“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.
In the end
I knew what I needed
to do to move forward–
and
that is really all that matters.
Now I only need to step across
the beginning
of my new path.
Been wonderin’ why you would go
so far, now trippin’ then slippin’
over false words, ego boostin’
love with mirror-kissin’. For show?
Don’t know why you can’t seem to grow
up. And you keep diggin’ lower,
givin’ intelligence over
to fixation rather than care.
Wizen not wise, you live your fear—
bein’ loved just by the hour.
(I came across this challenge today and was excited to try it. This is my first time writing in this form)
From Ronovan Writes:
THE QUICK DESCRIPTION OF HOW TO WRITE A DÉCIMA:
Our Last Hike in the White Mountains
Once the journey starts,
harsh words and terrain hinder,
blind us—and now rain.
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.
An insight to a heart mind and soul.
Occasional writings
Life in progress
home of the elusive trope
An Oakland Girl in the World
living for the next update
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...
Liberal Politics, Media Criticism & General Mayhem
an open platform for Indie authors
Toward the within... 