You can enter multilingual poems ( 5 verses or less ) . I will approve and respond to any poems entered. Anonymous poems are acceptable. Thank you!
Pueden entrar poemas multilingües ( 5 versos o menos ). Aprobaré y responderé a cualquier poema ingresado. Los poemas anónimos son aceptables. ¡Gracias!
Monday, June 8, 2009
Geometric Serendipity
There is a story behind this image. It is about a poignant experience I had with a girl in Mexico! Want to know more? I need at least 10 comments!
14 comments:
Anonymous
said...
Seeing it I think back of playing with kaleidoscopes as a child. I was always curious how all hose colours would change into all those strange patterns. I also remember the sound of it when turning it, I loved that sound.
a young girl stares out from the center at an Aztecan universe contemplating whether to jump to the next diamond white playing field or follow the channels carved by time
From: Jonathan Richardson This image reminds me of an urban highway of some sort. Along side this road I can see teepees and fires with people next to them. I can also see different animal things such as a foxes face. All of this makes me think of indian things. So, I made a poem I call "THE INDIAN HIGHWAY". Here it is......
I't strecthes on forever. The higway ends not ever. The lumber is burnig with a flaming glow. Our lives down the highway never shall slow. The sun,moon,stars,and sky. Glow in reflection to the high shamans eye. Everything travels down the same exact lane. That is as obvious as a lions rugid mane. We,down this road never shall sway. For we are together on the indian highway.
I choose the indian highway as another name for the circle of life. The reason I did this is because the first thing I think when I see the I image is... life.
The gate keeper to the universe His faithful warriors trying to repair the damage done to the earth Totem fox with his ever watchful eye Eyes from other universes always watching Some wearing mask for a disguise with eyes that blend in Trees that represent life from many different societies deeply rooted into the earth’s core Much like the history that lies in our eyes The merkaba , the star, the flower has almost been healed All of earth and its inhabitants are bridging the gap
This is a poem for everyone. This is a poem for me and you. This is a poem for everyone who has been lost and never been found. This is a poem for everyone who wears their heart on their sleeves And those that bury it beneath layers and layers of hurt. This is a poem for them.
This is a poem for everyone who has dedicated their lives to making the saddest person smile. This is for those borracho artists, who drowned in a pool of their own talent, Stinking of death and piss. This is for you who couldn’t fill that deep void in the pit of their stomachs. This is for the musician who plays his guitar until his fingers bleed and then plays some more. This is for the person who stands naked behind a microphone pouring his soul out in words, While his knees tremble and his hands shake, but his voice is steady.
This is a poem for everyone who walked a thousand miles in ragged red shoes, Who philosophized his way out of every decision. Who has never left the dugout to play his hand at life. This is for the person who drove 400 miles to dye her hair red. This is for the girl who lives in a shoebox and somehow finds a way to fit her whole life in it. This is for the artist that paints with nostalgia. This is for the person who plowed into a tree at 40 miles per hour and had to spend the night howling with the coyotes. This is for the person who was wrongfully imprisoned in a jail with no working phone. This is for the girl who drunkenly traveled Texas looking for herself, But only found a sea of alcohol and drugs and bad sex. This is for the poet who rescued that scared little girl and gave her a voice to sing her woes. This is for the person who smoked his ambition away in a pot-hazed smog. This is for the person who lost time and never got it back. This is for those lonesome travelers who never made it back home. This is for those who never experienced thirty. This is for you. This is for me. A poem for everyone who has ever broken someone’s heart, Who has ever been left holding the bag, Who has ever given and given and never received.
This is for everyone who knows what it is like to truly be sorry. This is for those who have never found God, but have found humanity. This is a poem for us and not infallibility. This is for those who cry themselves to sleep hoping for a better day. This is for those pure mornings when the sky is blue and the world is wet and we know that it is a new day dawning and anything is possible. This is for those who know what falling down the stairs metaphorically means. It ain’t no simile, that’s for sure.
This is a poem for everyone who has created something from nothing. This is for the poet who pounds away at his keyboard hoping to change the world with his words. This is for the woman who creates poetry out of life, But not in words. This is a poem for a father who works three jobs so that his kids will have a better life. This is for those kids who don’t appreciate their father, but only bitch and moan when he asks you to pick up after yourself. This is for those that realize that tomorrow is too late.
This poem is for you This poem is for me This poem is for everyone.
i really like this image. the colors work really well together and the composition is quite interesting. thanks for letting me know about your blog, and for your comments on mine! :) keep it up! -Berenice
14 comments:
Seeing it I think back of playing with kaleidoscopes as a child. I was always curious how all hose colours would change into all those strange patterns. I also remember the sound of it when turning it, I loved that sound.
The lager white things like like some kind of mask.
It looks like some kind of vintage quilt to me.
I think this is an awsome piece of creation. It makes me feel like I am in an archaelogical museum, a place where you walk and think about the artist.
a young girl stares out from the center at an Aztecan universe contemplating whether to jump to the next diamond white playing field or follow the channels carved by time
From: Jonathan Richardson
This image reminds me of an urban highway of some sort. Along side this road I can see teepees and fires with people next to them.
