Too lazy to be ambitious,
I let the world take care of itself.
Ten days' worth of rice in my bag;
a bundle of twigs by the fireplace.
Why chatter about delusion and enlightenment?
Listening to the night rain on my roof,
I sit comfortably, with both legs stretched out.
Stichwörter: poetry buddhism philosophy zen poem philosophers japan buddhist poems japanese hermit monk ryokan seers zen-monk
قلبي في المساء
عندما يأتي المساء تسمع صيحات الخفافيش.
حصانان أسودان مقيدان في المرعى،
القيقب الأحمر يحدث حفيفاً،
الشخص الذي يمشي على طول الطريق يرى أمامه حانة
صغيرة.
البندق والخمر الجديدة لهما طعم لذيذ،
لذيذ: ترنح السكران في الغابة الداجية.
أجراس القرية، مؤلم سماعها، يتردد صداها عبر أغصان
التنوب السوداء،
ندىً يتشكل على الوجه
Grodek
في المساء غابة الخريف ملآى بأصوات
أسلحة الموت، الحقول الذهبية
والبحيرات الزرقاء، عبر الشمس المظلمة
التي تغرب، الليل يجمع فيه
مجندون يحتضرون، الحيوانات تصرخ
بأفواهها المنفجرة.
حتى الغيمة حمراء، حيث الله غاضب،
الدم المراق نفسه وصل إلى بيته، بصمت
يحشد، رباطة جأش مارس في قيعان الصفصاف،
كل الطرقات تمتد إلى القبر الأسود.
تحت الأغصان الذهبية في الليل والنجوم
أخت الظلال تترنح عبر الأيكة المنكمشة،
لتحيي أرواح الأبطال، برؤوسهم المدماة،
ومن القصب أصوات مزامير الخريف الكئيبة تعلو.
أيتها المصيبة الأبية! مذبحك البرونزي،
شعلة الروح الملتهبة لقمت اليوم بالمزيد من،
أحفاد مقبلون
Stichwörter: poem goerg-trakl
Oh, Death was never enemy of ours!
We laughed at him, we leagued with him, old chum.
No soldier's paid to kick against His powers.
We laughed, — knowing that better men would come,
And greater wars: when each proud fighter brags
He wars on Death, for lives; not men, for flags.
Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is;
Me it sucked first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be;
Thou know’st that this cannot be said
A sin, or shame, or loss of maidenhead,
Yet this enjoys before it woo,
And pampered swells with one blood made of two,
And this, alas, is more than we would do.
Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, nay more than married are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our mariage bed and mariage temple is;
Though parents grudge, and you, we are met,
And cloisterd in these living walls of jet.
Though use make you apt to kill me,
Let not to that, self-murder added be,
And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.
Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it sucked from thee?
Yet thou triumph’st, and say'st that thou
Find’st not thy self, nor me the weaker now;
’Tis true; then learn how false, fears be:
Just so much honor, when thou yield’st to me,
Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee.
Stichwörter: poem sonnet john-donne songs-and-sonnets the-flea
...my body has become
another country
and I feel like an unemployed
illegal alien
how will I survive
where I do not belong
I belong with you
Stichwörter: change canada poem longing
The dividing line forms-fashioned from:
Dragon's tears
Missed years
Overcome fears
The fire and ice paradox
Seen with True Sight
Darkness does not always equate to evil
Light does not always bring good
Such a small, pure object a poem could be, made of nothing but air a tiny string of letters, maybe small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. But it could blow everybody's head off.
Mary Karran English girl might well believe
that time is how you spend your love.
Stichwörter: love poetry time poem zadie-smith nick-laird the-last-saturday-in-ulster
I will meet you on the nape of your neck one day, on the surface of intention, word becoming act.
We will breathe into each other the high mountain tales, where the snows come from, where the waters begin.”
-In the yellow time of pollen
Stichwörter: poetry poem poet poetry-quotes
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