I am Rosa Clement, a wife, a mother of two girls, a computer programmer, and what I most like to be: a poet. I’m also a Brazilian who lived in Hawaii for the last five years and now has returned home. In Hawaii, I started writing poems, something I always thought of doing since I was a child, but always felt too shy to put my ideas on paper. However, one day while thinking about aging, I felt a strong impulse to write my first poem and since then I haven’t stopped.<\/p>\n
My ideas come from observations I gather from daily life, from feelings, and from things that really touch me. Often, I include nature in my poems.<\/p>\n
Some of my poems have been published in Poetic Eloquence, The Ebbing Tide, Seaoats, and The Parnassus Literary Journal. Three of my poems have appeared on the web pages: The Open Scroll and The Blender of Love.<\/p>\n
Here are a few of my poems:<\/p>\n
A GOOD TALK<\/strong><\/p>\n A man decides it’s time to hunt, At dawn he finds a hidden cave A hungry bear soon passes by, Before the nervous shootings start, The man agrees and trusts the bear, PEERS<\/strong><\/p>\n I like to walk defiant and nude, I wander with the human race, I have an enemy, I know, If my rival is insincere, THE DENTISTS<\/strong><\/p>\n The dentists like to see us twice a year. FAIRY TALES<\/strong><\/p>\n How sweet it was to hear the tales Outside, the songs of nightingales, We flew beyond the ridges and vales The giant who lived along the dales, The headless mule from forest trails, While nights fell to their darkest veils, PENNIES!<\/strong><\/p>\n Pennies, pennies, come to me, WHEN YOU LEFT<\/strong><\/p>\n The moon has already moved to your sky, The sea is still, The palms have lost their waving sound, What should we do, we who love you? Rosa Clement<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I am Rosa Clement, a wife, a mother of two girls, a computer programmer, and what I most like to be: a poet. I’m also a Brazilian who lived in Hawaii for the last five years and now has returned home. In Hawaii, I started writing poems, something I always thought of doing since I … <\/p>\n
\nto find a fur because it’s cold,
\nto risk and patiently confront
\nthe trails along which hours unfold.<\/p>\n
\nand thinks that if he wants to be
\na hunter still alive and brave,
\nthen he should hide behind a tree.<\/p>\n
\nand quickly understands it should
\nprotect its fur, and also try
\nto find a way to get some food.<\/p>\n
\nthe wily bear explains and pleads,
\nthey both should talk and be smart,
\nand find a way to solve their needs.<\/p>\n
\nand happily they hug and walk
\ninside the cave to get the share
\nof what was decided in their talk.<\/p>\n
\nTo be admired along my way,
\nBut I may hurt, also be rude,
\nIf I choose painful words to say.<\/p>\n
\nconvincing them to look at me,
\nTo see how pretty is my face,
\nAlthough I don’t like fantasy.<\/p>\n
\nwho wears a sparkling frail disguise
\nto trace my steps and hide my glow,
\ndeluding those who are not wise.<\/p>\n
\nAnd on me humans must rely,
\nin life we are a constant pair:
\nI am the truth, and it, the lie.<\/p>\n
\nThey tell you “open wide your mouth, don’t fear,
\nrelax, and tell me how you are my dear.”
\nYour mouth then holds their tools, your eyes a tear.
\nThey ask the things they do not care to hear
\nsince whatever you say is never clear.
\nThey tell you “the pain will soon disappear,
\nand then you can smile from ear to ear.”
\nYou leave their office faster than a spear.<\/p>\n
\nmy mother told us every night,
\nhow lovely were their details.<\/p>\n
\ninside, the flaming candlelight…
\nhow sweet it was to hear those tales.<\/p>\n
\non words that carried full delight,
\nso lovely were their details.<\/p>\n
\nThe prince who never saw the light,
\nHow sweet it was to hear those tales.<\/p>\n
\nthe dolphin man and his sad plight,
\nso frightening were their details.<\/p>\n
\nit blended ecstasy and fright,
\nbut sweet it was to hear those tales,
\nand lovely were their details.<\/p>\n
\nfall from pockets like the rain,
\nshine in spots where I can see.
\nPennies, pennies come to me,
\nfill my vases rapidly,
\nflow like fountains from each drain.
\nPennies, pennies, come to me,
\nfall from pockets like the rain.<\/p>\n
\nand the mountains have covered themselves
\nwith an opaque brown mantle,
\nbecause you have left, and the rain
\npreferred to follow your steps.<\/p>\n
\nreflecting only grey clouds,
\nand here, I wait to see green or blue
\nin its waters and sing them in my verses.<\/p>\n
\nand now are silent, bending to the ground
\nbecause a long time ago, the wind left
\nto take you home.<\/p>\n
\nKnowing you won’t return,
\nwe want to forget or ignore,
\nbut instead,
\nwe just love you more.<\/p>\n