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Poésie de MAURICIO PEREZ RUZ, Argentina

19 Octobre 2009, 18:46pm

Publié par image.poésie



 


He tenido noticias
del sarcófago de acrílico latente
que arrojé al mar
una tormentosa tarde de hastío...
dicen que no hubo tal tarde
dicen que el sarcófago
nunca fue latente


DATOS BIOGRÁFICOS
Chiro (Mauricio Pérez Ruz) nació en San Juan, Argentina
en Agosto de 1969.
En 1997 Publicó: Milagro / Miseria (Edición a cargo del autor)
Año 2001: Fiebre, poemas incoherentes ( para algunos...)
(Ediciones El Níspero)
Año 2005, Tierna Violencia (Ediciones El Níspero)
Año 2005, ¿Has pensado un mundo sin calmantes? (Ediciones Biguá)

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Poésie de RACHEL HENDERSON, UK

16 Octobre 2009, 18:25pm

Publié par image.poésie




The dead of night when everyone is asleep
alone in my room I silently weep
Every soul has something to hide
every life has an unseen side
Just like the memory of a beautiful place
I want people to remember my smiling face
I want to cry with invisible tears

to be hidden with laughter everyone hears

I want to give blessings as to receive

I want to decide when it’s my time to leave

This is my life, It’s not yours to taint

I will decide which picture to paint

to be hiden with laughter everyone hears
I want to give blessings as to receive
I want to decide when its my time to leave
This is my life, Its not yours to taint
I will  decide which picture to paint

 

  RACHEL HENDERSON
 Isle of Skye, Uk

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PAPER CRANE, tableau de MISAKO CHIDA, Japan. CALENDER, poésie de SALLY CRABTREE, UK

14 Octobre 2009, 12:42pm

Publié par image.poésie

(copyright de l'artiste)
LIEN: http://www.artbreak.com/MisakoC

 

CALENDER

 

From every day that passed, he made a paper bird

Knowing that when he reached 1000

He could make a wish.

In the corner of the room they piled high

So fragile, strongly beautiful

They stopped me in my tracks

 

(To think

Such poetry was going on behind closed doors )

They didn't say a word.

Though I knew each one was bursting just to tell

The thousandth of the wish it held upon its beak

The wish perhaps that he could pull down the night sky

And cut a suit from it

To find all secrets of the Universe

Scrumpled in the pocket ?

 

( And a thousandth of that wish would be a word of what he read

Which whispered in your soul would set your heart on fire )

Or maybe what he wished for was far more down to earth -

That he could walk along a beach and leave his footprints in the sand

Knowing somewhere, someone was following ?

 

( And a thousandth of that wish would be the sound of one wave crashing )

Or maybe what he wished for was simply that each day

He'd taste a certain happiness upon his lips

(And a thousandth of that wish would be one drop of what he tastes

Which landing on the tongue dissolves to song...)

 

2

I'm bursting too

To ask “What do you wish for ?”

But it's not thing a person says

So let this poem ask those words instead

“What is it that you wish for ?

And could you fold one thousandth of it up into a bird and pile it high ?”

If you can,

This poem is for you: Take it, fold it up into a bird.

And when there are 1000 of them soaring in the sky

 

We'll fly.

 

SALLY CRABTREE

 
LIEN: http://www.thepoetree.net/

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STONES, poésie de PETER THABIT JONES, UK. Fine art photo d'ADEL GORGY, USA

14 Octobre 2009, 05:14am

Publié par image.poésie

stones.jpg
(copyright de l'artiste)

 

LIEN: http://www.adelgorgy.com/

STONES


Stones take to each other naturally,
Like a family of sleeping creatures,

The large ones accommodate little ones,
To create a colony of hardness;

They rest in centuries of stark stillness;
They are elephant-heavy to lush grass.

Their colours employ the afternoon sun;
They are as warm as loaves from an oven.

Each one embodies its personal death;
They are cobbled memories of the sea;

They are the solid language of labour:
Each one weathered to a perfect image.

They rest, innocent of their history,
Like a grey display of featureless skulls.

They have tasted our sweat and absorbed our blood.
They rise and fall, symbols of man's conscience.

Their persistence has sculptured their silence;
They hint that their souls haunt other planets.

They are magnets for our primitive thoughts;
They are the armour of truths beyond us.

They shape our built fears of an afterlife,
They could tempt us into acts of worship.


Peter Thabit Jones © 2009

 LIEN: http://www.peterthabitjones.com/

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LA NUIT DES ETOILES

30 Septembre 2009, 18:56pm

Publié par image.poésie

iya_logo_it.jpg

IMAGE&POESIE

                                                      le mouvement artistique littéraire

présente

 

LA NUIT DES ETOILES

lectures poétiques pour célébrer l’année mondiale de l’ASTRONOMIE

 ( hommage à AERONWY THOMAS )

et

   ”STELLE INTERIORI”

(les sons de l’univers)

représentation sonore par Claudio Canal

Images de Gianpiero Actis, Massimo Alfano, Davide Binello

Poésies de: A. Thomas, A.M. Bracale, L. Chiarelli, C. Codazza, F. Verde

Executive producers : Lidia Chiarelli, Anna Maria Bracale

 

 

Vendredi, le 2 octobre 2009

h 21

 

CIRCOLO DEI LETTORI

Palazzo Graneri della Roccia

Via Bogino 9

TORINO, Italie

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L'étoile d'AERONWY THOMAS, tableau de GIANPIERO ACTIS, Torino Italie

11 Septembre 2009, 18:43pm

Publié par image.poésie

Aeronwwy-Star.JPG
(copyright de l'artiste)

A  AERONWY THOMAS

 

Lumineuse et pure

la clarté de ton étoile

ce soir d’été

est un étincellement

un reflet léger

sur l’estuaire de la Taff.

