zijn beeltenis reeds
lang verloren
tussen jaren
en elk nieuw ochtendgloren,

hij gaf magie
aan haar kinderdagen,
het gemis
is nimmer uitgewist.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Flowers on the Waves

He was more
than lines in a poem,
more than words
in black and white,

his face faded
a long time ago,
between years
and each new dawn,

he added magic
to her childhood days,
missing him
has never been erased.

translation: At River’s Bank

Reblogged from The Dainty Damsel:

He lives in lone houses with creepers,

And wonders about colors in the dark.

Smudged writings cover all his papers,

The ink from the quill strewn on the table,

A harmless time-pass he savors from heart.

He lives in happiness and writes about pain,

Of broken courtships and tangled love.

He muses about life in underground earth,

And pens them down with his scribbles.

Read more… 68 more words

© Elise Skidmore, 2012

Poem may not be used without permission of the respected party.

Reblogged from Words/Love:

For thousands of years, people fought for you. They stood up for you. They worked hard for a future they would never see. They helped build your present. They were kind for you and they were tough for you. They survived for you and they died for you. They had children for you. And then their children had children for you.

Read more… 399 more words

eens was je
een stille bron,
nu de haastende beek,

en het waterrad
draait sneller,
alsmaar sneller.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Time

You flee from me
as water
through my fingers,

once you were
a quiet spring,
now the rushing brook,

and the water wheel
turns faster,
continuously faster.

The butterfly comes soon
Until then softly gently sleep.

© Kelly Collins, 2004

Poem may not be used without permission of the respected party.

Mine – copper bottomed, sharp, cleaned and fetching:
would you, beloved, like to see my etching?

© neilaverse , 2002

Poem may not be used without permission of the respected party

Reblogged from hannekekoop:

Some banks near a river are full with beautiful rounded stones. It’s difficult not to think what could be inside.

Filed under: Poetry