En.Citatepedia^®.ro

My strange dream; A Mudlark sings on an Eucalyptus tree in Victoria!

The Magpie like bird sang something
But still I remember this 'Ivan Rebroff' and the rest faded, .
And I referred Wikipedia, the free Encyclopedia!
Ivan Rebroff a German singer
Allegedly of Russian Ancestry
He was born in Berlin,31, July,1931
As Hans-Rolf Rippert.
He became a citizen of Greece
And lived on the Greek Island of Skopelos in the Soprades.
He died as a Bachelor on February 27,2008 in Frankfurt, Germany.

* I received a call from my daughter in Australia and after finishing few pages of Chekhov's short-story straight away jumped to bed, and still I am wondering of this dream!

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Ivan, What Happened To Your Smile?

What happened to your smile?
Ivan, [that`s how I would like to call you]
Tell, where is your smile that bloomed on your face?
Ivan, I am afraid your smile has faded for ever.

In the midst of deafening roars and maddening songs,
Ivan, your smile had a musical charm over a season.
Your smile could be seen from places miles away,
Ivan, it had an aroma that winds would proudly carry.

I used to think about others who had solid faces,
Ivan, your face was an exception to all theirs.
The frost and the flame of my winter and summer
Ivan, you see, played hide and seek often; but your smile did not.

Retrieve your smile please for I need to see it
Ivan, your smile speaks volumes about what you are indeed.
In the midst of these homosapians I search for my face
Though I had lost my smile long before you were born Ivan.

poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Vanguard [1]

While the crippled cruisers stagger where the blind horizon dips,
And the ocean ooze is rising round the sunken battle-ships,
While the battered wrecks, unnoticed, with their mangled crews drift past—
Let me fire one gun for Russia, though that gun should be the last.
’Tis a struggle of the Ages, and the White Man’s star is dim,
There is little jubilation, for the game has got too grim;
But though Russia’s hope seems shattered, and the Russian star seems set,
It may mean the Dawn for Russia—and my hope’s in IVAN yet!

Let the Jingo in his blindness cant and cackle as he will;
But across the path from Asia run the Russian trenches still!
And the sahib in his rickshaw may loll back and smoke at ease,
While the haggard, ragged heroes man the battered batteries.

’Tis the first round of the struggle of the East against the West,
Of the fearful war of races—for the White Man could not rest.
Hold them, IVAN! staggering bravely underneath your gloomy sky;
Hold them, IVAN! we shall want you pretty badly by-and-bye!

Fighting for the Indian empire, when the British pay their debt;
Never Britain watched for BLUCHER as he’ll watch for IVAN yet!
It means all to young Australia—it means life or death to us,
For the vanguard of the White Man is the vanguard of the Russ!

poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Born Berlin 1931, Germany, father a British diplomat, mother an American artist. Educated at various schools all over the world. 1958 Settled down to live in London. 1966 Became interested in photography through photographing my young children. No formal training.

quote by Fay Godwin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

German Virile E-Coli Misdiagnosed

Ground breaking earth shaking Germany has done it again
first Germany introduced German measles then Adolf Hitler
now German E-Coli to rock reshape an entire watching globe
German crack researchers health experts could not even tell
this was a virile new E-Coli strain a hybrid of two old strains
or a rare highly toxic strain of E-Coli bacteria misdiagnosed?

Germany blamed Spanish cucumbers could not even identify
new strain next German experts will claim a carrot for radical
new research its E-Coli source German beans German beans
let us not forget Germany wanted Greece to sell their Acropolis
or rent it out to pay off EEC debt then cucumbers Spanish growth
time Germany sold trade peace compass plus Brandenburg gate

The disease Rubella, is also known as German measles, because it was first described by German physicians, in the mid-eighteenth century.

poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Have pity on those who love each other and are separated

Mom you suffered nine months and rest of the life until you died.
I continue and almost fifty eight years now.
On my birthday..........greetings and gifts come along from Australia and Sri Lanka.
My eldest daughter Tharindu and Son-in-law Kelum write,
Wish you a healthy & wealthy life and may your dreams come true!
The youngest daughter Thilini and Son-in-law Chinthaka insists
We could not ask a better friend than you.
Yes of course, my loved ones we are born friends.
It's our fault we broke our own peaceful nest and scattered into different parts.
But the links are much stronger than earlier in the chain.
I drew a World Map in my complicated mind.
I brought Australia to Canada and sent her to Australia
And my tiny precious island Sri Lanka pushed towards Hawaii
And sent Hawaii into the Indian Ocean.
But still it's too far to touch.
Oh! My beloved wife hugs as usual
You are a Sun in my winter Igloo
And a full Moon in the mysterious summer hut.
I kept a piece of cake for my missing son 'Marco'
from my beloved's home made delicious chocolate cake.
My grand son Siluna being a taller day by day
And I dream he becomes a Captain one day
Who steers well in the Ocean of life his seaworthy Vessel.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

ghosts of memory (Lyrics)

