"danube" poems
I did not hesitate when I boarded the train,
caught between the salt and German time;
with fingernails yellowed with cigarette grime,
to come to Paris for it's tepid, sweet rain.
Nor I did tremble with with fear and strain,
flexing my pride in Prague with the prime
that only is granted to the young, at nighttime.
I left nothing back by or in home, but I feign--
for crookedly placed by the cold Danube,
I felt a finger of hurt despite my endeavors;
for as water pooled in those iron shoes,
I felt everything that I didn't wish to remember.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
as month July
crossed Avenue T. Vladimirescu
on a bicycle
in Sinaia
Denebola
in a red
cloak cross-legged sitting
over Revolution
was teaching History
to the cherries
Leyla, a midwife from Damietta
refers to the Kepler Laws :
with Fullmoon uncompromising
I do not recognize the midday crossing
of the Sun
its True Heading
the height of the stars
today 07.11.1980
right from within female Danube's womb
I bare
the smile and the eyes
of cupid .
George Vlachos
Translation : Christos Rodoullas Tsiailis
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
I want to live in Europe.
I want to run in the Bavarian Forest.
I want to be left in the English rain.
I want to feel the Russian Frost.
I want to skate in the Alps.
I want to feel the French Luxury.
I want to taste the Belgian Chocolates.
I want to sleep in the European Palaces.
I want to feel the Papacy Monastic.
I want to feel the taste of French Cheese and Scottish Whiskey.
I want to hear the Italian Piano.
I want to read English Poetry.
I want to hear the Spanish legends and don't forget the olive there !
I want to feel the magnificence of the Parisian Events.
I want to swim in the Danube River.
I want to be inspired by the fascinating paintings.
I want to be amazed by the beauty of the churches there.
I want to read about the greatness of the European History from there.
I want to search in The Vatican Stores and Warehouses for answers I was looking for.
I want to dream about reading the books that have been hidden in the Invisible Palace of Books in Berlin.
I want to walk among the shelves of The National Library in London.
I want to go shopping in the streets of Paris and Milan.
I just want to be European,
I want to live in Europe.
- Shilo
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 11:50 AM UTC
new york glasses boy asks questions
in auschwitz: were there americans in concentration camps?
in krakow: are europeans a race?
in budapest: are you okay? why don’t you want people to sing to you?
at dinner i hide from the orange rubber cake
people try to sing and i try to run
after much mulling over a recycled candle
i wish for a simple easy adulthood and contemplate flinging myself into the danube.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC
Calm
Like a romance,
The linden trees are slowly rustling.
On your lips warm waves
Shine perfume, life and fire.
I wanted you
So much
And you, and you alone,
Not I -
As much as I might have wanted you -
You
Were the one who opened my lips
And moistened them with yours
For the first time.
The linden trees are rustling,
My love,
Far is the Danube
And its small benches call to us
To go
To sit
To hear her,
Breathe her,
The asphalt warm under your soft, fair body,
Curved like a miracle - in every place perfection -
Would be cold next to your serene skin,
Hot, moist, covered
With the most beautiful thin summer dress -
Oh, child, young yet strong in your kiss,
Candor in a starry sky...
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 1:56 AM UTC
It started in Dublin before I was born
Crossing the Irish Sea to weather a storm.
London called through the wind and rain
Big city lights and a country's flame.
To Manchester then, a city united
At least to outsiders.
But to those within it's somewhat
Divided.
Summers in France.
Dining in Provence
Time in Toulouse
And along the Loire.
But Paris! Paris has that
Je ne sais quoi
Fine wine, fine company
It's a fine philosophy.
A German exchange
*in einer stadt namens
Bad Bentheim.*
Exposed to a culture
And the work of Rammstein.
A few days in Berlin
A fantastic city with much
History within.
Gondolas in Vienna if only for a day
Sailing down the Danube
Water wants us on our way.
We stay for a while
Within the walls of Budapest,
My first shot of Absinthe
Puts my liver to the test.
No rest for the wicked
That wanderlust I long.
