Shea 3d
"Living life like
Russian roulette with an automatic."

You're gonna leave,
I hate you for that,
But I love you for it too.
I'm gonna miss you,
***..I'll miss you so much.

Until then,
And most likely after,
I'll live life
Like I'm spinning a cylinder
With the Reaper.
Anton Dec 2018
Люди восхитительны
в толпе приятных апельсиновых веснушек
вокруг всех будничных пасмурных тушек
ты найдешь свое сияние

Люди удивительны
от легкой студенческой усталости
до первых волос цвета старости
неповторимы - и неуместны оправдания

Люди неуловимы
проскачешь ты сквозь негу ламп бульвара
к пустой гримасе разрухи и пожара
сотри со щёк гуашь отчаяния

Люди незаменимы
глазея в кристаллический дисплей смартфона
в обнятьях домочадца дорогого
грей светлячков на грýдях близ смеркания

Люди забывчивы
и путь топча обёртку Марса
встречают кратеры романса
покоят цели и мечтания
Arianna Nov 2018
The fairest of Seasons,
Mad with flowers,
Drunk on roses,
Delighting in Green,
In glossy arrays of foliage.

Время года, красивое больше всего,
Как нимфа
Со цветами, бешеное,
На розах, выпившое.
С зелёным наслаждается
В гирляндах листвы.

La plus belle des Saisons,
Comme une nymphe,
Folle de fleurs,
Ivre de roses,
Se réjouissant dans le Vert
En garlandes
De feuilles de feuillage.
Arianna Nov 2018
"Жизнь, самое великое стихотворение из всех."

"Life is the greatest poem of all."
Gotten rusty with Russian, trying to practice again with writing.
Arianna Nov 2018
L'eau tranquille,
Je me perds
Dans l'infinité
Du reflet d'un moment.

Still waters,
I lose myself
In the endlessness
Of a moment reflected.

Спокойная вода,
Я теряюсь в бесконечности
Момента отраженного.
Reading, and a language game. :-)

Recited version:
Peninsula Oct 2018
Late night playing with a fake gun
Pointer finger married to the middle one
Latched to the side of my head
I let out a whisper through my teeth
As clenched as the fist on my chest
I let out a whisper through my lips
They shiver with the thought of death
I'm scared but sometimes I want to do it
I often pick fight with myself
Not knowing which side wants to win
I click one-two and hold my breath
Shake as I ***** all the ***** into the sink
And shake off the ***** and sink to my bed
Jim Davis Oct 2018
Aleksandr Pushkin

The Poet
While still Apollo isn’t demanding
Bard at the sacred sacrifice,
Through troubles of the worldly muddling
He wretchedly and blindly shuffles;
His holly lyre is quite silent;
His soul’s in the sleeping, soft,
And mid the dwarves of the world-giant,
He, perhaps, is the shortest dwarf.

But when a word of ***’s commands,
Touches his ear, always attentive,
It starts – the heart of the Bard native –
As a waked eagle ever starts.
He’s sad in earthly frolics, idle,
Avoids folks’ gossips, always spread,
At feet of the all-peoples’ idol
He does not bend his proud head;
He runs – the wild, severe, stunned,
Full of confusion, full of noise –
To the deserted waters’ shores,
To woods, widespread and humming loud…  

Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, November 13, 2003
Pushkin is not listed under the Classics tab here in HP, thus I am posting this from
Krys Aug 2018
Luck. Luck treads the line between disaster and survival.
A ball loses momentum on a spinning wheel.
It falls into a pocket.
With one sweep, you’re merely a fool.

Surely, the glory can be regained?
Borrow from those you know. Make a new bet.
Borrow from strangers. Make a new bet.
Make deals with the predators.
Point of no return. You thought they wouldn’t hunt you down?
With one sweep, you’re merely a fool.

We’re all fools here.
This is our lesson of repentance.
We romanced misfortune and she loved us enough to grant us omens of disaster.
With no meaning left in our lives, we are shadows. Shadows that want to survive.

Take the gun.  Raise the barrel to the side of your head.
Maybe fortune will pity you.

They say the greatest luck is dying at the right time.
Is this the right hour? Minute? Second?
A ball loses momentum on a spinning wheel.
It falls into a pocket.

Pull the trigger, fool.
Maxim Keyfman Jul 2018
I walk every day like in the desert
I do not know what for
for whom and for what purpose
my existence

I walk every day like in the desert
in search of some answer
in search of some kind of truth
which in fact is not present

I walk every day like in the desert
bright sun beats me
cold of Russian frosts ****
but I'm going and I don't know why

Elizabeth Zenk Jul 2018
This is
the game of
Russian Roulette
Will people like my poem?
Every unloved attempt is a bullet.
You, the reader, are the finger pressing the trigger.
Unfortunately dropping onto my knees and begging
would be aggravating and desperate.
I must learn to accept the lead
the revolver will place
inside my
Will you fire the gun today?
Or will you hold back?
It's up to you.
Next page