Poem about emptiness
I lost my right arm.
I didn't really lose my right arm.
But I have the impression that I did.
I miss it so much that I can't describe it in words.
I lost my phone.
It's like I really don't have a right arm.
I don't know when the bus is coming.
I don't know how to order food without a phone.
How do I call to be late from work?
How do I tell the kindergarten that I'm late for the child?
It's easy, people used to live without a phone.
The man gets used to it quickly.
He gets used to it and manages.
What about the emptiness I feel in my heart, in my soul?
When you run out of a loved one,
no habit, you can't handle it.
You can't buy a new loved one in the market.
They say you'll learn to live with it.
But how?
What if part of me is no longer there?
How do I fill that gap?
When I find out, I'll let you know.
Or you let me know.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Green poem
Why green?
Why not red?
Or maybe blue?
Because it calms.
My wall is green.
Because it means health.
Green fruits and vegetables are health.
It's on the flags,
because it is a symbol of growth.
A symbol of hope.
A symbol of fertility.
I love green clothes.
Because it exudes freshness.
I love security.
Green indicates a safe passing at the traffic light.
It is directly connected with nature.
And without nature we cannot.
So green to victory.
Let's save nature!
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about regret
Do you regret it?
Do you regret anything in life?
For all the great things you have done for others?
Great, free and selfless.
Why do you regret it?
Is it because some people don't respect anything?
You give them a finger, they'd take your whole hand.
You give them a hand,
you think they really need it,
and they would take you whole.
But it is in human nature.
Man has no limit.
Do you regret not getting a thank you?
Do you think that one thank you would solve a lot of things?
Would it solve?
I believe it wouldn't.
I'll keep giving.
I wish I had a lot,
to give even more.
Happiness is in giving,
not in measuring how much you give.
So let's give.
Let's give ourselves.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about mosquito
He woke me up last night.
He woke me up two nights ago.
Why does it have to buzz when it's already drinking blood?
Why doesn't it just drink blood?
I wouldn’t be so angry if I just woke up bitten.
But I'm angry because in addition to dots on my body,
and unbearable itching,
I have not slept.
I'm thinking about what to do.
I'm thinking of an ambush to make.
When I hear it buzzing,
then I usually wave my hand.
Of course I missed it and hit myself.
Then I suffer pain in addition to buzzing and itching.
I know what I'm going to do!
I'll catch it.
I'll put it next to the speakers,
and I'll play a song the loudest.
The whole building is going to be shaken.
So let Mr. Mosquito see what it's like when you can't sleep.
Until the next buzz.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about arrival
All trains are leaving.
Why do I never get the impression they are coming?
Maybe because the arrival platform is on the other side of town.
Or people don't like to talk about coming.
Maybe they just like to talk about leaving.
Why is parting harder than meeting?
Why do they mostly cry when they break up?
Why don't they cry when they meet?
I cry when I come.
I'm crying because I don't know what to say smartly.
I returned to my hometown
and I can't talk.
The dumpling stands in my throat whenever I want to speak.
I open my mouth to talk but tears well up.
Everything is so beautiful.
Every meter of the street is beautiful.
Every pebble on the street stands perfectly.
Every building seems to talk.
Everything remained the same.
And nothing is the same anymore.
Yes, that's right, everything and nothing!
I'll end here.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about a thief
He takes.
He just takes.
And he is not hiding.
When I look from the side,
as if kidnapping.
It's like he's mad at someone and steals.
It's like that someone owes him.
He doesn't pay back what he owes him,
so he still steals.
I stand and watch.
And wonder.
Everything he took, he ate.
He is hungry.
He doesn't steal to sell to anyone.
Wait, he's not a thief,
he's just hungry.
Passers-by offer him money.
He refused.
He refuses because he says it is fair to steal.
I stand again and watch.
And wonder.
I was interested and I found out.
He's mad at the system.
He is angry that the system did not provide him with a future.
And as he says,
everything that was up to him,
he did.
I understand him!
Woe to him!
Woe to us too!
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about bikini
Bikini is the most expensive topic in the world.
Just ten years ago,
if I only knew what I'm seeing now,
I would be a millionaire.
It's easy to talk and be smart now,
you will agree.
Someone thought differently then,
maybe to save on material.
I know for sure it is.
Once upon a time, a bikini covered everything.
Now the bikini reveals everything.