Settled for a while by the lights of
Hong Kong,
A place I felt for a while at peace
High in the Monastery of Lantau's peeks.
I went once and I went again.
When wizened crones speak of golden devils,
Stroking my blonde hair on the streets of
Shenzhen.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 5:17 PM UTC
The Poet is the language,the mystery of Monalisa's smile,
the brush of Caravaggio and the finest painting of Vangogh.
The Poet is the sonnet of Mozart anf the symphony of Bach,
a tragedy of Shakespeare and the saddest verse of Pablo Neruda.
The Poet is the blue Danube in waltz and the Swan Lake in Ballet.
The Poet is the renaissance of passion and the remnant of life,
the dilemma of morality,the shadow of deed,and the ombra of sin.
The Poet is the fantasy of each Sunrise and the illusion of every Sunset,
the wave in tide of wishes,carried in a bottle to dune drunk shore.
The Poet is the believer, dream lover in a hot passionate crazy affair,
the magician who creates fables and fairytales from a deadly reality.
The Poet is the worker who works and works to survive,to cope in this
demanding,sophisticated,stigmatic concrete hypocratic world.
The Poet is the thief of time,with eyes flutterin on late nights,
Still loyal to the pen,His thoughts in verse,bleedin fragranted words.
The Poet is an Omnipotent servant,with a will to ask and crave to learn.
A Philosopher,whose always an amateur in the pursuit of wisdom.
The Poet is an eternal slave of His Muse,the beverage of inspiration,
the spouse married to literature,adulterer of lyric,deceiver of prose.
He Knows no lapsus in all that is scandalous,royalty or sacred.
He is the artist, musician, actor,the clairvoyant of destined paths.
He is the cheap clay's mold,carved in the sculpture of the next century.
The Poet is the unfinished book,the chapter in yesterday,
He is the Nobody of today and the bookmark of tomorrow.
T H E POET IS YOU ! ! !
Nov 6, 2010
Nov 6, 2010 at 10:29 PM UTC
The Danube was moody that night
- stormy and loud and rowdy
like a happy old drunk
we walked side by side
and counted the stars
exploding in the sky
we were young
and we were new
and the air felt like fireworks
I wore a frilly skirt
and a silly smile
you wore your dinner jacket
with your grown-up tie
and we danced to the music
across the ripple river
while Belgrade woke up
all around us
with whispers and sighs
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
edge of the World; the lip of a spoonfull
of neptune breath and jewels
where elephants room for the night. full
of blue doom; a bed and a pool
the edge [ was a world you slip through ] youthful
no pontoons. next to a mule
with an Angel. cruel neckties, spiteful
apples, atoms
and you
the Spaulding gray and blue Danube
diffused.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 3:26 PM UTC
His eyes squinted
carefully scanning
three hazy photos
taken in black and white
undated of two mountains
rising behind a bridge
crossing a river
Was it France?
Arizona, Dakota
Probably not Dakota
Few hills there
Maybe along the Danube
Yet no signs of vineyards
along the river banks
Travel broadens one
with indistinct memories
Places that inspired
yesterday and today
remain as slight fabrics
and experiences
absorbed and fuzzy
resting in a corner
of his mind
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 9:15 AM UTC
is different for each meandering
but arises unbidden though there
must be a prompt a spring a welling-
up that begins to trickle down the page
as the current courses down this arm
to fingertips grippimg the pen lightly
but firm enough to make the marks
and trickle a stream to slake again
my thirst. Wyre ? Ribble ? Mersey ?
Thames ? Rhine ? Danube ? Ganges ?
Amazon - yes immense over life as Amazon.
(c) C J Heyworth
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 3:15 PM UTC
Your new side was fake
And covered in all the rust you need
To start a war.
There were springs sticking out
From holes in the mattress
The night you told me
I was void of form.
It must haunt you now
To think that I'm such a good abstraction.
Lacrimosa,
Lacrimosa...
My dear,
I'd prefer to sing alone.
To think of you washed
In all the colors falling
Like Whistler's Rocket
So far below the moon...
I cry away any sanctity
Placed upon me in my youth.
