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SAIGON De Manila

9 Years Ago

Wandering Clouds: Another Collaborated Art & Poetry Book From Faa Artitst

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Poe Ed

9 Years Ago

Art Prints

 

SAIGON De Manila

9 Years Ago

Thank you Viet Tran for including me in this latest project... Congraulations to everyone who made this possible!

let me share one entry based on Dan Richard's artwork of the same title:

Fireburst

I watched endless orange sunset
nothing had change except my skin
in my youthful days without debt
gives me prides than aged sin

the constant fire you bleach the sky
foretelling rain on next visit
to ease the land now barren dry
nature's rhyme on my fresh biscuit

Saigon De Manila
-Aug 6, 2013

 

Viet Tran

9 Years Ago

Preface:
About Wandering Clouds
by Viet Tran


(I)

c’mon babies
you’re drifted into this world
like wandering clouds floated to boundless horizon
billions of other human beings
already ahead of
you
but it’s never been too late for
you
to join
the race.

wanna
be the best?
the finish line is faraway
don’t waste your days to play
hurry up
run…
run…run…
fast, faster, fastest
with both feet on your neck
so long as you can
‘til you could be in front of everyone else
and reaching to the top
or dropping dead
on your own
feet.

(II)

eh
men
time flies too fast
no way back
now reaching the middle age
you’ve gone over half way on your exhausting trek
in chase for glory, money, beauty, fame
or maybe just for love
and sex

no pain- no gain
no sweat - no success
life
could become
the best or worst gamble
depending how you wanna it to be

either
you could
make it simple
glide yourself comfortably on the flow of your day
and enjoy the fullest
as each instant
flies
by

or
you could
go against the current
trade every moment for all what you want
and run nonstop without a short break
‘til you’re too exhausted
and collapsed onto
your shabby
knees.

(III)

hey
old chaps!
why hurry?
you’ve gone too far
nearly at the end of the rope
not much time left
to fool around

slow
down
don’t waste the little leftover of your life
for the nonsense
you’re no longer
in need
of.


(IV)

regardless
whoever you’re
whether you’ve achieved something or nothing

either
you’ve won or lost
you’ve succeeded or failed
during your lifetime

in
the end
nothing really matters
as you could hear neither exploding cheers nor loud handclaps at the finish line
but only the moaning sounds of bushy weeds and gusty wind
whistling on your own
tombstone.

(V)

eh boys
hey men
oh old chaps
for what you’ve been chasing and holding in your hands
you’ll lose them all
at the very
end

at
this
instant
why keep struggling
and not going with the flow of your day
as wandering clouds leisurely float
in breezy wind
to infinite
horizon

Viet Tran
www.papercollage.ca

 

Maria Disley

9 Years Ago

Congratulations guys! Some wonderful poems I remember and some new ones. Inspires me to write something.

The beach's sandy coloured belly was full of striae,
and footprints seemed to push from underground,
Could I really feel that beat, just then?
Was it the cry of a gull, or a new white shawled wave I heard, being carried
out to sea?
Everything is being born
reborn,
from the earth,
I feel.
And fills the air with poetry.

Maria Disley 9/2/15


 

Magia Gomez

9 Years Ago

The book is wonderful, I am reading these poems with great enjoyment. :))

 

James Tanyu

9 Years Ago

Cheers to you all!

Hope everyone keep on making more poems even if you are all in cloud 9!
On this occasion allow me to share something about clouds by a famous author.

THE HOUSE OF CLOUDS

I would build a cloudy House
For my thoughts to live in;
When for earth too fancy-loose
And too low for Heaven!
Hush! I talk my dream aloud---
I build it bright to see,---
I build it on the moonlit cloud,
To which I looked with thee.

Cloud-walls of the morning's grey,
Faced with amber column,---
Crowned with crimson cupola
From a sunset solemn!
May mists, for the casements, fetch,
Pale and glimmering;
With a sunbeam hid in each,
And a smell of spring.

Build the entrance high and proud,
Darkening and then brightening,---
If a riven thunder-cloud,
Veined by the lightning.
Use one with an iris-stain,
For the door within;
Turning to a sound like rain,
As I enter in.

Build a spacious hall thereby:
Boldly, never fearing.
Use the blue place of the sky,
Which the wind is clearing;
Branched with corridors sublime,
Flecked with winding stairs---
Such as children wish to climb,
Following their own prayers.

In the mutest of the house,
I will have my chamber:
Silence at the door shall use
Evening's light of amber,
Solemnising every mood,
Softemng in degree,---
Turning sadness into good,
As I turn the key.

