English | Spanish | French | German | Portuguese| Italian

memorial poem

corsa alto-sopportata
il pietoso piccolo, portato, facce ridere
la mia madre lo ha insegnato che ogni notte
pensate, il mio ragazzo, quando metto i miei bracci intorno voi
l'odore del è aumentato così falso, le spine così allineare
il mio figlio è guasto e sono ciechi andanti
che cosa era esso i motori detti
la mia anima è un campo arato scuro
dal puntello, dal mare
quando i mare-venti hanno perforato i nostri solitudes

 



Poetry news via Google, MSN, and Yahoo!

  • From bad to verse: Vandals get classroom penance JOHN CURRAN - One News Now
  • Survey Says: Time for a Change - Washington Post
  • The refined and the folksy (The Daily Tribune)
  • Who's top of the blogging podium? - BBC Brasil
  • Sun the star of this fest (London Free Press)
  • [ELD] Presiding Bishop calls for Day of Prayer for Lambeth Conference / In Haiti, Episcopalians resp (Worldwide Faith News)
  • 21 Ways To Eradicate Campiness From Science Fiction - io9
  • HEALTH CARE DISCUSSIONS - Sarasota Herald-Tribune
  • ‘Karachi was a replica of Paris’ - The News - International
  • Media Advisory - Youth Out Loud Walk To Stop Child Sexual Abuse - Canada NewsWire (press release)
  • For the love of country livin', lovin' - Eastern Arizona Courier
  • Wrestling Hamlet - Age
  • Pizarro: Attentive bird-watcher saves the day at San Jose City Hall - San Jose Mercury News
  • Summer is for fun - Nashoba Publishing
  • Leicester ready to turn tables at Twickenham - Times Online
 

Refinance today and save!

Florida 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