Le blog d' IMAGE&amp;POESIE

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26 Octobre 2009, 12:28pm

Publié par image.poésie

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O SOM DE UM BEIJO NA FLOR, tableau de CRISTIANE CAMPOS, Brazil. Poésie de RACHEL HENDERSON, Isle of Skye, Scotland, UK

25 Octobre 2009, 13:50pm

Publié par image.poésie

O SOM DE UM BEIJO NA FLOR, by CRISTIANE CAMPOS, Brazil (copyright of the artist)

CLOSE HER LIGHT OF DAY
She dances under waterfalls
this maiden oh so fair
she becomes one with nature
wears flowers in her hair
with the whisper of her garden
forest bird songs kiss the land
she is blessed with inner beauty
But does not yet understand
ugliness, buidings and machinery
over the hill not so faraway
they are closing in around her
will soon close her light of day

RACHEL HENDERSON, UK

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FAMILY ALBUM, tableau de LORRAINE MARCUS, South Africa. PROFONDA TRISTEZZA, poésie de FLORIANA VITTANI, San Remo, Italie

21 Octobre 2009, 18:56pm

Publié par image.poésie

( copyright de l'artiste)

LIEN: http://lawliesart.blogspot.com/

Profonda Tristezza

In questa notte di profonda tristezza

mi avvolge il pensiero di te

e della distanza che ci separa.

Ricordo

le fragorose risate

che guarivano i nostri cuori

e penso

che non c'è amore più grande

per me

di te

che sei mio figlio.

FLORIANA VITTANI, SAN REMO, Italie

______________________________________

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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

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...)

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

(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