Ты не будешь никогда поэтом,
Если только о цветочках говорить.
Ты не будешь никогда поэтом,
Если только женщину любить.
Ты не будешь никогда поэтом,
Ели будешь Бога все молить.
Ты не будешь никогда поэтом,
Ведь поэтом надо быть и жить.
Официально, показав всем справку,
Извиняйте, мол, такие вот дела.
Мол, пытался, шел я на поправку.
Эх, видать, в том виновата мать,
Что взяла меня и родила…
Но не выдержат ни голова, ни печень
Эту жизнь, такое бытиё.
С черным человеком личной встречи.
И поймешь, что это не твое.
Плюнешь и пойдешь ты в цех работать,
Или, может, в офис, наконец.
И пройдут мимо тебя заботы.
Станешь ты совсем, как молодец.
Милый друг, не становись поэтом.
Размахнись и разломай перо.
Все вокруг избитые сюжеты.
Вялый ямб и пошлые сонеты.
Все фальшиво, все вокруг не то.
Ну, а если что-то лезет в душу,
Или прорывается наружу…
Александр Тушкин,
Россия
Все,что творю я не ради, нет,
Славы в эпоху, где кругом интернет.
Ради речи родной, словесности.
Известное дело, не для известности...
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совершенствовать свои творческие способности
Рождественский Подарок (перевод с англ.) - ПуритАночка Оригинал принадлежит автору Pure Robert, текст привожу:
A VISIT FROM THE CHRISTMAS CHILD
Twas the morning of Christmas, when all through the house
All the family was frantic, including my spouse;
For each one of them had one thing only in mind,
To examine the presents St. Nick left behind.
The boxes and wrapping and ribbons and toys
Were strewn on the floor, and the volume of noise
Increased as our children began a big fight
Over who got the video games, who got the bike.
I looked at my watch and I said, slightly nervous,
“Let’s get ready for church, so we won’t miss the service.”
The children protested, “We don’t want to pray:
We’ve just got our presents, and we want to play!”
It dawned on me then that we had gone astray,
In confusing the purpose of this special day;
Our presents were many and very high-priced
But something was missing – that something was Christ!
I said, “Put the gifts down and let’s gather together,
And I’ll tell you a tale of the greatest gift ever.
“A savior was promised when Adam first sinned,
And the hopes of the world upon Jesus were pinned.
Abraham begat Isaac, who Jacob begat,
And through David the line went to Joseph, whereat
This carpenter married a maiden with child,
Who yet was a virgin, in no way defiled.
“Saying ‘Hail, full of Grace,’ an archangel appeared
To Mary the Blessed, among women revered:
The Lord willed she would bear – through the Spirit – a son.
Said Mary to Gabriel, ‘God’s will be done.’
“Now Caesar commanded a tax would be paid,
And all would go home while the census was made;
Thus Joseph and Mary did leave Galilee
For the city of David to pay this new fee.
“Mary’s time had arrived, but the inn had no room,
So she laid in a manger the fruit of her womb;
And both Joseph and Mary admired as He napped
The Light of the World in his swaddling clothes wrapped.
“Three wise men from the East had come looking for news
Of the birth of the Savior, the King of the Jews;
They carried great gifts as they followed a star –
Gold, frankincense, myrrh, which they’d brought from afar.
“As the shepherds watched over their flocks on that night,
The glory of God shone upon them quite bright,
And the Angel explained the intent of the birth,
Saying, ‘Glory to God and His peace to the earth.’
“For this was the Messiah whom Prophets foretold,
A good shepherd to bring his sheep back to the fold;
He was God become man, He would die on the cross,
He would rise from the dead to restore Adam’s loss.
“Santa Claus, Christmas presents, a brightly lit pine,
Candy canes and spiked eggnog are all very fine;
Let’s have fun celebrating, but leave not a doubt
That Christ is what Christmas is really about!”
The children right then put an end to the noise,
They dressed quickly for church, put away their toys;
For they knew Jesus loved them and said they were glad
That He’d died for their sins, and to save their dear Dad.
Поэзия : Холодно. - Николай Зимин Догорела,отцвела
В небе зорька алая.
Вслед за вечером пришла
Ночка запоздалая.
Но ей нечего тужить.
Ей одной не холодно.
Значит,завтра вновь кружить
Будет вечер вороном...
