Sylva Portoian

The Author's Stanzas from

Twelve Poetry Collections

(July 2007-March 2012)

Sylva Portoian-Shuhaiber (Sylva-MD-Poetry) born in the East immigrated to the west. She is a pediatrician trained in England, who has articles in well-known medical journals: The Lancet, Archives of Diseases in Childhood, Tropical Pediatrics, Annals of Genetics (Paris), Journal of Inherited Metabolic Diseases and Journal of Cardiovascular Surgery. She has presented her medical publications at international medical conferences. She started rhyming at age seven and discontinued after specializing in medicine. Recently she was able to start poeting once again; she has released twelve collections of poetry in less than a four-year period. Each book breathes a genuine, passionate new poetic story that may be modified to a humanitarian theory.

Sylva Portoian is the Winner of the Carnegie Prize for Poetry, Spring 2009

Twelve Poetry Collections:

I: Lance My Hart at a Glance

She had written this collection for her husband, who had a difficult life

performing bypass operations on failed hearts during his early years of

cardiac surgery. She is praising surgical hands and the dedicated life of

their families, the medical team, and the patients in distress.

Lance my heart to feel your delicate lance.

Fancy absorbing pains, of your fatigued hands

How many hearts you revived--survived.

Your hands are respirators for failed fading hearts.

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II: Delete Depression--Type Inspiration

These are poems to alleviate depression for every age; however, this

is explicitly meant for students. The book can be the student's friend

when crisis curses the mind.

Fears have no end if you bend.

May impel you to far end.

Shine your bright eyes see clear sky.

Hear echoing songs from highest mounts.

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III: Angel "Lilit" Lilting via Internet

This is a scientific love story conveyed in a poetic thesis that expressed

the sincere relationship between a mother-in-law (the author) and

a daughter-in-law (Lilit). Every mother must provide love to kin,

creating lifetime and after then leaving narrative happiness.

Support is the road to proceed in life.

Support is the kiss of life, each second in need,

For every creature from birth to old age

For gaspers of their last breath, sight yet alive.

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IV: A Poetic Soul Shined of Genocides

These are real stories from my grandmother of known genocides still

epidemically invading and crushing the principles of human rights.

Let us help every soul who speaks in a true voice.

In terrains where flesh decays, uncanned,

Recognition of human rights is mighty unjust,

Since all related crimes are committed

By vicious Hands of vile minds.

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V: Sons: Take My Heart and Transplant

These are poetic stories expressed by a sincere, unselfish mother to

relieve a mother's torments and throbs.

Transplant "My Hart" in real human soil

Assess recipient humanitarian role.

With grants long life gifted to live,

Saving innocents from slain of grief.

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Mothers are mothers wherever they are

Tears will not dry until they die.

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VI: Millennium Brains' Lacrimate

These are new events, expected and the unexpected, needed by honest

brains. Sylva wrote the poems just before the credit crunch. Do poets

possess a mysterious Seventh Sense?

Chromosomes, when primes in crime.

Millions die, without mercy rhyme.

Firing darts, into mothers' hearts.

Cursed powers must end as putrefied palms!

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VII: Politics Play, People Pay, Poets Proms, Pledging Pray

The poetic genuineness sings stronger than history as it bleeds from

bleeding hearts.

Politicians before my birth did and still do,

Their job trains them to fool laymen's crew.

Teaching selves to sink the blood in ink--

Thus can vanish, showing the sky stays still blue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

VIII: E-mails: Beneath Blossoming Trees

With the world entering one cascade through the Internet, things

changed and will continue to change, educate, cohorts for the best.

Have you dreamed about sending your president Obama

Only one letter asking, how he achieved his dreams?

Can another human do what He did? Did he change

His dermis or aim his talent to serve humanity?

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IX: Songs of Searing Desert Storms

Some people can change their character like their dresses, some can never

do they remain faithful for principles born with them real, genetics true.

I am the one...

Whose passion is stronger than her mind.

Her priorities must persist even if she can't apply.

She cannot lie and change colors.

She can't bend when things seem unjust.

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X: Sylva's Serenade dative Eyes

Singing is part of our daily life. These collections of poems are for

world singers, songwriters and musicians who contributed in our life

to make us happy by singing their songs, and for those who enchanted

our straggling life and continue to enchant.

Charles Aznavour: You Sang 'She' I will sing 'He'

He is the man I can't forget the genes that I carry without regret.

He never left treasures what he worked for. Gone with the wind...

He left His smile, endlessly gracing my fiery hart.

He was a saint 'Unnamed'.

When I was young I never knew

His Hearted-Mind so wonderful, so kind.

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XI: "My Son-My Sun": Chants Ann, Obama's Mother

Poetic story of a man no-one expected him to become president specially

the white people. Although he has half-black genes, he worked and achieved.

Obama betrayed the Armenians...Like every president did, except President Woodrow Wilson (1856-1924)

Who said here is Armenia...Now is named Anatolia...Western Armenia

from page 112

Shakespeare*, Playwright and Prophet of

The Armenian Genocide

"Shakespeare the god of plays;

I heartily call him to place his play

better than calling a God, who can no longer

tolerate to hear each wounded sound"

I wish Shakespeare saw these massacres from the rear,

A catalyst, perhaps, for him to perform plays for his peers;

Then all Anglo-Saxons would intellectually hark,

Declaring, "Genocide was real in heaven's park!"

Proof, left alone so long, needed our injured pens.

As all creatures declined to utter even a respectful phrase.

Skills paralyzed . . . unable even

To collect the innocent's smashed skulls

Those who ended their lethargic heart-beats

By pounding their feet soundless . . . on

The cultured Istanbul's pavements . . .

Sighing under their artful bridges

A place alleged to be civilized!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

XII: Syndromes of Souls...Search In Your Soul