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    collecting )Poems


    Работа/Хоббистихи ру

    Сообщение   в 1st Август 2012, 05:17


    how much of the smoke of my cigarette will go to the atmosphere
    to mix with the rain to fall on the earth on the ugly people
    moving like ants and among them beautiful people
    like pearls in the grass from the necklace of the enchanted queen
    motionless on her throne. who will save the queen
    do the long and monotonous job
    of collecting the pearls

    17 дек 2011

    her photo...

    Последний раз редактировалось: Neformal (1st Октябрь 2015, 01:57), всего редактировалось 4 раз(а) (Обоснование : theme description)

    Работа/Хоббистихи ру

    Сообщение   в 1st Август 2012, 05:18

    по дороге на работу

    you're here to break my brain, my soul you stole
    i'm here to draw your silhouette on a stone wall
    harder than bone, vaguer than shade of a summer gone
    so rare a thing is love, one in a million

    апр 2011

    Работа/Хоббистихи ру

    Сообщение   в 1st Август 2012, 05:20

    по дороге на работу 2
    What's the use of a spring coming for a frozen heart
    No dawn or apple tree blooming can make it hot
    Driving like in a slumber, I've become so numb
    Watching fields carefully brushed with a rare tooth comb
    Is it a sleepless night, is it a mermaid's tong cut
    Is it something in life that I haven't been properly taught
    Radio catching and losing a quiet tune
    Uselessly - I'm immune

    31 мая 2011

    Работа/Хоббистихи ру

    Сообщение   в 8th Сентябрь 2012, 21:42

    he could never be my man

    recurrent patterns is what he likes to draw
    i wonder if he has where to grow
    his life has passed wanting for more
    he is colder now than he's been before

    when i tell him my thoughts
    he agreeably nods
    his soul has been lost forever in words
    when he smokes in the kitchen his cheap cigarette
    i know he is safe he could be no threat

    safe as sex with condom on
    i don't want him and he's gone
    he could never be my man
    and i can tease him all again

    Работа/Хоббистихи ру

    Сообщение   в 8th Сентябрь 2012, 21:44

    поезд симферополь-пермь

    The road home is long but it surely lies ahead
    But what could be more homely than your pillow and your bed
    Looking at a blond girl tuning her earphones FM
    I recite to myself my poems to remind me of who I am
    The road is a mystery that science can't yet explain
    It's two things incompatible of going there and back again
    I wish that it were raining - it would be a relief
    If only you were here - but there is no if
    Among so many faces its yours I want to see
    I remember two people kissing, the grey stones and the sea
    They thought their love was magic, but can they make it true
    It's two things incompatible of leaving and loving you

    Работа/Хоббистихи ру

    Сообщение   в 21st Июль 2013, 12:46

    monte cristo

    I love you is like our hymn, our prayer to the lord of lies
    to keep us together.
    Soon, by the fifth moon, he will set us apart.
    Fast and smooth, like a knight on a chessboard,
    you will move to your new experience.
    I consider your absence
    a growing void, a pressure inside tearing my bolts lose.
    I love you and then silence,
    for a weekend eternity, a city of space.
    The lilac beneath your window never flowers,
    it's a twilight ghost in my memory,
    as are all the subconscious ties
    which we both ignore when sober,
    kissing our separate kids.

    you're my treasure island
    after 32 years of prison.

    Работа/Хоббистихи ру

    Сообщение   в 21st Июль 2013, 12:47

    Dear Jonathan,
    I'm roasting myself in the Crimean sun.
    I'm half life through, my body
    a white petal whithering quicker than memory
    of changing lovers like gloves:
    rubber, lace, biker, leather, various.
    I'm taking the roasting process serious,
    turning from back to belly,
    recording their touch on me.
    And when they put their gloves away,
    they all feel the same but of different colours,
    like palms on a white wall in our factory.
    My soul as I hope will become like this eventually:
    a cool pale surface spotted with handprints of loves.


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