Sylva Portoian

Sylva Portoian Poems

Sylva Portoian Biography

The Author’s Stanzas from Eleven Poetry Collections (July 2007-July 2010) Sylva Portoian-Shuhaiber (Sylva-MD-Poetry) is a pediatrician trained in England, who has articles in well-known medical journals: The Lancet, Archives of Diseases in Childhood, Tropical Pediatrics, Annals of Genetics (Paris) , Journal of Inherited Metabolic Diseases and Journal of Cardiovascular Surgery. She has presented her medical publications at international medical conferences. She started rhyming at age seven and discontinued after specializing in medicine. Recently she was able to start poeting once again; she has released eleven collections of poetry in less than a three-year period. Each book breathes a genuine, passionate new poetic story that may be modified to a humanitarian theory. The author is a Winner of The Carnegie Prize for Poetry, Spring 2009 Eleven Poetry Collections: I: Lance My Hart at a Glance She had written this collection for her husband, who had a difficult life performing bypass operations on failed hearts during his early years of cardiac surgery. She is praising surgical hands and the dedicated life of their families, the medical team, and the patients in distress. Lance my heart to feel your delicate lance. Fancy absorbing pains, of your fatigued hands How many hearts you revived—survived. Your hands are respirators for failed fading hearts. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ II: Delete Depression—Type Inspiration These are poems to alleviate depression for every age; however, this is explicitly meant for students. The book can be the student’s friend when crisis curses the mind. Fears have no end if you bend. May impel you to far end. Shine your bright eyes see clear sky. Hear echoing songs from highest mounts. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ III: Angel “Lilit” Lilting via Internet This is a scientific love story conveyed in a poetic thesis that expressed the sincere relationship between a mother-in-law (the author) and a daughter-in-law (Lilit) . Every mother must provide love to kin, creating lifetime and after then leaving narrative happiness. Support is the road to proceed in life. Support is the kiss of life, each second in need, For every creature from birth to old age For gaspers of their last breath, sight yet alive. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ IV: A Poetic Soul Shined of Genocides These are real stories from my grandmother of known genocides still epidemically invading and crushing the principles of human rights. Let us help every soul who speaks in a true voice. In terrains where flesh decays, uncanned, Recognition of human rights is mighty just, Since all related crimes are committed by vicious hands of vile minds. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ V: Sons: Take My Heart and Transplant These are poetic stories expressed by a sincere, unselfish mother to relieve a mother’s torments and throbs. Transplant “My Hart” in real human soil Assess recipient humanitarian role. With grants long life gifted to live, Saving innocents from slain of grief. Mothers are mothers wherever they are Tears will not dry until they die. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ VI: Millennium Brains’ Lacrimate These are new events, expected and the unexpected, needed by honest brains. Sylva wrote the poems just before the credit crunch. Do poets possess a mysterious Seventh Sense? Chromosomes, when primes in crime. Millions die, without mercy rhyme. Firing darts, into mothers’ hearts. Cursed powers must end as putrefied palms! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ VII: Politics Play, People Pay, Poets Proms, Pledging Pray The poetic genuineness sings stronger than history as it bleeds from bleeding hearts. Politicians before my birth did and still do, Their job trains them to fool laymen’s crew. Teaching selves to sink the blood in ink— Thus can vanish, showing the sky stays still blue. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ VIII: E-mails: Beneath Blossoming Trees With the world entering one cascade through the Internet, things changed and will continue to change, educate, cohorts for the best. Have you dreamed about sending your president Obama Only one letter asking, how he achieved his dreams? Can another human do what He did? Did he change His dermis or aim his talent to serve humanity? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ IX: Songs of Searing Desert Storms Some people can change their character like their dresses, some can never do they remain faithful for principles born with them real, genetics true. I am the one… Whose passion is stronger than her mind. Her priorities must persist even if she can’t apply. She cannot lie and change colors. She can’t bend when things seem unjust. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ X: Sylva’s Serenade dative Eyes Singing is part of our daily life. These collections of poems are for world singers, songwriters and musicians who contributed in our life to make us happy by singing their songs, and for those who enchanted our straggling life and continue to enchant. Charles Aznavour: You Sang ‘She’ I will sing ‘He’ He is the man I can’t forget the genes that I carry without regret. He never left treasures what he worked for. Gone with the wind— He left His smile, endlessly gracing My fiery hart. He was a saint ‘Unnamed’. When I was young I never knew His Harted-Mind So wonderful, so kind. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ XI: “My Son—My Sun”: Chants Ann, Obama’s Mother Poetic story of a man no-one expected him to become president specially the white people. Although he has half-black genes, he worked and he achieved. I loved a man. He had black skin, His love was tender serene. From him I gave birth to my Son, my Love. His father called him Barak (the blessed) I left in pain after blessing him, Teaching…to save innocents’ skin.)

The Best Poem Of Sylva Portoian

All Poets Of Poem Hunters Awake...Let Us Stop All The Wars

All Poets of The Poem Hunters
Awake on This Site-Let Us all Unite

We are poets from every site
From States and further than New zealand
Thus, We represent poets of the world
We represent every ethnicity...religion...race.

Let us feel with every soul
Let us all unite
Let us fight...Abolish...Vanish...
The wars with our gifted stanzas.

Let us release our pains
Let us clear our oozing veins
Fore it is bleeding endlessly.
Let us open our burning chest
To show our smoking hearts
And stop mothers’ weep on lost sons.

Awake all poets on this site
We had enough of the genocides.
We can no longer pen poems on Love...Moon...Mars
While innocents’ voices bursting our membranes

And their blood raining on our heads
Blinding our eyes not to see more...
Sticking our lips not to speak...
We are fearless...no one shall slay our pens...

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