When I am stricken
With all the words
Uttered over the silence
Of our modern, beautiful
Communication...
I will fall silent.
I will fall still.
I will be quiet,
But I will be swift,
And I will be void of mercy
To all but myself.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 7:38 PM UTC
Stay, rivulet, nor haste to leave
The lovely vale that lies around thee.
Why wouldst thou be a sea at eve,
When but a fount the morning found thee?
Born when the skies began to glow,
Humblest of all the rock's cold daughters,
No blossom bowed its stalk to show
Where stole thy still and scanty waters.
Now on thy stream the noonbeams look,
Usurping, as thou downward driftest,
Its crystal from the clearest brook,
Its rushing current from the swiftest.
Ah! what wild haste!--and all to be
A river and expire in ocean.
Each fountain's tribute hurries thee
To that vast grave with quicker motion.
Far better 'twere to linger still
In this green vale, these flowers to cherish,
And die in peace, an aged rill,
Than thus, a youthful Danube, perish.
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A castaway in the island of failed loves, my heart
moved in jungle pathways, lived alone in caves,
I sold it to a courtesan who courted it steadfast
never had I felt such an ease in my days dark.
Love is a clandestine merchandise in market places
by lovers, men and women of charm and magic
mixing power and allure, when the price is just right.
The street of our evenings was full of laughter,
my love life there saw many sunny seasons.
We walked hand in hand and my sweetheart was eager
to please me as my heart was full of love's languor
the meaning of love was still obscure for me and her,
though we thought it was nothing but love, that
kept throbbing in our every vein, it really mattered.
To the tune of Blue Danube, we would wildly waltz,
the sad thought it brought, made me weep inside.
if the world is so wicked let's die together,
and I see her dance away totally inebriated
footsteps sounded near, we lost true interest
pain was chasing us, all the way from behind,
we were disillusioned, love slowly got drifted
gently dissipated breaking our hearts.
As I cross the corner of the street alone,
with my heart bleeding, often the girl for the day in tow,
I feel the pang of a heart, seeking my love waiting
the courtesan who kept watching me, her glassy eyes moist,
all these days of wandering, eventually our eyes met.
I sold my heart to the lonely courtesan, she wept, received it.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
Life, I stand on your bank’s edge, frightened of a
slip that might bring a struggle I could not win.
You flow by with no effort. I envy you.
You swirl as if some magic occurs within your darkest green
― the colour of the elm’s fullness during twilight.
You flow forever, past. I have little to offer but
three silver coins and my hope that you will accept them
with my anguished prayers.
Let them sink through your swiftness to your stillness.
Let them join others’ gifts
to clothe your bed in a radiant coverlet you have earned.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 11:14 AM UTC
The Danube to the Severn gave
The darken'd heart that beat no more;
They laid him by the pleasant shore,
And in the hearing of the wave.
There twice a day the Severn fills;
That salt sea-water passes by,
And hushes half the babbling Wye,
And makes a silence in the hills.
The Wye is hush'd nor moved along,
And hush'd my deepest grief of all,
When fill'd with tears that cannot fall,
I brim with sorrow drowning song.
The tide flows down, the wave again
Is vocal in its wooded walls;
My deeper anguish also falls,
And I can speak a little then.
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*I went to sleep one night
Deep asleep I opened my eyes
It was dark and surreal
The stars where sprinkled everywhere
The moon was bright and clear
I saw you in my bed sleeping
You had a wedding ring in your hand
You were wearing a beautiful black gowned
I couldn't believe we were married and
I am next to my love
It felt really good like my heart had stopped
You put your arms around and held me tight
I floated above your body and woke you up
Your spirit came with me and we wondered together
In one second, we stepped into the dance floor
We both had a mask on shaped like a heart
I looked around and time moved fast
The Spanish music filled the air
You had a red dress on
You where dancing and spinning around
I grabbed your arm and kissed your hand
We danced and floated in the sky
Fast across the moon was high
Suddenly it was the first day that I met you
A rose was tucked behind my back
I caressed the rose around your neck
We danced and saw a shooting star
Beneath it a river stream not too far
We danced and wondered all night
The sun peaked and shined a streak of light
The music filled the air
The blue Danube symphony was there
The birds chuckled and flew high
I saw your face in the sky
You where looking at me and laughing
Like an angel face and very bright
I stretched my hands and grabbed your arms
You got closer and held me tight
You woke me up suddenly
and when I woke you where still sleeping
I thanked The Lord and felt good
I held you closer and fell asleep*
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 7:35 AM UTC
You leave us: you will see the Rhine,
And those fair hills I sail'd below,
When I was there with him; and go
By summer belts of wheat and vine
To where he breathed his latest breath,
That City. All her splendour seems
No livelier than the wisp that gleams
On Lethe in the eyes of Death.
