English | Spanish | French | German | Portuguese| Italian

thanksgiving poetry

minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
a criança que jogou afastado a folha após a folha
o que era ele os motores ditos
não permaneça não mais
assim perdido
minha mãe ensinou-me que cada noite
quem estará nomeando o vento
balançado no berço do profundo
receoso não mais, eu digo
pouco parque que eu passo completamente
ainda seu cinza balança a torre acima do mar
estes sejam
eu amo as configurações melodious velhas
não seja falso

 



Poetry news via Google, MSN, and Yahoo!

  • Family Online: Let's put on a show! - Advocate Weekly
  • 'A Tale of Two Brothers': Reaching Out from Beyond - Earthtimes (press release)
  • iUniverse Helps Authors 'Be Read. Go Green.' - eReleases (press release)
  • Con Houlihan - Independent
  • British woman wins appeal of terror-related charge - Boston Globe
  • Take time to savor arts and crafts in a gallery of variety - Lower Hudson Journal news
  • Irish Civil War prisoners' last words haunt writer James McSherry - New York Daily News
  • Summerdale students first for Arbor Day program at Klehm - Rockford Register Star
  • Teen poetry slam brings words to life - Bourne Courrier
  • An Upstate Saga - New Yorker
  • MP's sexy sonnets stun staid colleagues - Ilford Recorder
  • San Anselmo writer, historian Larine Brown dies (Marin Independent Journal)
  • From the Editor : - CricketLine.com
  • ART REVIEW (Deccan Herald)
  • Author spotlight: Tom Holmes - Rochester Democrat and Chronicle
 

Mortgage Quote

Second Mortgage

Mortgage News Archives

Poetry | Home | Contact Us | Educational Resources | Vote For This Poem | Visitor Favorites

Summer School Help Beginner Math Physics Primer Chemistry Primer Intro Psychology English Primer
Intro Grammar Beginner Writing American History American Civil War Intro Biology Composition Help


Check out El-Grande Web Directory today!


www.endlesspoetry.com ©Copyright 2004 - 2007 Michael VanDeMar All Rights Reserved