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Ejiro Jan 21
When put into the chains of captivity
their freedom is diminished
their songs are crushed into dust
we’re only the wind can pick up their pleads
lost to the sight of nature
for what is life without flight
their wings are reduced to shadows
not a single breeze to stir their feathers
no sky to lift them up their feet
so they only cuddle up together side by side
never to stretch out to the wild
the ones who capture the birds
force them to sing a tune of obedience
but the birds decline
in a heavy cost they keep their mouths shut 
the bars between them are meant to seem safe
according to the capturers
but in the eyes of the birds they view it as prison
without information about time or place
they keep their beaks low to the ground
knowing that they are more than musicians
with their melodies growing bitter
despair is the only thing humming out their mouths
Melanie Jan 19
I communicate through songs and poems,
gestures and strings and keys and underlines
fewer words, rather melodies to follow
articulating my thoughts
better than I ever could
silvervi Jan 17
I'm just gonna-gonna do my best
**** the rest
I'm just gonna-gonna do my best
**** the rest
I'm just gonna-gonna do my best
**** the rest
I'm just gonna-gonna do my best
**** the rest...
A little song that came to my mind spontaneously today. It has a funny and quick melody. Encouraging and motivating ;)
silvervi Jan 14
Feelings of loneliness coming to tears
I disappear, you disappear

Feelings of loneliness coming to tears
I disappear, you disappear

Feelings of loneliness coming to tears
I disappear, you disappear...
A song I sang suddenly today.
anonymous Dec 2024
"feel the rush of my blood
i'm seventeen again
i am not scared of death
i've got dreams again
it's just me and the curve of the valley
and there is meaning on earth, I am happy"
(...)
"a minute from home but I feel so far from it"
(...)
"the death of my dog, the stretch of my skin
it's all washin' over me, I'm angry again"
(...)
"the things that I lost here, the people I knew
they got me surrounded for a mile or two"

- the view between villages by noah kahan
fun fact i have never been seventeen but i change the lyric to 'i'm seven years again'
also 10/10 WOULD RECOMMEND LISTENING THIS SONG MAKES ME CRY EVERY TIME AND I FEEL SO ALIVE AND THE GRADUAL CRESCENDO AND THE SILENCE AT THE END AND EVERYTHING IS JUST ASDHGFASDJ masterpiece
A poem,
Is a little story,
You write on little paper.
Sometimes it rhymes,
Sometimes it doesn't.

A poem,
Is a song,
That the singer was too hurt to sing aloud.
Sometimes it's mortal and sad,
Sometimes it's the irony of walking out of a flood thirsty.

A poem,
Is a prayer,
One that the author begs you to hear.
Sometimes it will save your soul,
Sometimes it will save another's.

A poem,
Is a gift,
So you should treat it as one.
Sometimes you will receive one,
Sometimes you won't.

A poem,
Is a curse,
So be warry if you steal one.
Sometimes it will come back to bite you,
Sometimes it will just leave you fearing the possibility it would.

A poem,
Is a poet,
And those who are poets, are poetry.
Sometimes they strive for fame,
Sometimes they leave their work in random places under random names.

A poem,
Is a call in the night,
That echoes into the ears of those who are hurting.
Sometimes it heals them,
Sometimes it guides them to healing.

A poem,
Is optional,
But those who read them won't regret.
Sometimes we can't bear to read poems,
Sometimes we can only bear to read poems.
A little longer, but it's hard to capture beauty in few words. Hope you enjoy!
The writer of songs wishes to compose for his lover yet to come,
he asks the night if she will come as a floret in the wind
to caress him as a candle’s light, the lyrical harmony of
his beloved is clearer than the shower of the spheres
upon the deep violet petals, he rests into slumber
as a dreamlike vision appears of her hands softer
than velvet in motion upon the strings of the mandolin,
the gazes of him and her rivet as the one, gentle hymn of their souls,
he harrowly arouses then walks to his thistly rose garden, revelation
arrives to him so he returns home to begin the inking of the symbols
on the music sheet papers, through his symphonies, he
resolves to tell the endless fables of love and tragedy.
Hebert Logerie Nov 2024
Es ist sonnig
Es regnet, es donnert
Es ist Herbst
Vom Aufwachen bis zum Schlafen.
Die Blätter sind trocken und passiv
Und die toten und inaktiven Blumen
Später liegt Schnee
Die Nachbarn des Gasthauses
Sehen das vorbeiziehende Reh
Den ganzen heiligen Tag
Und den ganzen Abend
Wir spüren, wie sich die Nerven verändern
Zur Begrüßung der neuen Saison
Wo wir noch weit von der Ernte entfernt sind.

Man hört es schon von weitem
Der Wind, der im Heu summt
Vibrationen sind nicht monoton
Denn die Kolibris der Hügel
Machen ihre spektakuläre Präsenz spürbar
Und die Dichter beschreiben mit
Imaginären Gärten alles, was passiert
In dem Land, in dem die Massen
Gefühllos und ignorant bleiben
Und wo korrupte gewählte Beamte prahlen.
Es ist sonnig
Es regnet, es donnert
Es ist Herbst
Vom Aufwachen bis zum Schlafen.

P.S. Übersetzung von „The Ancient Canticles Of Autumn“.

Copyright © November 2024, Hébert Logerie, Alle Rechte vorbehalten
Hébert Logerie ist Autor mehrerer Gedichtbände.
Hebert Logerie Nov 2024
Il fait du soleil
Il pleut, il tonne
C’est l’automne
Du réveil au sommeil.
Les feuilles sont sèches et passives
Et les fleurs mortes et inactives
Plus ****, c’est la neige
Les voisins de l’auberge
Voient passer les cerfs
Toute la sainte journée
Et pendant toute la soirée
On sent changer les nerfs
Pour accueillir la nouvelle saison
Où l’on est **** de la moisson.

On peut entendre de très ****
Le vent qui fredonne dans les foins
Les vibrations ne sont pas monotones
Puisque les colibris des mornes
Font sentir leur présence spectaculaire
Et les poètes aux jardins imaginaires
Décrivent tout ce qui se passe
Dans la contrée où la masse
Demeure insensible et ignorante
Et où les élus corrompus se vantent.
Il fait du soleil
Il pleut, il tonne
C’est l’automne
Du réveil au sommeil.

P.S. Traduction de ‘ The Ancient Canticles Of Autumn’.

Copyright © Novembre 2024, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés
Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de plusieurs livres de poésie.
Hebert Logerie Nov 2024
It is sunny
It is raining, it is thundering
It is autumn
From waking up to sleeping.
The leaves are dry and passive
And the flowers are dead and inactive
Later, it is snowing
The neighbors of the inn
See the deer pass by
All the holy day long
And during the whole evening
We feel the change of the nerves
To welcome the new season
Where we are far from the harvest.

We can hear from very far away
The wind humming in the hay
The vibrations are not monotonous
Since the hummingbirds of the hills
Make their spectacular presence felt
And the poets in the imaginary gardens
Describe everything that happens
In the country where the mass
Remains insensitive, benighted and glaikit
And where the elected corruptors boast.
It is sunny
It is raining, it is thundering
It is autumn
From waking up to sleeping.

P.S. Translation Of ‘Les Cantiques Antiques De L’Automne’.

Copyright © November 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
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