“La Pioggia”
Stamattina, nella tranquilità dell’alba,
mi sono svegliata.
Non potevo più sentire
la tua voce,
solo le gocce di pioggia
sulla finestra
ed il suono del mio respiro.
Le mie mani toccavano
lo spazio vuoto accanto a me.
Ho provato l’euforia
di essere libera…
di essere senza di te.
Si trova la pace nel silenzio
del cuore.
Domani e dopodomani,
il mio mondo è ancora mio.
Posso crearlo come desidero.
Comunque,
stamattina ancora ti pensavo.
– D.
春風が吹く。髪が白くなる。季節を数えることをやめなさい。
The wind tells of spring. My hair is becoming white. This season and next season, I keep on counting. I really ought to stop now.
5/7/5/7/7 Style
The wind tells of spring.
My hair is becoming white.
This season and next
season, I keep on counting.
I really ought to stop now.
On Language Learning & Negativity.
Listen to me.
Like a child,
my words are misspoken
and my grammar is broken.
But, listen to me anyway.
Hear my words
because they have meaning
and create a connection
between you and me.
I am building a bridge
with a language that isn’t my own.
Won’t you help me?
Or, at least, not demean me?
That I speak your language
in broken sentences
and accented words,
what does it matter?
I am trying to build a bridge,
many bridges, in fact.
I am trying to understand
the world around me,
even if you don’t want
to understand me.
Ronovan Writes Décima Poetry Challenge Prompt No. 43: (SPRING) in the A rhyme line.
Step counting
The steps you’re counting while shouting
but standing still… I’m at a loss.
Yes, this distance grows…at a cost.
Summer then fall, winter now spring–
to your words, I’m not listening.
You’ve become a…well, never mind.
I’m walking, not falling behind,
away from what I’ve only known
that love doesn’t have to be shown–
that’s your lie. My truth I will find.
From RonovanWrites:
THE QUICK DESCRIPTION OF HOW TO WRITE A DÉCIMA:
There are 10 lines of poetry that rhyme.
8 syllables per line.
There is a SET RHYMING PATTERN we must stick to. ABBAACCDDC OR two stanzas of ABBA/ACCDDC.
Slow winter morning,
pass leafless tree, cut branches,
waiting to begin.
2.
Dried sweet potatoes,
so many–my bag is full.
Eating, hands shiver.
3.
My bare skin now lined
like a map of Tokyo–
spring, summer, now fall.
4.
I will go home now.
A morning walk without snow,
yet frozen flowers.
An Old Cup
Shattered,
glass fragments
scattered
like a mind tormented
by irrelevant
matters–
it’s only an empty cup
that was never once
filled up
with anything
particularly wanted.
Tonight, I want
to write freely,
without pretense
or consideration.
I hold in my hand
a book of poetry,
seeking inspiration
or emotions,
long lost and unknown.
In this moment, too,
my hands shake.
yet still,
I reach for my pen.
静か
一人なので、
私の心は静かです。
冬の静かな深夜に
思い出や雪が
いつもやって来ます。
Quiet
Being alone,
my heart remains calm.
In winter, a deep silent night,
memories and snow
always seem to come.
I tried to translate the previously posted poem into Italian. 😅 Perhaps it makes no sense. I am sorry. 😓
(Ho provato a tradurre la mia poesia. 😅 Forse non ha senso. Mi dispiace.)😓
Senza Titolo
Ti desidero.
Non parliamo di piacere o d’amare
come ingenui amanti.
Desidero il tuo aspetto fisico
che posso guardare, con gli occhi
E, ogni giorno, lo tocco con la mente.
Non mi interessano
la tua posizione ed il tuo prestigio.
Il mio desiderio è, certamente,
una cosa volgare.
Il mio desiderio non ha il tempo
per le sottigliezze di un appuntamento romantico.
Non ci sono nè vino, e nè lume di candela.
No. Ti desidero.
E questo è tutto.
Stamattina, nella tranquillità dell’alba,
mi sono svegliata.
Non potevo più ascoltare
la tua voce,
sentivo solo le gocce di pioggia
sulla finestra
ed il suono del mio respiro.
Le mie mani toccavano
lo spazio vuoto accanto a me.
Mi sono sentita l’euforia
di essere libera…
di essere senza di te…
Si trova la pace nel silenzio
del cuore.
Domani e dopodomani,
il mio mondo è ancora mio
di creare come desidero.
Comunque
Stamattina ti ricordavo.
——
This morning, in the quiet of dawn, I awoke. I could no longer hear your voice. I listened only to the raindrops against my window and the sound of my breathing.
My hands touched the empty space next to me. And I felt the euphoria of being free and being without you.
One finds peace in the heart’s silence. Tomorrow and the day after, my world is mine to create as I desire.
However, this morning I remembered you.
An insight to a heart mind and soul.
I've been occasionally making poems for fifty years. Here are a few.
Life in progress
home of the elusive trope
An Oakland Girl in the World
living for the next update
a community for emerging writers
meditations and manifestos
Struggling to Live a Creative Life in a Stressful World
Living a Life of Grace
a division of the International College of Surgeons
My Thoughts, My Words, My Sincerity...
