Release of Sounds Part III

***

In our past life we ​​were wolves
And we knew everyone in the face, unlike faces.
And stroked their paws like hands,
We are the skins of loved and close wolves.

They brought the hungry wolf cubs in their teeth
The remains of what we managed to get,
We were wolves and forgot it,
But sometimes we just want to howl.

Now I am not a wolf - there is no she-wolf nearby
And our struggle will not stain the snow in blood
But only at night I wait for a dream
The taste of blood in my mouth and a flock of running.

And only at nights the
Moon calls amicably , which remembered us by others ...
And I want loved ones ... and I want hard-earned money!
And so that under the paws can withstand the present ...

We often do not know our essence,
Sometimes everyone is a wolf in the state of a throw
And just like wolves we huddle in packs
And we hide our wolf's grin under laughter.

And we select similar ones for ourselves.
Otherwise, it is impossible to live in this life.
And I, like you, will find among passers-by,
Native and close wolf eyes.

© Andrey Golubov.

***
White sky, music is crying, A
thought flashed in my head:
Take, write about what was good luck,
But turned his back on me.

I ran away - driven by fate,
To continue life in the water.
But, that gust of the autumn wind
Left me waiting for the storm.

And now I look tired -
Storm patted me for escapism.
There are many reproaches of rationality in this,
But I would not want to fly with them to the bottom.

***

***
yours *
-----------
It is necessary to have a circumstance smile.
Suddenly to find in this bottomless world, you,
This is how many mistakes you need to make
That would once meet, to understand that ...)

***

to understand that ... there is no happiness in the world,
But there is peace and will.
For a long time I have been dreaming of my share -
Long ago, a tired slave, I have conceived an escape
Into the abode of distant labors and pure negs. A.S. Pushkin

"Tell him why girls love you so much?
You are old, bald, tired of life!"
The old man did not answer these people.
I just licked my eyebrows with my tongue ...

Well, not everything for the cat is a butter dish.
-----------------------------------
And the jaw rattled giggling in the glass
I thought of kissing the older girl on the lips,
She , in a fit of happiness she squeezed her legs
And she was numb - she broke his glasses ...

***

***

I am not looking for you in the crowd,
I know that you are not there,
But I want to come back to you,
To meet the dawn with you together.

Suddenly at night I wake up
And I peer into the windows, I will
smile at all the stars in the sky,
Perhaps there is one of yours.

And maybe you will wink at me
And you will send me a gentle light,
Or, burning down, you will fall,
Without reaching the dream again.

Or maybe you will smile at me,
After all, I so want to hug you,
And, unable to restrain yourself, you will break loose
And fall into my arms.

***********

I was in the crowd you will not find
me there is no place among the crowds
let you watch high of
alien to me the impermanence of Ponte

Pilat.

I am the best.
One such ..
I walk with my head raised
I look down on everyone ....
I miss sometimes, a little.

***********

You are in the crowd, I know, no,
You are not among the passers-by,
You are nowhere on earth,
And no one can change.

Fate is a cruel hand-
And on earth you, as if, were not.
You look down as a star,
And I look at the stars in the sky.

And wherever I have been, Wherever I
will be,
It seems to me that your soul
Accompanies me everywhere.

*********

_Illusion_
Um, could you stop writing the same poems on the same topic and drop your FG profile password into my LAN? Unfortunately, the presence of the Unet does not allow me to just pick up and change the password. Thank you in advance.

***
My uncle, an honest thief in law ... (Classical poetry in thieves' translations)
Fima Zhiganets®
----------------------- The
pursuit of Hamlet, the Danish tramp®

Buzz or not buzz?
Wo, * la, what's the problem!
Isn't it a bit of a bastard to be
otbutskannyi fate
Or is it still worth giving her a turnover,
Meat to be buried
and a poor
person To spank? Get a tail.
Drive off.
And to cut through, how you
tear the bracelets,
That they tied your
liverworm With a stain, a fluke, Zagib
Petrovich. Here is the finish line.
Give oak.
Rather, get off. And flog the sessions?
Here is the transde.
Which parish will cover
What galyuniki will I catch,
When
will they put a tag on my leg ?
******************
Monologue of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark (trans. B. Pasternak)

To be or not to be, that is the question. Is it
worthy To
humble ourselves under the blows of fate,
Or should we resist
And in mortal combat with a whole sea of ​​troubles
To end them? Die. To forget
and to know that this breaks the chain of
Heart's torments and thousands of hardships,
Inherent in the body. Is this not the
Desired goal ? Die. To forget about sleep.
Fall asleep ... and dream? Here is the answer.
What kind of dreams will you have in that mortal dream,
When the cover of earthly feeling is removed?

****

Daemon666
Um, could you leave me alone? Is it boring without me? Poems about what they are writing, about what I am writing, you do not understand this.

*** It
got colder in the yard,
"Farewell" - we will all say to the heat, -
"Summer days, goodbye,
You promise to return to us."

