what is a poem?

Melba Christie at Poemattic:

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A poem is defined as expressive language. It is an art form that allows for free verse. Poems are musical and rhythmic and uses sounds and imagery to convey meaning. Poems use metaphors and similes and they can create a very intimate conversation between the poet and the reader.

The following is a poem about poems.

Poems are words a poet collects

to convey messages hard to forget

or to tell a truth so there are no regrets.

Poems are stored in the heart and soul

of poets waiting for their muses to call

Poems flow like rivers through the mind

and words can be sweet and sometimes unkind

And if there is a cause

that needs to be fought

A poem can manage

and never be caught

without a deep thought

to stimulate thinking

elevate the spirit,

and comfort the soul.

 

Originally posted on Melba Christie at Poemattic:

Poetry Poetry (Photo credit: V. H. Hammer)

A poem is defined as expressive language. It is an art form that allows for free verse. Poems are musical and rhythmic and uses sounds and imagery to convey meaning. Poems use metaphors and similes and they can create a very intimate conversation between the poet and the reader.

The following is a poem about poems.

Poems are words a poet collects

to convey messages hard to forget

or to tell a truth so there are no regrets.

Poems are stored in the heart and soul

of poets waiting for their muses to call

Poems flow like rivers through the mind

and words can be sweet and sometimes unkind

And if there is a cause

that needs to be fought

A poem can manage

and never be caught

without a deep thought

to stimulate thinking

elevate the spirit,

and comfort the soul.

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Geometry as Poetry

“Poetry is as precise a thing as Geometry.”
                                 -Gustave Flaubert
Geometry is necessary when you create art. The other necessity is creativeness and the willingness to make mistakes, ready to admit, you never knew or understood geometry that well in the first place. But everything we see is geometry, and poetry is life. Right?
Geometry man
                                                      Melba Christie 2015

Eyes

“Then love knew it was called love.
And when I lifted my eyes to your name,
suddenly your heart showed me my way” -Pablo Neruda

Josephina's eyes

I am convinced that looking into a person’s eyes can lead you to interpretation of someone’s sadness, joy, confusion, depression, and even sanity. Lately, I have trying to capture the essence emotions when I photograph someone. My beautiful baby granddaughter has captivating eyes. I love to watch her look into her mother’s eyes. Her curiosity is astounding for a five month old infant. She examines her surroundings and then will look at you at if to ask what is this or where am I.

Of course, I am not original in my fascination with eyes and what they can reveal. Many photographers try to capture the essence of their subjects’ eyes. I will follow suit by taking photographs of people’s eyes in the next few weeks. If you have a photograph that you would like to share please post it on your blog with a tag or #Eyes are Poems.

The following is a poem I wrote many years ago as I watched my students taking a standarizied test which they had to pass as a graduation requirement.

EYES

Some bright and alert

Some showing delight

Most saddened

too tired to fight

Some inquisitive

Some barely interested

Some totally frustrated

Many questons

fewer answers

loaded questions

ambiguity intensive

questions no one asked them before

And I was expected to ask them even more

Their eyes said it all

their torment clear

I watch and learn

they taught me more

about how

tests cause true fear.

Melba Christie 2001

“The soul, fortunately, has an interpreter – often an unconscious but still a faithful interpreter – in the eye.” Charlotte Brontë

The Day the Parrot Ran Away

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The day our parrot ran away

We were sad and worried the whole darn day

 

It had learned to say almost everything

We taught him.

What might be a problem

Is he knew all of our secrets too

So I hope he keeps them well

but there’s no knowing how many he’ll tell

 

His name is Lou

I hope he knew

how much we truly care

If you should see him anywhere

whatever you do

Please don’t call him on a dare.

 

 

 

 

 

The Flower of My Town

The flower of my Town

There is a song my mother sang

about the flower of her town

apparently it sprung up all around,

All you had to do was look at it

and it would make you smile.

The claim is no one who lived there

ever carried a frown.

Old wives told her that the reason

why hummingbirds loved to hover over

was because as legend had it

the flower was a long lost lover.

The magical bird and the beautiful red flower

had been human at some point in time

but the wrath of one mythical god

changed them forever

for no reason and no rhyme.

The bird destined to find its beloved

hovers over every red flower it sees

hoping one day it may recover

the love it lost and could never get over.

My mother the romantic believed that a love so true

had to end in happiness like in a fairy tale.

So she planted her favorite flower

with hope that maybe someday

the hummingbird would find its long lost love

which would mean that love is here to stay.

The flower of my town, exquisite and almost royal

awaits the humming of the one bird

that has always been so loyal.

The flower of my town is a story

my mother told me

when I was very young;

and I pass it on every chance I get.

a story of love and nature

that I cherish

and will never ever forget.

Melba Christie (C) 2015

Crazy Dream

I read somewhere that in order to diversify your themes and topics for writing poetry or stories,you should write down the things you dream about as soon as you awake. Last night was full of  pleasant dreams for the most part. I have mentioned before my dreams are usually colorful and many times surreal. My dream last night was about my mother who passed away about twenty-two years ago. In this dream she was very chatty. We sat alongside sipping from our favorite mugs. I still have hers.

The second part of my dream took place in this beautiful but surreal garden. I could actually smell the essential fragrances of the flowers and herbs. I felt like I was at a spa. The colors blended and kind of melted into each other. Some of the plants and flowers actually spoke to me but I cannot remember any of It.

I started painting what I remembered right away. Please send me your opinion and comments; I just love when I get comments.

 

Someone discovered their footsie today

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Someone discovered their footsie today

How great there’s one more thing

with which to play

Five fat toes

That stretch and wiggle

Must have been funny to see for the first time

Cause all she could do was giggle.

I watched her fascination grow

As she tried to touch her chubby big toe

And when I  sang, “this little piggy.”

She looked at me  as if to say,

” Oh Abuela, that song is so silly.”

How Nature Witnesses

Melba Christie at Poemattic:

I just fell in love with this poem all over again.

Originally posted on Melba Christie at Poemattic:

Ornately carved in a tree trunk
The initials W & M find permanent refuge
For years people have walked by in wonder about their fate

In remembrance of their love
Small birds hover over the adjacent limbs

Of a great Flamboyan
And sing their love song once a day

A small stone bench sits underneath
Waiting patiently for them to return
While Autumn leaves gather round
In attention of the crunching sound
made as they approached.

Many falls have come and gone; almost 40 to be exact.
And what do you know W & M finally did come back.
They watched another couple sitting as they had sat so many times before.
on the small stone bench underneath the tree,
where their initials had been engraved forever more.

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