A Poem To A Poets!
the poet see crooked
and talk weird too
like a drunk
perdition in his insane!
No one can understand a Poet
Just you and me, like poet we are
The poet say 'Dr. Jivago'?
It means like a movie? No
it means my love for you! ! !
Or he asks yourself, Am I Evil?
No, he does not evil
I am in silence, affirm the poet! ! !
In silence never he will be
BONG, kick the can! ! !
WAR
AAA
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poem by Mirna Morgan
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The Wall!
Why persist?
Why do not you gave up after all?
Do you not see how this wall
that you try to fall apart
is brick and stone?
Stronger?
Oldest?
Do you think
that your torment, your pain
soften its contours?
Adorn your stone walls?
Do not you see that
is brick and stone?
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poem by Mirna Morgan
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A Muralha!
Por que Teimas?
Porque não te entregas de vez?
Não vês o quanto esse muro
que tanto tentas desmoronar
é tijolo e pedra?
Mais forte?
Mais antigo?
Achas
que teu tormento, tua dor
suavizam-lhe os contornos?
Adornam suas paredes?
Não vês que é tijolo e pedra?
Cairá um dia?
Apenas o Som nela agirá
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poem by Mirna Morgan
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Saracen woman!
I'll see you there
weaving in the rock
turning the wheel
continuous and numbing
using your hands sticking your fingers
weaving yarns in his unfinished story
trapped, lonely
I'll see you there
No need to be
Mother or Wife
An enchanted Moorish
sitting on her stone bewitched
guarding his treasure for herself
forgotten, dreamy
I'll see you there
causing nightmares
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poem by Mirna Morgan
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Orpheus
I, that never wrote a verse
I, that live between words and that's require from me explanation.
I, always in love and always so far away.
I, that so difficult to accept for.
I, so hard to be include in....
I am more Amy than Ray....Warning you Mr.
I am resolute, determined, to be lost.
I am lost well...
My feelings, my acts proved to myself.
But remembered Mr.
That´s you who plays harps.
And think that you are Orpheus!
My songs and words could be better than yours!
They slide soft and tender.
Yours, claim to seven strings.
and resolution.
But you can not give what you do not have to give.
But me, Ah! what i give is what i fell
i dont need seven strings still. Mr.
poem by Mirna Morgan
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Being Poet
Infinite Longing!
Hands together, but
Poet does not suffer
he does not cry,
He is Silence!
He is a mirror of our life!
He align our pains
with few of red and grays
painting sometimes our griefs
Milky Way!
Ask for him
in that good hour
A pinch of colour
And he, having all such power
gives to you and to me
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poem by Mirna Morgan
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The Poetic Dance!
like a strife, he is in front of me
like a challenge, he always win off me
your words catching me like a punch
Me, poor of me! like a gentle kiss
Having in your double tongue the curse
he is the riper, brings the reaper to my heart
cold heart, ferocious, determinate
Took and shred my body, slashing my flesh
I was the clown, the war prize he lurking me
I gave the rhythm, the tune of the dance
he, the keeper of souls, the tower.
In a cage, tried to escape, he caught me
My words, without force
My intention running away
Dance of death to me
Dance of joy to him
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poem by Mirna Morgan
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1/2 Boutelle du Vin!
SHE
When i opened my first boutelle du vin
you was on your second round
like you said: a slight and dusty bottle
But you sip your full wineglass so pleasently!
Telling me nonsense words of love
I talk some advantage of you
Asking you about your past
how many loves i have to ask.
But you are not 2 Chardonnais still
Rich, full-bodied and voluptuous!
and stare me with your liquid rouge look
just when are 1 bottle and twoo!
HE
Like the red blood the vintage told
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poem by Mirna Morgan
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Vento, Ventado, Ventania!
Participei de uma ventania
A maior de minha vida!
Estranha variação atmosférica
vinda assim tão de repente
O que me causou?
o pouco que me restou!
Digo que tal ar,
começa brando.
Manhã,
assim meio frio
meio morno.
Suave, tanto não se escuta
Tarde, arde mais
Açoita com mais precisão
Noite,
derruba, avassala, destrói!
Mas eu afeita aos ventos
habituada aos seus sutis movimentos
logo, senti em meu peito
que esse vento seria diferente!
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poem by Mirna Morgan
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Wind, Blown
I participated in a gale
The greatest of my life!
Strange atmospheric change
Coming so suddenly
What caused me?
what little I have left!
I say, that such air
get soft.
Morning
so cool
medium warm.
Smooth, so do not listen
Afternoon, burns more
Whips more accurately
Night
throw down, overwhelms, destroys!
But I, I like the winds
accustomed to their weak movements
soon, I felt in my chest
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poem by Mirna Morgan
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