Muhammad Farhan Ahmed
(12/25/2014 2:52:00 AM)
Read my poem and comment on it on the following page:
'You live in a world of odd dreams, Mr. Ahmed
Putting queer imaginations to mere fancy words
Bejeweled by baffling metaphors and similes
That one mightn't get the hang of with ease
Why don't you eschew the pesky rhyme rule,
As D.H Lawrence and Walt Whitman did?
Switch to chaste, free-verse poetry instead
Of having a big, sentimental, slushy head'
'I neither live in Lawrence's nor Whitman's planet
For I dwell in my own enchanted, poetic world
Rhyme-less poems are no delight to me, Mr. Paul
Poems and paragraphs aren't alike, after all
Whether a writer rhymes, ruminates, or not
That depends entirely on the poet's taste
A poem is a splendent verse, an alluring art
An inner voice, a majestic vision of the heart'
(12/23/2014 4:25:00 PM)
Muhammad Farhan Ahmed
(12/23/2014 12:16:00 PM)
| Read 1 reply
A Mother's Loneliness
There, stood alone she, desolated in tears...
Remained her eyes drizzly over the years.
Every day and night, doleful was she,
A blur was all what she could see...
'My son, my son, why did you die?!
The river of my life has become dry! '
Mournful years passed by...
Until dreamt she of bright candles,
Held by children high.
On the back, saw she one with a dim light,
It was her son, wistful was he quite.
'Your tears dowsed it, dimmed it,
Your rue stabbed my little heart
O Mother, why did you fall apart?'
Comment on my poem on this page: http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-mother-s-loneliness/
(12/23/2014 11:18:00 AM)
When I write a poem in Russian - and then translate itinto English - the second version often helps to make the Russian poem better. Irecommend everyone to become BILINGUAL poems!
(12/10/2014 5:06:00 AM)
that was a truly beautiful poem
(12/7/2014 3:58:00 AM)
Children of the Slums
Imagine waking up on a filthy, uneven floor -
light coming solely through the flimsy wooden wall.
Imagine trudging through the mud barefoot -
mud merged with remnants of God knows who.
Imagine breathing in thick layers of sooty dust -
the colors sullen, lifeless and dull.
Imagine smelling the scent of faeces and decay,
of diseases and of death every single day.
Imagine your belly gurgling with hunger and distraught,
sniffing glue - the only way to delude.
Imagine walking on rickety bridges -
a step amiss and drown you will in these murky watery ditches.
Imagine wearing the same old rags - all tattered and torn,
being beaten and battered, no rights of which to call your own.
Imagine having silly daydreams of going to school
but there's not a penny to spare - not even for a worn-out book.
But alas, imagine no more for such children exist,
with ghosts clouding their starry dreams
And death hanging heavy upon their tiny, little feet.
(12/6/2014 3:44:00 AM)
Timothy Winters is a great poem
(12/6/2014 3:42:00 AM)
How do I make a poem in this website
Antonio Cabral Filho
(12/4/2014 4:39:00 PM)
| Read 1 reply
ACORDO DE PAZ
Casalzinho na cozinha
" que eu te isso, qué?!
eu te aquilo; vem, vem! "
Aí um casal de caga-sebo,
que nem se encontra na feira,
pousou na janela
e ficou catando piolho
um no outro
ao som de pequenos pios,
arrumando as peninhas
um do outro,
numa cena tão cheia de paz
e com a maior fartura de amor
tão grande que o casalzinho
parou a briga selada aos beijos.
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(12/4/2014 2:07:00 PM)
trash talk has no place in poetry this detracts from a writers work we as writers should hold our poetry to a high standard something to be proud of as it represents us as people.
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