Poetry |「見て!外人だ!」(日本語の詩)

Image from Unsplash

「見て!外人だ!」 

毎日毎日、
散歩します。
ときどき
お天気は良いです。
「見て!外人だ!」
ときどき
私は隣の人の子どもたち
が遊のが見えます。
「見て!外人だ!」
ときどき
コンビニの店員と話します。
ときどき
笑って泣きます。
毎日毎日鏡を見ます。
家で私は人間です。
いいえ、
私は外人です。

(Work in Progress)

Poetry | Volevo (una poesia italiana)

Volevo

Nel silenzio della mente
e nella distanza del cuore,
dove la nostra storia
adesso vive,
trovo i nuovi capitoli.
Quei momenti oscuri che,
nel passato,
non volevo affrontare.
Quelle parole brutte che
non volevo ascoltare.
Quei pensieri che
non volevo pensare.

Volevo solo l’idea di noi
e la fantasia di pensare
che mi amavi.

Poetry | La Pioggia

Photo by M. Rajabi, Unsplash

“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.

Poetry | Trying #Tanka #Poetry Form

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.

Poetry | On Language Learning & Negativity

Itako, Japan

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.

Poetry | RonovanWrites Decima #Poetry Challenge #43 Spring in the A line

Ronovan Writes Décima Poetry Challenge Prompt No. 43: (SPRING) in the A rhyme line.

Hitachi Seaside Park

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.

Poetry | RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt Challenge #343 Full & Bare

Winter tree

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.

Poetry | Wantin’ Only (Yourself) – Ronovan Writes Décima Poetry Challenge

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:

  1. There are 10 lines of poetry that rhyme.
  2. 8 syllables per line.
  3. There is a SET RHYMING PATTERN we must stick to. ABBAACCDDC OR  two stanzas of ABBA/ACCDDC.

Ronovan Writes #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge 342 ROUGH and Season.

Our Last Hike in the White Mountains

Once the journey starts,

harsh words and terrain hinder,

blind us—and now rain.

Poetry | An old cup

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.