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Tag Archives: POETRY

The Chosen One

May 22, 2013
Collaborative Poems
2 Comments

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The Chosen One
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At the horizon I see the clear sky melting
into an azure mirror of the ancient sea
I take a smooth rock, carefully selected
break the silence by throwing it away.
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An exercise in torpid deliberation,
I ask of the chosen stone to make me proud
and so it does, skipping, walking on water,
my own personal Jesus.
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Wandering along the beaches of yesterday
I reflect on the past and pray in isolation
that the worries of the world will dissipate
like the ebbing of the tide.
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Ghostly fingertips of salty coolness
caress my face and entice me to turn.
But when I look back, all I see
are my lonely footprints in the sands of fate
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At that moment I realise the stone and I
have a situation in parallel
Both of us falling in an ocean of sorts
Each of us worn down by the elements of our existence
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Once I skipped and danced the waves,
The breakers a force to ride to shore.
But now I fear my momentum has ebbed
And I’m sinking, drowning in self doubt
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Submerged in my depths I find peace,
no longer at the mercy of ethereal forces.
Still. Tranquil. Undisturbed.
I whisper a silent prayer.
That I will soon rise again.
…

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Collaborative poem by:
*brudberg *MyVogonPoetry *vivchook *jdubqca *troublegummer *Permabloom *afcoory
…
Painting by Anne Frandi-Coory

Poetry Of Life

April 23, 2013
Collaborative Poems
2 Comments
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POETRY OF LIFE
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A gentle tug, and the spent cucumber
relinquishes its hold on the fertile soil.
Broccoli at hand to fill the space anew
To mark the change of season.
…
The smell of fertile soil reminds me
of hopes I had in early spring
when planting my selected seeds
and the joy of harvest disappears
…
Each new cycle demands renewed faith
for abundant rain and a favorable climate.
For things beyond our control that
determine our continued survival.
…
Let the rain roar gently on thirsty crust
Let the earth’s mouths drink dry the sky
In brazen lust for the barren seeds to cut loose,
Sow the sweet fields, impregnate the future.
…
Existing, but unbegun, our future lies silently waiting beneath the surface
Beneath a watery blinding morning sun and a Western painted sunset
And rolling clouds and darkening skies,
Then Winter steps in as Autumn steps back
…
The shovel’s blade cuts through impressionable ground,
reawakening sleeping giants from centuries past
and producing miraculous yields capable of
continuously feeding malnourished children
…
‘Neath the ground and above it, teems life billions fold nourished;
defying heat, wind and all that gods and men cast down.
Even fire greedy and savage, though blackening and smothering,
will not yet forever extinguish that which sustains earth’s breath.
….
The poetry of life will never cease until the poet dies.

Collaborative poem by:

*afcoory *brudberg *jdubqca *troublegummer *MyVogonPoetry *Permabloom *vivchook

Reach For The Stars, Little Girl

January 2, 2013
DRAGONS, DESERTS and DREAMS - of childish fantasy
4 Comments

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Reach For The Stars, Little Girl Reach for the stars, little girl Don’t ever settle for anything less Chubby face ‘neath a cheeky curl Saucer eyes everywhere glancing Sweet Amber, you have a beauty so rare Like a jewel that warms and delights As well with a squeal, a smile or a tear You bring happiness wherever you go From a plump little infant you will grow Into a svelte teen, so pretty, so sassy Out of pinks, frills, ribbon and bow To worldly wise; a rose set to bloom Like a refreshing breath of cool sea air On a blue sky’d hot summer’s day You’ll blow away stuffiness lurking there In any winter heart or mind downcast Smiling dimples astride cherub bow lips Oh how they’ll tease, tempt with a pout Many a suitor; he’ll enthral with his quips Romantic and clever to steal your heart A goddess armed with feminine guile Should never be underestimated tho’; You’ll whisper soft words to calm, inspire But within those veins fiery passion flows A beautiful mindset, determination not to lose No mere glass ceiling could ever impede Your climb to the top of whatever you choose So go ahead and reach for the stars, little girl © To Anne Frandi-Coory 2 Jan 2013 - All Rights Reserved

Reach For The Stars, Little Girl

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Painting and Poem Reach For The Stars, Little Girl  Copyright To Anne Frandi-Coory 

-All Rights Reserved 2 Jan 2013 

Painting by afcoory: acrylic on board

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Read my poem  *Reach For The Stars, Little Girl * 

Dedicated to Amber Cathro

here in DRAGONS DESERTS and DREAMS

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2nd edition (2020) now available in Kindle e book and paperback 

HERE at AMAZON

Howqua Sunset

September 19, 2012
DRAGONS, DESERTS and DREAMS
2 Comments

HOWQUA SUNSET

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Poem and Artwork Howqua Sunset © Copyright To Anne Frandi-Coory

-All Rights Reserved 19 September 2012

Artwork by afcoory – Pastels on canvas

(This painting has been sold)

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2nd edition pub. 2020

Dragons, Deserts and Dreams 

Short Stories and Poems

Now available in Kindle e book and paperback 

HERE at AMAZON BOOKS

Read more about my poem *Howqua Sunset * 

here in DRAGONS DESERTS and DREAMS

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One of three winning poems entered into Rhyme Competition by Anne Frandi-Coory  and published in the The Australian Writer  December 2012.