Be my chamber tapestried
With the showers of summer,
Close, but soundless,---glorified
When the sunbeams come here;
Wandering harpers, harping on
Waters stringed for such,---
Drawing colours, for a tune,
With a vibrant touch.

Bring a shadow green and still
From the chestnut forest,
Bring a purple from the hill,
When the heat is sorest;
Spread them out from wall to wall,
Carpet-wove around,---
Whereupon the foot shall fall
In light instead of sound.

Bring the fantasque cloudlets home
From the noontide zenith
Ranged, for sculptures, round the room,---
Named as Fancy weeneth:
Some be Junos, without eyes;
Naiads, without sources
Some be birds of paradise,---
Some, Olympian horses.

Bring the dews the birds shake off,
Waking in the hedges,---
Those too, perfumed for a proof,
From the lilies' edges:
From our England's field and moor,
Bring them calm and white in;
Whence to form a mirror pure,
For Love's self-delighting.

Bring a grey cloud from the east,
Where the lark is singing;
Something of the song at least,
Unlost in the bringing:
That shall be a morning chair,
Poet-dream may sit in,
When it leans out on the air,
Unrhymed and unwritten.

Bring the red cloud from the sun
While he sinketh, catch it.
That shall be a couch,---with one
Sidelong star to watch it,---
Fit for poet's finest Thought,
At the curfew-sounding,--- ;
Things unseen being nearer brought
Than the seen, around him.

Poet's thought,----not poet's sigh!
'Las, they come together!
Cloudy walls divide and fly,
As in April weather!
Cupola and column proud,
Structure bright to see---
Gone---except that moonlit cloud,
To which I looked with thee!

Let them! Wipe such visionings
From the Fancy's cartel---
Love secures some fairer things
Dowered with his immortal.
The sun may darken,---heaven be bowed---
But still, unchanged shall be,---
Here in my soul,---that moonlit cloud,
To which I looked with THEE!

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

 

Dan Richards

9 Years Ago

I am really happy about being invited to share my works with so many very good writers on here. Thank you a lot Viet Tran, for this!

The Legend of the Sepia Fairy

When the world was young and magical life roamed free
There live a young fae with a heart of gold
But she owned a spirit of ribaldry and impish delights
She loved color that was lacking in those days

It is said that sometimes out of boredom
She would sing a spell to color the woods
The lass would sing to spread many colors
Trying each to se if they fit her delectation

She would color the trees with red leaves and orange trunks
But that just did not seem to work well for her
So she tried other colors on different things
Mixing and matching the different hues

Reds and blacks and browns she tried
Greens and yellows and blues she painted
It gave such a pleasure to try the different colors
And purest of joy when she made a good match

Then one day while trying her spells
She by accident coughed while singing her enchantment
And the woods started to sparkle and shimmer wildly
The tiny fae turned with fear, oh what had she done

Colors blasted from everywhere and nowhere at once
A mass confusion in spectral spatter she had caused
When all was done and the bewitchment complete
The whole of the magical woods were now no longer bleak

But the color that covered the beautiful place
Was now emblazoned sepia!
Every tree and bush, even the roses were sepia!
The tiny fae sat down and cried

Her heart broken with what had happened
Even her gown of bright blue now hung sepia
And matched her skin and hair, oh she wept
She wailed for days at the distress she had caused

She cried until her mother found her alone on a sepia leaf
Her mother came and sat beside her and asked what had become
The tiny fae explained to her mother about her accident in singing her spell
Oh my her mother exclaimed with total dread

And knowing the pain of her youngest impish daughter
Then she rose and took her daughter’s hand, lets work together my child
And together they did, day and night neither slept a wink
But worked their spells even with horse voices long tired

But slowly they cleansed the woods of the sepia color
That was all but the tiny fae that would never change
She was all one color through and through
That no spell could change her color back

Then as she grew, to be a beautiful fae
She was known as the sepia fairy
Teased by all of the fae youths
Always different, always the joke

She took it to be her punishment for her play
And never got to know any of the fae lads
Never a love nor a true friend
She was the sepia fairy, always alone

Then one day as she floated through the woods alone
She thought of the pain the others had caused
Would it not be easier to just vanish from this world
And never to return, at least she would not feel so ignored

But on this day she happened to meet a young woman in the woods
No matter how the fae hid she was always found
‘Oh my darling young fae, do you not know me?’
The woman asked in a sweet song like tone

But the Sepia fae knew not who this was
‘Did not the elders teach you your lessons?’
The woman asked sitting on a log
They did not the sepia fae explained

