Poezia

[Pitbull]

Deci, uite, Maro Dragä.
Aicea e de tine!
(Dincolo, pui numai ce-ai comis tu însusi! )

[illotempore2002]

va place Dr. Seuss? Dar Tim Burton?

Ce-ati zice de o poezie despre viata, pentru copii? Haideti, ca nu e grea, chiar daca e lungutza!

Oh, the Places You'll Go!

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You're off to Great Places!
You're off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You're on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who'll decide where to go.

You'll look up and down streets. Look 'em over with care.
About some you will say, "I don't choose to go there."
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
you're too smart to go down any not-so-good street.

And you may not find any
you'll want to go down.
In that case, of course,
you'll head straight out of town.

It's opener there
in the wide open air.

Out there things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and footsy as you.

And when things start to happen,
don't worry. Don't stew.
Just go right along.
You'll start happening too.

OH!
THE PLACES YOU'LL GO!

You'll be on your way up!
You'll be seeing great sights!
You'll join the high fliers
who soar to high heights.

You won't lag behind, because you'll have the speed.
You'll pass the whole gang and you'll soon take the lead.
Wherever you fly, you'll be the best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Except when you don' t
Because, sometimes, you won't.

I'm sorry to say so
but, sadly, it's true
and Hang-ups
can happen to you.

You can get all hung up
in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on.
You'll be left in a Lurch.

You'll come down from the Lurch
with an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then,
that you'll be in a Slump.

And when you're in a Slump,
you're not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself
is not easily done.

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they're darked.
A place you could sprain both you elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?

And IF you go in, should you turn left or right...
or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?
Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
Simple it's not, I'm afraid you will find,
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.

You can get so confused
that you'll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place...

...for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a sting of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

NO!
That's not for you!

Somehow you'll escape
all that waiting and staying.
You'll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing.

With banner flip-flapping,
once more you'll ride high!
Ready for anything under the sky.
Ready because you're that kind of a guy!

Oh, the places you'll go! There is fun to be done!
There are points to be scored. there are games to be won.
And the magical things you can do with that ball
will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame! You'll be famous as famous can be,
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

Except when they don't.
Because, sometimes, they won't.

I'm afraid that some times
you'll play lonely games too.
Games you can't win
'cause you'll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something
you'll be quite a lot.

And when you're alone, there's a very good chance
you'll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
that can scare you so much you won't want to go on.

But on you will go
though the weather be foul
On you will go
though your enemies prowl
On you will go
though the Hakken-Kraks howl
Onward up many
a frightening creek,
though your arms may get sore
and your sneakers may leak.

On and on you will hike
and I know you'll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.

You'll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know.
You'll get mixed up
with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life's
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3 / 4 percent guaranteed.)

KID, YOU'LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!

So...
be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O'Shea,
you're off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So...get on your way!

---Dr. Seuss

[Picasa2]

mutat aci de nu-mai-stiu-unde pentru ca deranja un numai-stiu-ce-neica-nimeni. de unde se trage concluzia ca poeziile sunt cel putin la fel de daunatoare ca bombele antipersonal, drept dovada marea de "mutilati".

Illo - Poate ar fi fost mai indicata o poezie in limba sa materna, spaniola. cu toate ca bantuit si prin America, cica tipul a fost incapabil sa invete engleza. nu-l condamn.

de pe un site de poezie am ales asta.


Deseo


Sólo tu corazón caliente,
Y nada más.

Mi paraÃ*so, un campo
Sin ruiseñor
Ni liras,
Con un rÃ*o discreto
Y una fuentecilla.

Sin la espuela del viento
Sobre la fronda,
Ni la estrella que quiere
Ser hoja.

Una enorme luz
Que fuera
Luciérnaga
De otra,
En un campo de
Miradas rotas.

Un reposo claro
Y allÃ* nuestros besos,
Lunares sonoros
Del eco,
Se abrirÃ*an muy lejos.

Y tu corazón caliente,
Nada más.

