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Duke shfaqur rezultatin -19 deri 0 prej 29

Tema: English tea

  1. #1
    Diabolis
    Anėtarėsuar
    21-01-2003
    Postime
    1,625

    english tea

    Ghostwriter

    You looking here for a poet?
    Oh, all the poets here are dead,
    Because this is a library,
    But you must search by the sea.

    Who told you on the beach,
    With colors like a mature peach?
    I'm not doing that a crossword,
    There is not a poet in each crossroad.

    I'm not telling you they are ghosts,
    You must find them by the coasts.
    Is only you and the rest is nature?
    Dear poet, give me your signature.

  2. #2
    Diabolis
    Anėtarėsuar
    21-01-2003
    Postime
    1,625

    My poetry and I

    Like me and the Subway,
    Is my poetry and I.
    Together all the day,
    And there are no hi!

    In my minded ways,
    The verses should ride;
    Is no needful - who say -
    A lifetime metrocard?

    Still verses have to pass
    Quite the same turnpike;
    But that is so priceless
    When you have to write.

    When I have to say goodby,
    This eternity can't retire,
    Jointly, my poetry and I,
    Will jump in the lasting car.

  3. #3
    Diabolis
    Anėtarėsuar
    21-01-2003
    Postime
    1,625

    KWICE

    I'm a father of twins, and wise.
    After working hard, or just for good night,
    Any time, on cheeks I kiss them twice,
    First on the left, second on the right.

    My dearest twins, saying - don't forget,-
    They want one kiss from me, only once;
    But I again have to repeat,
    I kiss each of those cheeks twice.

    Because, there isn't more a kiss,
    From kiss and twice I created : KWICE,
    And I am a proud father of twins
    That kwicing them 'wake up' or 'good night'.

  4. #4
    Konservatore Maska e Dita
    Anėtarėsuar
    17-04-2002
    Postime
    2,925
    Because, there isn't more a kiss,
    From kiss and twice I created : KWICE,
    And I am a proud father of twins
    That kwicing them 'wake up' or 'good night'.


    KWICE..............cfare ideje!!!!!!!!!!!

  5. #5
    Diabolis
    Anėtarėsuar
    21-01-2003
    Postime
    1,625

    Two cities I love

    I was born in a place covered with green,
    From pine - trees higher in the mountain chain,
    Down to wide plain with my city in between;
    My love for that beauty never will get drain.

    The city I live now is not green, is excelsior,
    In the gray here looks like I'm the only one pine - tree,
    From new climate I'm forced to get doctor,
    Resinous my skin, less fresh air, that's it, allergy.

    Still I love you so much my dearest new love,
    Encircled with blue waters from ocean and river,
    But from my deep eyes, I'm sending a dove,
    To the first city I love, but I'm not going to whimper.

    How can I help that small city more to grow up,
    How can I help this biggest city get more green?
    What if I grow up verses from basement to top,
    And built a pine - tree bridge from Korēa to Brooklyn?

  6. #6
    dd
    me ke goditur thelle me kete KWICE. i had almost forgotten that there is two of us instead of one.
    Who am I to judge a vowel more alluring than the words it generates ?

  7. #7
    Diabolis
    Anėtarėsuar
    21-01-2003
    Postime
    1,625

    cheerleader

    Let me know girl where and when
    You sharpening your writing pen
    And I will respond you then
    The truth, 'cause I'm a gentleman.

    Everything count in this matter,
    What kind are their bottles of water,
    Are their coats full with feathers.
    And who are their natural fathers,

    Sometime for everyone live is sad,
    People in this world are so bad;
    'Til drink some wine, finish our salad,
    Let's took about Macy's parade.

    Can you explain cheerleaders will,
    To show their own thighs in chill?
    Nobody cares about hotel bills
    Their duty is to smile and take pills.

  8. #8
    Buena Suerte Maska e MI CORAZON
    Anėtarėsuar
    21-07-2002
    Postime
    7,485

    Re: KWICE

    Postuar mė parė nga D D
    I'm a father of twins, and wise.
    After working hard, or just for good night,
    Any time, on cheeks I kiss them twice,
    First on the left, second on the right.

    My dearest twins, saying - don't forget,-
    They want one kiss from me, only once;
    But I again have to repeat,
    I kiss each of those cheeks twice.

    Because, there isn't more a kiss,
    From kiss and twice I created : KWICE,
    And I am a proud father of twins
    That kwicing them 'wake up' or 'good night'.
    Ohhhhh, so sweet !!!
    Where does a thought go when it's forgotten?