‘For I am the outsider they only allow around
can you not see my color is wrong?’
‘Oh let me tell you this, no color is wrong’ the woman said
‘You were born with a magical gift’ the woman explained

The young fae was stumped by this news
Then together they talked about many things
Talked about the length of the days and the shades of pink
Talked of the many colors still lacking in the world today

Then the woman told the young fae that she was to work with her
She would be the queen of color and make sure everything was bright
The woman would teach her to use her powers of color
So she would never fear them again, nor create the mess she once did

So now young children, when you see a red flower or green caterpillar
You know it was not by chance this color happened to be
But now the young fae is old, but she still has an impish spirit of mirth
As she colors the world and every creature born to be its own

09/01/2004 © Pierre Richards

 

Viet Tran

9 Years Ago




Art Prints


About Saigon De Castro
(By Viet Tran)

Edgardo De Castro is also known as Saigon De Manila or Saigon De Castro. He was born and grew up in Philippines under Marcos’ dictatorship. Rebellion against political and social repression of the regime has been reflected through his art and poetry. It also has had an ongoing impact on his life in general.

Saigon De Castro started drawing since his childhood (mostly ink, pen, or pencil) and writing poems for his university’s paper. He recently took formal art training under mentorship of the Filipino contemporary artist Hezekiah Lopez. 
Saigon De Manila is also blogger who has written over 300 articles on different sites. He is a realtor, a teacher, and also a “Special Need” educator. He is currently living and working in Jakarta, Indonesia.

Readers could enjoy a unique cultural flavor in most of Saigon De Castro’s poems published in this book.

 

Viet Tran

9 Years Ago

Thanks to Saigon and Dan (Pierre) Richards for participating in this collaboration

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About Pierre Richards


I have been writing for about Twenty years, and won five awards in poetry. I love exploring the different ways older styles of poetry can be used, and working with the older styles in general. I also ran a class, in 2005 on “Experimenting with Poetry”, where I showed how to work many of the older styles of poetry, as well as using them differently than they were meant to be used. The goal there was to help aspiring writers to develop tools to expand their development.

I write from experiences in my life, and thoughts I develop from looking at pictures that inspire me to be creative. I have been known to write from a Sojo, to an epic, from something as simple as a picture.

I hope that my works will inspire a new generation of writers to explore their world.

 

Kevin Callahan

9 Years Ago

I am very happy to be included in this group of fine artists and poets. The book is beautiful.

 

Karen Newell

9 Years Ago

It is an honor to be included in this lovely book with such talented poets! Thank you Viet for all of your hard work! I am looking forward to holding the book in my hands:))

I have always been
a solitary scribbler.
Scrawling observations
on pages.
Poetry meant
to soothe my Soul.
Published words
were a distant dream.
What a sweet surprise!

 

Ed Meredith

9 Years Ago

i ditto and echo my fellow "artists, poets and scribblers"... Thank you Viet for including me in this beautiful book, and of course for your hard work and efforts to keep and give poetry an eclectic pulse...

And thanks for the surprising acknowledgement which is mutual my friend ...
for you woke the sleeping poet within me...

 

Viet Tran

9 Years Ago


Thank you Kevin, Karen and Ed. This could have never been published without your participation and help. Have a good night

 

Viet Tran

9 Years Ago


I enjoyed both Kevin's poetry and art. Kevin usually captures the beauty of nature with clarity and simplicity. He offers his viewers and readers an easy feeling about life and love. I am glad to feature Kevin`s poetry in the book. I am very thankful for his help.



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About Kevin Callahan


Kevin Callahan is an “accidental poet” who often finds his poems in the work a day activities of yard work or romantic remembrances of a long and happy marriage.

In his other art endeavors Kevin is a painter, photographer, and author of many published short stories and one published novel. Kevin resides in Parkville, Missouri with his wife, Karen. His two grown sons are both accomplished artists.

You can find more of Kevin’s work at http://kevin-callahan.artistwebsites.com (http://kevin-callahan.artistwebsites.com/)



 

Viet Tran

9 Years Ago

Karen Newall is the only female poet featured in the book. She is the diamond among those hard pebbles and a phoenix among those roosters (lol).

Readers might wonder why there is such a huge gender imbalance in the book. The collaboration has reflected the fact that female poets whom I invited were not so keen to be part of the collaboration. Some didn`t have enough poems to contribute, one was busy with a family issue, two others didn`t bother to reply to my invitation. This is always the case for any project that involves with many poets of different cultural background.

