A Voice for the Voiceless – Update/Request

              Rainer Maria Rilke
            by Leonid Pasternak

Greetings!
In September I put out a Poetry Challenge to any/all who might be interested
in submitting a poem for a project I called ‘Voices for the Voiceless’. About 20
of you responded with creative and diverse contributions, something for which
I’m deeply grateful. Unfortunately my computer has had a ‘crash’ and I have
only been able to recover a few of those poems . . . I feel terrible about that!

If you submitted a poem OR would still like to contribute to the project, would
you please resend your submission to me at my email address: peternotehelfer@gmail.com, so that I can be certain they are included? And
please include your name, home town & country, blog site, and email address.
Thank you very much. I would like to finish this project before December if I can.
Peter Notehelfer

From my September 25 post, I reprint the following:

Advertisement

A Voice for the Voiceless ~ A Poetry Challenge

Rainer Maria Rilke
             by Leonid Pasternak

There is in the land
a rising chorus of the Voiceless
Those who while in the system
remain outside of it

Five Dodoitsu

         oldbrokenbones.com

i.
the eye of the potato
hungers after the sunlight
so it will move a mountain
for the sake of love

Three Haiku: Easter

Poetry challenge: Easter poem.



                 Irina Terentieva pinterest.com

i.
see how he hangs where
yesterday meets tomorrow
god’s mercy thorn`crowned

Three Haiku: Wind`Storm

Nyuryoku Ni pinterest.com

i.

the giant pine trees
inspire the wind to whistle
dancing for sheer joy 

On Writing Poetry

                    Johannes Itten all-art.org

We write
not so as to move
other minds toward passion
not so as to remove mountains
or to fill the seas with dark tears
We write in response to the knock

A Handful of Words

 

       Heather McMordie oldprintgallery.wordpress.com

I had a handful of words
rolling around in my palm
staring them down as though
to figure where they came from
how it was they might fit together
arranging them like puzzle`pieces
to reveal some kind of a picture
since every picture is worth
at least a handful of words
or some say a thousand 

On Stories

First Nations mural – Toronto mcfcrandall.wordpress.com

Tell me again of the time
you were a child The time
of the winter when the wolves
were at your door begging for meat
and you took them in and fed them
and how when they had eaten
you found they were men
simply wearing fur coats

Refugees

        Paul Klee   artsheaven.com

My tree
is a refugee
just an outcast
from the woods
where all perfect
trees are groomed
But I do not mind
I am a refugee as
well born but to
immigrancy
you see 

There Is No Need to Move

                Suzanne Berry pinterest.com

There is no need to move

since all the world moves

round you when you stay

the spirits of those you love

live on in the changing light

the voices of poets lost linger

Gone Fishing!

Lawrence Manning http://www.absolutearts.com

Peace

simone@studio2bdenver.com

The grass bends with the wind.
It does not break.
I wonder, does it ever flower? 

A Summer Tree [for Sandra]

Lisa Boettger pinterest.com

She is a summer tree
Intent on putting on blossoms
Intent on yet putting on fruit
Ere winter claims her 

Arboretum

Timothy King absolutearts.com

With closed eyes
I walk beneath the trees
so green with new growth
the very air breathes life
Can you smell it? 

Roots

Frances Gilroy francesgilroyartist.com

The roots
of the vine
I’ve been told
run incredibly deep
The best wines come from
ancient vines rooted
hundreds of meters
down through
rocky soil 

What Is a Poem

Ken Kewley powersofobservation.com

After all what’s a poem
a few words basted together
like the patchwork of some quilt
tattered pieces of some tattered lives
remnants in fact of worn denim
threadbare from their years
suddenly useful again

Impatience

Sarah Kiss weweretherenowwearehere.wordpress.com

The tragedy of youth
is its intolerable impatience
   What’s the value of practice?
   Why are there all these rules?
   Just let me do what I please!
A stream loses the mountain
for longing to be a sea

At the Feeder

Tibor Lazar  saatchiart.com

There are weeds growing beneath the feeder
   The collateral damage of kindness
One feeds birds not for their good manners
   but for the joy of seeing them play 

Memorial Day

Where are the dead
who slipped like shadows
through our passing years?
Their memories have grown
brittle as their very bones
turned dust fine as sand
in hour-glass graves 

A Poet’s Flowers

christine-wasankari http://www.artfire.com

A poet’s flowers
bloom within his eyes
without need for a vase
They bend with the soft light
til spent they fall again
into the evening’s sea
return to dreams

Choices

Annette Schmucker  en.cubanfineart.com

Four
glasses
sit empty
on flowers
of blue cloth
Two for wine
Two pilsners
garnished
with lime
slices

The Ship`Builder

Sadao Watanabe http://www.pinterest.com

He walked
into the office
like some prophet
propped on a staff
on a cold March day
It was to Spokane
he was walking
[ā like in cane]
Cold he was! 

Last Breath

Rie Munoz   http://www.riemunoz.com

What is it
that makes a breath?
What allows us to receive birth
then compels us to return death
for the kiss of a child
all unafraid?

There Are Days

mtmuchmore.wordpress.com

There are days now
That slip from my life
Leaves fallen from a tree
Found scattered at its base
Curled brown from the frost
I cannot recall the lyrical notes

Adaptation

Nicole Katsuras corkingallery.com

The angry wind
Has ripped a tear
Into the fabric of time
I see it as the parasail
Lifts out of the channel chop
Bowed nearly double in the gale
A surfer rising from the sea
Behind it a young osprey
Lunging from the water
Trailing a shaker
In sharp talons 

Poetry

Vicky Kokolski and Meg Branzetti pinterest.com

I am a poet
a potter of soft sounds
to capture the scent of snow
so icy cold I cannot help but to weep

Memories

Karen Knutson
banfilllocke.wordpress.com

Delicately we turn
the pages of the past
where the faces of all those
we have loved look back at us
through eyes so full of grace
we cannot look away
feeling young again

Cotton`Tail

Rebecca Kinkead pinterest.com

I saw him
from the corner of my eye
his bushy little cotton`tail
a white shadow on the lawn
on a morning without sun
Can a rabbit smell lettuce?
I wondered