I feel sad at times in autumn,
Nature will be in dreams of oblivion,
Rain, clouds have covered the sky,
We have already forgotten about the heat.

Their trees have served,
We were protected from the sun,
Now we barely need a shadow
And the foliage is crumbling.

***

From the scorching heat of summer to the cold For
half a day, water runs from the clouds
Insidious, windy and evil
In my soul the mood reigns
-----

I would like to yearn
To lie on the bed without thoughts
And so sleep at least until spring
See only dreams about autumn
-----

Green is no longer in vogue
Autumn changes everything to yellow
This is the law forever in nature
Other trees do not ask

--------------
-Autumn blues after the molten summer
-Tear of ink, that from a virtuoso pen,
-And a white sheet as a scene for squeaky steps
-Do not tempt the poet's hand again.
-In the world of dancing shadows of
candlelight -Incomprehensible, - where the stanza is born ...

1.X.11

***

***
Re: Fumit007 [Former stalker007] 07/26/11 00:53
- Mir ist interessant Euer Stil, meine Applause ...

********************** ********************************
Praise Yourself
Author: Perlovka (www.hohmodrom.ru) Section: Comic poetry.

When a poet is pleased with himself,
Not like a Narcissus, but in the sense of a poet,
He must flatter himself with praise,
And take a pie from the shelf, or a candy,

A glass of wine, or a glass of brandy,
There’s anyone.
We will not be given medals for creativity . Savor your luck yourself.
Who else will praise you if not you?

By example, Pushkin teaches us his own.
After all, having composed "Boris Godunov",
He is "Ah yes Pushkin! Ah yes, a s ** kin son!"
Shouted. He was pleased, rightly so.

And I, having finished crushing a verse in a mortar,
read It, and happily cried out:
"Oh yes Perlovka! B * kin you are a daughter!"
(But, all the same, Pushkin sounded warmer).

And, in order to mark myself as a fighter
From the women's battalion in art,
I will simply say to myself: “Well done!”
And I'll take a pie from the shelf. With cabbage ...

***

******

Autumn

There are birches in the wind,
Leaves drop like tears.
How can they not cry, cry?
Spring is again so long to wait.

Their foliage in the summer was so raging, Saved
from heat and rain,
Sometimes at
night in the moon She whispered quietly, as in a dream.

From the vigilant, curious eyes of the
Lovers hid more than once,
What she sometimes saw at night,
Into the grave she will take with her.

There are birches in the wind,
Dropping a golden outfit,
Their leaves, like sparks-tears,
Burn gold in the sun.

*******

the last fallen leaves-ships
they fly to where their chance throws
them they go sailing not knowing where their port
lake water takes them to the past

***

Battlefield 3
Developer: EA Digital Illusions Creative Entertainment
Operating System: Windows 7 64-BIT
Processor: Quad Core
RAM: 4 GB
Free Hard Drive Space: 20 GB
Video Card: DirectX 11 compatible, 1024 MB VRAM (NVIDIA GeForce 560 or ATI Radeon 6950) A
dinosaur dilemmo with reindeer capirastic inclusions.
Disgusting ...
-----

Play or chew with XP Wo
, * la, what's the repochism!
Not in a bastard eh to be
otbutskanny "seventh"
Ile enough to be a sucker, and upload the assembly in response to the Stockholm bastards.
And in that polemic with EA DCE Illusions
Go behind the skirting board?
And to wipe off And to whip , that with this you will shake
off the leash of Butchert colics, all sorts of zhuda,
Ballast of a loser. Oh yes, and the way out is obvious Is that the way
out through the backside? Roll up. In a gamna roll.
To bake ... and ripen in a raskumarke like Piggy will drive everyone out of fear? Here is the answer.
What glitches will you catch a chmorillo,
When the pig is already predetermined the outcome
Fattening is over and the knife is set?

***

Imitating Baudelaire:

I remember the old and shriveled grandfather
In thick wheat he devoured a loaf of bread
Like proud feathered predators
Grandfather tormented soft bread very recklessly
He did not delve into the secrets of the universe,
All turning to the mystery of chewing.
When the dinner disappeared in his womb
He went further along his road

Into his by no means a new organism
Complex life processes took place
And just like a huge, complex workshop, The
organism lived without failures and hindrances
The stomach rumbling. Grandfather did not suspect that he was
extracting his life from destruction.

But soon the food hinted to his grandfather -
It was time for the old dinner
Return to his mother's bosom
And the grandfather got off the side of the road quickly
Throwing his elbows out like a big bird
Grandfather settled in thick wheat
We'll leave him alone with us
After all, this process is intimate, not simple.

People will remove the ripe wheat later
And the hot, fragrant bread
will be baked By this road, the new grandfather will pass
How will the food cycle complete

And a powerful oak tree and a thin branch
And a strong wrestler and a girl-coquette
Once someone ate, digested
And then returned to nature again
And in this cycle you are no exception,
my reader. You are part of the cooking.
Everything has been eaten and digested for a long time.
The moral of this fable: our whole world is shit.