I must thank to Karen allowing me to feature her unique poetry in the book. Karen is one of faa poets whom I have exchanged poetry in the past.




Photography Prints



About Karen Newall

I am an Artist, a Poet and a Dreamer!

I became enchanted with manipulated photography in 2009. I use my Android cell phone 100% for this medium. I shoot the raw photos then apply the filters that were factory installed on my phone. With my photographic art I hope to spark the viewers’ imagination, to see what is hidden from our normal perspective.

I have always had a love affair with words. I find it amazing how poetry is able to concisely convey a multitude of thoughts and emotions. I love to bounce around between poetic styles and rhyme schemes.

As a dreamer I hope to share glimpses of my soul through art and poetry.

 

Viet Tran

9 Years Ago

Ed Meredith is a painter, a sculptor, a photographer by trade, and a poet. As a thought provoker, Meredith has generally challenged the status-quo. He often stirs up traditional thoughts of his readers/viewers’. Ed Meredith and I have often exchanged poems and thoughts. Inspired by his provoking thoughts, I poetically echoed many of his poems in the past. His unique writing style has influenced on the setting of my poetry.

As a close friend of mine on cyberspace, Ed Meredith has been involved with me in four of my former books. It’s a pleasure and an honor to be a friend of such a man of many different talents.


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About Ed Meredith


i could tell you in my poems
the misfortune of my birth
and the sad deprivation of childhood
or about the volatility of my troubled youth
and the grip of disillusionment that held me tight
until the uncertainty of middle age
gave way to the fragility of aging
and fear of the unknown…
or

i could tell you of my mythic entrance into this world
my storybook childhood and glorious youth
that ever prepared me for adventures
and achievements beyond what i could imagine
and the awakening of enlightenment
on my path into my golden years
now filled with contemplative meaning
understanding and acceptance
of the unknowable…

but i won’t
for both tales are false
and even if i tried to tell the truth
it would still be false...

Ed Meredith

 

Fran Riley

9 Years Ago

Marvelous work! Congratulations to all the Poets/Artist. Great book Viet!

 

Viet Tran

9 Years Ago

Thank you Fran Riley Have a good evening, my friend.



Blurb's DISCOUNT for poets and friends those who want to order a hard copy


THIS BOOK IS SET AT BLURB'S ORIGINAL CHARGE. No profit will be made from selling this book.

Here is Blurb's discount code.


20% off Landscape format photobooks

Please type the following promotional code when you check out by the end of the order

LANDSCAPES


Expires on February 24, 2015**

 

Viet Tran

9 Years Ago

I was attracted to Jacob King’s poetic abstractionism when I read a poem of his posted on one of my poetry post on FAA forum. I featured Jacob King’s poetry in one of my former collaborations with other poets that led to a poetry book published a couple years ago. I’ve known King better and have had regular contacts with him after he contacted me personally to ask for my legal advice regarding to some legal matters that he had to deal with at that time.

Jacob King is a poet who enjoys exploring the dark side of human’s psyche and the rotten parts of political/social establishments in USA. He provides his readers with the freedom of having their interpretation and enjoying their own version of thought generated thought his unique poems. In fine art, I have witnessed that King has established his own style. I hope readers would read each of his poems for a couple of times, until you could find an emotional attachment to his abstract thought and emotion.


Art Prints


About Jacob King

Artist and poet of the macabre Jacob King writes within surreal realms of abstract nightmares.

His poetry is often off-kilter drifting from dark landscapes to pleas for extrication from abstract emotions. His artworks focus on the macabre but have shown to drift into other territories, particularly flowers.

Other than artwork and poetry, he spends most of his time with his 4 daughters living life one cup of coffee at a time.

 

Xoanxo Cespon

9 Years Ago

Thank you Viet for all your hard work that made this International Collaboration possible...

 

Viet Tran

9 Years Ago

Good morning Xoanxo. Thank you very much for taking your time to produce and post on YouTube this nice video clip. You have a very luring voice of romance. Have a restful day.

 

Xoanxo Cespon

9 Years Ago

Thank YOU Viet!!! I don't visit FAA very often now, but this one had to be shared here, the meeting point for such great FAA Poets :-)!!!

 

SAIGON De Manila

9 Years Ago


Xo this is anAmazing audio-video presentation.
I love tha moving cloud background and the very intimate voice over!!,

 

SAIGON De Manila

9 Years Ago

Another short preview on poem that was included on this new book:

Silence

It
is not
mute at all
that one fellow
write with empty stroke
like dead brush forbids,
blank canvas shouts for hues
truth or forced pigmentation
lie not on life absurdity,
sugar coat or obligatory
ink is never tamed but forever free.

