The young recite poetry,
I listen,my lips quiver to say something,
But it could not utter anything as their voices,
Pearl like words sprouts from their budding brains,
To drown my thinking,I smile,encouraged by their boldness,
Being old,I am helpless to say anything,
I am working on it to have confidence.
It is like a battle on barren land for me.
Cheer those young poets at Sky writers,
Let their voices prevail over darkness,
To make all of us to unite against evil.
The only way to get good at poetry is to write it. Some are gifted, but most are not. My hardest thing is orally presenting my poetry in a way that is pleasant to hear. Young people with their high-pitched voices, can do it with ease.
We all learn from each other, for life is a continuous process in learning. The young learn frm the old, and the old learn from the young. No one can stay stationary in one place, we are all moving forward as we learn from others.
From First Love to its destructive end and on to new beginnings, Mary Angela Nangini's poems explore the birth and death of a relationship. The powerful poems are presented in two parts with an introduction to her next book My Ontario Beautiful. (Th
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