In poems about love, people try to understand the nature of this strongest feeling. Since ancient times, ardent lovers and gray-haired philosophers have struggled with the exact definition - passion, affection or unity of two kindred souls. But there is simply no single answer to this question; this is an incredibly complex and multifaceted feeling for everyone.
What will allow you to survive the pain of unrequited affection? In poems about love, poets can throw out the whole storm of emotions tormenting them, express their despair and disappointment, which, with the help of rhymed lines, turn into quiet sadness with the hope of finding personal happiness.
Poetic works are the best way to tell the object of sympathy about the first timid feelings filled with tenderness and vague longing. These love poems can be childishly naive, which gives them a special charm. Selfless, truthful, imaginative, they personify youth itself with its pure, open thoughts.
What is love? Humanity could not find an answer to this question, no matter how many philosophical categories people came up with for this. But we can absolutely say that this bright feeling fills life with meaning and brings earthly man closer to the world of the divine.
In poems about love, poets describe something that cannot be expressed in prose - something deep and subconscious. In these works, a strong feeling is expressed in all its diversity; there is gratitude and doubt, passion and jealousy, the pain of loss and the unity of souls. Nothing else has such power or is characterized by so many contradictions.
Poems about love - the most sincere confession
In attempts to express their sympathy, people give each other expensive gifts, replacing one concept with another. But real feeling is alien to materiality; in order for it to grow stronger and flourish, it needs sincerity and care in its most disinterested manifestations. Tell the object of your adoration about your feelings with the help of love poems. Such recognition will not go unnoticed.
Poetic works, like nothing else, are better able to fan the extinguished flame of a relationship. A mature feeling, in which gratitude, respect and affection replace ardent passion, must be protected, reinforced with tenderness and signs of attention. You may not be a poet, but you can use poems about love from other authors that match your thoughts and mood.
Sincere and pure, passionate and tender, inviting, with a plea for reciprocity, rhymed lines - this is a real textbook of love. But this is also a desire for beauty expressed in poetry, a desire to improve for the sake of the object of sympathy, a desire for the unity of souls. How to express all those contradictory experiences that lie in your heart? For thousands of years, lovers of different nationalities, genders and ages have written love poems to find an outlet for their feelings.
In my youth I was very interested in poetry. And the fact that we were given grades in literature for the poems we learned also greatly contributed to this. I taught a poem for almost every lesson, and since all the cells in the journal were occupied by “fives”, some of my failures in essays were not noticeable, for example, in Chernyshevsky’s work “What is to be done?”, I didn’t even have to read this book. I loved reading, but I still don’t have much interest in this work.
As for poetry, here I was also very selective - I was always attracted only to poems about love. That is why I was not particularly interested in poets who did not write about feelings, and from everyone else I chose poems only on love themes. So among my favorites were Blok and Akhmatova, plus I liked something from Pushkin and Lermontov, individual poems by Tyutchev, Fet, Balmont, Gumilyov. At our house we had collections of poems by poets of the Golden and Silver Ages, I read them over and over in search of something that would resonate in my soul. And I still remember something: “I clenched my hands under a dark veil...” Or another:
The door is half open
Linden trees blow sweetly...
Forgotten on the table
Whip and glove.
The circle from the lamp is yellow...
I listen to the rustling sounds.
Why did you leave?
I don't understand…
Joyful and clear
Tomorrow will be morning.
This life is beautiful
Heart, be wise.
You're completely tired
Beat slower, slower...
You know, I read
That souls are immortal.
It seems like there are so few words, but there is so much in them, a whole life... And this is why the poems are strong and beautiful, especially talented poems.
But school has long been left behind, the poets of the golden and silver ages also began to be forgotten and, even more so, faded into the background after my acquaintance with modern love lyrics. , I love modern writers and artists, and I also love modern poets. And, reading some modern poems about love, one can only regret that poetry is now far from being the most popular form of creativity. Because there are such beautiful poems, touching, exciting, penetrating to the depths of the soul, that it is impossible not to admire the talent of those who wrote them. But are we interested in them now? They are increasingly being replaced by our other activities and hobbies...