A place of rest I've tried to find
Aching in my heart, chaos in my mind
This place is poison to my soul
Can't take much more, I'm losing control

Faded perfume in a room
Once a sanctuary, now simply a tomb
And it is in this tomb I lie
Dried flowers pressed in pages of faded romance died

And I'm haunted by ghosts of memory
Taunted by promises
What could have been?
Haunted, by ghosts of memory
Taunted by promises
Please set me free

Roses blooming in hellfire
Prisoner of the past and my heart's dark desire
Phantom love that still holds on
My dreams do not remember, that you are gone

Just like the melting snow in spring
It couldn't last, that's true of many things
In the emerald sea I'll lie
Dried flowers pressed in pages of faded romance died

poem by Satan's Sibling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Ivan Ivan

Did you ever find out who planted those apples
Those apples dancing gravity falling out of the carriage
Hitting ground behind the horses
Shiny red apples like eyeballs of knowledge
Eat eat the breakfast of your life
Their drumming beat
Against your heart

Ivan Ivan
A child of revenge
Ever plunged within the moonlit lake you shattered with a pebble
When moonlight hit your eyes like thunder weeping silence
Just a drip dropp drip dropp drip dropp across your heart
Water weapon armored pain
In an ambush against the enemy
Who was the enemy Ivan

Ivan Ivan
You crossed the moonlight to water walk stars
Earthly dresses shattered naked you stood
Where naked all of us at one point will stand
Like a truth naked hidden by heart shed in the light
Laughter swelled boy in innocence encroaching lands
Spring your soul afar spring your heart in pain
History foretold freedom redeemed
Its drumming beat the wings of your flight

Inspired by Ivan's Childhood, a Tarkowsky film

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

In days of doubt, in days of dreary musings on my country's fate, you alone are my comfort and support, oh great, powerful, righteous, and free Russian language!

quote by Ivan Turgenev
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Did you?

Did you see the thoughts of my heart,
When tired, exausted, nearly frustrated,
Yet strong, with the head towards the stars,
I was working for your low rating?
Did you hear the whisper of your soul,
Ashamed, weak from lies and the fraud?
They both had thought you
were bolder,
They both were sure you were better brought,
But they were mistaken and upset:
Your better ego seems to be now dead.
Ivan Petryshyn Chicago Poetry SPJ

poem by Ivan Petryshyn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

If my theory of relativity proves to be correct, Germany will claim me a German, and France will claim me a citizen of the world. However, if it proves wrong, France will say I'm a German, and Germany will say that I'm a Jew.

quote by Albert Einstein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

The Bird

A wounded bird stripped of flight
Upon the ground hopped and sang
A call to help a despairing plea
‘Oh please let belief bring a saviour to me’
It sang so beautifully and so sweet
While cradling its broken wing
The eyes which darted saw so much
To know and behold a world so vast
Then she came as though from nowhere
A girl with the tender touch to heal
Softly she took into her hands
And nursed so gently while she sang
‘Singer of beauty fly once more
Do not cry nor feel afraid
It is the belief you call out to
Which brought my heart to you’
Into a cage the bird was placed
And ate, sang then rested safe
The wing did heal so to fly again
She opened wide the cage
To see the bird fly away into the sky
She smiled and said goodbye
Some things are to be kept
Others are only meant to fly

poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The March of Ivan

Are you coming, Ivan, coming?—Ah, the ways are long and slow,
In the vast land that we know not—and we never sought to know.
We are watching through the daybreak, when the anxious night is done,
For the dots upon the skyline—black against the rising sun;
We are watching through the morning haze, and waiting through the night,
For the long, dark, distant columns that proclaim the Muscovite!
Are you coming, Ivan, coming? (Oh! the world is growing gray
With the terror of the future and the madness of to-day!)
Are you marching, Ivan—forward? (Oh! the world is dark’ning fast,
For the crimes of greater nations ’gainst the small ones in the past.)
Yours, in part, to make atonement, so remember what you are!
Ivan! Sing!—“The Slav is coming! On for Russia and the Czar!”

