Paul Hartal


Paul Hartal Poems

121. Little-Known Death Factory 8/26/2012
122. Lost Love's Distance 10/8/2011
123. Love At First Sight 9/7/2014
124. Love Is Like A Painting 8/27/2014
125. Love Knows Not 'Why? ' 10/28/2011
126. Love Never Dies 11/17/2011
127. Loveless Love 12/18/2014
128. Magic Stairs 5/9/2014
129. Marriage Vows 6/12/2015
130. Massacre In Nanjing 9/24/2012
131. Meaning And Eternity 10/5/2011
132. Medals 10/12/2011
133. Medical Statistics 11/10/2011
134. Medicine's Malady 11/1/2015
135. Meditation In Nineteen Words 1/30/2013
136. Meeting In Belsen 10/3/2011
137. Modigliani Nude In Haiku 8/6/2014
138. Moment In Frame 10/6/2011
139. Money And Love 11/12/2011
140. Mother Of Success 8/2/2015
141. My Life 9/29/2011
142. Mystery Of The Immovable Car 12/17/2012
143. Nephron And Tulip 12/13/2014
144. Never Say Never 6/7/2015
145. Nevertheless 4/1/2015
146. Nine Views Of The Huangshan 12/20/2014
147. No Rhyme, But Reason 3/18/2013
148. No Secret: The Rwandan Genocide 10/3/2011
149. Now? 10/18/2011
150. Nurse In Evergreen Of Absence 10/22/2011
151. Obelisks 9/29/2011
152. Ode To Irena Sendler 6/1/2012
153. Oh, Poet 5/20/2012
154. Oh, The Zebras Keep Coming 4/12/2015
155. On The Killing Fields 10/6/2011
156. Once Upon An August Dreamy 12/5/2011
157. Only One Love 10/6/2011
158. Ontological Verse 5/17/2014
159. Oranges And Grapes 4/28/2013
160. Organic Poem 9/30/2011
Best Poem of Paul Hartal

Oranges And Grapes

Oranges and grapes refuse to grow in the cold.
Today I sing and dance, refuse to grow old.
Yet all the same, time is tyrant and ruthless,
Unfolds my wrinkling years, it is relentless.

Now and then the lots seem to be gentle and kind,
But alloyed with fate the somnambulist is blind.
Luck and fortuity might act as a soubrette,
Life spins our fate like roulette in a film set.

Still, let us drink to life, celebrate, and be glad,
Let us sing and dance today, refuse to be sad.
Oranges and grapes do not grow in the cold,
A warm wind ties ribbons to maple ...

Read the full of Oranges And Grapes

Cesarean Section

On a sunny day of Taurus
they cut her abdomen.
With stainless scalpels
the surgeons unlatched her uterus
and out of her slashed womb,
touching with their sterile gloves
the enigma of an enclosed but remote self,
they pulled out the boy crying,
covered with blood,

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