(Federico Garcia-Lorca )

[Picasa2]

Omar Khayam - poetul pentru care a trebuit sa cumpar 11 neinteresante carti pentru ajunge sa-i citesc Rubayatele. a meritat.


Autoportret



Un om prin lume trece. El nu e musulman.
Nici infidel nu este. Nu crede-n legi ºi zei.
Nu neagã, nu afirmã. Dar vezi în ochii sãi
Cã nimenea nu este mai trist ºi mai uman.


Nu mi-am fãcut vreodatã din rugi ºirag de perle
Ca sã-mi ascund noianul pãcatelor cu ele.
Nu ºtiu dacã existã o Milã sau Dreptate,
Dar totuºi nu mi-e teamã: curat am fost în toate.


Mã dojeniþi cã veºnic sunt beat. Ei bine, sunt!
Necredincios mã faceþi. ªi ce dacã-i aºa?
Puteþi orice sã spuneþi pe socoteala mea.
Îmi aparþin. Pricepeþi? ªi sunt ceea ce sunt!


Avui vestiþi maeºtri. Fãcusem mari progrese.
Cînd mi-amintesc savantul ce-am fost, azi îl compar
Cu apa ce ia forma impusã de pahar
ªi fumu-n care vîntul nãluci ciudate þese.


Cu-o mînã þin Coranul ºi cupa cu cealaltã.
Sunt cînd de partea legii, cînd muºc din fruct oprit.
Aºa mã ºtie zilnic cupola cea înaltã:
Nici infidel cu totul, nici musulman smerit.


Virtuþile sã-mi numeri doar una câte una.
Pãcatele îmi iartã cu sutele, cu mia.
Nici vântul nu-þi aþâþe, nici aerul mânia.
Tu ºtii: curat ºi sincer am fost întotdeauna.


Cãtat-am horoscopul în a iubirii carte,
ªi-un înþelept strigat-a: „A fericirii parte
Aceasta este: - o fatã ca luna argintie
ªi-o noapte care þine un an cât o vecie".


Nu pot sã fac deosebire între capcanã ºi momealã.
Un sfat mã-mpinge spre moscheie, iar altu-mi umple cupa goalã.
ªi totuºi vinul ºi cu mine ºi draga-n ceasuri de iubire,
Mai bine fripþi într-o tavernã decât cruzi într-o mãnãstire.


(Omar Khayam)
http://www.aol.ro/2000/01/galerie/kayyam.htm

[yssis]

una dintre preferatele mele

Asleep! O sleep a little while, white pearl!


ASLEEP! O sleep a little while, white pearl!
And let me kneel, and let me pray to thee,
And let me call Heaven’s blessing on thine eyes,
And let me breathe into the happy air,
That doth enfold and touch thee all about, 5
Vows of my slavery, my giving up,
My sudden adoration, my great love!

john keats

[yssis]

si as mai vrea sa adaug fapul ca sunt intru totul de acord cu acest topic pt poezie...chiar era nevoie de unul p aici

[Picasa2]

Singurãtatea omului



Sã-þi faci puþini prieteni. Din tine nu ieºi.
Cãci prea des falsitatea credinþa ne-o înfrânge.
Când þi se-ntinde-o mânã, 'nainte de-a o strânge,
Gândeºte-te cã poate te va lovi-ntr-o zi.


Sã nu-þi dezvãlui taina din suflet celor rãi.
Nãdejdile, - ascunse sã-þi stea de lumea toatã.
În zâmbet sã te ferici de toþi semenii tãi,
Nebunilor nu spune durerea niciodatã.


O, tânãr fãrã prieteni mai vechi de douã zile,
Nu te-ngriji de Cerul cu-naltele-i feºtile!
Puþinul sã-þi ajungã, ºi zãvorât în tine,
Tãcut contemplã jocul umanelor destine.



Pe cei curaþi la suflet ºi luminaþi la minte
Neîncetat sã-i cauþi. ªi fugi de tonþi ºi rãi.
Dacã-þi va da otravã un înþelept, s-o bei -
ªi-aruncã antidotul, un prost de þi-l întinde.


