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Andres G. Rendon 2016

Time
Has always been there.
It was the beginning,
And it's going to be the end.
It is forever changing, never the same as it was before.
It was a minute here,
A century there.
It saw the creation of everything,
And it will see the destruction of all.
It is a universal and eternal entity.
We regret when we waste it.
We wish we had more when we run out.
However, when we do have it, we don't use it wisely.
We waste it, believing that we'll have it forever.
We don't realize that it'll eventually leave us,
Continuing long after we're gone.
It is neither a friend nor an enemy.

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I like this poem because it makes me realize how weak humankind is compared to the "something" that doesn't even have a body or face that we can look to and I liked that how is "time" is a true god of everything it has always been with everything from the beginning until the end and continued after things have gone although, human try to put the mask on the "time" and call it a "clock" because they want to understand and tried to find theories to defeat the law of it but, in the end, we still flawless defeated
And the last is it's reflected my life that I'm the person who had OCD and obsessed with time even I am aware of my OCD I still cannot resist it just like the"Time" that passes through everything relentlessly.

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Emily Dickinson [1830-1886]

A Clock stopped -
Not the Mantel's -
Geneva's farthest skill
Can't put the puppet bowing
That just now dangled still -

An awe came on the Trinket!
The Figures hunched  -with pain -
Then quivered out of Decimals -
Into Degreeless noon -

It will not stir for Doctors -
This Pendulum of snow -
The Shopman importunes it -
While cool - concernless No

Nods from the Gilded pointers -
Nods from Seconds slim -
Decades of Arrogance between
The Dial life -
And Him.
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I like this poem because Dickinson uses the image of the stopped clock to reflect on the ending of a life and it made me feel so empty because I spent a lot of time to make comprehension and all I got is "dead"

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Denise Duhamel 2003

In the 5th century B.C.
an Indian philosopher
Gautama teaches 'All is emptiness'
and 'There is no self.'
In the 20th century A.D.
Barbie agrees, but wonders how a man
with such a belly could pose,
smiling, and without a shirt.
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I like this poem because it makes me interesting to think about how Barbie is trying to find or create her own identity.

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ESTEVAM COELHO Poetry (May 2022)

If my friend only knew,

today he’d go too:

I’m off to the river to bathe,

by the sea.

If he only knew where,

he’d go with me there:

I’m off to the river to bathe,

by the sea.

My cape’s on my shoulders;

if only they’d told him:

I’m off to the river to bathe,

by the sea.

Translated from the Galician-Portuguese, below
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“cantiga de amigo”*

Se hoj’o meu amigo

soubess’, iria migo:

eu al rio me vou banhar,

e al mar.

Se hoj’el este dia

soubesse, migo iria:

eu al rio me vou banhar,

e al mar.

Quem lhi dissess’atanto:

ca já filhei o manto;

eu al rio me vou banhar,

e al mar.

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I like(maybe) this poem because it showed me the truth that someone exactly sang this song while going to the bath and it make me laugh so hard when I tried to imagine the real situation.

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Alfonsina Storni 1918

Today I see the moon

white and excessive.

It’s the same as yesterday,

same as tomorrow.

But different, never

was it so grand, so pale.

I tremble as light

trembles on water.

I tremble as in eyes

tears tremble.

I tremble as in flesh

the soul knows to tremble.

Oh! The moon has moved

her two silver lips.

Oh! The moon has told me

the three ancient words:

“Death, love, and mystery ...”

Oh, my flesh is finished!

From spent body

my soul lifts.

Soul? night cat?

over the moon she jumps.

Travels boundless skies

mournful, nestled close.

Travels boundless skies

on the white moon.
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I like this poem a lot because I am the one that loved to watch the Fullmoon in the middle of the night and then this poem reflected to me that I always portray how beautiful the moon is and how mysterious is it

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Edvard Munch’s 1893
TRANSLATED BY EIRILL FALCK

note 644

Translated from the Norwegian

I walked along the road with two

friends—

and the Sun set

the Sky suddenly blood

—and I felt as a gust of melancholy

I stopped—leaned against the fence

tired to death

Over the blue-black fjord and city

laid clouds of dripping smoking

blood

My friends walked on and I stood

lone in the anxiety with an open wound

in my breast.

{I}and I felt tearing a great

shriek tore through nature
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I really interested in this poem and I also loved it since it's the art that contains the inner, emotions, and fears, of Munch himself that are hard to interpret and understand his true feeling with this note also make me more curious about what really make munch scream like a ghost and I need to use more than 99% of my brain cells to interpret it

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Rita Dove, “Scarf” from Playlist for the Apocalypse, (W.W. Norton & Company, 2021.)