 

Pages ouvertes

que le vent va feuilleter

 

tes mots restent ici

encore et toujours
...

LIDIA CHIARELLI

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SPACE ALIEN DOMINATED EARTH PLANET, tableau de FADHEL ALBANNA, Bahrain

6 Septembre 2009, 17:36pm

Publié par image.poésie

fadel.jpg

WHAT DID YOU (DO ) THERE?

 

 

                                               There’s something there,

                                               where, care

                                               to look behind the sofa,

                                               along the curtain rail,

                                               under the Queen’s chair.

 

                                               Care to feel your way

                                               into the cupboard

                                               it’s dark in there.

                                               Since he’s come to stay

                                               I keep clear.

                                              

                                               But you’ve got claws

                                               and pointed teeth

                                               he wouldn’t dare

                                               to pick a fight

                                               with you.

           

                                               And as a mere

                                               surmise

                                               a surprising thought

                                               I ask

                                               Might you be the “he”

                                               who’s come to stay?

 

AERONWY  THOMAS

                                              

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A AERONWY THOMAS, fine art photo d' ADEL GORGY, Long Island, N.Y.-Poésie de LIDIA CHIARELLI, Italie

5 Septembre 2009, 04:55am

Publié par image.poésie

gorgy-thomas.jpg
(copyright de l'artiste)

LIEN: http://www.saatchi-gallery.co.uk/yourgallery/artist_profile/Adel+Gorgy/103629.html

A   AERONWY THOMAS

 

Si lumineuse et pure
la brillance de ton étoile
en cette nuit d'été
est un doux scintillement
un reflet léger
sur l'estuaire de la Taff.

Pages ouvertes
feuilletées par le vent

tes paroles demeurent ici
encore et toujours

pour créer
images et douces mélodies
lentement bercées
par le souffle de la mer.

 

Lidia  Chiarelli

IMMAGINE&POESIA

mouvement artistique littéraire

Torino, le 27 juillet, 2009

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WAY BACK TO HOME, tableau de YU MEI-LIN, Taiwan

21 Juillet 2009, 11:02am

Publié par image.poésie

way-back-home.JPG
(copyright de l'artiste)

LIEN: http://www.artbreak.com/yumeilin0428

LA ROUTE VERS CHEZ MOI

 

Le chemin jusque chez moi est long

le sentier au bord de la falaise s’allonge

de chez nous à la ville cotière

et revient de nouveau.

 

Dans mes rêves, je me promène lentement

le héron est toujours majestueux là

debout sur une seule jambe

il surveille l’estuaire

 

et je m’arrête pour regarder

les cours d’eau

serpentant

le long des rivages balayés par le vent.

 

Dans mes souvenirs le pied agile

je m’attaque à la pente

c’est quelque chose

qui en vaut la peine

 

et je découvre la cabane

peinte en bleu roi

elle n’a pas changé
dans ma mémoire capricieuse.


Et me voici aujourd’hui ici

montant péniblement la colline

cherchant la silhouette familière

à travers les arbres.

 

La porte verte comme l’herbe

ce n’est pas comme c’était

avant

et par le hublot

 

je peux voir les branches

cogner contre les vitres

et mon père là attablé

qui travaille

 

qui écrit et murmure

qui observe les marées

qui au tournant de sa vie

met en poèmes

 

les hirondelles de mer, les mouettes et les cormorans

qui survolent la baie

je regarde de nouveau à travers ses yeux

emplis de lumière

 

les pages tournent

avant la dernière pente                              
grimpant jusque chez moi             
le long du sentier

 

en descendant les marches

jusqu’à l’Abri à Bateaux                                                   
qui n’a pas bougé

en mon absence.

 

C’est un long chemin.


AERONWY THOMAS 

 

Translated by BEVERLY MATHERNE

 

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DYLAN THOMAS, art print d' OLIVER LAKE, UK

13 Juillet 2009, 18:50pm

Publié par image.poésie

dylan
(copyright de l'artiste)
LIEN: http://artflock.com/artist/lakeillustration/


DYLAN’S DAUGHTER

 

They want me at the party

I don’t know them

they don’t know me

because I’m Dylan’s daughter.

 

Why can’t my husband go

alone

they’re his friends

his party

but no

they want me there too.

 

Can’t you ring

I’m indisposed, awful cold

a bug

a severe allergy

to their kind invite.

 

No hope

no good prevaricating

got to bathe

prink and pother

choose an outfit

and worse

be ready on time.

 

“By six, did you say ?”

“The earlier we get there

the earlier we can leave”

he lies

knowing the return trek

will be cold,

late

lengthy.

 

While I’m celebrating with

Prosecco and delicious food

he’ll be singing his heart out

with Welsh friends

last to go

befuddled and sung out

with me in tow.

 

Ah, well

better get ready

pronto

because I’m Dylan’s daughter.

 

AERONWY  THOMAS

 

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