Sands Of Fate

January 16, 2012
DRAGONS, DESERTS and DREAMS
1 Comment

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SANDS OF FATE

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Painting and Poem Sands Of Fate © Copyright To Anne Frandi-Coory  

-All Rights Reserved  16 January 2012 

painting by afcoory – acrylic on canvas 91cm x 91cm

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Read my poem *Sands Of Fate* 

here in DRAGONS DESERTS and DREAMS

2nd edition (2020) available now in

Kindle e book and paperback

HERE at AMAZON

*****

Dedicated to all those women whose voices cannot be heard

Khalil Gibran – Lebanon’s Poet

November 3, 2011
LEBANESE CONNECTIONS, POETRY-My Faves
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Sketches by Khalil Gibran, Lebanon’s most famous poet

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“… …..But you should also be proud that your mothers and fathers came from a land upon which God laid his gracious hand and raised his messengers.” –

Khalil Gibran  I believe in you (1926)

Gibran 2

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My house says to me, ‘Do not leave me, for here dwells your past.’ And the road says to me, ‘Come and follow me, for I am your future.’ And I say to both my house and the road, I have no past, nor have I a future. If I stay here, there is a going in my staying; and if I go there is a staying in my going. Only love and death change all things.- Khalil Gibran

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Kahlil G

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“Poetry is not an opinion expressed. It is a song that rises from a bleeding wound or a smiling mouth.” – Khalil Gibran

Dedicated to all the poets and writers in the Middle East who have been murdered in their peaceful pursuit of freedom for their country.

MORE HERE … 

Pity The Nation Of Lebanon…. ……..my tribute to Khalil Gibran……

Ibrahim Qashoush; Another Poet Silenced

July 28, 2011
LEBANESE CONNECTIONS
1 Comment

From Lebanon’s poet & writer, Khalil Gibran: Poetry is not an opinion expressed. It is a song that rises from a bleeding wound or a smiling mouth. >< In memory of all the poets, journalists and writers who have died in the Middle East peacefully pursuing freedom for their country. ><

Sketch by Khalil Gibran who understood deeply the pain of his people

>< Ibrahim Qashoush, whose lyrics moved thousands of protesters in Syria, and who sang his jaunty verses at rallies, has been found dumped in the Orontes river with his voice box cut out.  A symbolic message from Bashar’s brutal regime. Qashoush had been forced into a car while on his way to work in central Hama. ><

Ibrahim Qashoush in peaceful repose

>< The father of three boys, Ibrahim Qashoush, was a fireman in the central Syrian city of Hama who wrote poetry in his spare time. Before the uprising in Syria began in March, he’d write about love or the struggling  times.  His friends say all his poems and songs were  instinctual. He’d sit with his friends and suddenly begin reciting a poem from memory.  Ibrahim’s star rose with protests in the city. At nearly every protest, the crowds were singing his most popular lyric, “Come on, Bashar, time to leave.” His poems and songs rang with a down-to-earth, jokey, rhythm. Obviously, Bashar and his government fear the pen or the poet more than the sword!  It is the same with other current dictatorships around the world; they will kill anyone who dares to write the truth about their corrupt and murderous practises.  Human Rights are a poet’s dream. Journalists, poets, writers,  all fair and easy game.  But despots can’t unwrite was has been written nor tear out what is in people’s hearts. Bashar quote: ”If you say ‘God, Syria and Bashar’, I say ‘God, Syria and My People’. I, Bashar Al–Assad, will remain dutiful and faithful to my people…”  Hollow words from a man who will not relinquish power. Another Arab leader who must be terrified in their thinking about  where  and when the Arab Spring will end. As a child, I often heard my Lebanese grandmother, Eva Arida Fahkrey, rail against “Syria” and what it had done to her Lebanon.  I didn’t understand then, but I now know Syria never let Lebanon forget that she had been carved out of Syria’s land mass by the West.   My hope is that a new Syria will cease to interfere in Lebanon’s self-rule;she has enough problems with Iran, but that is another story. RIP Ibrahim Qashoush.