Whoever claims beauty

lies in the eye

of the beholder

has forgotten the music

silk makes settling

across a bared

neck: skin never touched

so gently except

by a child

or a lover.
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I like this poem because it focuses on the nature and form of the common costume and make it more dramatically and romantic

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JOAN NAVIYUK KANE (September 2022)

I wished to be closer to my mother

to think of displacement in a different way.

To part the bright green new growth

of a plant she has asked me to gather.

We never imagined so many years apart.

I have no way to make amends.

Set adrift, I wanted to stay near the shore

of something familiar but instead I trace

the shape of tuqaayuk, sea lovage, wild

celery, with something other than my tongue.

I wish for my family to be its own refuge,

for the sorrow to become something islandic.

Someplace we can travel back to together

if we have to, if we make it through these days.
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I like this poem because of the POV of the poet that He used "I" to represent his feeling about the saddest, missing, pity, and hope that someday everything will return to the good ol' day

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MARK KIRSCHEN 1980

Through the telescope:

Crater of the moon

The rings around Saturn

A light floating in

Radio waves of the first explosion

As I stepped back, an image

Quick constellation of a figure

I knew

Traced itself for a moment

Among the night sky fires

I remembered the search

For a lost girl, years before

In the forests of upstate New York:

How we looked down thin paths

Ended by walls of mist

Lacing itself in layers between

The trees

How we were thanked and sent

Away: only the locals would keep looking

Now I had found her

But could never bring her back:

The angle of sight lost

Light-years between her fingertips:

I had found her

But can never bring her back
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I loved this poem a lot because it makes light of the universe (Milkyway maybe) as a girl and shows us the sadness that lights in the city blinded us so we can't see the first light.

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KRYSTYNA DĄBROWSKA 2022

Until recently the universe was expanding

with new suns, nebulas, constellations,

vibrating waves, the breath of galaxies.

Now it’s contracting to satellite

images depicting Earth:

not even the whole planet, just one country,

not even each region, just one city,

a single street, gray pavement. On it are strewn

“dark objects of similar size

to human bodies,” writes the New York Times.

Not buried for weeks,

their grave the satellite’s synthetic eye

and the black holes of our pupils,

surrounded by life.
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I loved this poem because it's make me goosebumped and realize how cool is the space is.

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Paul Holmes 2014

JANUARY
Delightful display
Snowdrops bow their pure white heads
To the sun's glory.

FEBRUARY
Fresh green buds appear
Indicating spring will soon
Energize us all.

MARCH
Lambs gambol in fields
Frisky with the joys of life
Bleating happily.

APRIL
Bluebells stand so proud
Beneath trees so sparsely dressed
Fresh green leaves unfold.

MAY
Much awaited sound
Echoes heard amid dense trees
Cuckoo has arrived.

JUNE
Parks and gardens burst
With sounds and vibrant colours
Perfect harmony.

JULY
Beaches become full
Of families having fun
In sand and big waves.

AUGUST
Ripe golden harvest
Burning sun in azure skies
Labours rewarded.

SEPTEMBER
Swallows congregate
On telephone wires ready
To migrate down south.

OCTOBER
Red and gold leaves fall,
Crunchy as cornflakes beneath
Feet on a crisp morn.

NOVEMBER
Frosty webs sparkle
In the early morning sun
Brightly bejeweled.

DECEMBER
First few flakes of snow
Dust gardens like icing on
A chocolate cake.
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I love this haiku so much it amazes me every time when I try to think how this haiku was made how atheistic the poet is what's inside his brain maybe he is a 2022 vangoh

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I was in fire,
The room was dark and somber.
I sleep peacefully.

That alarm then rang,
The sound annoying and loud,
But it saved my life.

I had woken up
Scared, confused, and sad alike.
I knew what happened.

My shelter burning;
My bastion fiercely falling,
I, at just age four.

I'll never forget
The face of mother possessed;
The look of pure fear.

Her light pajamas.
Her dark and rustled "bed-head."
She soon yanked me up.

Along with my rest,
My sister, brother, and dad
Ran out of the blaze.

My pets, left behind,
Found the inevitable.
They live now above.

Out we stand, post-haste;
The cold and wet post-storm land.
We stand, soles chilling.

Approach the neighbor,
Seemingly calm and relaxed
Amid inferno.

Asked our well-being.
We had no reply to give.
She left with a sulk.

All possessions lost,
We drove far away, love lost
To live for years more.
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I like this poem because it related to my life at this moment "I was in fire,
The room was dark and somber.
I sleep peacefully." In this final test season with my broken hand, It feel like i'm dying