Let her great Danube rolling fair
Enwind her isles, unmark'd of me:
I have not seen, I will not see
Vienna; rather dream that there,
A treble darkness, Evil haunts
The birth, the bridal; friend from friend
Is oftener parted, fathers bend
Above more graves, a thousand wants
Gnarr at the heels of men, and prey
By each cold hearth, and sadness flings
Her shadow on the blaze of kings:
And yet myself have heard him say,
That not in any mother town
With statelier progress to and fro
The double tides of chariots flow
By park and suburb under brown
Of lustier leaves; nor more content,
He told me, lives in any crowd,
When all is gay with lamps, and loud
With sport and song, in booth and tent,
Imperial halls, or open plain;
And wheels the circled dance, and breaks
The rocket molten into flakes
Of crimson or in emerald rain.
1.5k
in loving memory of my mother
Three simple cello notes answered by horns,
rising and falling winds
shine like the dawn of a luminous day.
Emergent violins wash the hall
with mystic Austrian radiance.
Looking across the stage
I meet the eyes of my Philharmonic friends
uniting in affirmation
of the matchless largesse
of the Brahms' second -
our collective soul vaulting the Atlantic
to the azure Danube's shore.
*It's 40 Christmas morns ago
and I am "20-ish" tearing floral paper
from a large green book and lean
to give my Mom a thank you hug.*
Three quarters of an hour
brush by like an autumn breeze
and I close that same green book
and turn to greet the audience -
searching beyond the walls
for that sacred somewhere
where Mom smiles down
from her eternal resting place.
August, 2013
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 11:59 AM UTC
there are grim reapers in the park
their phantom breaths a sick breeze
on the bank of the stormy Danube
murmuring in mutinous trees
people wearing coats
too warm
too bright
buying bread and cigarettes
placing bets
guessing which city
is due to scream today
and then heal
all over again
because
that is the way
- that's always been
our way
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 7:29 PM UTC
Wassell with cleft mouth
saw beyond you
pale hand in blue light,
cannot stay here.
Dietrich he would not die for you,
he sees Angels elsewhere.
He'll rather unfurl their muslin robes
under dappled silhouette,
swelling the Danube.
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 6:27 PM UTC
Throb, that pulsating beat,
this beautiful eve,
now this throng of the bass
three, the nuggets of pain
three shots and this throb in my nerve
this is different - gone
gone, erased from this world
blight, darkening lights,
vive le Bataclan, adieu
boom, the booming guns raining fire
by night, sobbing heart
seething eyes, dark this hood
that's come over my city,
where the Caliph reigns
Who is the lesser evil now?
Danube divides artery and vein.
Vive le Paris!
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 9:45 AM UTC
The spiraling snakes would now like to devour the entire World; nuclear fission may increase the actual value of mortalities in the eyes of "some" - of course as unnecessary collateral losses -, a white condensation trail inevitably passes over a person's head, left by some luxury private plane while reaching Earth orbit. The rule of the constantly suspicious sentries that remain open still returns now and then.
At the last moment, perhaps after five hundred years, the Cyclops-brained titans enriched with testosterone, who have deliberately forgotten the proper manners, the conditions of behavioral codes, the eloquent ins and outs of compliments, will also become extinct; anniversary rings are driven through broken or white diamond wedding rings, because fewer and fewer of them can only truly experience the feelings of the Universe, which alone reside unnoticed in the depths of beating hearts.
