fubenfelejtettkék vásznunkat csillagok díszítikfubenfelejtett5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
hasához szorítja a várost az est
odalent minden neontűzben ég
(odalent minden falhideg)
nem szólsz, de beszél a szemed
mezítláb állsz a mohában
talpad alatt félhomály van
s mindent szenvedélyesen megvetőn
megszívod a cigarettádat
szobáról szobára órákon át --
mondd, hogy mi nem így tűnünk el
mi olyanok vagyunk, mint
vonaton felejtett fényképek
vagy rozsdás csillagok
messze mindenkitől és halhatatlanok
és a két krétaszínkék szemed
az az örökké
The Station of a PoetThe Station of a Poet9 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
The station of a poet is one that connects the mind of man with the mind of god into a fluid consciousness. This unity is one that helps the world grow and thrive, amidst all of the heartache, oppression, and depression that can be seen today.
We are the vanguard that continually, in every age and sector, force the envelope that makes people think, debate, and dig into their psyche. Take John Donne, as a prime example: in the fourteen lines of Death, be not Proud, the poet creates both a well of hope, and a clearer understanding of the ideas regarding death, the afterlife, and mortal fear of that death.
But poets and poetry dig further beneath the skin; we, a rather eccentric lot, reach for the curtain that separates man and god and attempt if not to rip it away, then to unveil for a glimpse. Most poets will no doubt understand that the supreme powers we define as god are in fact, scarcely definable, and in most cases difficult if not impossible to articulate in any human tongue. There
:.Heart.::.Heart.:4 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
Írta: Szabó Enikõ
Olyan büszke vagyok rá, pedig hét éve még azt sem tudták megmondani, valaha ki tudja e nyitni a szemét. Az ágyhoz lett kötve hosszú hónapokra, mi mellé, hallgatva a gépek monoton és rémisztõ hangját. Az elsõ hetekben még nem tudtam megkülönböztetni a kintrõl beszûrödõ esõcseppek táncát édesanyám csendes zokogásától. Összefolytak, mintha a városra zúduló áradat az égbõl mind anyutól eredne, és amíg õ nem hagyja abba, addig az esõ is képtelen rá.
Az én hibám volt. Az enyém, hogy a világ legártatlanabb angyala élettelenül, csövek és gépek közzé lett számûzve. A baleset óta nem szólt hozzám senki, mintha levegõ
Hiding the PainYou look in the mirrorHiding the Pain4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Can't stand what you see.
In your eyes you see the hate
That you've buried conveniently.
You've wiped away the tears too long
It's all breaking you inside.
Your past remedies have failed you before
So what will you do this time?
You could cut it away
Starve for three days
Take another pill
To see if you feel it still.
Numb the pain
So you will feel nothing
And more and more
You hate what you're becoming.
You take a deep breath
As you take a step outside,
Believing people can only see
The faults you try to hide.
You know that you've been here before
Looking over the same ledge.
In the past you've let it break you
Now what will save you from the edge?
You could slash it away
Don't eat for four days
You could swallow some more pills
To see if you feel it still.
Numb the hurt
Until you feel nothing.
But more and more
You hate who you're becoming.
You know that you've
Lost your control.
Will you just watch
As it's taking its toll?
You look in the mirror
Tell me a story"Tell me a story."Tell me a story5 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
"Yes, a story. You still know what that is?"
"You don't have to be that aggressive."
"I'm sorry. So, can you tell me one please?"
"Once upon a time "
"Heard that already too much. Be original."
"Maybe in the past, maybe in the future, or maybe it's happening now, there was a beautiful girl."
"Wait.. You won't tell a cliché story, will you?"
"Don't worry, I won't."
"Ok, that's good. I'm so sick of clichés."
"There was a beautiful girl. But on the inside, she was the most ugly, bad, cruel person ever been."
"Ok, ok, that is not a good story. I don't like it."
"But you didn't hear it yet. How can you know you don't like it?"
"I don't like the beginning. And when I don't like the beginning, I don't like the story."
"Just listen a little bit longer, then you can say if you like it or not."
"Don't make it too boring."
So, there was that girl. Her name was Rosanne. She never had felt love in her life, because all she knew was jealousy, ha
ScaredI'm scaredScared10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Of you, and they way I feel.
The way I become,
Whenever you are around.
Scared to lose you, and scared to have you.
Scared because I don't
Know what I want from you.
Scared because I do know,
Exactly what I want and who I am.
Yet, scared because it might
Not harmonize with what you want,
Who you are.
Scared of what you'll think,
Whenever you realize my words
Are about you, and only for you.
Scared of your words.
Taking MattersMy uneasy heart weighed heavyTaking Matters5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
beneath my porcelain ribs, as
the flutter grew more and more forceful.
Pushing outward against it's cage,
the casing around it not strong enough
to contain, I could feel my heart
bursting from my chest.
I've had enough of the world
and being told that I'll never be anything.
My passion and my desire
are far too great to be held down
by the condescending words of others.
So I took matters in my own hands
and stopped depending on others,
knowing that in this world you can only
depend on one thing, yourself.