It does not cover anything.
The bikini used to be big.
It took a lot of material to sew.
That's why it was expensive.
Why does it cost so much now?
Now it's not a bikini, it's better to say that only straps remained.
That's why I don't even know what to say.
Except yes, fashion should be respected.
It is art, whatever it is.
Woe to them who have to follow fashion.
Woe to us who have to watch such fashion.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about you
Do you know who you are?
If you know who you are,
are you sure it's you?
Are you lying to yourself who you are?
Do others talk about you what you think of yourself?
If they don't talk,
make sure it's not you.
What would you say about yourself?
Are you sure you have something to say?
But not to lie to yourself or others.
Is it hard to write down your flaws?
Virtues are easy, I know that.
Like in a job advertisement.
Two words that describe you.
It is not easy!
Moreover, it's hard.
Is it harder if I tell you who you are?
Or is it harder if you tell yourself that?
Think hard.
Don't rush to answer.
Someone appreciates more what you really are,
than pretending to be perfect.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about a school bell
An old building,
with the flag on top,
from the last century.
It stands proudly and waits for the new generations.
It sends the old students away.
It welcomes new young people.
When the school bell rings,
all children's hearts beat.
Someone is calling it bell rescuer,
because when the bell rings the class is over.
Then Math has to wait until tomorrow.
Schoolyard.
School football field.
They hide the most beautiful secrets.
First loves.
First grades.
I haven't come out of school yet.
I'm still going to school.
I have been going to school for 38 years.
I think I'll go to school my whole life.
No, I'm not such a bad student.
It's just that now I'm standing on the other side and teaching children.
A man is never old for school.
My heart always trembles when the school bell rings.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about window view
I'm looking out the window.
I'm thoughtful.
They're looking out the window at me,
they are thoughtful too.
What do I see?
Can I always say what I see?
Do I sometimes pretend not to see?
I watch often.
They often watch me watch too.
I'm watching from the third floor.
I see it from a bird's eye view.
I like to look like a bird.
Sometimes you see what you don't want to see.
Someone sometimes does something thinking that no one sees it.
But you can see everything through the window.
Often someone walks the dog and doesn't pick up the poop.
I usually see it and remind them to pick it up.
I love that feeling very much.
The window is a view through the future.
But you have to think hard.
Wash windows regularly.
To see clearly.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about the sense of smell
You smell like this.
I smell like that.
She, he, they.
They all have their scent.
Everyone smells different.
Some have white skin.
They smell different.
Some have yellow skin.
They smell different.
Some have black skin.
They smell different.
The scent makes us unique.
When we meet,
we sniff,
to see how everyone smells.
Smells say a lot.
They unite and separate.
I lost my sense of smell for 27 days.
The consequence of covid.
Now I smell all day.
I smell everything I can get my hands on.
You smell it too.
Don't wait to lose your sense of smell,
so that you don't realize that without the sense of smell,
nothing makes sense.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about clouds
Today they are in the shape of a bear.
Yesterday they were in the shape of a giraffe.
Heart-shaped.
As a child I enjoyed the view.
And I still enjoy.
Who draws it?
Who checks how it is drawn?
Does anyone draw at all?
Wind.
The wind is that artist.
The wind is like a magic wand,
makes works of art.
How it makes them,
that's how it breaks them up.
It just blows and everything disappears.
Sometimes they know how to frown.
When they get angry,
they become so black and gray.
And the day becomes night.
If we make them angry, it will rain and rain.
They usually say that when we're in love we fly,
right through them.
Somehow they keep us safe.
Because they are always above us.
Clouds.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about bravery
He stood up.
He stood up even though he had fallen a hundred times.
He stood up even though it hurt.
He stood up even though he knew he would fall again.
He says he likes to fall.
He likes to fall because otherwise he wouldn’t have learned how to get up.
He likes to fall because he gets up faster every time.
What doesn't kill him,
it strengthens him.
They are breaking his wings,
he always took off.
Although he is small,
he is bigger than them.
He is bigger because he doesn't trample the little ones.
So small, he flies above them.
He flies above them and is proud to be small.
He fights.
He will always get up again.
He will always fly again.
He is simply brave!
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about dawn
5:15
Just me and the local dogs.
A real summer day.
Hardworking fishermen return from the sea and take out the fish they caught.
The sea is not heard.
There is not the slightest wave.