  9. #9
    Buena Suerte Maska e MI CORAZON
    Anėtarėsuar
    21-07-2002
    Postime
    7,485

    Re: Two cities I love

    Postuar mė parė nga D D
    I was born in a place covered with green,
    From pine - trees higher in the mountain chain,
    Down to wide plain with my city in between;
    My love for that beauty never will get drain.

    The city I live now is not green, is excelsior,
    In the gray here looks like I'm the only one pine - tree,
    From new climate I'm forced to get doctor,
    Resinous my skin, less fresh air, that's it, allergy.

    Still I love you so much my dearest new love,
    Encircled with blue waters from ocean and river,
    But from my deep eyes, I'm sending a dove,
    To the first city I love, but I'm not going to whimper.

    How can I help that small city more to grow up,
    How can I help this biggest city get more green?
    What if I grow up verses from basement to top,
    And built a pine - tree bridge from Korēa to Brooklyn?
    E mrekullueshme !
    Where does a thought go when it's forgotten?

  10. #10
    Diabolis
    Anėtarėsuar
    21-01-2003
    Postime
    1,625

    five by five

    Excuse me, passerby,
    Upon my do not cry,
    You siting on my grave
    At the Christmas Eve.

    You must be my wife
    With your darknest life
    The messagge I did receive
    Here is five by five.

    Way you standing still
    On the grave’s hill
    I heard tears like chain
    Bringing me such pain.

  11. #11
    Diabolis
    Anėtarėsuar
    21-01-2003
    Postime
    1,625
    A brand new wed
    In a month of med
    And a preowned car
    So sweet and so rare.

    A brand new car
    To ran far so far
    From a preowned wed
    My head, O my head.

  12. #12
    Diabolis
    Anėtarėsuar
    21-01-2003
    Postime
    1,625
    The old soldiers

    Like shells forgotten after the war,
    Left everywhere through the trenches,
    The old soldiers,
    Fortunate, friends-killed.
    Like shells disbanded after a volley of shots
    Down-fall in the middle of rain into the mud,
    The old soldiers,
    dark-faced, heart-broken.
    Like shells with ex name of bullets,
    In the years one name is given,
    The old soldiers,
    Veterans, fighters.
    Like shells with fragrance of dry powder,
    Parched and burned into the fire,
    The old soldiers,
    Bending over the graves of the young
    soldiers.

  13. #13
    Diabolis
    Anėtarėsuar
    21-01-2003
    Postime
    1,625
    Mķa corazón, mķa corazón,

    Mķa corazón, mķa corazón,
    The Spaniard with guitar sing a song;
    On the table she is tip-taping steps
    With the magnificence of the Arabian horse.

    Mķa corazón, mķa corazón,
    His fingers obtain crushes in the cords;
    Clank-clank, she doing with castanets,
    The life of the Riviera is coagulated.

    Mķa corazón, mķa corazón,
    His shirt the whiteness of the morn,
    Her dress with pleats in red and black,
    Her hair combed like a chignon.

    Mķa corazón, mķa corazón,
    The moon no more is going on,
    Higher the silent comets are burning off,
    Shadows of horses running forlorn.

    Mķa corazón, mķa corazón,
    Your love it is my salvation,
    Mķa amor, mķa muēaēita (amiga);
    Clank-clank, I am seńorita.

    Mķa corazón, mķa corazón,
    Among the cups she hurls her heels,
    While drinking the midnight has came,
    And cuńada began to dance.

    Mķa corazón, mķa corazón,
    Of the Spanish eye is falling blood,
    As the bull stabbed by swords,
    The night dies beneath her legs.
    wrong verb

  14. #14
    Diabolis
    Anėtarėsuar
    21-01-2003
    Postime
    1,625
    Poetic verses on sale

    The poet is selling in the sidewalk,
    Waiting for passers to buy any book.
    Where books are valued by weights,
    Paper in pounds, then, pounds of cardboards!

    ‘Poetic verses on sale ... verses …’
    On the winter’s soul drowsiness,
    ‘Your sight is stab in my heart,
    Don’t look at me thus, Homer, o bard.’

    The police arrive unexpectedly,
    Poet has no license from municipality!
    He grabs his verses and flees like pickpocket,
    Goes selling them on the flea market.

    ‘Come on, poetic verses, verses ... good one ...
    Three poetry hundred cents or so a poem.’
    ‘You didn’t paid the market’s fee so far’ -
    And Tax Collector draws a bill from Omar.

