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J Lobo Oct 2021
Heady is its scent
this here Bulgarian rose
Dazed men walk drowning
Inspired by a article:
Svetoslav Mar 2021
The waves of the dam
near Ogosta Stadium are raging,
and the opponent of the Glory
is insecure and afraid.

Powerful choruses
the hosts sing
because the moment is coming
for a convincing win.

This is FC Montana.
Club with heart and a century of history,
with ups and downs flooded
always striving for the top and a better change.

With a school springboard for talent,
the only one that is free.
Coaches who believe in children
and in their future glorious successes.
The traditional colors are blue, white and red -
gathering people in a sacred union.

Blue hearts tremble in a fast rhythm,
expecting the match to conquer.
Small and big fans
with songs they strive,
the loyalty for their team to sustain
and give the necessary support.

Every day they long
for the strong emotions,
they share for the future.
This is a poem for my favorite football club and is translated to English language.
Svetoslav Mar 2021
lots of tasty foods
colorful seasons changing
as Black Sea shivers
This haiku poem is for my country ''Bulgaria'' and the City of Montana
Svetoslav Feb 2021
Walls carved into stone.
The godly shapes repulsing
stars further from sky.
Belogradchik Rocks

Rocks with fantastic shapes, objects of legends. They are frequently named after people or objects of which they remind. The rocks vary in color from primarily red to yellow; some of the rocks reach up to 200 m in height.

Syllable Count: 17 ~ lines 5/7/5 ~ 12 words

by Svetli
Gabriel burnS Mar 2020
The first of March,
The day where red and white entangle
In the tradition of Bulgaria
Into a token summoning good health,
And luck, and non-material wealth
To the body and the spirit of the wearer
Be well, my friends, and fellow feathers,
Around the world, from near and far,
May fortune bring you well
1st of March
Amanda Kay Burke Sep 2019
You are a co-worker I will truly miss
So I thought and decided to write you this
Working by your side has always been great
Even on days you clocked in a little late
I am glad your acquaintance I got the chance to know
Have a great life no matter where you go
Have a safe trip back to your own country
Now you'll always have these words to remember me
To my Bulgarian co-worker... today is his last day.
PJ Poesy Mar 2016
There is tale of  Kavala
which tells of hero true
simple man defyingly hopeful
would row the Aegean blue

Did this alone to save Turks
as Bulgars were encroaching
He knew the Greeks on boats
somewhere were approaching

To Thasos he rowed trough night
darkness of waves o'er sea
Only stars be shimmering guide
Long nautical miles to be free

His muscles wore desperate, weak
yet the fisherman pressed bravely on
for love of his wife and family
He gave word, but his heart was gone

By daylight the sailors returned
Man had found friend in Greek Armada
Just in time troops did arrive
and saved the burning of Kavala

Turks rushed from their homes
to embrace with joy, Greek sailors
Yet one woman knew of a man,
the fisherman who did not fail her

And though he had sadly perished
after his long tortuous journey
his family knew of shimmering star
a hero never more so aptly worthy
Though this tale is taken from a war story of long ago, it might be thought of when considering how so many still take to the sea to find freedom.
simona Aug 2014
Розите са червени.
Виолетките сини.

А тя ли?
Тя беше нещо повече
от красива роза.
Тя беше нещо повече
от някаква виолетка.
Щом я докоснеше,
цигарата сама се палеше.
Само като минеше,
момчетата усещаха аромата и.
Черните и дрехи създаваха
внушението на бунтар.
Но знаех, че не бе такава.
А може би беше?
Всички си въобразявахме,
че я познаваме.
Всички мислехме,
че знаем чувствата и.
Но тя самата
не ги бе разбрала.
И как иначе?
Преструваше се
на друг човек.
Всяка секунда и
всяка минута
живееше нечий друг живот.
И единствената причина
защо го правеше,
бе нейният живот.
Не го искаше.
Нито той искаше нея.

Светът е прецакан.
Хората също.
simona Aug 2014
Видях те отвън,
беше с приятелите си.
Тънката цигара
се промушваше
между пръстите ти.
А ти пушеше,
без да осъзнаваш
колко красив си всъщност.
simona Aug 2014
Не исках да чувам плача ти.
Не исках да те виждам тъжен.
Не исках да пия сълзите ти.
Не исках да се давиш в мъка.

Но те чух да плачеш.
Видях те унил.
Избърсах сълзите ти.
И ти простих.

А ти отново пропиля всичко.
Захвърли го на вятъра.

Сълзите ти изчезнаха,
но моите едва сега започваха.

— The End —