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Brianna Samson Jun 2020
06 10 2020

Let this be my goodbye
to that gold us, three years ago

it is raining once again
after that long summertime
when I found my skin stressed
and rough
and uglier, maybe

as I stayed up
in my holy place
the warm breeze from the outside
and cool air from the fan
touch my inglorious body
like how those bittersweet, melodramatic memories
touch my scarred soul

I hear the birds chirping
and I wonder if it’s a song
of sorrow
or of joy–
singing to the neighborhood
that the rainy season has begun

or maybe,
it’s just some of their small talk
and perhaps,
it’s just me trying so hard
to look mysteriously poetic

but here I am,
holding back the river
as I write this entry,
and as I ponder with the rain

how I remember those days
staying up late in my holy place
asking God how you are

and I remember when we walked
through that heavenly forest,
we heard the birds chirping
but I never wondered if they sang
out of their sorrow,
or of their joy

I remember that small talk –
how I wish we had it a little longer
I remember not trying so hard
to be me
when you just made everything so real
and so dreamy–that I don’t want to wake up from this ever again,
at the same time

but now
is the time
when I don’t want to sleep
until I could finally bid goodbye–
and as I do,
I want to remember that moment
that moment
for the last time;
that moment

when we first said hello
in August, three years ago



that was in August,
three years ago.


Maraming salamat sa'yo, aking kaibigan, aking kapatid. :)
Àŧùl May 2020
All the strength of my impertinent love.
I shall be the August Landmesser.

Low I shall keep my arm en masse,
Of course, I shall not heil the Führer,
Viewing my parents as the dictators, I am,
Expect me they do forget the love of yours.

Yet I shall not comply with their orders,
Of course, I shall always love only you,
Unless I am successful, rest I shall not.
My HP Poem #1846
©Atul Kaushal
california sea, late august
salt in my eyes,
the statue stood
as a mirage of you and
me, once so grounded and strong
now only the
waves can break it away
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 7/20/2018

Look! - white petals, like the first snow,
like a holiday linen tablecloths.
I? - I remember those holidays:
warm shadows of candles, you put on the table,
and the puff of breath in disarray,
entertains with the play of colors, and from feathers... sizzles.

Look! - from smoke I plait this poem short:
for fogs over an autumn meadow
with heathers strewn and drowsy,
for stubbles, fields and forests - in honor - of bards!
I? - I know they're hardly rustling
the strophes of simple words... And you? - you weave sorrows!

Wieslaw Musialowski 6/19/2002
Friends, I am asking for your understanding, because all my translations must be proofread and corrected. Poems are hard to translate (even in free verse translations). The original is rhymed. Regards.
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 8/15/2018

Late moon
takes the baton
- offering to the twilight
a bow in sacrifice:
with glow greeting
star aesthetes
- an orchestra of crickets
- eternal poets,
so that songs of love
inspired by the muses
- they would loudly sing
in the thickets.

Wieslaw Musialowski 10/9/2001
Friends, I am asking for your understanding, because all my translations must be proofread and corrected. Poems are hard to translate (even in free verse translations). The original is rhymed. Regards.
Susana Sep 2019
Rainy night
in the middle of warm August
shall make me calmer
Rainy night
tossing and turning
trying to find my place in your welcoming arms
Rainy night
dreaming of milky skies
and never ending sunsets
sometimes it's nice to get soaked
Qweyku Aug 2019
An ancient river
an old London chapel
& our last summer rays
of such an august Sun
      
The promise of niceties...
laughter, drinks, ice cream
& perhaps a softly stolen kiss

Fill my hand with yours.

If you please;
a pleasant walk with you
up on Tower Hill

© Qwey.ku
Who knows?
Colm Aug 2019
Through the rivers and the rain
   My emotions seep

No matter how far I reach
   How quiet I be
      Or how fervently I wish
      For this condensated heart to dry

Beneath stars and moonlight vain
   I stay
      Locked in the garden of perpetual being
         Without your warmth of certain meaning

And when the new morning comes
   With the quiet thought
      I realize what I had always ought

That I cannot seem to make you mine
   Regardless of the place or time
https://youtu.be/HGekjZd5LPk
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