They grow respectable beer bellies not only It's pounding, but it's quite a lot, gentlemen Pál Pató, and while the great gentleman's party-dario, bolsoly-babysitter is going on, it's as if everyone is no longer able to bear the enriched, concentrated half-hearted appearance-happiness.
- The city of Nineveh, which has long surrendered to partying, is thus becoming an increasingly sinkable Atlantis, a tiny island of nowhere, which at any moment - if they're not careful - can be swept away by the moving Danube. It would be better to head straight in the opposite, more vulnerable directions, because now everyone is considered a bit of a good actor in fair-boy comedies; what is failure and success at the same time was actually a lesson and a make-up exam! One day - in any case - he will be forced to take off his mask and become a shameless clown!
Sep 24, 2025
Sep 24, 2025 at 12:33 AM UTC
Picasso’s Abyss
In Budapest my hands hurt,
goes with the broken heart,
tried to keep it all together,
but sometimes things just fall apart,
beautiful art,
at the castle today,
Pablo Picasso,
a few dozen of his works on display,
I’m dismayed,
how lost we’ve all become,
can’t see we’re all family,
can’t see your brother only see Pokemon,
okie dokie son,
I guess the game is over,
congratulations and well done,
where are you from,
where are you at,
currently I’m in Budapest,
the Buda Castle to be exact,
looking across the Danube,
sun sets upon the parliament,
and it seems another day has gone,
did have some time to spare but now I don’t know where it went,
time must be an illusion because there’s no signs to where it’s gone,
my hands hurt my head hurts my feet hurt still I must travel on,
writing tales of futuristic history,
out in the world and on the internet,
Heaven sent,
you’re Heaven blessed,
child your an Angel,
to this I must confess,
in Budapest,
and my hands hurt,
tried to keep a good grip,
but sometimes things just fall apart,
into the abyss,
into the darkness of Picasso,
into the impermanence of all of us,
here today gone tomorrow…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
author of The Poetry Trilogy
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 3:20 PM UTC
i met a mongol once in amsterdam, we exchanged a tearful stare and said a melancholic hello, as if we were to be brother in cement or sandstone of what the sun rememebred and man forgot but nonetheless carved for enshadowed suave of the shadowing hand on hand upon handed down remnant of the handless kanji... the motherless thus tongueless river of sight utilising hand and hand as sophistication of spying thanks to the hands’ shadows: thus no shadow tongue unless that shadow be thought or the abstract off thought: pre-meditation and the subsequent minded courtsey as requested of the blank page or the buddha’s slitted eyes faking intoxication by western standards of that green plant the mongols despise: and western societies fare to tax and thus exploit.
and it would be easiest to withhold making talks
with the slavs
by compensation of the northern-most mosque
being established
as true progression...
but then having insulated the slavs
who are "primarily" plumbers and electricians
to make any dent in the politics of the other monotheists...
where the european excludes the european from europe
there you will see war as encouraging the asian
or the arab...
there you will see war, should a
european exclude european from europe
there you will see war
caucausian againts the rooster against the morn!
TAR TAR! TAR TAR! TAR! TAR!
(in japanese tora tora tora!)
because you did not cherish our shared values
thus become devalued therefore value your integral anti-economic
evaluations that have no place in my land
but concern of keeping brown in the noun and not in the verb
of racism and sun;
i've become a barabbas among you, you messiahs,
you messiah selfies and messiah implants,
what gave you the jews scorned has given
me you as the "jews" scorned in your disorientation
of the fathomed atom bomb already spoken of in
the book of the apocalypse....
but a man ejecting an european from europe
to fantacise a non-invoked colonialism will halve in carving
this world in half for multi-cultarism!
no pole ever spoke of colonialism to see you speak
of post-colonial re-colonialisation of remote areas so ardently cared for:
conquer... and subsequently fall: your sons the additive bullets:
я и pоссия demand: the caucaucus tribes to
fake unity with the danube fools of erected bohemia.
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 11:35 PM UTC