|Poems, Stories, and Sprites|
The First Snow
Winter morning in late November,
Outdoors it is slowly getting light.
With a particular presentiment
I quickly jump out of the bed.
Amazed, I look out of the window,
There has happened something overnight.
The whole world has been changed
By winter's white magnificence.
Little flakes are dancing slowly
In front of the window, to and fro.
For hours I could watch them.
Oh, I love that so much.
Winter overcoat, scarf and cap
I pick out immediately.
Und then, full of joy, I run out
Into the snow-covered fields.
Silent, I walk all alone
Through the white winter wood.
Everything is so tranquil and peaceful,
And I am even not cold.
Slowly, I go always farther,
Feel that the world comes now to rest.
Fear and sorrow are falling from me,
And all is covered by the snow.
Illusions of LoveLooking out from my window down into the streetIllusions of Love by PoetBoi
thinking back on forever, I wonder what you came to be
always looking as if you'd had something to hide
and walking with that air of unassailable pride.
I examine the neon lights of the stores below
remembering all the times you'd put on a show
every person in the house cheering for you
and your eyes on me, their beautiful blue.
But I'd be a fool to call myself wise
and wise to call myself a fool
and so I wouldn't let it be a surprise
when you up and left me feeling like a tool.
Here Comes The SunGolden, flowing streams, like petals of a sunflowerHere Comes The Sun by PoetBoi
Coming down from the sun in row after row
Warming as we pass from night to morning hours
Coming once more to see the trees grow.
Mayday, MaydayThe journey you take after the first hitMayday, Mayday by PoetBoi
in the mouth and out the nose
the smoke finding a far-down pit
sucked down your throat like a vacuum hose.
That journey you take when you realize
you ain't fond of smoking
and this high isn't like you idealized
and it hurts a lot more than toking.
You cough and struggle with the smoke
even as you gulp down the pills
listening as your inner-voice spoke
"you know smoking kills."
And the journey takes you far away
out of your body and into your mind
so that now you can go and pave the way
to that which you want to find.
But instead you find yourself in dire straits
and the smoke is drowning your lungs
it's too late to intermediate
and you lose hold of the rungs.
Ernest Hemingway - The Best To Ever Live "There are events which are so great that if a writer has participated in them his obligation is to write truly rather than to assume the presumption of altering them with invention. The good parts of a book may be only something a writer is lucky enough to overhear or it may be the wreck of his whole damn life — and one is as good as the other. There is no writer since my time to have done these things without some form of fantasy; a crutch on which to lean. It is safely assumed that I am the best writer to have emerged from the twentieth century, and remain so for the twenty-first, despite what critics may say.Ernest Hemingway - The Best To Ever Live by PoetBoi
I don't like to write like God. It is only because I never do it, though, that the critics think I can't do it. Oh, many had the potential to write like I had, but they never continued, were always dropping into the background. It's enough for you to do it once for a few men to remember you. But if you do it year after year, then
|Poems, Stories, and Sprites|