Through the darkest hours of the night
and through the dreamers realm I seek,
Far beyond the starry sky
and beyond galaxies I am free.
Through the grimmest memories
and past a seasons air I cannot breathe,
Far beyond this mortal world
in an afterlife we shall meet.
Mots clés friendship love poetry romance faith dark poem poems death-note
I notice you have the assault proof vest -
So it's my fault I guess.
So apparently I didn't say 'no' as loud as my clothes could say 'yes.'
You see I didn't know that my ‘no’ wasn't enough -
I didn't understand that my body became less precious
because certain dresses
make me look hot.
And I guess if I'm wearing the wrong top
then my ‘yes’ is the same as ‘stop.’
And you shouldn't have to, just because I begged you to.
I'm begging you -
Tell me the magic outfit and I'll buy it.
Apparently my ‘no’ wasn't heard,
even when I screamed.
So I need my clothes to be quiet.
Mots clés poetry poem women-s-rights
Imagine what you are writing about. See it and live it. Do not think it up laboriously, as if you were working out mental arithmetic. Just look at it, touch it, smell it, listen to it, turn yourself into it. When you do this, the words look after themselves, like magic.
Ted HughesGle malu voćku poslije kiše:
Puna je kapi pa ih njiše.
I bliješti suncem obasjana,
Čudesna raskoš njenih grana.
Al nek se sunce malko skrije,
Nestane sve te čarolije.
Ona je opet kao prvo,
Obično, jadno, malo drvo.
Mots clés poem poezija croatian hrvatska
Tiho, o tiho govori mi jesen;
Šuštanjem lišća i šapatom kiše.
Al zima srcu govori još tiše.
I kada sniježi, a spušta se tama,
U pahuljama tišina je sama.
Mots clés poem autumn poezija croatian dobriša-cesarić hrvatska jesen
Alkohol ubija... znamo, o znamo,
Znamo da alkohol škodi,
No rakije, rakije, rakije amo,
Jer utjehe nema u vodi.
Mots clés poem poezija croatian hrvatska
Si tu bendita soledad
se funde con la mía
ya no sabré si soy en vos
o vos terminás siéndome.
Sin prevenciones me doy vuelta y siguen
aquellos dos a la izquierda del roble
eternos y escondidos en la lluvia
diciéndose quién sabe qué silencios.
No sé si alguna vez les ha pasado a ustedes
pero cuando la lluvia cae sobre el Botánico
aquí se quedan sólo los fantasmas.
Ustedes pueden irse.
Yo me quedo.
Every poem is a coat of arms. It must be deciphered. How much blood, how many tears in exchange for these axes, these muzzles, these unicorns, these torches, these towers, these martlets, these seedlings of stars and these fields of blue!
Jean CocteauSweetest smile is made saddest tear-drop!
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