We will try to correct this at least partially. So, modern poems about love are piercing and desperate, passionate and chilling, touching and romantic. And as a bonus - a few poems about life, philosophical ones. I once found all of them in different places - on the website poetry.ru, from friends on LiveJournal, I just caught my eye somewhere, caught my eye with something, and so I kept it for myself. Contemporary works of contemporary poets.
Romantic love poems
These poems are warm, sincerely tender, affectionate. Not all poems are written in moments of despair, sometimes we are so overwhelmed with everything good that love gives us that wonderful, touching works are born from this.
***
Stirring in the witch's cauldron
Cheerful laughter with swamp mud,
Three thin, thin webs,
Van Gogh's early paintings,
Cognac, arsenic and creme brulee,
And, adding gradually
Three drops of lifeless water
And unbloomed flowers
And the expectation of trouble
And the smell of mint is sure to be there,
Halva, hills, psalms and songs,
Thick darkness and bright light
Yes, there is a fuzzy footprint in the snow,
And fever, chills, and severe delirium
Houses and roofs, steps of stairs,
And an incomprehensible slight fear,
Az, beeches, lead, xi and psi,
Confessed paths
I want to reproduce
Everything that is in your eyes...
***
You can weave wreaths from rye and flax
And at the same time not be one bit of a poet.
Maybe I'm a little in love...
Maybe even a little bit... that's not the point.
So a hand glides quietly along the silken surface,
It's like you're wondering what it's like
Finding over the black lace stocking universe
Especially a delicate strip of my skin.
You are very simple. It's painfully simple.
God, when creating you, was extremely precise.
...I feel you with all my skin. Like air.
...And I like to smell you.
Very.
Very.
alta18611
***
I’ll run and jump into the black sky - do you want it?
I'll take off a couple of stars for you and back.
It's hard to hold them in your hands
If you can, and I can get the sun, will you?
The Milky Way, if you want, in a bottle,
It will flicker and stand on the table.
Through it I can look at you at night,
If you want, watch too - are you watching?
I will drown in your eyes - is it possible?
Rozhdestvensky gave me the idea.
After all, happiness will drown in your eyes,
In your cornflower blue sea.
I'll steal the wind from God
And I’ll give you the gift of flying - will you?
Will you join me tomorrow?
Can I go with you tomorrow?
If not, then I feel sorry for people!
I’ll rip Danko’s heart out,
I will deprive the entire planet of fire,
To melt your ice - do you melt?
Suddenly you melt, and I’m not around,
Just think - I’m nearby - think!
I will dream about you - is it possible?
Even if you can’t dream, I will.
Poignant poems about love
However, it is no secret that more often poems about love are written in a completely different state - restless, rebellious, full of worries, doubts, worries. And they are the ones that turn out to be the most powerful, biting, such that goosebumps run down your skin and trembles, and sometimes tears well up in your eyes. These are probably the majority of poems, and we probably respond to them more often.
***
I catch drops from the sky and almost cry with happiness, the city’s pro-English spleen has disappeared in the gray puddles, just tell me, funny brown-eyed boy, why do I call you mine now? I’m used to being alone, and should we be afraid of the rules, darkened courtyards, lonely cold days... Tell me a secret, brown-eyed handsome guy, why do you call me yours now? You forgive my poems, your dislike for your acquaintances, let you grumble, but you walk on foot to the eighth floor, and your apartment is now called a house with an invariable prefix, like a sign on top, - ours.
The hotel lights have disappeared into the bustle of the city, there are no hanging keys, the rooms have all been rented out long ago. To be honest, we didn’t really want to come to you, we will return home, that’s the sweet word - we. We will go with you in the spring to Barcelona, to Nice, we will be lost in the crowds of tourists from prying eyes, we... yes, I couldn’t even dream of this - everything that I am experiencing together with you now. I’m afraid to wake up - our happiness will dissipate in a haze, I can’t sleep if suddenly you’re not nearby, and you look after me with a condescending grin and shout after me - you didn’t take your beret again!
