The Little Fairy's Flower Garden

[Keanumoreira]

Here's a little poem of my own making, unfortunately, the rhymes do not work in translating from French into English, so I did not touch anything to keep the spirit of the poem. The French version is included in the spoiler. Enjoy reading.

 

Why...

 

Why to run in all directions...

I see people fighting against the wind,

All this to gain even more money.

They have forgotten what it means to live,

Blinded by so many ambitions and envy.

Poet, tell them what you think about...

 

Why do they always seek to destroy...

Forgetting all what the sages had in memory

And those beautiful things of man and history.

They reject everything that gave them the childhood,

Caring little about the extent of their spending.

Builder, tell them about how to build...

 

Why can not they grasp the meaning...

They want the answers without asking any question

Whether they are wrong or if they are right.

I see them getting lost in all these corridors

Who leads them to places so illusory.

Wise man, tell them what you think about...

 

 

Fifoo - "Why" 06/28/10.

 

 

Pourquoi...

 

Pourquoi courir dans tous les sens...

Je vois des gens se battre contre le vent,

Tout cela pour gagner encore plus d'argent.

Ils ont oublié ce que signifie la vie,

Aveuglés par tant d'ambitions et par l'envie.

Poète, dit-leur donc ce que tu en penses...

 

Pourquoi toujours cherchent-ils à détruire...

Oubliant ce que les sages avaient en mémoire

Et ces belles choses de l'homme et de l'histoire.

Ils rejettent tout ce que leur a donné l'enfance,

Se souciant peu de l'ampleur de leurs dépenses.

Bâtisseur, dit-leur donc comment construire...

 

Pourquoi ne peuvent-ils en saisir le sens...

Ils veulent les réponses sans se poser de question,

De savoir s'ils ont tord ou bien s'ils ont raison.

Je les vois se perdre dans tous ces couloirs

Qui les mènent vers des lieux bien illusoires.

Ô Sage, dit-leur donc ce que tu en penses...

 

 

Fifoo - "Pourquoi" 28/06/10.

 

 

Wonderful poem. :thumbsup:

 

I'm a good writer, but not with poetry. Let me see if I can do it.

 

Life...

 

Life is a drug to the mind

Our purpose to live is ours to find.

Together in truth we shall overcome

Hand in hand what have we become?

 

We see through our eyes a world of hate

We battle for freedom to determine our fate.

We live like kings yet like the poor

We destroy our futures, to have no more.

 

But in the battle to find eternal bliss

We fight the endless wars our people we shall miss.

But in the end, to struggle to survive

We enjoy life, together we thrive.

 

KeanuMoreira - Life 7/1/10

[Herculine]

Wonderful poem. :thumbsup:

 

I'm a good writer, but not with poetry. Let me see if I can do it.

 

Life...

 

Life is a drug to the mind

Our purpose to live is ours to find.

Together in truth we shall overcome

Hand in hand what have we become?

 

We see through our eyes a world of hate

We battle for freedom to determine our fate.

We live like kings yet like the poor

We destroy our futures, to have no more.

 

But in the battle to find eternal bliss

We fight the endless wars our people we shall miss.

But in the end, to struggle to survive

We enjoy life, together we thrive.

 

KeanuMoreira - Life 7/1/10

 

An epic told with just twelve lines. Excellent poem!

[Keanumoreira]

Wonderful poem. :thumbsup:

 

I'm a good writer, but not with poetry. Let me see if I can do it.

 

Life...

 

Life is a drug to the mind

Our purpose to live is ours to find.

Together in truth we shall overcome

Hand in hand what have we become?

 

We see through our eyes a world of hate

We battle for freedom to determine our fate.

We live like kings yet like the poor

We destroy our futures, to have no more.

 

But in the battle to find eternal bliss

We fight the endless wars our people we shall miss.

But in the end, to struggle to survive

We enjoy life, together we thrive.

 

KeanuMoreira - Life 7/1/10

 

An epic told with just twelve lines. Excellent poem!

 

Thanks!

 

Fifoo's is better though, his had a lot of feeling behind it.

[Fifoo]

An epic told with just twelve lines. Excellent poem!

 

Thanks!

 

Fifoo's is better though, his had a lot of feeling behind it.

And frankly, you put me in an embarrassing situation by putting my modesty to the test. Believe me your poem is very good and Herculine is right to emphasize.

[Keanumoreira]

An epic told with just twelve lines. Excellent poem!

 

Thanks!

 

Fifoo's is better though, his had a lot of feeling behind it.

