For presenting invited guest poet's poems..

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

When a Man Loves A Woman When A Woman Loves A Man



WHEN A MAN LOVES A WOMAN

He knows not why or how the reason left
nor why the whisper of each night brought heat
He knows not when the time of hour past
but this he knows, she's awfully nice and sweet

He sings her praise with song then does his part
bringing flowers dressed in green and solid gold
He woos with song and music from the heart
then clothes her with a kiss both new and old

He brings her flowers of the rarest kind
with genuine affection of the mind
a rarely thing is love when found anew
he will solidify then stick like glue

He brings her love and the most precious kind
She brings him truth and that, is never blind.

************************************

WHEN A WOMAN LOVES A MAN

She knows not why they struggled for so long
nor why their eyes refused to greet
She knows not when the first kiss turned to song
but this she knows, he swept her off her feet!

She dresses just for him in black lace style
then draws her liner carefully sublime
She drinks the elixir of his sweet smile
and runs into his arms a hundreth time

She brings him little gifts and cards with hearts
with little I love yous, consigned in red and blue
She listens carefully and always does her part
to make him understand, she loves him too

She brings him love, the most precious of kind,
he brings her truth and that, is never ever blind.

The End.


Copyright © Mystic Rose | Year Posted 2017

FOLKS, YOU WILL NOT FIND A BETTER SET OF DOUBLE SONNET THAN THIS IN MY OPINION.
And I rightly told the author so on her homepage after added this poem to my favorites list there..!

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Words lost in silence

Goodbye my beloved, guess this is the end,
too much has happened for our hearts to mend.
Since, I became a victim of your wrath,
my soul still ventures upon sorrows path.

I searched within the corridors of your heart,
to find in your performance, I play no part.
Forgive me, for no longer I shall follow,
seeing that your heart has become so hollow.

Words lost in silence, mean we don't exist,
now my lonely heart must learn to subsist.
Your emotions change with each new season,
that explains why you left without a reason.

Oh lovers, remember those who light the lamp,
are also the ones to douse it like a scamp!


Silent One
28 December 2016

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TRUE AND TOP LEVEL SONNET-EERING HERE MY FRIENDS..!!!!!!-TYR

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Winter Magic

So bleak the Winter strides upon my path...
The dry, brown, fallen leaves behold its wrath...

I shiver from the chill the North Wind blows
And wonder in this barren land of crows:

Where Is the magic that I once beheld
When I was young and love was often spelled...

Now with the wind there comes a glist'ning snow
That covers everything...even my woe...

The silence of its falling clears my head
Reminding me that I am not yet dead!

I go and catch a snowflake on my tongue
And once again...like magic...I am young...

No longer bleak, the Winter seems to be,
For something has renewed the life in me...

Oh, Winter Magic, take hold of my hand...
And let's go build a snowman... big and grand!


Deborah Burch©
12.25.16

Copyright © Deborah Burch | Year Posted 2016

This poetess can write beautiful verses and has now been added to my favorite poets list at my home poetry site..-Tyr

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I found this poem shown below, written by my friend Richard, to be so fine, I had to come back to add it!-Tyr

Best Richard Lamoureux Poems


Everyone's a winner

They told me I was remarkable
and now it's plain to see
There is nothing extraordinary
about simple little me

All the ribbons I have hanging
Upon the shelf so high
They told me I was a winner
all I had to do was try

It wasn't about competition
Every child was told to have fun
They told us we were the very best
Each child born to be number one

So out in the world they sent me
Unequipped for what I would find
With the legend of my accomplishments
sadly this illusion was just in my mind

No one was there to help me
The competition was far to real
It seemed other were driving the bus
Even though I was behind the wheel

So let your children know failure
So they can learn to compete
In a world of winners and losers
They'll learn to think on their feet

For adversity leads to greatness
Each loss will lead to a win
If I already think I am a winner
I have no reason to begin

Richard Lamoureux




In an age of no grades and trophies for every kid, we are losing our risk takers. We can't insulate our children from what lies ahead. It is a competitive world and we are sewing the seeds of failure.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

The Rose
----------- by Barbra Lambert

What is more lovely than the rose
Awash with dew in morn’s fair light?
How do we pen of its repose—

Discern the language of its prose
Of fragrance sweeter than rare spice?
What is more lovely than the rose

Replete with excellence of pose
In hues of pink, vermeil, and white?
How do we pen of its repose

In yonder garden where it grows
On verdured stems that stand upright?
What is more lovely than the rose—

Classic, lush, and fully clothed
With petals soft and O so light?
How do we pen of its repose:

Its ling’ring scent, its striking glow,
Its irrefutable delight?
What is more lovely than the rose—
How do we pen of its repose?