Renume de-ai sã capeþi, hulit vei fi de vulg.
Dar dacã te vei þine departe de mulþime,
Uneltitor te-or crede. Cum, Doamne, sã mã smulg,
Sã nu mã ºtie nimeni ºi sã nu ºtiu de nime?


Mai toarnã-mi vinul roºu ca un obraz de fatã.
Curatul sânge scoate-l din gâturi de ulcioare.
Cãci, în afara cupe-i, Khayyām azi nu mai are
Mãcar un singur prieten cu inima curatã.


Cel care are pâine de astãzi pânã mâine
ªi-un strop de apã rece în ciobul sãu frumos,
De ce-ar sluji pe-un altul ce-i este mai prejos?
De ce sã fie sclavul unui egal cu sine?


Când zãrile din suflet ni-s singura avere,
Pãstreazã-le în tainã, ascundele-n tãcere.
Atât timp cât þi-s limpezi ºi vãz, ºi-auz, ºi grai -
Nici ochi ºi nici ureche, nici limbã sã nu ai.


Nu ºtie nimeni taina ascunsã sus sau jos.
ªi nici un ochi nu vede dincolo de cortinã.
Strãini suntem oriunde. Ni-i casa în þãrânã.
Bea - ºi terminã-odatã cu vorbe de prisos!


Târzii acum mi-s anii. lubirea pentru tine
Mi-a pus în mânã cupa cu degetele-i fine.
Tu mi-ai ucis cãinþa ºi mintea îngereºte.
-Dar timpul, fãrã milã - ºi roza desfrunzeºte…


Puþinã apã ºi puþinã pâine
ªi ochii tãi în umbra parfumatã.
N-a fost sultan mai fericit vreodatã
ªi nici un cerºetor mai trist ca mine


Atâta duioºie la început. De ce?
Atâtea dulci alinturi ºi-atâtea farmece
În ochi, în glas, în gesturi - apoi. De ce? ªi-acum
De ce sunt toate urã ºi lacrimã ºi fum?


Bãtrân sunt, dar iubirea m-a prins iar în capcanã.
Acum buzele tale îmi sunt ºi vin ºi canã.
Mi-ai umilit mândria ºi biata raþiune,
Mi-ai sfâºiat vestmântul cusut de-nþelepciune.


Tu vezi doar aparenþe. Un vãl ascunde firea.
Tu ºtii de mult aceasta. Dar inima, firava,
Tot vrea sã mai iubeascã. Cãci ni s-a dat iubirea
Aºa cum unor plante le-a dat Allah otrava.


(Omar Khayam)

[yssis]

alta poezie ce imi place:

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
2
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
3
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

john keats

[Pauline Kael]

alta poezie ce imi place:

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
2
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
3
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

john keats

Daca aveti traducerea in romana,e perfect

[yssis]

nu am traducerea...dar voi pune si poezi in romana

[Pauline Kael]

nu am traducerea...dar voi pune si poezi in romana

Keats,va rog Ador poeziile englezesti,nici alea frantuzesti nu-s mai prejos.Daca ar fi dupa mine ar trebui sa punem aici carti intregi,chiar e o idee,daca am voie sa pun un link cu cartile mele electronice sa descarcati...E legal??
Cine are curaj de un Emil Brumaru sau Miron Radu Paraschivescu.

[nibo]

eu, Pauline...
...si Brumaru, si Paraschivescu !

[Pauline Kael]

eu, Pauline...
...si Brumaru, si Paraschivescu !

Baga mare,frumosule/frumoaso...
Dar eu ma refeream la poeziile acelea licentioase,obscene,explicite... :oops: :oops: :oops:
Bineinteles ca au si poezii...decente,dar insipide.Glumesc.

[nibo]

se pare ca ne-am inteles ca-n ...tren !
eu asteptam de la tine...

