Petrescu. I remembered my old disappointment on the fact that women don't express themselves more. The world needs new vision.
Post a Comment
Read more

Migration

Look up to the sky! The blue bright light around us balance is bringing. Birds, full of care, fly away to warmer places. Leaves are red and gold. Who is now afraid Of the valiant decision to seek happiness? For the ones waiting when the winter is over Return will be sweet.
Post a Comment
Read more

romanian poetry

The most famous poet is Mihai Eminescu . I've chosen from the linked site two of my favorites. Ode (in ancient meter) Hardly had I thought I should learn to perish; Ever young, enwrapped in my robe I wandered, Raising dreamy eyes to the star styled often Solitude's symbol. All at once, however, you crossed my pathway - Suffering - you, painfully sweet, yet torture... To the lees I drank the delight of dying - Pitiless torment. Sadly racked, I'm burning alive like Nessus, Or like Hercules by his garment poisoned; Nor can I extinguish my flames with every Billow of oceans. By my own illusion consumed I'm wailing, On my own grim pyre in flames I'm melting... Can I hope to rise again like the Phoenix Bird from the ashes? May all tempting eyes vanish from my pathway, Come back to my breast, you indifferent sorrow! So that I may quietly die, restore me To my own being! (1883, Translated by Andrei Bantas) Eve on the hill Dreary ...
Post a Comment
Read more