A Poem - By Lorraine Kember
It was a day like any other and mother, father, sister, brother, were carrying out the customs of their land.When suddenly without warning, Mother Nature came calling,shook the earth and stole the ocean from the sand.
Many gazed in wonder before their world was torn asunder,when the massive wall of water reached the shore.They, uncomprehending that the life they knew was endingand that this day would change the world for ever more.
Frantic now and running; they joined the fleeing throng,many drowned along the way, but the water bore them on.Nature showed no favorites on that fateful day,countrymen and tourists, fell victim to her spray.The young, the old, the meek the bold, caught up in its deadly swirls; along with the houses boats and cars, floated men, women, boys and girls.
The aftermath was destruction as far as the eye could see,babies torn from mothers arms were found in the debris.Bodies floated everywhere, and survivors called the name of a loved one who had disappeared and would never be seen again.
We watch these images on TV and it's hard to comprehendthe magnitude of this disaster and where the result of it will end. The Tsunami devastation has touched the hearts of Nationsand we mourn for the thousands who have died.Our thoughts are with the survivors, knowing the millions of tears they have cried.
As well as the aid and the funds we give; we also hope and pray,that something positive can be gained, from the tragedy of this day. No matter our gender, colour or creed or the country of our birth, we are after all fellow humans living on this Earth.
World peace should be our ultimate goal, its price not too high to pay, in remembrance of all who died on Tsunami day.
Poem written by: Lorraine Kember ? Author of "Lean on Me" Cancer through a Carer's Eyes. Lorraine's book is written from her experience of caring for her dying husband in the hope of helping others. It includes insight and discussion on: Anticipatory Grief, Understanding and identifying pain, Pain Management and Symptom Control, Chemotherapy, Palliative Care, Quality of Life and dying at home. It also features excerpts and poems from her personal diary. Highly recommended by the Cancer Council. "Lean on Me" is not available in bookstores - For detailed information, Doctor's recommendations, Reviews, Book Excerpts and Ordering Facility - visit her website http://www.cancerthroughacarerseyes.jkwh.com
Since Youve Been Gone...
My life has changedin so so many waysIt seems to always bein a state of disarray...
Become A Poet In Ten Minutes
Have you ever sat there staring at the paper, ready to write, but unsure where to begin? Want a solution that will overcome even the worst writer's block? Anyone can start writing poetry today using a few simple techniques.
The Treasure of Catalina Huanca (In English and Spanish)
Note: written after seeing the little adobe 16th century church San Sebastian, in San Jeronimo, by the mountains of Huancayo, Peru, after being taken there by the Wandering Quechua guide, Enrique (4-13-2005).
Write Your Way to Fame
Have you ever thought about how nice it would be to see your poem discussed in the New York Times? Think you have what it takes to become a famous poet? Well the unfortunate truth is that no one has what it takes to be a famous poet. Here's a little exercise: Name the most famous contemporary poet you can think of. Louise Gluck, Frank Bidart, and Maya Angelou, are all well known poets, but did you even know who all of them were?
The Art of Receiving Poetic Critique
You can show your poem to your mom, your spouse, your co-workers, or your friends, but you might not get the responses that you can suck up into your little writing fingers to use in an effort to refine your craft. What does it really mean when someone who cares about you, but not for poetry says, "Wow, this is great. I really like it?"
How wonderfully sweet to be a dwellerdwelling on the road of goodbye.Bittersweet tears fall as I thinkof all the places I'll never see,all the faces I'll never know,all the joys I'll never share,as I head for the unknown.I have lived life as best I could,met challenges head on,drawing strength from an unseen source.You cannot come with me on this journeyyou can only stand and watch,sometimes the more difficult task.I know what I must doand I will give myself a voicedrawn from the inward depths of my being. For KenJune 1, 2003copyright Fran Watson
Breathing-in, Minnesota [a poem: now in Spanish and English]
In early fall, in Minnesota, the rain falls, falls, In buckets, buckets and more buckets-: dropsLikened to music from its many streams-landOf ten-thousand lakes; moistened gravel, gravelEverywhere?
Here And There
My eyes opened. I am still alive;Living on planet earth.Though unconscious for many hours;Unaware of existence,Unknowing of life,Incognizant of humanityLiving in a space of void,Resident of nothingness,Here, but not here.There, but not there.
The Man Who Could Not Say Sorry For His Sins
Sorry would be a start.
Burning Autumn Leaves [a poem in Spanish and English]
Burning Autumn Leaves[1950s in St. Paul, Minnesota]
Because of You
You are to me my lifelinemy security.That scares me.I never wanted to trust again that muchI got hurt too badly the last time.I swore I'd never do it again,never let the trust out of my handsinto someone elses.
Shadows of the Andes; Ollantayambo; and Cesar Vallejo [Poems in English and Spanish]
1) Shadows of the Andes [or: Song to the Andes]
I WANTED TO SAY IT WITH A BUNCH OF FLOWERS A CARD WOULD HAVE SUFFICED.
Four Poems: Two for the Devil, Two for Peru
Here is some witty poetry (not sure if that is the proper word: witty, but it will do): one poem on the Aztec year 2012, a year that has been in the public's eye quite a lot; one on cloning, and the biblical end time events--which, if I may add seems ripe for the monster events that are said to take place; and two poems dealing with some tradtions of Peru; one imparticular, on vacationing, where not to go; all the makings for some thought.
Grandpas House & From Iraq with Love [Two Poems]
Grandpa's House[The ole Real House]
House of the Goblin [Part Two of Three/with notes]
House of the Goblin[Part Two of Three]
An Old Wood Pile [a poem with notes]
Old skin, once held tightAgainst her skeleton-Rose no more, just drapedLoosely over unpadded flesh;Un-tightened muscles, and tissue,Lost its courage, no-fortitude-,Gone are the days and yearsThat stood against the Indomitable elements; The skeleton, now a landmarkHidden under flesh and bloodGuts and moral fiber, backbone?Collapsed from drudgeryTime, time: cascading inside-.Bones now leaving impressionsAccepting fateLike tarnished silver!...Hands look like autumn leavesFallen from a treeWinter's around the cornerThe door of time is closingLike an old wood pileBeing burnet up-Hard to open thingsHard to do anythingPrecariously balanced-Painfully slow?
How to Write Bad Poetry
"All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling."--Oscar Wilde
Listen as I Share: WE
Live For Today...
Isn't that what they say?But what does that mean?There's no definition that mayanswer that question...
|© Athifea Distribution LLC - 2013|