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The Stolen Child, William Butler Yeats
Just ... wow. This gave me chills.
Just ... wow. This gave me chills.
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Football poetry^^
Found in "smile-lyrik" (dtv). All in German, though.
( Fritz Eckenga: Niederschrift der Aussage Zinedine Zidanes vor dem Disziplinarausschuss des Weltfußball verbandes FIFA bzgl. seiner Tätlichkeit gegen Marco Materazzi im Endspiel um die Fußballmeisterschaft 2006 zwischen Italien und Frankreich (5:3 i.E.) )
( Tanja Dückers: petrus denkt nicht an uns (Spielerfrauen) )
( Fritz Eckenga: Niederschrift der Aussage Zinedine Zidanes vor dem Disziplinarausschuss des Weltfußball verbandes FIFA bzgl. seiner Tätlichkeit gegen Marco Materazzi im Endspiel um die Fußballmeisterschaft 2006 zwischen Italien und Frankreich (5:3 i.E.) )
( Tanja Dückers: petrus denkt nicht an uns (Spielerfrauen) )
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Dezembernote, Ron Winkler
ich beschreibe die Tage als Schneegefühl
auf den Lippen. das macht nichts, sagst du,
oder wenig: wenn ich einschneien würde
in einem unendlichen Buch,
bliebe die Welt trotzdem vorhanden.
als Sommer womöglich.
auf den Lippen. das macht nichts, sagst du,
oder wenig: wenn ich einschneien würde
in einem unendlichen Buch,
bliebe die Welt trotzdem vorhanden.
als Sommer womöglich.
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Philip Larkin - Take One Home for the Kiddies
On shallow straw, in shadeless glass,
Huddled by empty bowls, they sleep:
No dark, no dam, no earth, no grass -
Mam, get us one of them to keep.
Living toys are something novel,
But it soon wears off somehow.
Fetch the shoebox, fetch the shovel -
Mam, we're playing funerals now.
(This is more or less a test entry, but I think I need to use my DW journal more often. After LJ's latest tinhattery, it seems more and more tempting. Also, it's kinda comfy.)
Huddled by empty bowls, they sleep:
No dark, no dam, no earth, no grass -
Mam, get us one of them to keep.
Living toys are something novel,
But it soon wears off somehow.
Fetch the shoebox, fetch the shovel -
Mam, we're playing funerals now.
(This is more or less a test entry, but I think I need to use my DW journal more often. After LJ's latest tinhattery, it seems more and more tempting. Also, it's kinda comfy.)
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The Old Astronomer to his Pupil, by Sarah Williams
( I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night. )
I just LOVE this poem and I'm usually not much of a poetry person. I guess not a small reason is the topic (astronomy! <3). Embrace your inner science geek, I say.
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The Stolen Child, William Butler Yeats (1889)
Have some fairy poetry!
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Sehnsucht
Es schienen so golden die Sterne,
Am Fenster ich einsam stand
Und hörte aus weiter Ferne
Ein Posthorn im stillen Land.
Das Herz mir im Leib entbrennte,
Da hab ich mir heimlich gedacht:
Ach, wer da mitreisen könnte
In der prächtigen Sommernacht!
Zwei junge Gesellen gingen
VorĂĽber am Bergeshang,
Ich hörte im Wandern sie singen
Die stille Gegend entlang:
Von schwindelnden FelsenschlĂĽften,
Wo die Wälder rauschen so sacht,
Von Quellen, die von den KlĂĽften
Sich stĂĽrzen in die Waldesnacht.
Sie sangen von Marmorbildern,
Von Gärten, die überm Gestein
In dämmernden Lauben verwildern,
Palästen im Mondenschein,
Wo die Mädchen am Fenster lauschen,
Wann der Lauten Klang erwacht
Und die Brunnen verschlafen rauschen
In der prächtigen Sommersnacht. -
Joseph Freiherr von Eichendorff
Am Fenster ich einsam stand
Und hörte aus weiter Ferne
Ein Posthorn im stillen Land.
Das Herz mir im Leib entbrennte,
Da hab ich mir heimlich gedacht:
Ach, wer da mitreisen könnte
In der prächtigen Sommernacht!
Zwei junge Gesellen gingen
VorĂĽber am Bergeshang,
Ich hörte im Wandern sie singen
Die stille Gegend entlang:
Von schwindelnden FelsenschlĂĽften,
Wo die Wälder rauschen so sacht,
Von Quellen, die von den KlĂĽften
Sich stĂĽrzen in die Waldesnacht.
Sie sangen von Marmorbildern,
Von Gärten, die überm Gestein
In dämmernden Lauben verwildern,
Palästen im Mondenschein,
Wo die Mädchen am Fenster lauschen,
Wann der Lauten Klang erwacht
Und die Brunnen verschlafen rauschen
In der prächtigen Sommersnacht. -
Joseph Freiherr von Eichendorff
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Because it's poetry month.
Or something like that. At least ![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
louphoenix told me so. *looks questioningly over to her* And because I stumbled over this while looking for something entirely different on Google. (Unfortunately, the poem is only in German. :/)
Found on e-Stories.org which seems to be a site for amateur writers - which makes it all the more impressing, because I quite like what I've seen there so far.
louphoenix told me so. *looks questioningly over to her* And because I stumbled over this while looking for something entirely different on Google. (Unfortunately, the poem is only in German. :/)Found on e-Stories.org which seems to be a site for amateur writers - which makes it all the more impressing, because I quite like what I've seen there so far.
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Merry Christmas...
... or whatever else you might be celebrating today and over the following days. :)
And as a little bonus: here's an original "Nightmare Before Christmas" poem that I recently found. If you like the movie, then you'll probably find it just as lovely as I did, and if you don't know the movie... then you should watch it! ;)
And as a little bonus: here's an original "Nightmare Before Christmas" poem that I recently found. If you like the movie, then you'll probably find it just as lovely as I did, and if you don't know the movie... then you should watch it! ;)
PS: Ganz besonders liebe GrĂĽĂźe an meine Lieblingsspinner aus der Suite! *kuschelt alle einmal fest durch* Frohes Fest euch allen!
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“Oh, yes, this totally be the verse,’ said the youngest Winchester eagerly.
Funny how reading great SPN crack!fic can make you develop an interest for snarky poetry:
This Be The Verse
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.
The genius' name who wrote this: Philip Larkin, and more of his wonderfully cynic and pessimistic stuff can be found here.
This Be The Verse
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.
The genius' name who wrote this: Philip Larkin, and more of his wonderfully cynic and pessimistic stuff can be found here.