jueves, 3 de mayo de 2012

The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd by Sir Walter Ralegh



Fall the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love. 

Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complains of cares to come. 

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields 
To wayward winter reckoning yields: 
A honey tongue, a heart of gall, 
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. 

The gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, 
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies 
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, 
In folly ripe, in reason rotten. 

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, 
Thy coral clasps and amber studs, 
All these in me no means can move 
To come to thee and be thy love. 

But could youth last and love still breed, 
Had joys no date nor age no need, 
Then these delights my mind might move 
To live with thee and be thy love. 

For more free verse posters click here.

miércoles, 2 de mayo de 2012

Grand Canyon Red - Benjamin Moore - 2090-10


By Juliana Arosemena

Grand Canyon Red,
Spreading out for miles and miles,
Thy creases and cracks
A billion years old,
Are wise and sore
Like the old man’s soul.

The sun begins to set
And thy colors turn
Orange, gold, and red.
Such majesty,
Such grace,
Such knowledge buried
Under thy layers,
Each one a billion years older
Than the other.

Thy Colorado frets
Upon thy walls,
Yet thou remain unscathed,
And it is I who returns wounded
Once again to the warmth of thy soul.
Thou give me comfort,
Thou give me peace,
Thou seem to be the shining sun
After the constant storm
Within our souls.

Thou crack open
Arizona into two, and
Everyday both ends pull further apart.
Thy caverns, caves, and cuts
All match the patterns of my heart.
The little Condors break their wings apart
Trying to fly from one end to another.

When once the Colorado
Streamed vividly through thou,
Full of life and peace
Were all of us.
Now its absence has left wounds;
And it is only from the Hermit’s Rest
That we can see
What seems to be a trickle of it left.
For we must go deep
Before we actually realize its presence
Is still there.

Grand Canyon Red,
I miss thy warmth,
Thy comfort,
Thy peace,
Thou entirely.
I want to press my ear
Against thy surface,
Feel thy warm heartbeat across the soil,
Hear the silence—peaceful
Silence in the stress-less air—
I want thou back.

Grand Canyon Red,
We need thou more than ever,
For we’ve split further apart,
With a crack bigger than yourself.
Only you can quiet down
Such thunder,
Such clash that has gone out of hand.
Grand Canyon Red,
We need thou back.


For more color collective poems click here.

martes, 1 de mayo de 2012

Where I'm From


I am from video games,
From Halo and Fable.
I am from the mud puddles and tall grass
(Spreading out endlessly
Across the large green fields)
I am from the pine trees,
From the sharp cold wind
Whooshing through the thick
Brown forests.

I am from family reunions and brown eyes,
From Justo and Fabio
Arosemena.
I am from the artists
And the architects,
From put that down!
And stop that!
I am from church-free
Weekends yet from occasional prayers,
From the silver cross sitting
On my nightstand.

I’m from the grand mountains of Medellin, Colombia;
Covered with dark green vegetation.
From the unknown land of Munich, Germany;
A place I've never seen before, yet one which I belong in.
I am from the Arosemena-Schnitters:
A one-of-a-kind bloodline,
More German than Grandpa himself.


From Bandejas Paisas
And morning coffee.
I am from that first tooth I lost
Playing on the monkey bars,
From the precious little curls
That once twirled and bounced on my head.

Those few pictures stored
Inside my dead grandfather’s closet,
Revealing the lost memories all five
Brothers have no recollection of.
I am from those memories—
Almost myth-like stories—
In which we once were united. 

miércoles, 25 de abril de 2012

The Magic of Dreams


And spirits of Truth were the birds that sang,
                                                              And spirits of Love were the stars that glowed,
And spirits of Peace were the streams that flowed
In that magical wood in the land of sleep.

This is an extract of a poem titled: Song of a Dream  written by Sarojini Naidu, click here to read the whole poem.


Description:

Dreams are such magical places, in which anything is possible. Dreams can be vivid and mesmerizing, yet they can be our curses: they can turn against us in one blink and become our worst nightmare, they can taunt us with their premature endings, and they can haunt us for all eternity; making a wound on the back of our minds every second we remember them, because it doesn't matter how good they were, how real they seemed, in the end we always know that dream--as possible as it may seem, and as close to it as you might get--is never going to return.


Synopsis:

Dreams each painted in a poet's own views and feelings.
Jacob's dream of a ladder of angels

More poems about dreams:







