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Poems

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Hannelore Hinz sitting in front of a bookcase

When It’s Her to Her about Her With Sound File
Skylark (Rondeau) With Sound File
Pouty, Pouty Pussy Cat With Sound File
When The Kids Are Sleeping With Sound File
When
Sonnet for Reinhard or “Motherly Love”
   
  Watch this space for further poems!
   
   
   
   
   
   
  Writing is like building a house. Mind that you don’t forget the windows! My first place was a little old house with large windows—and inside was a Christmas tree with many candles. Christmas time ... and me a single young woman. My Christmas Fantasy surged forth from my heart like some upheaval—no sad poem, love—whatever used to be, hope—whatever will be. Christmas tree light gave me many friends, still these days. Euterpe tweeted the lyrics my way, and writer Ann-Charlott Settgast taught me my first steps in poetry and prose, later published in periodicals and anthologies. I wanted to get along farther and farther. Right after the fall of the Iron Curtain I started looking beyond my garden fence and made good friends—more learning. I wrote many types of poetry (rondeau, sonnet, sonnet cycle, haiku, etc.). But poetic corsets are likely to restrict the language—so there was free style. I added tunes to many of my poems, though real composers would do better jobs. Like a honey bee I keep striving to take good nectar back to the hive, and perhaps the small house will grow into a large one, one with lots of windows ... and one light shall never go out.
 
 
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© 2008 • Author: Hannelore Hinz • Webmaster & Translator: Reinhard F. Hahn • International copyright applies to all contents.