Be there a picnic for the devil,
an orgy for the satyr,
and a wedding for the bride.
Stichwörter: devil poetry poem roman bride weddings satyrs payne roman-payne picnic
Going down in history is a dead end pursuit
Benny BellamacinaStichwörter: motivational wisdom life inspirational poetry history belief humour psychology poem fame poetry-poet
The birthing wolf,
Her heart fed with tenderness,
Gave forth from ripe brown nipples,
Food to feed the universe.
Stichwörter: satire poem birth satirical wolf roman payne roman-payne hope-and-despair
Knock! knock!
who's there?
me!
me who?
that's right?
what's right?
meehoo!
that's what I want to know!
what's what you want to know?
me who?
yes, exactly!
exactly what?
yes, I have exactlywatt on a chain!
exactly what on a chain?
yes!
yes what?
no, exactlywatt!
that's what I want to know!
I told you-exactlywatt!
exactly what?
yes!
yes what?
yes it's with me.
what's with you?
exactlywatt-that's what with me.
me who?
yes!
go away!
knock knock...
Stichwörter: poem
أنت سفري المفاجئ
ورحلتي التي لم أحجز فيها مكانا
وطريقي غير المعبد
والأزقة الضيقة التي يجهلها السواح
وتقود إلى الدهشة
أنت مشوار حجري
مشيته حافية الأقدام
وبحر مشاكس
ركبته رغم تحذير الأعلام
وكتاب عشقي مزور
كتبته أنت.. ووقعته انا
اذا كنت ذا رأي فكن ذا عزيمه .. فان فساد الرأي ترددا
عائض القرنيStichwörter: poem
I heard of a man
who says words so beautifully
that if he only speaks their name
women give themselves to him.
If I am dumb beside your body
while silence blossoms like tumors on our lips
it is because I hear a man climb stairs
and clear his throat outside our door.
Stichwörter: love poetry loss poem filhos-da-neve
على وجهي الاصفر .. خريفٍ طال ..
وسلال من رذاذ وملح ..
وفي صدري حجارة نسيوها بحاره ..
مروا علي فـ يوم ..
وقالوا تعال معنا .. وما كان يجمعنا ..
إلا الضياع والريح ..
راجع من الايام .. من الاحلام ..
ومن الف سناره .. مغروسة بقلبي ..
لقيت لي بشارة .. ما اغلى عطا ربي ..
أثر العمر ساره .. وموج البحر ساره ..
وكل المدى ساره ..
سافرت كل العمر .. وراجع احب سارة ..
I've tried
to become someone else for a while,
only to discover that he, too, was me.
Stichwörter: poetry identity self poem
Funeral Blues
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Stichwörter: love poetry loss death mourning poem grief
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