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Poems, Videos, Lyrics, Letting A Positive Vibe-->Or Making Reflect--> Or Smile

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"El amor de ninguna manera puede ser unilateral. Es algo compuesto por dos. Es una conexión inexplicable. Es un hilo de oro, vaya a saber tejido por quién, que flota en un lugar distinto, paralelo, pero no tan lejano como se cree. Ese lugar se vuelve accesible gracias a que los amantes son capaces de reconocer al hilo, tirar de él y encontrarse el uno al otro."

 

Carolina L. Silva

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:(  I don't speak Spanish. But I have read it in Italian!

 

I share this :

 

Poesia di Pablo Neruda
La casa

La mia casa, le pareti la cui legna fresca,
tagliata da poco ancora profuma: sgangherata
casa di frontiera, che scricchiolava
a ogni passo, e fischiava con il vento bellicoso
della stagione australe, diventando elemento
della bufera, uccello sconosciuto
sotto le cui piume gelate crebbe il mio canto.
Vidi ombre, volti che come piante
crebbero intorno alle mie radici, parenti
che cantavano canzoni all'ombra di un albero
e sparavano tra i cavalli sudati,
donne nascoste nell'ombra
che proiettavano le torri maschili,
galoppi che sferzavano la luce,
rarefatte
notti di collera, cani che latravano.
Mio padre nell'alba scura
della terra, verso quali perduti arcipelaghi
fuggì sui suoi treni ululanti?
In seguito amai l'odore del carbone nel fumo
gli olii, gli assi di gelida precisione,
e il treno grave che attraversava l'inverno steso
sulla terra come un bruco orgoglioso.
All'improvviso sussultarono le porte.
È mio padre.
Lo circondano i centurioni della strada:
ferrovieri avvolti nei loro mantelli bagnati,
e con loro il vapore e la pioggia rivestirono
la casa, il tinello si riempì di racconti
rochi, i bicchieri si vuotarono,
e fino a me, da quegli esseri in cui vivevano
i dolori, come in una separata barriera,
giunsero le angosce, le accigliate
cicatrici, gli uomini senza denaro,
l'artiglio minerale della miseria.


 

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I just think this is beautiful poetry. American style I dare suppose.

I am very interested in the beauty of the nature of the place I live in. Gentle climate and gentle landscape.

I share this one by Walt Whitman. I have a good impression and reflection in reading it. Comments are welcomed.

 

Song Of Myself, VI - Poem by Walt Whitman

A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may
see and remark, and say Whose?

Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them,
It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers' laps,
And here you are the mothers' laps.

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.

O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues,
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps.

What do you think has become of the young and old men?
And what do you think has become of the women and chil- dren?

They are alive and well somewhere,
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it,
And ceas'd the moment life appear'd.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

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:)

 

www.youtube.com/watch?v=gvJdjQ2IHQk

 

Don't forget to take time to stop and smell the cosmos! XO!

Especially when your stuck in/ traffic. ( low spark of high heel boys)

great video, thank you.

I have seen a duck making a quick landing on the surface on water. A slalom. Incredibly stupefying. It has been a beautiful walk out!

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Song Of Myself, XVII - Poem by Walt Whitman

These are really the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me,

If they are not yours as much as mine they are nothing, or next to nothing,

If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle they are nothing,

If they are not just as close as they are distant they are nothing.

 

This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is,

This the common air that bathes the globe.

 

I think it is stupefying!

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be careful in what it follows, his poetry is fantastic and precise descriptions are the writings of everywhere and everytime he tells abou:mellow:

 

 

Song Of Myself, XIX - Poem by Walt Whitman

This is the meal equally set, this the meat for natural hunger,
It is for the wicked just the same as the righteous, I make appoint- ments with all,
I will not have a single person slighted or left away,
The kept-woman, sponger, thief, are hereby invited,
The heavy-lipp'd slave is invited, the venerealee is invited;
There shall be no difference between them and the rest.

This is the press of a bashful hand, this the float and odor of hair,
This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning,
This the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face,
This the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again.
Do you guess I have some intricate purpose?
Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the side of a rock has.

Do you take it I would astonish?
Does the daylight astonish? does the early redstart twittering through the woods?
Do I astonish more than they?

This hour I tell things in confidence,
I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.

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Hope its ok to post this here, I felt the need to do it... so I will:

 

I don’t know who I am

Don’t know who you are
Don’t know who you were
 
I feel so much that I feel nothing at all
What do I need to say, when the other one
never mentioned me or gave me a call
 
You are gone
You left
Away before I knew you were there
 
I don’t even know how to pronounce your name
Two different ways of growing up
Nothing the same
 
Same eyes same nose
we are sisters, I know, it shows
I guess thats life, just the way it goes

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Hope its ok to post this here, I felt the need to do it... so I will:

 

I don’t know who I am

Don’t know who you are
Don’t know who you were
 
I feel so much that I feel nothing at all
What do I need to say, when the other one
never mentioned me or gave me a call
 
You are gone
You left
Away before I knew you were there
 
I don’t even know how to pronounce your name
Two different ways of growing up
Nothing the same
 
Same eyes same nose
we are sisters, I know, it shows
I guess thats life, just the way it goes

 

yes it is a truth!

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  psalm 92; a song for the Sabbath day. 1-5

 

  I

It is good to give thanks to the LORD,

to sing praise to your name Most High,

To proclaim your kindness at dawn and

your faithfulness throughout the night,

With ten stringed instrument and lyre,

with melody upon the harp.

For you make me glad, O Lord, by

your deeds;

at the works of your hands I rejoice.

 II...

Edited by littlejoe3

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Psalm 92; A song for the Sabbath day. 6-9

 

  II

How great are your works, O Lord!

How very deep are your thoughts!

A senseless man knows not,

nor does a fool understand this,

Though the wicked flourish like grass

and all evildoers thrive,

They are destined to eternal destruction;

while you O Lord, are the Most

High forever.

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