PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

All my life I have been

The get up and go type

Now I am just sitting here

And waiting to become ripe

I just sit here and wait

For anything, but it never happens

I go to school and come home

And to the paper I put the pens

At one time I came out with beautiful

Pieces of art. But all that is moot

Because I’m mentally instable

And now I come out with soot

Or that’s what I am told

Because what was once great

Now may as well be

A piece of hard slate

~Chrystal

Written on

January 7, 2011 

When childhood comes back again

Through the window of your fast life train,

Just before train will reach final stop,

Open window and let childhood hop,

Into cabin where loneliness dwells,

As your only companion on rails.

Let your childhood take you by hand,

Trusting you as you've trusted your dad.

Take a journey together back to the past

Into times where hours could last,

Into times where the days were so long,

Into innocent times where nothing was wrong.

When childhood comes back your way

Don't push it away, let it stay, let it play.

Let it share its secrets and dreams

While its head to your head softly leans.

Let it be your true loyal friend,

Let it stay in your life to the end.

The Yellow Star of Jewish Ghetto

Deep into my skin is set to

Six million weeping yellow stars

Are in my heart as painful scars



They radiate such burning light

Like sun, which rose amidst the Night

The Night of Death, the Night of Sin

The Night of Crimes against my kin



Yet through the covers of that Night

These yellow stars did shine so bright

With cry, which spreads through Universe,

Six million voices strong eternal curse



To beasts, with swastika on sleeves

To killers, torturers and thieves

Who brought such Shame on Human Race

Which no one ever will erase



Six million weeping yellow stars

Are in my heart as painful scars

I want the World to feel my pain

For Jewish lives being lost in vain

You asked for my forgiveness - no problem, I could give you that ...
I doubt though it will ever make You feel as you expect - quite glad.
Let You consider me as being insensitive and bad,
As much as I forgave, I never shall forget !

You asked to stick around - sure Dear, I indeed may stay,
But hardly You will find that this will make your day.
Let You consider me being cold and causing pain,
There is nothing You could do to make me love again.

The feeling's gone and can not be revived by will.
Love resurrection is impossible, my Friend, so simply let's be real.
Betrayal is the wound, which no witch could heal.
When Love is crucified it stays forever killed.

She suddenly explodes and I can feel the heat

of her glowing rage on my body.

I flee from her wrath as darkness reveals itself,

like a prisoner escaping into the night.



Now that night is the day,

shock fades into sorrow,

like the sudden death of a loved one,

and my head spins with burning questions.



How could this happen?

Did I see this coming?

How can this be fixed?

How long will the healing take?



What once was paradise, now lost,

as she unleashed a toxic poison on the surface

and greater perils below the surface,

as the tainted seaweed cried out in despair.



The images of a barren beach where families once played,

now home to seabirds covered in black,

and their wings thrashing upon the sand,

fueling my perception of loneliness and loss.



The door of hope is always open,

However, deception and secrets made me a traitor to all.

My fears and beliefs will

test the reality of a recovery.

Do you love or just want to be loved ?
Is for you "to be loved" good enough ?
Should you settle your life just with that,
How it feels during times, spent in bed ?

If lovemaking just comes as technique,
Not requiring for both hearts to click,
If the *skills* are well tuned and adjusted, being tried,
Then before you are ready to fall into sleep, satisfied,

Do you dare to say: "I do too !" to the guy ?
Does he really know it is just a lie ?
Was he able sometimes to cut through
And reply with the pain: "It's not true!" ?

My English translation of A. S. Pushkin's "The Night", which he wrote in 1823
=====================================
In silence of the late dark night, which is disturbed by passion's sweet surrender,

My voice of verse runs fluidly to you like melody: soft, gentle, tender.

The words of poetry - they fly in babble of my song, merged with excitement candor.

Full with my love stream goes on - to you from me: by you enchanted sender.

Sad candle burns placed at my bed - its sparks of flame your lovely image render.

In darkness of the room I see your eyes - they shine with splendor.

And suddenly being in the magic spell I hear sound of your voice:

"My gentle friend, my gentle friend, love you, I am yours, I am yours!"

-----------

"НОЧЬ", 1823

Мой голос для тебя и ласковый и томный

Тревожит позднeе молчанье ночи темной.

Близ ложа моего печальная свеча

Горит; мои стихи, сливаясь и журча,

Текут, ручьи любви; текут полны тобою.

Во тьме твои глаза блистают предо мною,

Мне улыбаются — и звуки слышу я:

Мой друг, мой нежный друг... люблю... твоя...твоя!..

There's a poet inevery man

There's two words that will always rhyme

Like the rocks molded by water

Soon will be mountains of esper.



There's a poet in every heart

You can't buy it in any mart

It's the experience that will cast

Words and lines that will surely last.



there's a poet in all the minds

For there's wisdom even in blinds

There's knowledge in every person

And all things have its own reason.



There's a poet hiding in you

For you have brains, and talents too.

Learn through experience and mistakes

Learn how to love  and how to hate.

I'm coming to grips with the truth
I have failed to keep up with past youth
The time has come for me to say good bye to love ...
Of which unfortunately no-one gets enough
These cruel laws, which are set by cruel time
So well secured, that no loving crime
Could perpetrate time drawn killing line
Beyond which only memories are left for me to chime
Being slowly touched under the winds of sad and lone resign ....
Those memories will never get erased
Without those my winter days of life would be the total waste