You give me tulips, and most often - daffodils, I unconsciously go to the bottom with happiness with you. Can you find the ordinates or abscissas of the point where our destinies once merged into one? Maybe the planets just suddenly left their heavenly orbits or the gods, out of old habit, went crazy, like I lived and didn’t know that you were passing somewhere, like I lived and believed that I could do everything myself? The light rain is drizzling, I am crying, and this means that for the first time in my life I am happy. Exactly. Today. Here. The sweetest, beloved, dear brown-eyed boy, I am indebted to God for the fact that you simply exist.
invasora
***
...Mom, I am stronger than everyone thinks.
But weaker than I would like...
And only one thing saves you - your eyes are made up,
If it weren't for them, I would have burst into tears.
Mom, that's why I use eyeliner
I draw so clearly, like, I’m happy.
I don’t get drunk on martinis, but more often on vodka.
I don’t need it to be beautiful - it wouldn’t hurt me...
Mom, I'm sorry. I just grew up.
And I’m looking for something smart, then a strong one,
But I pray that he will soon be forgotten,
Who managed to become the world... and broke it...
Mom, it hurts. Mom, forgive me
That I don’t share my problems with you,
What don't you know, on whose behalf
I want to throw myself at the walls.
Yes, I grew up - lipstick, stilettos, arrows,
And how many unnecessary things are in the mobile memory...
But while you tell me "My girl"
Mom, I can do anything. I'm strong with you...
Yulechka Garkusha
***
I will tie your life
Made from fluffy mohair threads.
I'll tie your life together
I won't lie a single loop.
I'll tie your life together
Where in a pattern across the field of prayer -
Wishes of happiness
In the rays of true love.
I will tie your life
Made from a cheerful melange yarn.
I will tie your life
And then I will give it from my heart.
Where do I get threads?
I will never confess to anyone:
To connect your life,
I secretly unravel mine.
Belyaeva Valentina
It would be difficult to ignore Vera Polozkova in our story about modern poems about love. And even though I’m not close to the theatricality with which she reads her poems, I, to myself, in my own rhythm and with my own intonations, love to read them. Talent. And well done, he knows how not only to write for himself, but to convey his works to the general public.
***
Let it be like this: they will simply separate us,
This is how it is during long-distance negotiations,
And I will stop knowing what you whisper over
Her right ear, stroking the fluffy heap
Her hair, listen to the joyful little devils
Your restless thoughts and every rustle
To recognize you around you: the keys are ringing,
Here are your fingers ruffling your bangs, here is the wind in the curtains
Confused; here is the SMS signal, here it is removed
Button block; The parquet creaks, but the steps are light,
A click of a lighter, an exhalation – and that’s it, beeps.
And I'll stand in the cabin while I'm in the temple
The firing from the defeated squadrons will not subside.
Happy, like old Colonel Freeley,
Who died - with a pipe in one hand.
Let it be like this: it’s as if five years have passed,
And we turned clean and white
And they became less loud in decibels,
But we already cost a thousand per ticket.
We work like normal guys
We cut it like a bush, we don’t let the head down.
And I already generally know what I'm worth,
I don't care if no one will give me that price.
Let's meet, knock over three at a time
Chilean young semi-dry
And you say - I’m proud of you, Polozkova!
And - no, nothing twitches inside.
- That August we were still drinking at the parapet,
And you’re in my jacket - we joke, we sing, we smoke.
(You hardly knew that from that night you became somewhere
The hero of my hysterics and pantomimes).
Someday we will really remember this -
And I won’t believe it myself.
Come on, bring back my mischief and agility,
They would take away all the stoop and softness,
And so that it completely stops covering me
And you didn’t want to write any more poetry;
So that I don’t cry every chorus, wheezing,
Like a painted singer from a restaurant.
How nice it is that you are sitting in front of the screen now
And you think
What are you reading
Not about myself.
Vera Polozkova
Here is an absolutely incredible poem about love...
***
Yuzek wakes up in the middle of the night, grabs her hand, breathes heavily:
“I dreamed something terrible, I was so scared for you...”