Water is like a mirror, you can look at yourself.
In the end, as far as the eye can see,
where water and sky meet,
the colors are starting to break.
The finest shades of red and orange.
I take photos again and again.
Photography cannot conjure it up.
I can't describe it in words.
That act when the sun rises.
When everyone stops breathing.
Like a birth.
The sun means life.
Life means the sun.
You need to breathe for that moment.
For dawn.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about vortex
Seas, lakes, rivers.
Sea salt water.
Lakes and mountain air.
The most beautiful winding rivers.
Sounds fantastic.
Sounds irresistible.
Until you find vultures.
I call them that.
Metal vultures.
A big barge on the clean, the cleanest river.
They dig and dig, they look for gold.
They frighten the aquatic world, they spoil their habitat.
Behind them, when they dig everything up, they leave holes.
Why is it in human nature to spoil everything?
On the shore there is a large metal vulture, excavator.
And it digs something, takes out the sand.
And it leaves huge holes behind.
They are on the mountain as well.
They dig, dig and dig.
They want to use the most beautiful lake.
They're making a concrete dam.
It pays off, they will have more electricity.
That's why we hear terrible things on the news.
The girl drowned.
Silence.
A boy drowned while surfing, he was pulled by the sea current.
Silence.
I understand everything when nature works on its own.
I also understand that when a shark attacks, we disturb it, or it is hungry.
But I don't understand the huge holes behind the metal vultures.
I don't understand why they make artificial vortices.
Become aware, someone never comes out of the vortex!
Do you hear me?
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about thunderstorm
There will be no thunder in the nettles.
They say but they are not sure.
They think thunder is afraid of nettles.
How can they not understand?
Thunder is not a living being.
There is no thunderstorm to the enemy to shoot and set them on fire.
It is a natural phenomenon.
We are the culprits, nature is just defending itself.
If we were to preserve nature,
nature would not defend itself.
They talk, they compare.
They also came up with a saying
"like a bolt from the blue"
or "like a thunder from the sky".
I wouldn't play.
I take care of the nature in my environment.
I am spreading awareness about nature conservation.
Global warming is a global issue.
That is why it is summer in May, 40 degrees today.
Here, we managed to spoil the climate.
It was thundering today.
It just started, without notice.
So save nature.
Get out of your yard first.
We can restore the climate.
We can if we want.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about desert island
Alone.
Separated from the world.
Separated from everything.
Is it sad?
Does it ever need company?
Who does it complain about when there is no rain?
Who does it complain about when it's too hot?
No, it is great.
It's not bad to be alone.
Not bad to be unique.
Not bad because it's not deserted.
If there are no people, it does not mean that it is desert.
It has so many beautiful, tall canopies,
which flutter proudly.
There are so many singers who fly in every year to beautify those magnificent canopies.
There are so many beauties who proudly wear their horns.
It's not desert, only we humans think so.
We are the ones who bother when we anchor to visit that untouched beauty.
Then there is silence.
They stop singing.
They stop swaying.
They hide with their horns so that we don't hunt them, because there are those of us who would do that.
It's desert, that's what we called it.
But it is not, there is life on every island.
And be careful how you do it the next time you anchor.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about fire
It is spreading with incredible speed.
It is dangerous when it catches a run.
So dangerous that sometimes entire cities are evacuated.
Even the strongest are afraid of it.
Its angry enemy is water.
And water is dangerous, they say it always finds its way and breaks through when floods start.
It is not known what is stronger.
We can't do without them.
That's why they say there is no game with them.
And they are necessary.
If you have them, you can survive anywhere.
I would say it's more dangerous than water.
Because water can control it.
It is often used as a saying.
The flame of love is a favorite expression of young people.
I'm burning with the desire to see you.
I love the flame,
I love crackling,
I love the heat.
Don't play with fire,
And if you love it,
remember that it knows how to burn.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about the coming winter
It was like yesterday.
And I was very young.
I was scared.
I was afraid of that 2022.
Out of fear, I imagined.
I imagined I would be old then.
Well, it won't matter much,
if the end of the world happens.
That 2022 came and I'm not old.
I am in my best years. 🙂
And the end of the world did not happen.
Or it happens.
And we live in ignorance.
Maybe covid is the end of the world.
Maybe global warming is the end of the world.
Maybe this Monkeypox virus is coming to the end of the world.
They say who survives will talk.
