The Breath Of Life

The Breath Of Life
To smell The Sun
to feel The Wind
to breathe the Fresh Air from within
to experience The Stormy Weather
to walk on Top Of The Ocean
to talk with The Highest Emotion
to live The Real Life
to know The Real Love
to say Good Morning to The Dove


If I had a shiny gun,
I could have a world of fun
Speeding bullets through the brains
Of the folk who give me pains;

Or had I some poison gas,
I could make the moments pass
Bumping off a number of
People whom I do not love.

A Delicate Rainy Morning

If I felt that you had been here,
it was because your angel would have touched me with his wing like a breeze,
you would have been here with him
in an indestructible sensation.
Maybe you thought if the angel had told me,
I would have known,
but he wouldn't have said anything.
He would never tell me,
but I've been waiting for you,

Beautiful City

Beautiful city

Beautiful city, the centre and crater of European confusion,
O you with your passionate shriek for the rights of an equal
How often your Re-volution has proven but E-volution
Roll’d again back on itself in the tides of a civic insanity!

Poetry Is A Solitary Art

Poetry is a solitary art
But beautiful words come alive
While we write.

As we go on penning
Lovely words smile and sing
Laugh and dance
Right before our very eyes
They touch our hearts
Fill up our dreary senses

Poems Without Readers

Poems without readers
Are like lonely wallflowers
On the wide dance floor.

Copyright 2018, Rose Marie Juan-Austin, All Rights Reserved

Water Music, I. _ ['musiche Sull'acqua'.1]

[Suite in F major: Ouverture]

('nézte a csillagokat') *

I have long dreamt
Your legs so pure

Wrangell - St. Elias __ [english]

All night
On the neural paths, have rushed - shiny -
The shapes of the world, yearning for
Scepters of mountains
And valleys and rivers of ice
And prairies and lakes and forests, endlessly.

Yet it would not be the lone musk ox or
Herds of bison wandering through the boundless
Northwest Territories,

A Ray Of Sun

While drawing a circle,
A ray of sun that slips on your sad face
Is not only a ray, it is the light.
Moreover, my feelings
slipping in your soul
Until your heart
Begins to vibrate
Mean all,
Because they come from God.

Sonnet 17: Who Will Believe My Verse In Time To Come

Who will believe my verse in time to come
If it were filled with your most high deserts?
Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts:
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say, "This poet lies,
Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces."
So should my papers, yellowed with their age,
Be scorned like old men of less truth than tongue,

Firenze, Passeggiata Con Vista

«Wer noch kein / Melancholiker ist, / Muß es hier werden»

Alle prime ombre su Arcetri, a passi
Assorti scendevi dall'osservatorio
Sul viale Galileo e da lì al Forte Belvedere e
Quindi in centro, illuminato dalle luci di seta
Del tramonto.

Quanta ragione nei versi di Czechowski,

Our Poem Hunter Family

Beauty is seen daily in poetic duty every day,
Cutie is our Poem Hunter Family all here say.

Far across the globe poets unite here to write,
Daily poem of the day to readers does delight.

We unite for love, for peace and for more bliss,
We write poems from spirit we all do not miss.

World is our lovely family here we truly feel,

A Good Poem

Gold and silver may perish
With the forces of nature
But a good poem will stay
It can withstand
The tests of time
It will pass along
To the next generations
It will linger in our minds
It will find home in our hearts
It will fly high

The Predator

You have a razor-sharp mind
And a barb wit
You speak eloquently
It matches
Your long black damask robe.

In your court
You have a zest for verbal combat
And strongly worded views
On all issues.

A House Near The Hill

A house near the hill
Lit up when a sunbeam broke
Through the alto clouds.

Copyright 2019, Rose Marie Juan-Austin, All Rights Reserved

'Musiche Sull'Acqua', I.

[Suite in Fa: Ouverture]

('nézte a csillagokat')

Ho sognato a lungo
Le tue gambe di luna

The Soldier Fights

the soldier fights for the hippys rights to protest against that soldier
the soldier fights for the politions rights to send that soldier to war
the soldier fights for buisness mans rights to make money
the soldier fights for the policemans rights to arrest that soldier
the soldier fights for school kids right to know about past soldiers
the soldier fights to so that you may all sleep at night
the soldier fights for religion so that you may all belive what you wish
And yet the soldier fights on
the soldier fights for his flag, for his country, for his life

Firing Squad

Whose hands should have been hand cuffed and blind folded?
To face a death penalty and possible murder in cold
Can this practice be not put on permanent hold?
Can this be construed as cowardice act or bold?

Still this practiced is on in this civilized world
Reminiscences of cruel days yet not put in cold
Human lives at stake and honest living is marginalized
Fight for freedom and liberty is penalized

Where To Complain

Where to go for complaint?
When king becomes blind and turn saint?
When kingdom is handed over to wolves
Whole mystery surrounds and treachery involves

Is it wise to turn the kingdom into holy land?
Leaving the subjects into the unholy hands?
Allow anarchy and misery to prevail
All rights and freedom may also to curtail

The Bamboo Trees

Beside our old wooden house in the farm,
the bamboo trees are still standing;
Each slim body always arching
towards the earth's loving palm.

Each little leaf keeps swaying,
when mountain breeze is blowing,
Like arms of a child awaiting,
To embrace a grandmother coming.