Love me like ParisThe enchanting cityThe embodiment of loveBe as inspired by meAs you are by the LouvreBe as sweet to meAs Laduree’s delicate macaronsBe as in awe of meAs you are of the Eiffel…
Forget “I love you” It’s meaning lost Let me tell you What I will do For you Only you
Sometimes you write a poem that’s too dark. You read the long poem to yourself. And all you want to do is close it and put it in the box, forever.
Sometimes people walk into your life only to walk out in an instant. When people leave they are never really gone because they become a part of you. They become part of your growth as a human. They change you. So when they leave you always have a part of them within you. This poem is about growth, and accepting that someone can come along and change you.
I never liked your cigarettes They took away from your smell, taste Nape of your neck, I favored most Yes I could call it home, home, home Oh it feels nice to breathe you in…
Honour the Trees!, by J. W. Cassandra, a poem of me, written recently. I wrote this short poem after spending a beautiful day in Budapest, where I took this Japanese acacia tree photo, seen on the title page as an illustration. The tree stands on Square Fővám (Main Customs), Budapest. I enjoyed its beauty and shade very much. Generally, I think so, trees are the lungs of our planet, so we must protect them. I wrote of this topic more poems so far. I share here the poem both in English and Hungarian.
Honour the Trees!, by J. W. Cassandra, a poem of me, written recently. I wrote this short poem after spending a beautiful day in Budapest, where I took this Japanese acacia tree photo, seen on the title page as an illustration. The tree stands on Square Fővám (Main Customs), Budapest. I enjoyed its beauty and shade very much. Generally, I think so, trees are the lungs of our planet, so we must protect them. I wrote of this topic more poems so far. I share here the poem both in English and Hungarian.
Have you ever felt like after someone hurts you and leaves, that they still haunt you? Their face haunts your dreams. Your dreams were once a place where your child like mind roamed free, but now they are a scary place, a place where your memories come back to bite you. The memories aren’t necessarily bad ones, but maybe just ones that you wish weren’t memories at all. A memory you wish you could live, but the moment has passed. So the memories, and the person, they haunt you. They stole your dream. My poem titled “a broken dream” focuses on that feeling of helplessness when someone has stolen your dreams right out from under you, and they live in your head rent free, with what feels like no hope of eviction.
‘Advice to a girl’ is a short one-paragraph poem, but with a very strong message. An advice that the one who is worthy might never be yours. And it’s up to you to decide how to move on.
I am a natural recluse If I go all the day Without speaking a single word I’m happy anyway…
You have learned much from your powerlessness And on behalf of such have much to say So doing, with coherent voice to bless Those who, unnoticed, faded had away…
I passed ’em once, I passed ’em twice That concourse my bad boardwalk was Tilted my six inch brim of hat Inviting them to make a fuss…
Sybil, by J. W. Cassandra, a new poem of me. I did nor placed it yet in any of volumes. I chose the legend that tells of the Sybil of Cumae, whose books the king, Tarquinius Superbus (died 495 BC), refused to pay, since he found them expensive, so he did not payed the price. Than the prophetess threw to the flames her books, at last remained only 3 of the 9, when the king thought it would be better to pay the original wage. According to the legend, the 3 remained books were hidden and guarded in the cellars of the Temple of the Capitolium. I wrote my poem in behalf of the prophetess, my version a bit differs of the original legend. I share it both in English and Hungarian. The illustration depicts the Delphic Sybil, painting by Michelangelo, Sixtus Chapel, from a public domain. I hope you will find my poem interesting. It was a huge work to render it in English.
Sybil, by J. W. Cassandra, a new poem of me. I did nor placed it yet in any of volumes. I chose the legend that tells of the Sybil of Cumae, whose books the king, Tarquinius Superbus (died 495 BC), refused to pay, since he found them expensive, so he did not payed the price. Than the prophetess threw to the flames her books, at last remained only 3 of the 9, when the king thought it would be better to pay the original wage. According to the legend, the 3 remained books were hidden and guarded in the cellars of the Temple of the Capitolium. I wrote my poem in behalf of the prophetess, my version a bit differs of the original legend. I share it both in English and Hungarian. The illustration depicts the Delphic Sybil, painting by Michelangelo, Sixtus Chapel, from a public domain. I hope you will find my poem interesting. It was a huge work to render it in English.