They scare us even now.
They just don’t go as far as they went when I was a kid.
They scare us for the next winter.
They say it will be the worst winter in the last 100 years.
And they talked about how strong, stable we are.
Probably to win the elections.
I don't know if I should buy bags of flour and prepare like a hard-working ant for the winter?
Or let winter come and see what I can do.
This time I'm letting go.
I live until winter,
so if it's the end of the world,
it will be for everyone,
not just for me.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about bills
I've been paying bills since I was born.
Baby diaper bills.
Milk bills.
Then the kindergarten bills.
Bills for one school.
Bills for another school.
Faculty bills.
Then you pay the bills to the boss.
Pay the bills to the director.
You just think that's it,
then you pay bills to your wife.
Pay the pedicure bill.
Then for a manicure.
Massage bill.
Just bills.
Then pay the bills to the kids.
Swimming bills.
Dance bills.
All life bills.
You just think there are no more bills,
then comes the apartment bill.
Then bill for some forest,
and for some picture you got from your grandmother.
Don't count, just pay regularly.
In order for the executor not to come to collect the bill.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about life and death
The saying goes that one must die and be born.
I agree that this is the only thing you have to do in life.
The saying goes that whoever is born must also die.
Do we really die when we die?
I don't think so.
I don't believe there is another life.
Life after death.
I'm not talking about it.
I believe that one can live after death.
We live through our deeds.
Someone built, make, create.
They leave the built deeds behind through which they still live.
Someone writes, makes music, makes movies and live through it.
Someone doesn't know any of that.
They didn't do anything, but they did good deeds and after them lives the legend about them.
It is in nature for a being to leave offspring and thus continue to live.
But there are people who live after death by remembering them by the misdeeds they did.
You choose, so choose well.
Live well.
Don't count the days you lived.
Do good and you will live forever.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about magic lamp
You see me.
You do not see me.
I am the Genie from the magic lamp.
You have the right to imagine three wishes.
And you have no right to correct a wish.
There is no harder task.
Probably every other person would like to be rich.
You get rich and what's next?
You have everything and then nothing is interesting to you anymore.
That is why young people who have everything, quickly indulge in vices.
My first wish would be to destroy all the money in this world.
It only divide us into rich and poor.
Another wish would be for everyone to be able to produce and make everything they need with their own hands.
The third wish would be to make a cure for every disease for people to die of old age and not of disease.
Well, my wishes are a little weird.
When I find the magic lamp,
I will change the world.
Life would be better,
I'm sure.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about some hardworking people
It's 4 in the morning.
He is quiet, so as not to wake up his family.
He puts on his uniform and moves on.
Along the way, he joins his colleagues and continues together with laughter and talk.
A broom and a garbage can are waiting for them in the same place as yesterday.
They diligently clean every part of the street.
They have been collecting garbage since last night because someone threw garbage in the middle of the park.
If you saw them, you would think they were collecting chocolate, not garbage.
They proudly wear their hats that say "city cleanliness".
Millimeter by millimeter, meter by meter and everything is cleaned.
It is unmistakable.
Every morning the bin where I wait for the bus to work is clean and empty.
While we sleep, they diligently clean and tidy up what we pollute every day.
So always remember these verses,
and don't leave garbage behind.
Remember the hardworking people who get up when you sleep.
They will be happy that you don't pollute and you will be proud of yourself because you remembered them.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about an ace up one's sleeve
How does it know when to show up?
How does it know when to be up one's sleeve?
How did it get there, up one's sleeve?
Why an ace and not a deuce?
It started one evening.
At the round table,
with six chairs,
six whiskey glasses,
and two decks of cards.
A long game was played.
With a big stake.
And he was losing.
Losing and losing.
They wrote about him in all the newspapers.
About the fraudster.
But they have never discovered him.
He was losing so he wouldn't be caught cheating.
Because in the end, he always won.
He had a machine up his sleeve.
A real machine that took out an ace when he was supposed to win.
That's where the saying about the ace up one's sleeve came from.
Don't cheat.
But always have an ace up your sleeve.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about bottle
It stands on the shelf and asks for nothing.
Even if you don't wipe it for a year,
nothing again.
It's just doing its job.
It carefully guards what you have entrusted to it.
In one basement,
one man...
He has been taking care of them for years.
He dedicate himself to each at least once a month.