jueves, 22 de marzo de 2012

Prejudice Makes a Fool out of us

What kind of world do we live in when we go around stereotyping those who are different from us, when we make them lesser to us, and when we discriminate them and cast unhappiness upon them and their folks while we call ourselves civilized people? How come it depends on what you look like to determine who you are to other people’s eyes? How is it possible that humanity can be ruled by such fools? Fools that have been blinded and forced to look only at your appearance rather than your soul? How is it that we let the wrong things happen just because we don’t want to get our hands dirty if the fight for right gets a little offhand? The answer is tragically true; we let prejudice blind us with the darkness of unfairness. Just because someone is Muslim doesn’t mean he’s a terrorist; just because someone is Latino doesn’t mean he has something to do with drugs; just because someone is German doesn’t mean he is a Nazi. Humanity has degraded itself once again when a white man called George Zimmerman shot dead a 17-year-old black boy, Martin Treyvon, based on the fact that he looked “suspicious” just because he was black and was walking in the street at night with a hoodie on.
                “A black person in a hoodie isn’t automatically ‘suspicious’”. Occupy Wall Street posted this on its website in regard to Treyvon’s death and many people marched in his name because of the unfairness of this case. Zimmerman’s prejudice led him to believe Treyvon was some kind of thug or anything of that nature, and followed him. A while later, a commotion was heard and then a shot was fired. There were no other people watching the scene, no witnesses there to verify what truly happened; therefore, Zimmerman’s claim that he had shot the boy in self-defense is saving him from going to jail. A life has been lost and there’s no way to take it back, all because of a man’s prejudice. One can see that humanity in fact is very dependent on how it sees people, and how we act with and around them is affected by this.
                “The incident has sparked a heated debate about racism and law enforcement, as well as discussions about a Florida law that eliminates the need for individuals to retreat when attacked”. As individuals—especially in this case—we stand in a very complicated spot in which we have various options. We can be the witness, the one who watches over the commotion; the anti-hero, someone who helps the aggressor; or the hero, one who decides to do something good and help the innocent. Our responsibility as individuals would be to protect the innocent, it doesn’t matter if it’s a close friend or a stranger the one who is being beaten up, we should always do the right thing. Even now after Treyvon is dead, we still hold the responsibility to fight for him, to make justice and protect him from being unfairly judged, yet not just only him. We—the civilized people, those conscious of what’s wrong and right—have the duty to save both, the judged and the ones who judge, from the darkness of discrimination.
                The problem of course is not just Zimmerman, but the whole world. Many people find themselves afraid of what they don’t understand; consequently, leading them to act the way Zimmerman did. He didn’t understand that there was more to Treyvon than just black skin and a hoodie; he was a son, a brother, a boyfriend, someone with a future, a normal human being. Ignorance can be very tricky, for Zimmerman it was a factor of fear; his ignorance was stained with prejudice and he acted blindly out of it. What if he had followed what he was instructed to do? What if he hadn’t judged Treyvon with such fake eyes?
                Unfortunately for the world, humanity’s eyes are blurred with ignorance and its mind is clouded by discrimination. A simple factor, such as a person’s gender, can change the way we see a person to a completely different level. The probabilities of Treyvon’s survival if he had been a girl might’ve been higher. It’s unbelievable that a black man fulfills the category of being suspicious while a black woman might just be another person to the world; it influences the way we behave, the way we think, the way we even see  other people.
Prejudice makes a fool out of us and a fool out of the whole world because it makes us all hypocrites. Zimmerman made a fool of himself for staying ignorant under the shadow of unfair judgment calls, but he has united people to fight against it too. Yet, it makes us wonder why such people are allowed to have a second chance while the innocent pay for the consequences meant for the guilty. Believe it or not, humanity tends to be ignorant, but we can’t let that control our minds because then we’ll turn out to be those blind fools who can’t see beyond the barrier of ignorance and prejudice.

martes, 13 de marzo de 2012

To Kill a Mockingbird

            When I interrogated Atticus about his visit to the Radley place and old Mrs. Radley’s death, he said he didn’t see Boo. I also asked him what caused Mrs. Radley’s death—hoping it had to do anything with Boo—but Atticus said it was a natural cause death.
When I woke up the next day, I was left in total anarchy; I thought the world was endin’. Through my window I could see the bizarre white powder that was covering everything in sight. I later apprehended—thanks to Atticus—that it was snowing, so Jem and I decided to go play outside. We conspired in making a snowman but we since didn’t have enough snow Jem decided to make a dirt-man and cover it up in snow. Time elapsed as we made our snowman, and bit by bit it started looking more and more like Mr. Avery; Jem included a large piece of wood to portrait the image of old Mr. Avery that other night.
            Later that day Atticus came home, he was very impressed with Jem’s work; in fact, he was sort of lionizing him. But as Atticus examined the snow man meticulously, he realized who it looked like and told Jem we were better off not making caricatures of the neighbors. Of course Jem had a dissension with him, and pointed out it wasn´t a caricature of Mr. Avery, for it looked exactly like him. Still, Jem ran to Miss Maudie’s house and retrieved her large sunhat and put it on the snowman. As soon as she found out, I thought it was going to be imminent that Jem would have to give her back the hat but Atticus went over and engaged in conversation with her and the snowman topic was set aside.
            Early in the morning I was awakened by Atticus, only to watch a calamitous scene: Miss Maudie´s house was on fire! Jem and I ran over to the Radley gate as we watched Atticus assimilate into the crowd of men who were taking out the furniture out of the house. Mr. Avery got stuck when he tried to jump out the window, and I was afraid he would swelter in the uncontrollable flames. Luckily he was able to get out safely, and Miss Maudie will be staying with Miss Crawford so at least no one was harmed.

lunes, 5 de marzo de 2012

Regards from June

Dear Lilly,
            How are you? It’s been very long since we last saw each other, or even wrote to each other. I hope every thing´s fine. How’s your writing coming along? The last two chapters you sent to me made me want to interrogate you about what will happen next.
            Anyway, Neil is fine, as happy as he could ever be, and so am I. Every day I wake up next to him—something I never get tired of—and feel happier than the day before, I just can’t get over how much I love him. He sends his regards to you.
            But back to your story, I need to tell you that I’ve been completely absorbed into your story. At first, when the conflict was starting to be introduced, I was left in total anarchy; I even thought it was getting bizarre. But then I started piecing the information together and apprehended the gravity of the calamitous situation. So as I read even more meticulously—not that I wasn’t doing that before—my questions became answered. I actually showed the text to Neil but we have a dissension on which of the characters is the one causing all the conspiracy going on in the story. Either way, I hope that whoever is doing it is arraigned. I can’t wait for the evil criminal to be put in shackles.
            I find it very funny actually, as soon as I showed Neil your story, he was assimilated into your small admirer´s club; now it’s August, Neil and me. It won’t be long before we all start lionizing you! In the meantime, don’t you worry about time elapsing slowly, soon you’ll return to this sweltering town and we’ll enjoy your company. It is imminent that your book will be a success, so do not worry about that either. We miss you honey.
                                                           Love, June.