Anton Chekhov & Katherine Mansfield

July 18, 2011
BOOKS In My Non-Fiction Collection-REVIEWS
2 Comments

Updated 2 March 2018

 

Anton Chekhov (Russia 1860-1904) and Katherine Mansfield (New Zealand 1888-1923), two of my favourite authors.  Tuberculosis killed them both. Chekhov had a tremendous influence on Mansfield, both on her life and in her writing.  Mansfield translated most of Chekhov’s letters and works into English.

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*****

Anton Chekhov from ‘KATERINA’ by Joanna Woods

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If you are interested in the Russian phase of Mansfield’s life, Katerina; The Russian World of Katherine Mansfield, by Joanna Woods, is a must read.  Woods sets out this period of Mansfield’s life so meticulously that it serves as ready reference material for any questions which might come up regarding this phase of her life, and the other writers who featured in it.

‘”I would like to speak Russian with you” were among the last words written By Katherine Mansfield. She never travelled to Russia. However, her lifelong passion for everything Russian runs through her letters and notebooks in an unwritten thread.

Katya, Katoushka, Kissienka and Katerina were just some of the names that Katherine used at the height of her Russian pose, when she wore Russian dress, smoked Russian cigarettes, attended Russian concerts and embarked on a literary love affair with Chekhov that changed her writing – and her life.’

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If Only We Could Know  by Vladimir Kataev – published 2002.

It is fascinating read and reveals what a great judge of character Anton Chekhov was.

I can understand why Katherine Mansfield was so passionate about his work. It is a double tragedy that they both died so young.  

Andrew R Durkin writes: Kataev’s work has been of fundamental importance in understanding Chekhov’s fiction and drama. Harvey Pitcher’s selection and careful translation of the core of Kataev’s studies make some of the best Russian Chekhov criticism available at last in English and should mark the beginning of a new level of understanding of Chekhov in the English-speaking world.

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Katherine Mansfield

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The photo of Katherine Mansfield above is taken from the cover of  An Appraisal by Nariman Hormasji which gives another important aspect to Mansfield’s  writing including the influence of Chekhov and other Russian writers and authors.

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The Illustrated edition of THE GARDEN PARTY– Katherine Mansfield Short Stories first published in 1987, is a beautiful, colourful bound book I treasure.

 

Katherine Mansfield 001

 

Visit Anne Frandi-Coory’s Facebook page here: https://www.facebook.com/myhomelibrary/

Roman Centurion’s Song

April 2, 2011
POETRY-My Faves
5 Comments

The Roman Centurion’s Song                        

Roman Legion: Actors at Kirby Hall. Photo by Rita Roberts from 'Toffee Apples and Togas'.

(Roman occupaton of Britain 300 CE)

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Legate, I had the news last night – my cohort ordered home

By ship to Portus Itius and thence by road to Rome.

I’ve watched the companies aboard, the arms are stowed below:

Now let another take my sword. Command me not to go!

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I’ve served in Britain forty years, from Vectis to the Wall.

I have none other home than this, nor any life at all.

Last night I did not understand, but, now the hour draws near

That calls me to my native land, I feel that land is here.

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Here where my men say my name was made, here where my work was done;

Here where my dearest dead are laid-my wife-my wife and son;

Here where time, custom, grief and toil, age, memory, service, love,

Have rooted me in British soil. Ah, how shall I remove?

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For me this land, that sea, these airs, those folk and fields suffice.

What purple Southern pomp can match our changed Northern skies,

Black with December snows unshed or pearled with August haze-

The clanging arch of steel-grey March, or June’s long-lighted days?

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You’ll follow widening Rhodanus till vine and olive lean

Aslant before the sunny breeze that sweeps Nemauses clean

To Arelate’s triple gate; but let me linger on,

Here where our stiff-necked British oaks confront Euroclydon!

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You’ll take the old Aurelian road through shore descending pines

Where blue as any peacock’s neck, the Tyrrhene Ocean shines.

You’ll go where laurel crowns are won, but will you e’er forget

The scent of hawthorn in the sun, or bracken in the wet?

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Let me work here for Britain’s sake-at any task you will-

A Marsh to drain, a road to make or native troops to drill.

Some Western camp (I know the Pict) or granite border keep,

Mid seas of heather derelict, where our old messmates sleep.

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Legate, I come to you in tears-my cohort ordered home!

I’ve served in Britain forty years. What should I do in Rome?

Here is my heart, my soul, my mind-the only life I know.

I cannot leave it all behind Command me not to go!

– Rudyard Kipling

Elizabethan KIrby Hall - Northamptonshire UK

Another aspect of Kirby Hall

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Toffee Apples & Togas
-by Rita Roberts