Magda sleeps like a baby, smiles in her sleep, does not hear.
He kisses her shoulder, goes to the kitchen, flicks the lighter.
Then he comes back and looks, and the bed is completely empty,
- What the hell? - Yuzek thinks. -Where could she have gone?..
“Magda died, Magda is long gone,” he suddenly remembers,
And so he stands in the doorway, amazed, with a beating heart...
Magda is hot, and something is pressing on her chest, she sits up in bed.
– Yuzek, I’ll open the window, okay? - whispers in his ear,
He strokes his head, touches him with his fingers gently, barely,
He goes to the kitchen, drinks water, and returns with a mug.
- Do you want to drink? - and no one is there anymore, no one is answering.
“He died a long time ago!” – Magda sits on the floor and howls like a beluga.
For the fifth year, their fence has been covered with rose hips and ivy.
And they still dream and dream about each other.
Elena Kasyan
***
I can do anything. I know it. On the flute? Can. On thin strings.
And even if I turn white, my wingspan will not increase.
My smoky wind will fill my lungs, and I will become entangled in countless moons.
And may one day I be forgotten by all those who gave me wine and strength.
Let them not know that I can do anything. To the point of being hoarse. And to the point of speechlessness.
And let them not know that howling at night is just a way to ask for forgiveness.
And I will explode with such words that my pages cannot bear them.
But I can do it. Play open. And, escaping generalization,
I'll run away. Filling your lungs with heavy smoke from burning roofs.
They won't forgive me. But learning to fall without breaking is the hardest thing.
And curl in streams, hiss on your body, while you can, while you burn...
But I can do it. Flow along the body. Give up passwords. Up to one.
So, I’ll write unevenly so that my paper turns red:
"Yes. I can do anything." And you will believe it. “So what should we do?” I won't confess.
And if in the morning your dog cannot find me in the ravine,
That means that's all. Now I can. Fly. And fall. Without breaking.
Of course, how can I not write here about the poems of Sergei Fattakhov. I’m always glad to have the opportunity to talk about him, and although I won’t quote all of his poems here, at least part of it. But actually, I have both, and... And considering what I wrote at the beginning, it is not surprising that his work resonates with me so much, because all his poems are about love. Although not very happy, as a rule, with bitterness, with anguish...
***
A rainy day is transparent and weightless.
And the world is spinning like a ferris wheel.
And the heart beats, it seems, in unison
With the uneven patter of drops on the sidewalk.
The season is over. Hard-won and closed.
The hero is crucified and taken out of the game.
A bad example for books and children.
An idol for drunk songs with a guitar.
The world mocks: sometimes it calls you to cry, sometimes it calls you to sing.
At first glance, this is an absurd whirlwind.
And yet there is still hope to make it.
Not the first attempt. And not the second one.
And you can live from “anyhow” to “anyhow”.
But every moment of your easy fate
Anyone you thought you forgot
Your soul dies in fragments.
***
And if they ask, then we are sufferers. And the rest are a happy rabble. And so, it seemed, what was there to be afraid of? Two crossbars. From the gate. And autumn is breathing. And everything goes according to plan. And was there anyone to lose? The alarm clock will wake you up early tomorrow with the bells of the monastery.
And if they ask, we don’t know, and we weren’t standing there. And I habitually walk on the edge. But for some reason it’s like the first time. I bite into the hills like a cardboard tank on an arc as endless as the world. And the day is short, like air, woven from sugary sadness for you.
And if they ask, then we have no idea who got the lucky prize. And we loved. And we wanted to. Yes, for some reason everything is butter side down. But it's okay. Troy is brave. Autumn mocks and takes a running start. And this is not how the world works at all, but this will simply suit everyone. Yes, everything is fine. We just floated along, carried by the current along the way.
And if they ask, then we couldn’t be happier in the world. They broke their souls and took root. They reduced their sky to zero.
And if they ask, be silent and remember that for some reason I love you.
***
All will pass. You just need to get together and live.
But in a mysterious dream I see you again.