Take, wipe, check and put back in place.
He says they keep his treasure.
A treasure of grapes, a treasure of the finest taste.
There are also a lot of them on the other wall.
He says those others are magical.
The whole ship can fit in one small one.
He takes special care of them.
I know the most about the one with the good plug.
So many people sent a message.
So many have written their secret.
So many of them imagined a wish.
So many right now...
He puts the plug on and sends on the road...
a bottle with the message.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about a poem
Dim light in the room.
Two candles burning above the piano.
Cigarette smoke leaves traces in the air above the candles.
You can hear the candle burning and you can hear the pencil on the paper.
A diligent hand writes and erases.
The piano is cluttered with papers.
Nobody manages.
Nobody knows what the first page is,
and which is the last one.
Only he knows.
He knows exactly where he left off and what he needs next.
Inspiration is coming.
He plays the first few rows.
There is a thump of the foot on the floor.
He sings softly and writes verse by verse.
A few notes, then a few verses.
Light another cigarette.
Because the first one burned down, he didn't even touch it.
He leans on piano races, gets up,
and again there is a crumpling of paper.
He is looking in the bucket for the paper he threw away yesterday.
Laughter, cough and hoarse voice.
That's it, "it's over now".
With the crackling of a candle,
with the sound of a pencil on paper,
with a couple of yellow stains of wax,
and with the help of an old piano,
a poem about a poem was written.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about "what if"
What if icicles fall from the roof on my head?
What if a pot of flowers falls from the third floor right on me?
What if lightning strikes just as I cross the bridge?
What if a shark hunts right now when I'm in the water?
What if the storm starts just when I'm sailing?
What if the volcano activates just as I climb to conquer the summit?
What if someone drunk drives a car and hits me?
What if my numbers come out and I didn't pay the lottery?
What if I go to the doctor and he finds out I'm terminally ill?
If we look at life with the question what if,
some danger awaits us everywhere.
So walk slowly but steadily.
Don't be afraid to give your opinion.
Defend your views.
And will lightning strike you,
then,
and right there,
nobody knows.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about having everything and nothing
Everything is easy when you can see with your own eyes.
And very difficult if someone has to guide you or use a stick.
Everything is easy when you can hear with your ears.
And very difficult if you have to wear a hearing aid,
so you step up,
and you shut up.
Everything is easy when you can touch things with your hands.
And very difficult if you have to have an artificial hook instead of an arm.
Everything is easy when you can walk on your own two feet.
And very difficult when you have to have a prosthesis.
Everything is easy when you can talk with your mouth.
And very difficult when you can't express yourself.
Everything is easy when you are healthy.
Mostly we have a lot of wishes.
When someone is sick there is only one.
To be healed.
So take good care.
Be overjoyed that you can do everything,
because the eye cannot be bought.
Remember that.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about an old violin
It is retired.
They say it took its own.
I would not agree with that.
It's still a real lady.
Always well-groomed.
It can still do everything.
Always in the right place.
At the right time.
It can laugh.
It also knows how to cry.
When you hear it, you always stop.
It can do it easily and quickly.
It can be quiet but also loud when needed.
If it could write a book,
there would be different stories.
Life, business, and love stories.
It can cost a fortune.
It touches my heart whenever it is heard.
But it doesn't always send the finest sounds.
Sometimes it can squeak.
It depends in whose hands it is.
So choose a performer.
Indulge in sounds.
Open a bottle of good wine.
Enjoy pizzicato,
and worship its majesty.
Violin.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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Poem about drunk
He walks alone.
He thinks alone.
He cries alone.
He lives alone.
He laughs alone.
He drinks alone.
He got drunk just because of that "alone".
He was not born as a drunk.
He became a drunk.
He became because he was left alone.
And he stayed drunk because he had to do everything himself.
Everyone bypasses him.
Nobody should ask him why that is so.
He doesn't even ask for it.
He always says he's not alone.
He says he has a friend who warms him up in the winter,
which cools him in summer,
and who never betrayed him.
It is sad to have such a friend.
But he is happy.
He says he drinks a lot.
He drinks more and more.
And he would like to drink all the alcohol of this world so that young people would not drink and become what he is.
I don't know if it was a joke.
He laughed when he said that.
Don't indulge in vices.
And if you go that route,
talk to him.
He knows what he is talking about.
Author: Musician
Thanks a lot for reading.
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