Contest: Your Absolute Best II
Sponsored by: The Seeker
Date: December 18, 2016

Copyright © Barbra Lambert | Year Posted 2016

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Written for the Winter Solstice sunrise at Avebury, Wiltshire, England

I have waited for you
Where no shadow seeps
Deep in the earth
Where the slow damp creeps
Under the stones
Where the sunlight sleeps
I have waited for you

I have listened for you
In the eaglet’s cry
In the echoes of rooks
In the empty sky
In a new born’s breath
And a dead man’s sigh
I have listened for you

I have looked for you
Where the elders grow
Followed your steps
Through the virgin snow
Through groves of yew
And mistletoe
Looking for you

I have watched for you
By the door and the gate
Risen up early
And lain down late
Doubted your love
And cursed my fate
Watching for you

You said you would come
You said that you will
Appear as the dawn
On the curve of the hill
I have waited for you
Through the dark, and the still
You said you would come

I lit you a fire
I kindled a flame
In the fear of the darkness
I called out your name
I thought I was dying
And then you came
You said you would come

And here you are
The promise of light
Sweetening silence
And softening night
And all shall be well
And be blesséd delight
You said you would come

© Gail Foster 21st December 2016



Copyright © Gail Foster | Year Posted 2016
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Truly great verses!-Tyr

[Balu]

Of Three States Of Mind - A Poetic Weave


Jan 4 2017
With Love
Armand

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2017

Very unusual way to express. Uncommon poetic images..., but very touching and forming a relief pattern.
Thank you, Robert, for this experience.

[Balu]

Robert,
You are very risky person to open your easily vulnerable soul in front of the others to such an extent.
I am greatly surprised and happy that such Men still exist. Me Great Respect to you!

[Balu]

Sorry for my daring to put something from Russia poetry in this tread. But, nevertheless...

To Kachalov's Dog (*)

Come, Jim, give me your paw for luck,
I swear i've never seen one like it.
Let's go, the two of us, and bark
Up the moon when Nature's silent.

Come, Jim, give me your pow for luck.
Stop licking me, pet, and please do
At least heed this advice i'm giving.
Of life you havent got a clue,
You do non realise life is worse living.


You master's kind a man of note,
And visitors his home are thronging,
They all admire your velvet coat
Which smilingly they love to fondle.


You're devilish handsome for a dog,
So charming, trusting, unsuspicious,
Not asking if you may or not,
Like a drunken pal, you plaster kises.


Dear Jim, I know a great warety
Of visions of all shorts call,
But have you seen her here, the saddest
And the least talkative of all?


I'm sure she'll come here. In my absence
Please catch her eye. Go kiss her hand for me,
For all my real or fancied errors asking
Forgiveness of her in humility.

(*) Kachalov - a close friend of Sergei Yesenin. Famous Russian theater actor.

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Blossom wite bird cherries scatter
On the on the dewy grass like snow.
Hungry rooks in ploughland gather,
Picked warms up as they go.


Low the silk smooth grath is bending,
Pitch scents to the pine-trees cling.
Groves in leaf, and luscios meadows -
How the senses reel in spring!


Secret things give me pleasure,
Heart-ease and delight they bring.
There's a girl whose love I treasure
And of her alone I thing.


Shed your blossom-snow, bird cherries!
Sing, birds, in they shady groves.
Weaving up and down the meadow
I'll go scattering flower foam.

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Hope that you are aware that ANY translation steals a lot from the flavor of a poem and is not able to transfer a poem as it is.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

In Bluebell Wood

Adventures in Bluebell Wood
With Pirates and Robin Hood
Roy Rogers and Peter Pan
Custer in another last stand

Lone Ranger catching thieves
Tarzan climbing trees
Red Barron flying again
In this secret hideaway den

The days so full of fun
Fighting Vikings when they come
Merlin’s magical things
Flash and the Emperor Ming

A thousand games we played
Charge of the Light Brigade
Sinbad and Captain Blood
Adventures in Bluebell Wood

Copyright © Robert Broadbent | Year Posted 2016

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I sent this comment to this fine poet on the poem presentation page.