If the path to you lies across an abyss,
This means we are closer. We're closer. Closer.
If the world is indifferent, and more often - cruel.
If people squabble like wild animals.
Only the sun rushes to the east in the morning.
So, I believe. I believe. I believe.
Into the depths of your eyes without fear of drowning.
Into the nakedness of your words without thinking about falsehood.
It is inevitable to go through this chosen path.
So, here we go. Next we come. Further.
Let's lie and dream. Don't let him in! Don't hold it.
I keep the warmth of your hands in my palms.
I'll pass. You just need to get together and live.
So there are two of us. Two of us. Two.
***
Rowan berries say goodbye to autumn,
And the snowflakes began to circle.
You can never love by half,
How you can't live halfway.
You open your heart, covering your back,
You forget dates and years.
You can never leave halfway
You can't go back forever.
And pushing simple grief into the depths,
So as not to find and get it,
You can never forgive half
You can't wait halfway.
***
The devil knows what they think up there. Yes
Time keeps rolling, God knows where.
The dog is homeless, the dog knows where it comes from,
Waiting for the train.
What's the wind like today? Beware of colds.
Cover your chilled shoulders with your favorite scarf.
Who knows what will happen next. I will
Next to you.
The first smells of autumn. Damp and gloomy.
Dusk cuts along the edges of the lanterns.
Quiet. But it seems that the forgotten cat is crying.
There, at the door.
Just don’t think about whether the dishes break for luck,
The stars are falling and collapsing into the foamy surf,
Time is rolling, but everything is downhill. I will
Next to you.
Sergey Fattakhov
Passionate poems
And what is love without passion, so, of course, poetry cannot do without it.
***
If you could see his shoulders, girl, you'd go crazy
I wanted him terribly - I burned the world around me with my heart,
I loved him unrequitedly - I couldn’t give him away...
Only the sky reproached me - you forgot to get up from your knees.
If you had seen his hands, girl, you would have gone to the bottom.
In these palms I want to die and I want to live out of spite,
In these palms are joy and sorrow, waves of large ports,
You just sit and wait for punishment from its fast winds.
If you had seen his lips, girl, you would have thrown yourself into the fire.
This heat is unbearably sweet, it burns you to the ground,
This heat will burn out and die out, sending silent trembling into the body,
And then for more than two weeks you wait for him so obediently.
If you saw his heart, girl, you would forget to sleep at night,
It beats loudly under the skin, after which you will begin to forget everything,
It beats like a bird in a cage, the flapping of its wing is difficult,
He will say: “You know, honey, I seem to really need you.”
***
One look at you and now I'm already an elusive target,
I run through forests, through swamps, along overgrown roads,
One word to you - and now I'm nothing more than just a shadow,
A fading ray of sunshine under the vault of heaven.
One look, one word, one exhalation and one inhalation,
I move quickly parallel to other people's routes.
One shot from you - and my ashes will scatter among the stars,
There will be room only for your unrequited sounds.
One crossroads, the second - how could you love me?
Unfaithful, sharp, strange, scurrying around the palaces.
Whenever you get the chance, you must kill me:
I am the most terrible thing that was created by God.
Kira Wind
***
Do you want me to love you fiercely?
You will fight orgasmically under me.
Do you want a sweet-sparkling feeling?
And all this passionately different things?
Do you want me to love you painfully?
Do you want me to drink you in sips?
Do you want a geometry teacher?
I'll be there to find your G-spot and
Vector from her to the impossible
Will I make it through the roar of my heartbeat?
Do you want all your streams subcutaneous?
Shall I bring it to a boil?
Do you want, with burning kisses
Shall I pave the way to the world of madness?
Do you want me to torture you to tears?
Want?..
Gayyy
Poems about cats and coffee
Where there are cats and coffee, there is also love, right? How many warm feelings they evoke in us, the soul immediately feels good even just thinking about them, so it’s not surprising that there are a lot of poems about coffee and cats.
***
It was built in some kind of eleventh century.
Nearby lived a dazzling black cat
A cat that Man loved very much.
No, not friends. The cat just noticed him -
She squinted a little, as if she was looking at the light.