Ivan’s Song

“Yes, I’m coming, Ivan, coming—I am marching out again
On the weary roads of Russia, past the forest, marsh and plain;
Past the field and past the village, in the shine and in the rain—
By the cart-rut and the grass-track and the jolting cattle-train.
(And, maybe, some gleam of glory penetrates my sluggish brain)
I am marching out for Russia, and for Europe and for you—
But, maybe, I’m mainly marching just because they told me to.

“I have marched to many frontiers, in the pregnant days gone by,
When they told us where to march to, but they did not tell us why.
And they showed us whom to fight with, and they told us where to die.
I have seen our grey battalions to their Heaven—or Hades—hurled—
’Twas enough it was for Russia!—what cared we about the world?

“Did one moan of Ivan’s mother penetrate to other lands?
Did one prayer of Ivan’s father—with his old and knotted hands?
Did one sob from Ivan’s sweetheart, or one cry from Ivan’s wife?
Or a wail from Ivan’s children, for the loss of Ivan’s life?
Marching with the Wolf of Hunger—marching with the Bear of Strength!
We have marched for many winters—but the end is near at length!

“’Tis a long, long march from Plevna, when the Bear went to his den.
It is far from the Crimea; Oh! you did not want us then!
From the shambles of Port Arthur, ’twas a weary way and slow—
And our track was always dotted with the black dots on the snow.
By black dots and crimson splashes you may trace poor Ivan’s track—
And I think that Ivan’s banner should be red, and white and black.

“Ne’er was Present-blinded tyrant who learnt wisdom from the Past,
And there’s one forgot the errand that brought Ivan this way last!
‘To the frontier, and no further’ seemed our motto and our vow,
Since we marched from burning Moscow—but we’re marching further now!
Neighbour’s burning house—or city!—they are easy to forget;
But we lit a light for Europe that shall be rekindled yet!

“Never song of Ivan’s valour, or of ‘Russia’s Flag Unfurled!’
Or the Iron Cross of Russia, penetrates the Outer World.
Ye! who civilise and peddle, ye who hesitate and lag,
Never heard the Russian March and never saw the Russian flag!
You have called on us to save you, never saying why, or how,
But the samovar is boiling! and you’ll hear and see us now.

“From our garrets and our cellars—from the little all we had—
Where the winter brings the sleigh-bells to the streets of Petrograd;
From our huts and from our hutches—from wherever we may be—
From our goat’s-flesh and our mare’s milk and our black unsweetened tea,
From the silence of Siberia, and the strange, snow-deadened streets—
From the blazing banks of Jordan, where we dip our winding-sheets.
From our black bread and our vodka—asking naught, and undismayed—
From our never-empty cradles!—we are coming to your aid.

“Oh, we leave no bands behind us, blaring tunes of Tyranny,
And we wave no swords above us, yelling songs of Liberty;
And no blatant voice of ruler, as we tramp through dry and wet,
Blares: ‘Remember You are Russians!’—we’re not likely to forget.
There are some who have forgotten—merely men, like you and me—
And one object of our marching is to jog their memory.

“You shall hear us, you shall see us—save the dead and deaf and blind—
While the armour of our winter hardens thick and fast behind.
We are marching, we are coming, and we are not on the sea—
You shall see us on the furthest frontier of our enemy!
And while you fix up your frontiers, and remember what you are,
We shall march with Peace for Europe!—back to Russia and the Czar.”

poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A stray Parrot recites the Greek Alphabet

'Alpha, Beta...........&..................sigma...! '
Early in the morning I heard these strange words.
And I saw a Parrot rests on my next door neighbor's olive tree.
'Kali Mera Mastura! , Sorry that means good morning.' Parrot whispered.
'Where are you coming from? ' I asked.
Straight away flew from Greece the country introduced Civilization first.'
I said; 'I like Greece and Nikos.Kazantsakis and his book Zorba the Greek.'
'Oh! Master if you know Nikos.Kazantsakis then you know all about Greece.'
The Parrot imitates the Zorba's dance and I lived in Greece for a while.
How strange the autumnal dreams?