[yssis]

Intr- noapte,
m-am trezit privind cerul,
Cineva aprinsese luminile stelelor,
in candelabrele unui templu.
Eram singura
si sub pasi mei
dalele de marmura starneau ecoul.

Patrunsesem fara sa stiu,
intr-un palat cu coloane nevazute.
Atunci m-a cuprins teama
si am strigat:Unde sunt?
si mi s-a raspuns:In lume!


(RASARIT-MARIANA DRAGAN IONITA)

[redmen]

CANTEC MISOGIN
(Celestialei Porcutza Satannici)


Toate femeile`s putori,
Se fut in cur si sug la pule
Si`apoi pasesc asa fudule,
Parca plutind cu capu`n nori.

Au izuri iuti la subsuori
Si`n par parfum de campanule,
Si cand vorbesc soptit fac bule
Cu "Te iubesc in veci.Te`ador".

De`aceea noi,curtenitori,
Le mirosim la craci si nu le
Jignim in pizde cu`n cotor
De morcov,nici cu barabule,

Ci le bagam incetisor
Cozi de ciocan,stoiuri de mule,
Sau sceptrul vreunui domnitor,
Pan` ce`atipesc,moi si satule...


P.S. Ghiciti autorul !

[Pauline Kael]

Brumaru.P-asta n-o stiam.Mor de ras.

[EgOisM]

hey...adaug si eu un poem kre mi s-a parut bunicel...

Soldati copii

Se aud mishcari de trupe in noaptea lichida
Unde cel mai mic zgomot e`n stare sa ucida

Viata ascude un copil jucandu`se cu moartea
Crescut fortat pentru a deveni soldat
Pentru a fi impushcat, uitat, abandonat, neonorat.

Nefericitul s-a nascut combatant luptator
In razboiu-n care, nimeni nu-i invingator.

Numaratoarea inversa se apropie de zero
Si sub zero grade Celsius se ascud ganduri
Negre de la Nero.

Copilaria distrusa de tancuri-jucarii
Se reconstruieste castel de nisip
In memoria soldatilor-copii.

Vor razbuna...
Cei care le`au omorat in bataie zanele
Si le`au lipit pe arme mainile,
Naruinde-le sperantele si spulberandu-le visele.

Mishcarile de trupe ale noptii lichide
Se sting usor, ramanand neclintite
Armele lipite, pe corpurile deja de mult timp adormite.

In noaptea cea mare, durerea nu moare,
Caci moartea doare doar pentru cei ce raman in picioare.
Razbunarea-i la randul ei mare,
Caci strigatul mortii in noapte tresare.

astfel, tacerea noptii dispare
Mihai Jitianu,Soldati copii

[silver_boy]

ÃŽntrebare

Adanca-i noaptea, orele profunde...
Gemand, spre raftul cartilor mã-ndrum
si-ntreb în soapta fiece volum:
-Tu esti? Si cartea fuge si se-ascunde.

Plangand, intreb portretul ei acum:
-Tu esti? Si nici iubita nu-mi raspunde.
Imi umplu cupa-n vin sã mã scufunde,
intreb: -Tu esti? Si cupa piere-n fum.

Si-ntreb si spada mea: -Tu esti? Si tace.
Si, cum mã prabusesc în jilt, infrant,
din zid o umbra alba se desface...

Mã-ntorc spre ea cu sange în cuvant
si-n ochii lui Iisus e numai pace.
Intreb: -Tu esti? Si umbra spune: -Sant.

(Radu Gyr)

[silver_boy]

pt tamara & dragomara


Elogiul candorii

Stiu sa intreb
Despre miei, despre flori.
Odata-ntr-o padure
Am sarutat un izvor.

Stiu ce uimita-i
Culoarea albastra.
Am o gradina
Si o fereastra.

Mai am si o carte
Foarte subtire
In care nu-ncape
Decat o iubire.

Pot sa-mi iau locul
Langa tine, pe stea ?

- Da, spuse printul
Esti prietena mea.


(Nina Cassian)