He that hes no geir to tine, hes shins to pine.
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Tu nu vei afla
Tu, cea pe care o iubesc cel mai mult dintre toate fetele din lumea asta mizerabila,
cea pentru care simt ceea ce nu am simtit niciodata pentru nimeni
tu nu ma iubesti pe mine, tu nu te gandesti la mine, si nu iti pasa de mine,
asa cum mie imi pasa de tine, asa cum eu te iubesc pe tine.
Inca te mai gasesc, dar nu pot sa te mai ating, sau sa te sarut.
Nu mai pot nici macar sa te iubesc in secret
cum o faceam inainte sa fim impreuna
nu mai am voie, pentru ca spre deosebire de atunci
acum, tu nu mai vrei ca eu sa te iubesc
sa te pretuiesc
sa-ti trimit mesaje
tu nu mai ai nevoie sa ma auzi rostind
acele cuvinte care pentru tine sunt atat de greu de rostit, sau simtit.
Tu nu crezi ca as fi putut
dar eu inca vreau
sa-mi ucid visele pentru tine,
sa plec oriunde, pentru a ramane cu tine
sa ard in iad pentru inca un sarut
acel sarut, care pentru tine nu mai inseamna nimic.
As vrea sa iti mai spun toate aceste lucruri,
dar o sa incerc sa nu o fac
sa nu fiu si mai ridicol in ochii tai (verzi) .
poem by Serban Raducu Bogdan
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It Tastes Like Sugar
Black beans and white beans,
Pine, vine, dine, fine, cine, nine, mine, wine, sine, tine;
But it tastes like sugar!
So don't eat much to run your stomach,
For the confidential reign is all about your hidden love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Nu si eu
Pasesti afara din viata mea, intr-un loc al tau, unde eu nu te pot urma, nu pentru ca nu as vrea
dar pentru ca tu nu vrei ca eu sa te urmez.
Cred ca ti-e frica, de iubire
sa nu te raneasca din nou,
dar a mea nu e ca a lor,
iubirea mea nu va decide niciodata, ca s-a saturat de tine,
si nici eu, si orice ar crede lumea despre mine,
orice ai crede tu despre mine
nu as fi ales alt pat, in care sa dorm
daca altcineva in afara de tine s-ar afla in el.
Daca ai stii, cat de multe lucruri,
as fi facut pentru tine, cat de mult..
poate atunci ai fi ales sa stai.
poem by Serban Raducu Bogdan
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Blue Magic
The blues of love with the blue magic,
And like a better sleep in the room of your lover;
But let the realities of love bath you all day long.
Mine, dine, line, nine, fine, tine, vine, cine, sine, pine, wine;
And like the bed of roses that you slept on last night!
But the ideal care of your muse is all that you need beside your lover.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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He that is far from his geir, is near his skaith.
Little sayd is soon mended, and a little geir is soon spended.
Qhuen thieves reckons, leal men comes to their geir.
He that spends his geir on a whore, hes both shame and skaith.
Passion (Counterfeit Suicide Note Written Once Only)
In the integers of dark
Morning, I live & pine
For your return,
My bloodstained tongue
A cheek away from insanity.
Mobster movies are on.
Their guns do nothing but
Make the victims slowly slump;
That isn't right. When I shoot people
In the dead of night,
They fly backwards,
Scraping pavement, then halt all of the sudden.
I have not come alone:
I have this; I have that.
You have to be mine again
Or you will be forced to.
'Antisocial Behavior Disorder'
Is what he said I represent,
So I shoved the table onto his shins,
Hearing them crack
To my delight.
But like Cagney lit ablaze in White Heat
I will now shoot myself between the teeth-
poem by Stan Petrovich
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He that takes all his geir fra himself, and gives it to his bairns, it were weil ward to take a mell and knock out his hairns.
Mulligan's Shanty
Things is just the same as ever
On the outer Never-Never,
And you look to find the stock of liquor scanty,
But we found things worse than ordin'ry,
And in fact a bit extraordin'ry
When myself and Bill the Pinker struck the shanty.
'Shanty,' says you. 'What shanty?'
Why, Mulligan's shanty.
I says 'Whisky'; Bill says 'Brandy';
But there wasn't either handy,
For the boss was out of liquor in that line.
'Well, I'll try a rum,' says Billy.
'Got no rum,' he answers, chilly,
'But I'll recommend a decent drop o' tine.'
'Tine?' says Bill; 'what tine?'
'Why, turpentine!'
'Blow me blue!' says Bill the Pinker,
'Can't yer give us a deep-sinker?
Ain't you got a cask o' beer behind the screen?'
Bill was getting pretty cranky,
But there wasn't any swanky.
Says the landlord, 'Why not have a drop o' sene?'
'Sene?' says Bill; 'what sene?'
'Why, kerosene!'
Well, we wouldn't spend a tanner,
But the boss's pleasant manner
All our cursing couldn't easily demolish.
Says he, 'Strike me perpendic'lar
But you beggars are partic'lar,
Why, the squatter in the parlor's drinking polish!'
'Polish?' says Bill, 'what polish?'
'Why, furniture-polish!'
poem by William Thomas Goodge
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Lone Pine
Lone Pine! Lone Pine! Our hearts are numbly aching
For those who come no more,
Our boys who sleep the sleep that knows no waking,
Besides the Dardan’s shore.
Through all the years, with glory sad and sombre,
Their names will deathless shine;
No bugle call can wake them from their slumber:
Lone Pine! Lone Pine!
They did not quail, they did not pause or ponder,
They counted not the odds;
The order came, the foe were waiting yonder,
The rest was with the gods.
Forth from their trenches at the signal leaping,
They charged the Turkish line,
And death charged too, a royal harvest reaping,
Lone Pine! Lone Pine!
Nought could withstand that onrush, backward
driven,
The foemen broke and fled.
poem by Edward Harrington
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Cuvinte
Sunt doar un baietel slabanog, ce inca se gandeste la fata ce l-a facut sa planga.
Imi amintesc cum atunci, in mintea ta ma aparai de cuvintele jignitoare
ale celor ce ti-au ramas prieteni,
acum cand eu nu-ti mai sunt.
Pana la urma, cred ca aveau dreptate
ca sunt prea urat pentru tine,
dar nu a fost doar atat
sunt mult mai multe lucruri
ce te fac sa te indoiesti, de iubirea mea
care infinita cat era ea
a venit prea tarziu in viata ta.
Ma indoiesc ca as fi putut face ceva mai mult pentru noi doi.
Eu nu am aur, asa cum au altii
si nu pot sa te fac regina.
In mintea mea esti doar o biata eroina, o corabie ce paraseste grabita
insula pe care a naufragiat in urma cu aproape sapte luni
intr-o noapte, cand era prea intuneric pentru stele
si de frica, te-ai lasat pacalita de sarutul meu sfios.
Eu am ramas aici, oare nu ma vezi?
Si de ce a trebuit sa-l iei si pe Vineri cu tine, nu am si eu dreptul la un prieten?
Am inceput sa scriu din ce in ce mai mult,
pentru ca am multe lucruri sa-ti spun,
dar nu o fac pentru tine, nu-ti face grija
o fac pentru mine, pentru ca vreau sa te ingrop
sub miliarde de cuvinte
si sa ma ingrop si eu, odata cu tine,
intr-o lume unde si eu sunt eroul tau, iar tu, ei bine sper ca macar acolo, in lumea mea sa ma iubesti, daca aici nu mai poti.
poem by Serban Raducu Bogdan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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