And frankly, you put me in an embarrassing situation by putting my modesty to the test. Believe me your poem is very good and Herculine is right to emphasize.

 

Don't be so quick to judge your work Fifoo, part of being a good writer is feeling satisfied with what you write. And sometimes, when you want to admit it, you acknowledge that ones work is just as good-if not- better than yours.

 

I'm not sure about this one, but I'll give it a go....

 

Judgement...

 

Poet why, why judge...

Tell me please if you will, why so...

 

Poet cry to me, plea to be fair...

Doesn't thou deserve a chance...

 

Poet tell me if you will...

Why quick to judge one's placement...

 

Poet why be quck...

Quick to judge...

 

KeanuMoreira - Judgement 7/3/10

[Spiralunix]

and the itch on my hand

between my thumb and

pointer finger

it lingers

from when I scratched

realizing it was a little bump-shaped itch,

a bug-bite-itch

my first little bug bite of the summer,

and the life in it

through this little aftermath of a days gardening in the outdoor heat, under blue skies,

I recall childhood days, of

burnt skin

scabbed knees

broken bones

laughter on the wind

dreams and hopes spoken and sang up high and blown through the spaces the intertwining branches create on the trees....

Are we ever better connected to the world,

than in childhood?

The boundaries between us and the world around us are so thin, and so transparent that

we leave little pieces of ourselves everywhere,

and we take little pieces of the life outside with us each day-

or is it that we are given little pieces of the outdoors as gifts-

beautiful little reminders that we are alive

taking our place in the progression of all things in the world,

here we stand, a living,

breathing addition to the never ending,

always moving breathing living equation,

and this bite on my skin is a friendly reminder

whispering so beautifully

I'm Alive

 

If whispering words could smile, surely it would

be the sweetest, most vibrant and ancient of smiles,

as it is shaped of the beauty of being and of life

[Keanumoreira]

and the itch on my hand

between my thumb and

pointer finger

it lingers

from when I scratched

realizing it was a little bump-shaped itch,

a bug-bite-itch

my first little bug bite of the summer,

and the life in it

through this little aftermath of a days gardening in the outdoor heat, under blue skies,

I recall childhood days, of

burnt skin

scabbed knees

broken bones

laughter on the wind

dreams and hopes spoken and sang up high and blown through the spaces the intertwining branches create on the trees....

Are we ever better connected to the world,

than in childhood?

The boundaries between us and the world around us are so thin, and so transparent that

we leave little pieces of ourselves everywhere,

and we take little pieces of the life outside with us each day-

or is it that we are given little pieces of the outdoors as gifts-

beautiful little reminders that we are alive

taking our place in the progression of all things in the world,

here we stand, a living,

breathing addition to the never ending,

always moving breathing living equation,

and this bite on my skin is a friendly reminder

whispering so beautifully

I'm Alive

 

If whispering words could smile, surely it would

be the sweetest, most vibrant and ancient of smiles,

as it is shaped of the beauty of being and of life

 

That was beautyful.

 

Are you good at poetry?

[Keanumoreira]

The Summer Gale...

 

When the Summer arrives, and blows in joy,

I catch its breath like a memorable toy.

I leap with passion, and smile without fail,

And here it comes again, the humid gale.

 

When it warms me like a mothers embrace,

I feel its protective strength against my face.

I do not cry when it knocks me to my knees

For I know our love is a playful tease.

 

I skip about without a single care,

Together the season we shall share.

And when the night leaves me lone,

I can always hear your cheerful moan.

 

But when the first leaf begins to fall,

I no longer hear that familiar call.

I search and cry for you to hold,

Without you the days are cold.

 

With your exile the trees will die,

And so will the grass say goodbye.

Without you the world will be dead,

Choked without the wind that once fed.

 

But I will wait for your arrival,

And death will again by your rival.

Life will return, with Summer and no hail,

Welcome back my favorite gale.

 

KeanuMoreira - The Summer Gale 7/18/10

[Herculine]

Beautiful works, both of you. Glad to see you all still contributing to the thread even though it's creator *ahem* is apparently too busy to do the same. I just lack inspiration these days, I guess.

[Keanumoreira]

Beautiful works, both of you. Glad to see you all still contributing to the thread even though it's creator *ahem* is apparently too busy to do the same. I just lack inspiration these days, I guess.

 

Why not? It's the garden within the garden, the place where our works of art, fantastic or otherwise, perfessional or meager, can be shared with the family that brings each piece alive. And your no exception, you certainly contribute to the community as a whole more than anyone here. Like Fiffo reminds me, take your time.