    But verses like peoples some day dying,
    That’s why the poet verses bag is tying,
    For a cup of wine he turns to the bar,
    For a bite bread and lips of a fairy.

    Hey bartender! Chockfull mine cups,
    I will drink hundred and one toasts.
    First one.... the graves run out on cemetery!
    Cheers! Soapy fate or poet fate, O’ Henry!
    wrong verb

  15. #15
    Diabolis
    Anėtarėsuar
    21-01-2003
    Postime
    1,625
    When the midnight gives up her darkest blue,
    I’m Phantom of the Colonnade - your fellow,
    You knock and speak “My dear, where are you?”
    And look as the sky starts turning yellow.

    See how from stars falls down magic dust,
    And marbles from the light glimmer white.
    Then start to dance - the same as in the past,
    You will be sprinkled with the divine light.

    Get lost in time, fugue upon your heels,
    Just smile and dance, and deeply breath,
    Lean back, I will softly hold your waist,

    To lift and spin you away from this earth,
    Around the blue you will be able to fly-
    Below the slabs, a tear, I should go cry.
    wrong verb

  16. #16
    Diabolis
    Anėtarėsuar
    21-01-2003
    Postime
    1,625
    Modern makeover

    In a big city of oldest best lore
    Lived a good man named Mr. Dudum,
    One day he saw in the pet store
    A so called ‘bookshelf aquarium’.

    He paid for that thing immediately
    Using an unlimited credit card;
    And fixed it on bookshelf permanently-
    Forty books were forced to depart!

    Doing so, he removed one shelf,
    Later he did throw the books on the street,
    But was as happy inside himself
    For the modern makeover he did.

    What clear waters! For he never feed
    Because he didn’t know how to pet;
    Days later beautiful fishy were dead,
    He called 911 but, was late, too late.
    wrong verb

  17. #17
    Diabolis
    Anėtarėsuar
    21-01-2003
    Postime
    1,625
    First date story

    Then, I told him up front,
    On tears: don’t, please don’t,
    You stepped on my callus wound.

    Perhaps I was terribly late,
    One can’t turn her fate:
    We kissed on our first date!

    Of course that’s not all, Nelly,
    Look, look upon my belly
    Daresay I expect a baby.

    We used three protections
    With similar rejections;
    That was fourth erection.
    wrong verb

  18. #18
    E gjifa Maska e Henri
    Anėtarėsuar
    14-04-2002
    Vendndodhja
    Kanada
    Postime
    1,086
    Diabolis, nuk rri dot pa te thene asgje (me sakte nuk rri dot pa te thene ndonje gje se do me haje truri pastaj):

    te lumte dora e madhe :)
    Perėndia nuk ėshtė mace...

  19. #19
    Diabolis
    Anėtarėsuar
    21-01-2003
    Postime
    1,625
    Door-mans

    As marshals of a war undone,
    Over Manhattan, door-mans, alone.
    Covered with their ancient coats
    By the banks of a river that floats.

    Mimicking unknown bird’s whistle
    They arisen arm the only missile-
    Aimed friendly at the yellow target:
    Sometimes they miss, always they get.

    Rain silence, no voices in distant,
    Leant on the doors their adjutants,
    Quite umbrellas, and so, so quiet,
    As sky turn green, yellow, red light.
    wrong verb

  20. #20
    Diabolis
    Anėtarėsuar
    21-01-2003
    Postime
    1,625
    Mom’s birthday

    Our dear little cottage,
    The door’s number tells your age?
    Is right answer thirty one?
    Please, please, tell us mom!

    We always will love you:
    Thirty one and thirty two,
    Or when circles on the tree
    Will sign there thirty three,

    Or when stranger knock on door
    Will call you for thirty four,
    Or when spring flowers thrive
    All together make thirty five.

    Thirty five or thirty six,
    Kisses and loves, bouquet mix;
    When you turn thirty seven,
    Love will spread all the heaven.

    Our fireworks, bright and great
    Will shine your sky at thirty eight.
    When you peak at thirty nine
    Turn that grape to sparkling wine.

    Light hundred candles, light a torch,
    Seat and wait for us at the porch;
    We will sing with joy and cheer:
    Love you mom! Happy birthday!
    wrong verb

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  1. Gjergj Kastriot Skėnderbeu
    Nga Arbushi nė forumin Historia shqiptare
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    Postimi i Fundit: 18-09-2022, 06:57

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