(a reflective teratctys for Jason),/i>
©June 25, 2014
Saigon De Manila

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Jim Taylor

9 Years Ago

What a wonderful collection of poems and well done book.
I just now watched Xoanxos video. Well done background music.
I was quite pleasantly surprised to hear such a remarkable voice!

 

Viet Tran

9 Years Ago

In The 11th Hour

I am in deep purple
Sailing through Kentucky fog
Hush, hush
Rush

In the 11th hour of my sojourn
Seeking my queen
Gee I think you're swell
My pride and joy, etc.

So many ask
Why don't you rest?
Motel, hotel?
Oh hell no
Gotta go, go



I drive on alone
But never lonely
With me are Mamas, Papas,
Monkees, Zombies & Turtles

Behind me rolls our past
Which I am driving
into our future

Kevin Callahan

 

Karen Newell

9 Years Ago

Kevin, I would love to see it. I will be in touch :)

 

Viet Tran

9 Years Ago

This Jam Session Called Life
(In memory of my dear friend Ben Oudshoorn 1962-2014)

By Poet Xoanxo Cespon


(I)

As I type,
Trying to capture an old rhythm
That seems forever gone,
With every word,
With every rhyme,
With every sound,
A chaotic universe
Of past and long gone times
Unveils itself…
Before my very eyes…

And then…
I think…
What’s the point
If only silence
Can contain it all...???

Yes… I very well know…
As I type this down…
That if silence should ever reign…
Nothing would be left unsaid again…

(II)

And with talking eyes
That can never hide

In this timeless now,
Where nothing ever ends
And all is still…
Whatever seems lost,
Whatever seems gone
Is gathered again…
Word by word,
Line by line,
Like a painful birth,
Like a painless death…

(III)

My dear friend,
No sad notes for you today…
No sad songs…
So let your familiar face
Wear your best smile again…
For tonight…
No new tears will be shed
In this, unrehearsed,
Perpetual one night only show,
Of no second takes…

Tonight, my friend…
We will recall …
Our very own…
Bloemendaal Jazz…
Where all scattered notes
Assembled in line…
And slowly passed by…
In a ritual of self-sacrifice…
In this Jam session called life…

(IV)

And Alone,
I sit here…
And listen
To your Sinatra guy
Sing the songs
you once sung…
While thousand memories return…
Of times when music filled our nights…
And together…
We drank…
The beer,
The wine,
The careless chat,
The joyous laughs…

Remember your detour towards the canal…?
Those Koninginnegedags… ???
Those summer nights…
Of Queimadas and fun???

I do,
I want to remember it all…
Because I also know,
That whatever was…
Will forever last!!!

(V)

They say there are billions of us...
Coming and going...
In continuous flux...
And I am glad...
So glad…
Grateful...
So grateful…
For I got to know a guy…
Who danced with the stars…
Who jazzed around…
Wild and untamed
in this circus of ours...
A genuine sprinkler of smiles…
And generous of heart…
Who lived…
As if no more rain
would ever fall again…
As if nothing
would ever come to an end
In this continuous loop of life…

And Just like nothing that was
can ever be erased…
For today bears no editing,
I was his witness
When we saw it all,
When we danced it all,
When we drank it all,
When every inch of time
Was duly gulped down…

(VI)

But what a fool I am
To forget what I often say,
That in this eternal day...
In this illusion of time...
Every moment,
Every hug,
Every morning
And night
Every laugh,
Every kiss,
Every goodbye,
It is forever our first...
And last...
...

(VII)

On your remembrance day,
I looked for your face
Amongst the tearful,
Sorrowful eyes,
As friend by friend
Slowly walked by…
Silently wanting a hug,
A last goodbye …
Not the same they’ve had
Some day…
Not knowing then
That it had been your last…

And when I looked back
To the puzzle pieces I still had,
Not a single trampled flower
Laid over our shared paths,
Only snippets of joy and laughter…
Covered the touching stretch
Of each other’s spiraling trail…

(VIII)

Later that day,
We poured you a glass
Of Antxon’s Magnum wine
And we talked…
Of better times…
Of your tiki-tikis…
And rubbing of hands
In anticipation of fresh fun…
And we talked…
And we laughed…
And we cried…

And we cried…

(IX)

The world may never know
You passed its mortal way,
But those whose life you touched
Will never forget...
Than in their hearts…
A part of you will forever stay…

Gracias amigo
For this jam session of fun
For this fantastic illusion of time!!!

