DEFINITION:*  *A literary work in which special
intensity is given to the expression of feelings and ideas
by the use of distinctive style and rhythm;
poems collectively or as a genre of literature.



*Is a form of an art
were you could rant all the things
in your mind
A kind of feeling that you could express freely:
sad,happiness,pain,and etc.
Is a form of an art were you could make your own style
and your own signature.
Poetry is a kind of words were you could write  
everything you wanted to say
A form of love and despair.

I sit out on the covered porch as the rain falls fearlessly
Constantly hurdling down around me
I listen to the cracking of thunder
Vicious outbursts-
A lions roar
Then as it echoes faintly-
Casually-
Away

I close my eyes
Inhale the storms dewy scent-
Capturing the particles in the expansion of my lungs
And with the world centered in me
The elements and I are light-
Illuminated-
free

A mist in the atmosphere-
I wash away

(C) Tiffanie Noel Doro

a man from England
took me from my homeland
you could say England
is in possession of contraband

in pieces I was shipped away
to a foreign port-side bay
at a place of note I now lay
awaiting a homecoming hooray

I've caused a bit of tension
due to the Pommies keeping me in detention
they are wanting an extension
to hold me in lasting retention

oft the cultural treasures of a country
are pilfered by another country
my rock is alabaster of shade
by fine craftsmen I was made

under the Hellenic sun is where I belong
I've resided in England for too long

the late afternoon of life.
the Sun hurtling toward the horizon
shedding its yellow brilliance
for a deep orange shawl that
turns my ageing landscape
into a warm diffuse gold.

The path to my distant demise
is shorter and brighter now
as the long winding road
behind me fills the breeze
with a brisk evening chill.

as I pause to look back
at the shadow of my past,
its long dark cast stretches
over the valleys and peaks
that once blocked my path

greying shadows behind me.
golden red brilliance ahead.
the journey near completion.
soon, no more path to tread.*

~~~

the hunting party
just love their sport
each day they track
their quarry
o'er the terrain
even on days
when it snows or rains
once they've caught a sniff
of the quarry's trail
they move with stealth
and close in
once surrounded
and well encircled
the arrows fly
with the designed
intention
to hit the target
the quarry is a wily
old fox
he's aware of those
eager arrows
which are marked for him
he darts and weaves
through the assaulting missiles  
to quickly evade
the hunters
gaining a result
the fox employs
his survival techniques
out in the wild
ever he's fleet of foot
in cramping the hunter's style

their eyes were in
a dark disposition
a man of medicine
saw the plight
of these eyes
unto them he'd bring
a wondrous lit view
with his surgery technique
which was true blue

Fred Hollows
developed
and refined
an optical procedure
so his patients
blurred vision
could be cataract free

when the sun illuminates upon the sapphire skies
aborigines in the Northern Territory
and in Eritrea
are so grateful to receive Fred's
miraculous surgery