""So captures the imaginative world of we when kids played ages ago my friend!-Tyr
I simply love this gem and have added this gem to my fav list..A7""

[Balu]

A poem of Sergei Yesenin which became a romance.

Letter to mother

Are you still alive, my old good mother?
I'm alive. Hello, hello, my mom!
Lets unspeakable light in every evening
Flow over your minuscule home.

People tell that you became so anxious,
Worrying what kind of life I've got,
That you often standing at the road
Wearing worn old-styled overcoat.

And you see in shades of evening darkness
Every time same nightmare appear:
During saloon fighting some mean bastard
Put a knife thru my heart, what you fear.

Calm your soul, dear mother, they are lying.
From all bull it seems to be the worst.
I am not a low-life boozehound
To pass off without see you first.

I am still the same - I'm full of caress.
And this is indeed my only hope:
Rid myself from pain of being restless
And return to our simple adobe.

I'll be back when in the spring our garden
Starts to wear white blooming tuxedo.
But don't wake me anymore at dawn
Like you did eight years back ago.

Don't wake up dead dreams, it's too late now,
Don't remind about things were lost, -
That's because at very early ages
I went thru fatigue and terrible loss.

Don't teach me to pray. No need to do that!
Time would never come back, it's the plight.
You are only help and comfort for me,
You indeed are my unspeakable light.

Please forget about all your worries,
Your anxiety to be forgot.
Don't stay so often at the road
Wearing worn old-styled overcoat.

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

Form: Dramatic monologue |



Galaxies, Memories And Relativity


Kinetic waves of energy
Ripples in time and space
subtle sums of synergy
Patterns of silk and lace

Universes that race away
Mem’ries that as quickly fade…
Into black holes of yesterday
That give nothing back in trade

Stardust settling ‘pon dusty hutch
And on planetary plain (alike)
Truly does not differ much
In substance same (as in sight)

Universes that give birth to stars
Pediatric wards work pretty much the same
Birth is birth…for what it’s worth
It’s just a cosmic game

Galaxies that go on forever
Rainbows that have no end
All a part of eternal endeavour
Without an answer my friend

Warp speed….Snail’s pace
It’s all relative you see
One takes place in outer space
The other is given to you and me

Copyright © David Whalen O Haolin in ancient Celtic | Year Posted 2016

This is my friend David at his best, composing deep, but truly enjoyable verses!! -Tyr

[Balu]

A monument I've raised not built with hands...

A monument I've raised not built with hands,
And common folk shall keep the path well trodden
To where it unsubdued and towering stands
Higher than Alexander's Column.

I shall not wholly die–for in my sacred lyre
My spirit shall outlive my dust's corruption –
And honour shall I have, so long the glorious fire
Of poesy flames on one single scutcheon.

Rumour of me shall then my whole vast country fill,
In every tongue she owns my name she'll speak.
Proud Slave's posterity, Finn, and–unlettered still –
The Tungus, and the steppe–loving Kalmyk.

And long the people yet will honour me
Because my lyre was tuned to loving–kindness
And, in a cruel Age, I sang of Liberty
And mercy begged of Justice in her blindness.

Indifferent alike to praise or blame
Give heed, O Muse, but to the voice Divine
Fearing not injury, nor seeking fame,
Nor casting pearls to swine.

(Aleksandr Pushkin. 1836)

[Tyr-Ziu Saxnot]

A monument I've raised not built with hands...

A monument I've raised not built with hands,
And common folk shall keep the path well trodden
To where it unsubdued and towering stands
Higher than Alexander's Column.

I shall not wholly die–for in my sacred lyre
My spirit shall outlive my dust's corruption –
And honour shall I have, so long the glorious fire
Of poesy flames on one single scutcheon.

Rumour of me shall then my whole vast country fill,
In every tongue she owns my name she'll speak.
Proud Slave's posterity, Finn, and–unlettered still –
The Tungus, and the steppe–loving Kalmyk.