I can also see different animal things such as a foxes face. All of this makes me think of indian things. So, I made a poem I call "THE INDIAN HIGHWAY". Here it is......
I't strecthes on forever.
The higway ends not ever.
The lumber is burnig with a flaming
glow.
Our lives down the highway never shall slow.
The sun,moon,stars,and sky.
Glow in reflection to the high shamans eye.
Everything travels down the same exact lane.
That is as obvious as a lions rugid mane.
We,down this road never shall sway.
For we are together on the indian highway.
I choose the indian highway as another name for the circle of life. The reason I did this is because the first thing I think when I see the I image is... life.
The gate keeper to the universe
His faithful warriors trying to repair the damage done to the earth
Totem fox with his ever watchful eye
Eyes from other universes always watching
Some wearing mask for a disguise with eyes that blend in
Trees that represent life from many different societies deeply rooted into the earth’s core
Much like the history that lies in our eyes
The merkaba , the star, the flower has almost been healed
All of earth and its inhabitants are bridging the gap
Ginny
The eye of the beholder bares
witness to what is within
not necessarily to what lies
before the mortal eye.
"The Woman herself fled into the
desert where she had a place
prepared by God." Revelations 12:6
Oh Mother most holy
Oh Mother most divine
you are at the heart
of all that is around
Concealed in the desert
yet present with us all
your love guides us upward
Where heaven we can see.
Shrouded by the pyramids
your children at your side
spreading light and love
throughout the universe.
Suvera
Here is a poem for your blog,
A Poem for Everyone
This is a poem for everyone.
This is a poem for me and you.
This is a poem for everyone who has been lost and never been found.
This is a poem for everyone who wears their heart on their sleeves
And those that bury it beneath layers and layers of hurt.
This is a poem for them.
This is a poem for everyone who has dedicated their lives to making the saddest person smile.
This is for those borracho artists, who drowned in a pool of their own talent,
Stinking of death and piss.
This is for you who couldn’t fill that deep void in the pit of their stomachs.
This is for the musician who plays his guitar until his fingers bleed and then plays some more.
This is for the person who stands naked behind a microphone pouring his soul out in words,
While his knees tremble and his hands shake, but his voice is steady.
This is a poem for everyone who walked a thousand miles in ragged red shoes,
Who philosophized his way out of every decision.
Who has never left the dugout to play his hand at life.
This is for the person who drove 400 miles to dye her hair red.
This is for the girl who lives in a shoebox and somehow finds a way to fit her whole life in it.
This is for the artist that paints with nostalgia.
This is for the person who plowed into a tree at 40 miles per hour and had to spend the night howling with the coyotes.
This is for the person who was wrongfully imprisoned in a jail with no working phone.
This is for the girl who drunkenly traveled Texas looking for herself,
But only found a sea of alcohol and drugs and bad sex.
This is for the poet who rescued that scared little girl and gave her a voice to sing her woes.
This is for the person who smoked his ambition away in a pot-hazed smog.
This is for the person who lost time and never got it back.
This is for those lonesome travelers who never made it back home.
This is for those who never experienced thirty.
This is for you.
This is for me.
A poem for everyone who has ever broken someone’s heart,
Who has ever been left holding the bag,
Who has ever given and given and never received.
This is for everyone who knows what it is like to truly be sorry.
This is for those who have never found God, but have found humanity.
This is a poem for us and not infallibility.
This is for those who cry themselves to sleep hoping for a better day.
This is for those pure mornings when the sky is blue and the world is wet and we know that it is a new day dawning and anything is possible.
This is for those who know what falling down the stairs metaphorically means.
It ain’t no simile, that’s for sure.
This is a poem for everyone who has created something from nothing.
This is for the poet who pounds away at his keyboard hoping to change the world with his words.
This is for the woman who creates poetry out of life,
But not in words.
This is a poem for a father who works three jobs so that his kids will have a better life.
This is for those kids who don’t appreciate their father, but only bitch and moan when he asks you to pick up after yourself.
This is for those that realize that tomorrow is too late.
This poem is for you
This poem is for me
This poem is for everyone.
Christopher Carmona
7 December 2006
Es el coyote guardando la linia que separa Mejico con Los Estados Unidos.
Aqui nos quedamos en Mejico, muertos de hambre vuscando manera de mantenernos.
Haikus from Barbara Youngblood Carr
Here are some Haikus from me for your poeticah blog spot.
Hope you like them. And my Haikus usally do have titles.
Arid is the Arroyo
Howard’s draw is dry
As draws usually are
When there’s been no rain.
Ancient Sheet Music
Two great, white dead trees
Stand yawping at the full moon
In a star-filled sky.
Praying for a Quickening
One small, white tree stump
In the midst of bright, green trees
Cries out for lost life.
The picture seems to me as a road of confusion. Preety to see from the top yet confusing to get a round through it.
i really like this image. the colors work really well together and the composition is quite interesting. thanks for letting me know about your blog, and for your comments on mine! :) keep it up! -Berenice
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