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Quote by Holly Ringland

“There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. She is coming, my dove, my dear; She is coming, my life, my fate; The red rose cries, 'She is near, she is near;' And the white rose weeps, 'She is late;' The larkspur listens, 'I hear, I hear;' And the lily whispers, 'I wait.' Alfred, Lord Tennyson”

Quote by Holly Ringland

Book:The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart
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The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart

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Holly Ringland

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“Here there was a cheerful boy At least he created tales and lived in joy. Nursery rhymes his grandmother told, Songs and tales emerged gladly in gold. Caring heart, affection spoke loud as brighter, He made the decision: he would be a writer! Rising laughters, crying tears, many feelings, Inserted everything and nothing was in vain. So he transformed the ugly into beautiful, Tales to amuse and make everyone sane, In there he went, without daydreams or zeal. As such it was born the icon of literature still. No one denied he was exceedingly bountiful. A ballerina loves the soldier in his world, Nothing gets involved in his fairy tales, Dancing from a poor weak boy to a king, Eccentric prince of charm in winged corners! Rare star of sweet tenderness, Sensible and masterful in tenderness, Emchanted kingdom of dreams and candor, Now a divine fire of a soul he shines. Havia um menino alegre porem so Ao menos criava contos e deles vivia Nas historias que contava sua avo, Seus contos surgiam pois ele os via. Carinho nao faltava em seu coracao ator, Havia tomado a decisao: seria escritor! Risos, lagrimas, sentimentos saos, Inseria tudo e nada era em vao. Transformava ate o feio em belo, Inadvertia e divertia com seu elo, Adiante ia, sem devaneios e zelo. Nascia assim o icone da literatura. A bailarina ama o soldado em seu mundo, Nada se interpunha em seus contos de fadas, De pobre menino fraco e cogitabundo, Era principe de encantos em cantos alados! Rara estrela de doce brandura, Sensata e magistral em ternura, Em seu reino de sonhos e candura, No fogo divino de sua alma fulgura.”

PoetryArtistTalentPoemTalesWriterHomageAcrosticRhymesHans Christian Andersen
Book:ACross Tic
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“Before my last breath is drawn and the curtain falls and the last flower falls on me I want to live to love to be In this grey world and time of catastrophe this hostile existence with people who need me and whom I nee I would learn to value to discover to be astonished I want to learn who I am who I can be who I would like to be so that the days don’t go unused the hours have goals and the minutes value Whenever I laugh or cry or am silent on my journey to you to myself to God where the ways are uneven and thorny and scarcely known to me I want to set out have already embarked and don’t want to turn back now without having seen the blooming of flowers or heard the rippling of waters having been amazed for life is beautiful Then Friend Death may come and I can say I have lived Translated by Katharine Fournier”

PoetryPoem
Book:Pflücke den Tag.
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“Sonnet of Expansion I expect nothing from the world, I have no desire to impress society. I only care for its wellbeing, Hence I simply do my human duty. Don't know whether I'm left or right, Which I don't give a damn about. World has enough conflicts as it is, One more duality we can do without. Expansion is the other name of life, Without which we are dead and rotten. If we are not willing to evolve, Humankind will be soon forgotten. If today's thought is the same as yesterday, Despite all achievements we are going astray.”

ProgressEvolutionPoemHumanitarianReasoningService Of HumanityActivistSonnetSocial Reform
Book:When Veins Ignite: Either Integration or Degradation
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“زندگي در چشم من شبهاي بي مهتاب را ماند شعر من نيلوفر پژمرده در مرداب را ماند ابر بي باران اندوهم خار خشک سينه ي کوهم سالها رفته است کز هر آرزو خاليست آغوشم نغمه پرداز جمال و عشق بودم... آه... حاليا خاموش خاموشم ياد از خاطر فراموشم روز چون گل مي شکوفد بر فراز کوه عصر پرپر مي شود اين نو شکفته در سکوت دشت روزها اين گونه پرپر گشت لحظه هاي بي شکيب عمر چون پرستوهاي بي آرام در پرواز رهروان را چشم حسرت باز اينک اينجا شعر و ساز و باده آماده است من که جام هستي ام از اشک لبريز است مي پرسم: با فريب شعر بايد زندگي را رنگ ديگر داد ؟ در نواي ساز بايد ناله هاي روح را گم کرد ؟ ناله ي من مي تراود از در و ديوار آسمان اما سرا پا گوش و خاموش است همزباني نيست تا گويم به زاري: اي دريغ جام من خالي شدست از شعر ناب ساز من فريادهاي بي جواب روز چون گل مي شکوفد بر فراز کوه روشنايي مي رود در آسمان بالا اما من... هم چنان در ظلمت شبهاي بي مهتاب هم چنان پژمرده در پهناي اين مرداب هم چنان لبريز از اندوه مي پرسم: جام اگر بشکست ؟ ساز اگر بشکست؟ شعر اگر ديگر به دل ننشست ؟”

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Author:فریدون مشیری
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