(X)

Amigo...

What is this dream
Of an ephemeral existence
That we so slowly build
And can so suddenly end...?

What is this dream
If not a temporary illusion,
Of which we all come and go
And nothing ever seems to stay?

What is it
If not a never ending jam session
That we must all endlessly join
And the music seems to go forever on?

Whatever it is,
Amigo...
Whatever it is
This that was...
Now you have moved on …
I thank you with all my heart…

Hombre…
Have a short and safe journey home!!!

(XI)

And now Mr. Sinatra…
Your music may never again sound the same..
And that is ok…
For I am glad…
I am grateful…
That I once knew a guy…
A friend…
Whose life was lived…
In his true way…


Xoanxo Cespon

 

Xoanxo Cespon

9 Years Ago

Thank you Viet, Maria and Karen for your generosity!!!

 

Viet Tran

9 Years Ago

Good morning, Xoanxo. You're very welcome. It is an awesome poem with any easy flow. It's long but very appealing and easy to swallow. Each time I read it I have different feelings. I really like the soft way you express yourself in poetry. Nice day my friend.

 

Karen Newell

9 Years Ago

Kevin, What a nice time to meet you and visit your gallery! Thank you for the autograph and the hospitality :))

 

Kevin Callahan

9 Years Ago

You too Karen, thanks for visiting our home.

 

Viet Tran

9 Years Ago

Hi Saigon.

How are you doing brother. I guess you`ve been so busy to get on the net or the weather over there is too nice to stay outside. whatever it is enjoy a great time. See ya around.

 

Terrance DePietro

9 Years Ago

Viet Tran,
Once again you are objectifying what it is to: search within the 'feeling' zone of humanity as we live it in these times. Another wonderful collection...your curatorial activity is once more a hallmark for the pilgrims of FAA and beyond. Thank you for sharing your time and talent with your peers. Best-of-Life Terrance & Nicole

 

Viet Tran

9 Years Ago

Hi Terrance DePietro. Thank you very much, sir. It was very kind of you giving your nice words.

The credit of the book belongs to all poets who were involved in the collaboration. Without their support and help, this collaboration would have never become reality. I was a minor part - acting as lubrication to make the engine running smoothly. Have a good day,

 

SAIGON De Manila

9 Years Ago

Am quite ok Viet, with less sun kissing my skin...and more micro blogging to earn something hahaha!

Incidetally, i'd like To announce the upcoming World Poetry Day come March 21 as pushed by no other than UNESCO.

"UNESCO recognizes and observes on 21st March as World Poetry day to celebrate the creativeness of a human mind and to provide a much needed resurrection to the creative thinkers across. The rationale behind the recognition by UNESCO is to support the linguistic diversity through different poetic expressions and also to offer endangered languages the opportunity to be heard within their communities"

Am looking forward to the deluge of our sundry thoughts on or before that day.

So,keep,that fingers in your keyboard and
cheers to you all wordsmith and lexophiles!

 

SAIGON De Manila

9 Years Ago

"Evening is a time of real experimentation. You never want to look the same way."
-Donna Karan

Good Evening
(a 3 tetractys poem)

Yes
I did
it's my first,
to post this way
just like the others who came before me.

I'm sure this would not be the last from now
like how sun-set
keeps its glow
far from
you.

Though
the shade
will be back
its new day wit
to flex the night with few cents of wisdom.


©March 12, 2015


*Above is my first post in a writing (macro-blogging) site that finally landed on the Homepage today! Lol =))

 

SAIGON De Manila

9 Years Ago

"If you're bored with life - you don't get up every morning with a burning
desire to do things - you don't have enough goals."
-Lou Holtz

My bad, I was wrong *Tetractys should be a poem written with 20 syllables. A tetractys can have more than one stanza. But all new stanzas must be have an inverted syllable count. There is no limit to the number of stanzas. This type of poem often expresses a complete thought.

Previously am doing a 54 progressive syllables from 1-10 stanzas (and falls to free verse shape poetry)
instead of:
Line 1 – 1 syllable
Line 2 – 2 syllables
Line 3 – 3 syllables
Line 4 – 4 syllables
Line 5 – 10 syllables
= 20 syllables

Pardon my ignorance on previous wrong but now corrected poem form
so today let me offer you another piece
! =(



Good Morning
( Double Tetractys* Poem)

Not that I do wanted to be noticed
but to reach you
my good deed
big or
small.
To
get rid
off bad vibes
and idleness..
and to greet you in this new beginning.