And long the people yet will honour me
Because my lyre was tuned to loving–kindness
And, in a cruel Age, I sang of Liberty
And mercy begged of Justice in her blindness.

Indifferent alike to praise or blame
Give heed, O Muse, but to the voice Divine
Fearing not injury, nor seeking fame,
Nor casting pearls to swine.

(Aleksandr Pushkin. 1836)

Aleksandr Pushkin was an amazing poet. He was definitely one of the world's greatest poets in my opinion!
I've read many of his poems but I suspect the are perhaps many more than have not been translated.
He rates tops in my book, my friend..
With this being one of his top poems! -Tyr

[Balu]

Aleksandr Pushkin was an amazing poet. He was definitely one of the world's greatest poets in my opinion!
I've read many of his poems but I suspect the are perhaps many more than have not been translated.
He rates tops in my book, my friend..
With this being one of his top poems! -Tyr

I don't know if you or anybody else is familiar with the oeuvre of A.S.Griboyedov (1795-1829)

https://vk.com/wall-45076869?own=1&offset=320




Here is a monologue from His famous A Four-Act Comedy - 'WOE FROM WIT'
( https://www.stihi.ru/2008/03/25/767 )
In Soviet secondary school it was subject to learning by heart for everybody.



C h a t s k y

I wonder who the judges are !

With age they show hostility to freedom,

They read the press that dates as far

Back as the Crimean war. They call it wisdom.

They're quick to criticize and curse

And always sing the same old song,

They never think they can be wrong.

The older these men are the worse.

Where are those fathers of the nation,

Good models for our generation,

The ones that roll in looted money

With influential friends and relatives on hand?

The ones that feast away their lives of honey

And dwell in houses magnificent and grand?

The houses in which the foul features of the past

Will never be revived by all this foreign caste.

The Moscow they will keep your mouth shut

By sending you a dinner party invitation card.

Or, maybe,

It is the man to whom you used to take me

For a bow when I was a baby?

The leader of outstanding rascals, he

Had a team of loyal servants

That during fight-and-drinking rounds

Had saved his life and honour, but then once

He suddenly exchanged them for three hounds.

And then there is the man, as good as all the others,

He gathered children for his ballet muse

By tearing them away from their mothers.

He set his mind on Zephyrs and Amours

And let the whole of Moscow admire their beauty,

And when it came to setting his accounts

He didn't bother about credits. "Out of sense of duty"

All his Amours and Zephyrs he sold out.

Those are the men that now have grown old and grey,

The men enjoying high respect and estimation.

"They are indeed our fair judges" - you will say.

And if there is a man among the younger generation

That never strives for vacancy nor seeks an occupation

Who sets his mind on science and shows a thirst for knowledge

Or good himself fills him with inspiration

To creativity in art,

They scream: "Disaster! Fire!" and acknowledge

The man to be a dreamer and dangerous at that.

The coat! The coat! They wear it still,

So beautifully made, it used to hide

Their timidness and their flippant mind.

And that's the road that we should take at will.

The wives and daughters, too, affect the coat

And so did I until a while ago.

I'm not an infant now, you know,

On things like that I shall no longer dote.

When some Guard's officers one day

Were on a short time visit here

The women shouted: "Hurrah!"

And threw their bonnets into the air.

F a m u s o v (to himself)

He'll let me down, I'm sure.

(in a loud voice)

Sergey Sergeyich, I shall go,

There in my room for you I'll wait.

(goes out)

[Balu]

Listen!

Listen,
if stars are lit
it means - there is someone who needs it.
It means - someone wants them to be,
that someone deems those specks of spit
magnificent.
And overwrought,
in the swirls of afternoon dust,
he bursts in on God,
afraid he might be already late.
In tears,
he kisses God's sinewy hand
and begs him to guarantee
that there will definitely be a star.
He swears
he won't be able to stand that starless ordeal.
Later,
He wanders around, worried,
but outwardly calm.
And to everyone else, he says:
'Now,
it's all right.
You are no longer afraid,
are you?'
Listen,
if stars are lit,
it means - there is someone who needs it.
It means it is essential
that every evening
at least one star should ascend
over the crest of the building.

By Vladimir Mayakovsky