To my poet friend Duncan

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Leapin' Lizards or How to Get the Most Out Your Geico (so easy a caveman can do it)

Hans Kurt Kubus,58, had a 'thing' for lizards.
This German knows his insurance policies,
- and he is no Neanderthal man who likes gizzards.
Kubus, No, not the video game cubis, attached 44 lizards to his body,
He attempted to smuggle them out of New Zealand, Scott free.
Hans had the geckos and skinks within his underwear,
I don't why men put things in there underwear,
I cannot believe they don't care.
Hans did not attempt to light his britches on fire.
As the Muslim terrorist tried to do as he and others flew to Detroit,
The situation was, at the time, dire.
But Hans was caught, he was not as smart as a caveman,
A caveman in New Zealend.
Hans was arrested and sentenced to two weeks in prison and fined $3,450
-before he was deported back to Germany.
Hans Kurt Kubus might try an asp or viper next time around,
-he will probably take pass.
Hans Kurt Kubus is not as smart as New Zealand caveman, -he is a real dumb a$$.

1-31-10

poem by Joe Rosochacki
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Grey Wolves Grey

The Russian march is soft and slow,
Through dust and heat, or slush and snow,
When the Russian skies hang grey and low
To the frontiers far where the Russians go;
And they march to-night and they march to-day
Like the grey wolves grey, like the grey wolves grey.
Nor song nor sound their track reveals,
Save the ceaseless “clock” of the waggon wheels;
But a rift in the mist shows a glint of sun
On the long, dark shape of a toiling gun;
And they strain by night and they drag by day
To a distant goal, like the grey wolves grey.

As the horses toil at the ends of trains,
And the ends of roads on the Blacksoil Plains.
And Ivan digs in the frozen clay,
And he rolls the logs a bed to lay
For a gun that’s five hundred miles away,
But as sure to come as the grey wolves grey.

He is marching on with a purpose grand,
For brother Slav in another land;
Whose tongue, perchance, he cannot understand.—
But he knows the cry from the far-away,
And he smells the blood like the grey wolves grey.

And Ivan’s wife in her den at home,
While hunger looms and his lean wolves come—
With her grey-black bread like the Darling mud,
And her tea-bricks bound with the bullock’s blood—
She shields her cubs by night and day
Like the crouching sluts of the grey wolves grey.

And I march with Ivan where’er he be,
With the foreign blood that is strong in me,
And the love and the hate that is fantasy,
Like the ghosts of a father’s memory.
With the blood that is strange to us to-day
As the strange wild blood of the grey wolves grey.
Grey wolves,
Grey wolves—
The strange wild blood of the grey wolves grey.

poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Faded Pages

Recently I started retyping
a manuscript of short stories
I had written twenty years ago.
The pages were faded;
too much time being opened to the sun.
As I typed, I smiled
at the things I had written
and the dialogue I had created.
The stories are about a cat
and looking at the world
through his eyes and thoughts.
I had even created him a language
that I had to write a glossary
at the back of the book to explain
what some of the phrases meant.
There is a vast array of characters
and most have a funny turn.
I also remember what prompted me
to write the stories long ago.
My original intention was to write
one story and one story only,
but a friend of mine at the time
persuaded me to write another and another.
Before long, a volume was finished
with enough stories to start another.
From a one off story I have written over sixty now
about the cat and all his friends.
Now as I flick through these faded pages,
which I haven’t read in years,
I find myself being reunited
with many long lost friends.

26 January 2009

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

My Young Brother Sang A Song

it is quite
a discovery
i a mode of hearsay
that allegedly
when my father almost died
being bitten by
his own white horse
my younger brother
who was then
so young
sang a song and sang it well
with all his friends
who were drinking
beer.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Momma do you remember

Momma do you remember the day I was born

late in December when winter

takes away the warm

Momma do you remember

Momma do you remember

Momma do you remember when I was in my teens

with long curly hair

and bell bottom jeans

Momma do you remember

Momma do you remember

Momma it wasn't long ago

you where working in your yard

planting fresh flowers

you use to work so hard

now you can't make your flowers grow

OH no Oh no

Momma do you remember

Momma do you remember the day I was wed

let no man put asunder

is what the preacher said

Momma do you remember

Momma do you remember

Momma do you remember my one and only son

born one day after your birthday

that's when his life begun

Momma do you remember

Momma do you remember

Momma do you remember, Me?

I wrote this about a year before my Mom died of Alzheimer's

wondering I guess what might jog her memory when she forgot me

thinking if I reminded her of important things in my life that are considered mile stones of my life.

My Mom passed in July 2011 not knowing me.

© 2012 Marcus Goodman

poem by Marcus Goodman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Perfect as the wing of a bird may be, it will never enable the bird to fly if unsupported by the air. Facts are the air of science. Without them a man of science can never rise.

quote by Ivan Pavlov
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

I don't think my sense of humor has changed at all; I was born with this, for better or for worse.

quote by Ivan Reitman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!