March 12, 2015©



 

Viet Tran

9 Years Ago

Farewell to Rules

inhale nice aroma of hot coffee
rousing in
morning
fresh
air

let the dog out
and run
for
fun

set
the mind
on a free ride

leave poetry bloom by itself
like thousands of flowers
blossoming
in Spring


Thao Chuong
2015-03-12

 

Karen Newell

9 Years Ago

Spring,
I love
buttercups
yellow and green,
almost neon after the grey Winter.


I always wonder, is the plural s another syllable ?

 

Jason Christopher

9 Years Ago

Good day people. i hope all is well is the land of nod. im not sure what that means but it sounds meaningful. having looked it up, the land of nod is a hamlet in Yorkshire, England, a residential road in the US, a place of sleep, and the land east of Eden... and the rest is history.. a fittiingly disturbing preface to a light hearted gathering of... words

p s -

Apple Trees

The never ending Winter
of lament from the deep tombs of loss
this was the lonely farmstead
of Miss Appleton

Her bosom of life was
this place of rest...

Here she sits...
as apple trees blossom
and apples slowly grow
Here, alone, she takes a bite...
into herself

This was to be Miss Appleton's
greatest harvest
apples seed the knowledge
as they fall to earth
and your trees shall grow!

Harvest them as they fall...
Feel the freedom of the breeze
And bite into nature
before you are eaten by grief...

Planted, the tree could only reach to grow
Eaten -
and she became the tree

Everlasting , was her need
A forest grows...
Mrs Appleton's

©Jason Christopher 2015
i hope i can participate in these threads without the iminance and intimacy of my images being posted in any of them, with or without a delightful poem, of which there have been many, wonderful as they can be! its a strange request i acknowledge, it might be because the meaning of words can alter the perception of an image in dramatic ways... and a 'poet' can go off the rails.. no offence. But to conclude, the meaning of Jesus Christ is profoundly important to me. 'Heathern' as i am. Such muck i am.

 

Viet Tran

9 Years Ago

Sell Art Online


My thought of the day


Between Talks And Dos


he sounds like a nice guy
who always claims
he
follows
the teachings
of Jesus Christ

except
for self-defence
when someone
attacks
him

he retaliates only for that legitimate reason
he often slaps back twice
on both sides of
the ugly face
of the guy
who
strikes at one of his cheeks once

it’s quite understandable
because it hurts
and makes
him mad
like
hell

he also tends to forget
the most valuable lesson of forgiveness

not
only
he holds onto his shirt
and beats the robber to take his jacket back
but
also
he calls the police to bring the bad guy into jail

in reality
there is always a huge gap
between what people are talking at this moment
and what they would do afterward

Unfortunately, this kind of pep talks have fooled endless people

Thao Chuong
2015-03-13

 

Jason Christopher

9 Years Ago

Once in a creation, id love to pie you with a planet sized mushy pie


cough

a day to honour the marvel of the construction of geometry in our humble dimensions
conceived from an endless circle
heavenly
the continuous constancy
of .. .


dah dah, dah

trumpet blast!!!

this noble cast...

viva to pi!!

3.14.15

holy be
divine thee
blessedly
the endless irational, number of fundamental constancy. mathematically speaking.
why couldn't a few dimensions be squashed up a bit to make it whole. finite. rational?? lol 😄

nice to know ya
this day only happence

ONCE


poems about pi lol, yeah right.....

and yes the American apple pie is of course of English descent. haha
These were of course, pre-Revolutionary prototypes, unsweetened

magpie pies were common in medieval England
my favs are the steak and kidney, chicken and mushroom, cornish pasties and of course the curry pasty. yum, yum, yum. with loads of chilli sauce.


HAPPY PI DAY!!

 

Viet Tran

9 Years Ago







Sell Art Online



About Thao Chuong

Canadian collage artist Viet Tran writes poetry under pen name Thao Chuong. He has published seven poetry books in English and two books written in mother tongue.

Viet Tran has applied his unique writing style in Vietnamese poetry, when he writes English poems. His poetry offers a distinctive combination of rhymes and melodic rhythms between the two languages. His romantic and provoking poems provide readers with deep thoughts. He takes his readers’ mind up high to the top of a mountain then unexpectedly pushes them off into an uneasy hell.

