|Best Poems About / On ELEGY
The unseen singer
sings all the times
elegies and melodies
in tune, sun rises
moon rises, river flows, ocean roars
and beach weeps.
You touch my heart
like a woodpecker
who taps a tree trunk.
The wound that never heals.
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Again Endorsing the Lady
Horace: Book II, Elegy 2
"Liber eram et vacuo meditabar vivere lecto--"
I was free. I thought that I had entered
Love's Antarctic Zone.
"A truce to sentiment," I said. "My nights
shall be my own."
But Love had double-crossed me. How can
Beauty be so fair?
The grace of her, the face of her--and oh,
her yellow hair!
And oh, the wondrous walk of her! So doth
a goddess glide.
Jove's sister--ay, or Pallas--hath no statelier
Fair as Iscomache herself, the Lapithanian
Or Brimo where at Mercury's side her virgin
form she laid.
Surrender now, ye goddesses whom erst the
Upon the heights of Ida lay your vestitures
And though she reach the countless years of
the Cumζan Sibyl,
May never, never Age at those delightful
Franklin P. Adams
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Read more: elegy poems, sister poems, hair poems, beauty poems, love poems
An Elegy On The Death Of Soad Hosni
by Ghazi Al-Gosaibi
Translated by Saleh Badrah
Dusk was strangling the city,
Slaying the soul of chilly, sad London,
Staining its buildings with sighs,
Killing all whom he saw along the road.
I feared he would visit my window
And extend his black nail
Into my eyes, stealing their blackness;
Extend his black fang
Into my chest and wrench my heart.
I spotted the crowd of admirers in the street;
The street erupted with cheers:
Soad! O Soad!
You! O woman with perfect features!
Dusk advanced swiftly like a fearful thief
And London gleamed
Like a wedding night.
I look from my little window:
I am the princess!
I scatter roses at the huge crowds;
My hair flirts with the clouds
And stars twinkle in my hair.
Sing to us O princess!
I sing... and the tune circulates in the breeze;
My old tune
- Abdel Halim! -
We desire a dance,
I dance like a young butterfly,
I fasten the admirers in my hair,
Listen to their cheers:
Come closer, O perfect one!
Come closer, your old admirers
Wish to see you near,
Wish to embrace their precious sweetheart.
The cheers rise.
I'm here my dear fans,
I've come back to you, a young star,
Your old dazzling darling.
Dusk was unashamed
As he killed the princess.
(London - June 2001)
Translated 22 June 2008
Translation Copyright © Saleh Badrah
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Margrit's Words....Addressing Jim
Elegy to Mary Azevedo - June 2005
Laureen and Kim
And Margrit's words
The day a dreary
Its moment...an even
God's will to give
Then snatch away
That right to live
Of the fellowman
....An intense glow
Amidst the gloom
...Soothed the soul
That day....in June
Lost its meaning
...As joyful sorrow's
Songs were singing
...Laureen and Kim
And Margrit's words
The assignment; Pickup Margrit Mondavi at Robert Mondavi Winery, and drive to late afternoon appointment:
Arriving onsite some minutes ahead of scheduled departure, I reclined in the limo, seizing the opportunity to unwind a bit from the rigors of an earlier excursion into San Francisco. Alerted by distant voices, I looked up to see Mrs. Mondavi approaching accompanied by an entourage of four co-workers. Exiting the vehicle, I acknowleged their presence, and exchanged a bit of light banter with a member of the group. Immediately thereafter Margrit addressed me saying, 'Jim I have some bad news. Mary (Mary Azevedo, Robert Mondavi's Adminstrative Assistant) passed away this morning.' I recall closing my eyes, bitting my lip, struggling to maintain composure - sinking ever deeper into the widening abyss of excruciating grief. But just as quickly sensed an oxymoronic relief buoyed by the quintessential gift of friendship exemplified by the presence of these compassionate folks who in their collective wisdom chose to stand with me in spiritual solidarity during this challenging ordeal they surmised would be one of my most difficult. Often I visit that overcast day, still I see them all approaching, that portrait ever more celestial than before. Some years ago, I composed the poem 'Margrit's Words Addressing Jim, ' as a note of appreciation, thanking these special folks whose sensitivity helped transform a moment of paralytic anguish into the luxurious grandeur of consummate bliss.
James B. Earley
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