Tran’s painterly collage can be viewed at his website: www.papercollage.ca

 

Chrwowejd Butt

9 Years Ago



Oh, i saw dead body
at bottom of cliff
it kind of looked
eaten
til i go near
and saw smile
of madness
sewn onto the grimace of bloodied terror...

i flinched but not move
as the body of this lady stired
she sat up and mumbled
po
po

ma name... er
ma name, er M... M.... MA...

ma name is falling twig
and i fell off big tree
shithead
and im going to eat u
cow boy...
old lady spat out

but then buffalo hooves were heard
as rabbit chewed carrot...
near by
munch munch munch...





i like poerty!!


Cho.

 

SAIGON De Manila

9 Years Ago

Sell Art Online

Fathering A Nation


Ignited by the voice of braveness
and the astute vision
of a strong will
to build
a
nation
tethered by
robust colonial past
calls the rarest breed of a man.

Though history may be kind
the memory of men will entwined
to the result of battle cry
only few have the chance to try

Engrave in the Pantheon of our time
we will never see a storied saint on his prime
but another mortal in quest of identity
not to the realm of his own humanity
but to the greatest good
of asserting fatherhood
and firm to his station
in raising a nation.
Farewell
farewell.

March 23, 2015©

 

James Tanyu

9 Years Ago

Hi all ....I wanted to remember this great leader by posting a discussion tribute but I noticed only one source of art rendition for Lee Kuan Yew.

Hope I can post his lasting quotes and images here for the meantime.

http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51DWYZY76QL._SY344_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg

On the high pay of cabinet ministers and senior civil servants:

“You know, the cure for all this talk is really a good dose of incompetent government. You get that alternative and you’ll never put Singapore together again: Humpty Dumpty cannot be put together again... and your asset values will be in peril, your security will be at risk and our women will become maids in other people’s countries, foreign workers.”

 

SAIGON De Manila

9 Years Ago

I believe this one speaks volume fro the true Lion of Singapore

FAREWELL DIRGE

Free from mortal constraints,
At peace with spirit form;
Rise beyond sad restraints
Exult in spirit norm;

Work is over at last,
Enjoy sure release from form;
Live now from body past,
Love returns that soul norm.

Deed from a thousand toils,
Impress this memorial;
Rich traditional soil
Gains from firm tutorial,

Exploits of seasons then.
Touch sought a better world,
Observe the landscape then.
Mind and heart caused a swirl:

Rich progress fits endow.
Whither blows the cold winds?
Extend the fate right now,
Yield bold effort and dream.

Note the harshness that breaks,
Apply the heart to drive;
Urge the people to take,
Keep the will to survive.

Expose true destiny,
Etch a grand harmony;
Love and life spur glory:
Opt true humanity.

by Leon Enriquez
24 March 2015 Singapore

Art Prints

 

SAIGON De Manila

9 Years Ago

humming

 

Jason Christopher

8 Years Ago

Hello Saigon, my father, long deceased, spoke highly of Lee Kuan Yew rip; he was a long serving English soldier, and was based there and Malaysia, both countries of the Commonweath, and other countries for many years.



heres a 2nd repost of a poem i just wrote, as poems are scarce these days, less blowing in the wind

Feathers...



A tiniest hidden moment, exposed for all its worth...

like the flicker of a smile, the twitch of an eye, the shudder or shiver of a moments attention. .. .


Feather sweeps across her face... .. .. .. . feathers blown... .. ..
soft sweep of feather, tickles

Almost unseen, then blown away.....
yet felt, deeply, far within

Blown far, far away, where feathers gather.. ... ..


Somewhere yonder
Swans gather by golden Lakes

And skies open, as winds blow....
as sounds lift and cry
the clouds sway and stream their wondrous forms

Whitest swans lift, and carry, upon their Bluest skies


©Jason Christopher 2015
dreaming swans

 

Viet Tran

8 Years Ago

Art Prints



The Fallen Love

after
nightfall
he waited for her

in front of him
two empty glasses
a bottle full of wine
an unlighted candle
everything was ready for a romantic night

he
sat
in the dark
seeing nothing
feeling lonesome
his own shadow had gone away

nothing
happened
‘til
she dropped by
in a couple weeks later
the sun was shining its bright light in the dinning room

in
front
of his nearly
decomposed body
still two empty glasses
a bottle full of wine
an unlighted candle
everything was clearly ready for a romantic night

she
sobbed
and wondered
if it would have made any difference for his fate
if she had come on that night

Thao Chuong
2015-05-16

 

SAIGON De Manila

8 Years Ago

Thank you Jason for that beautiful poem...

belatedly am also thankful for Chrwowejd Butt on posting a great piece.


Yes Viet Tran that image and accompanied poem could have made difference.

 

This discussion is closed.