Her heart was beating... Oh, how her heart was purring!
If, upon meeting, he quietly whispered “Hello” to her.
No, not friends. The cat just let him
Stroking yourself. She sat on her knees herself.
One day she was walking with a Man in the park,
He suddenly fell. Well, the Cat suddenly went crazy.
The neighbor howled, the siren... The ambulance rushed by.
What was going on in everyone's heads?
The cat was silent. She wasn't his cat.
It just so happened that... it was her Man.
The cat was waiting. Didn't sleep, didn't drink or eat.
She meekly waited for the light to appear in the windows.
She was just sitting. And she even turned a little grey.
He will return and quietly whisper “Hello” to her.
In dusty Moscow, an old house with two stained glass windows,
Minus seven lives. And minus one more century.
He smiled: “Were you really waiting for me, Cat?”
“Cats don’t wait... My stupid, stupid Man.”
Sasha Best
St. Petersburg coffee
I’ll take the smell of coffee with me from St. Petersburg,
The moisture of the eyes, the touch of the hands, the warmth of the coffee pot.
Everything I remember is saturated with that smell...
A thin thread in the everyday anthill.
I will drag him away unseen, unknown
For those scurrying past, for those who do not understand,
Along the street, up the stairs, to my home.
I will hide it from my family and friends.
There is too much spice and teasing in it,
Frank, alluring, forbidden.
Oh, he will give me away, lost,
My secret is crazy, utter.
***
The wind hits the roof. Our old slate rattles about its own thing - it’s unclear what, the rain rattles with enviable persistence, which simply is the reality of peace. The leaves are dormant in the vase, and with the rush of wind, the memory of childhood and summer is entwined with the sound of magic on a sleepy morning, where the sound of the wind on the roof is more visible than heard, and where the cat on the window is a little out of a fairy tale.
Super-kakadu
About coffee
And you are sitting with me over a cup of coffee,
Just like that accidental first time.
And you say that you hate your profile.
And I'm afraid to look at you from the front.
I'm afraid I've made a mistake again.
Although, most likely, he admitted it yesterday.
I'm afraid you'll move the cup away now
And you will say that, alas, it’s time for you.
And we will each go our own route.
And I can even (run) on the subway
Jump on the last train. And tomorrow morning
The earth will repair its wind rose.
And everything will pass. As if there was no trace of it.
Magic moment. Short blind flight.
By chance someone will take your heart out,
It will warm you gently in your paws. And he will return it.
Sergey Fattakhov
***
And lips that can extract lingering, long moans,
And hair that smells of the same cool scent for many years,
And the hands in which the flesh of the saxophone beats in hysterics,
And coffee, so impossibly bitter, and a cigarette in the morning, instead of breakfast.
All this will end up in my poems, nightmares, dreams, notebooks...
And it will stay with me for a long time. I must keep and remain silent about this.
Someone, looking at me, will understand: not mine, alien, superfluous.
Maybe I will understand this too, having forgotten you and lived until the summer...
I'll just stop eating breakfast. And the coffee is bitter. And tobacco smoke.
And the skin will be thoroughly saturated with the same sweet smell.
Where did you learn to hit someone in the face like that and swear so deliciously through your teeth?
And stroke the neck of the guitar with your fingers, so that the strings howl and beat in a fit.
All this will become almost mine. Like muscle memory, like a needle on the skin...
It’s as if I’m repeating phrases from past lives, from ancient songs.
As if coffee and a cigarette will help solve the problem through a sleepy look,
How did it happen that my little world became too small with your departure?
But I’ll get used to it, I’ll almost forget, I’ll almost believe it, but I’ll tremble a little,
When I press the bend of the guitar to myself with the same familiar gesture.
And the smell of coffee is like the smell of leather. I am muscle memory. Not their own. I remember.
How you sang to me... Everything is clear to me. Through the smell of coffee in thick smoke.
Poems about life
But over time, I began to like not only poems about love, but also philosophical poems, poems about life. And now I can’t help but mention them too. These are also modern poems, which is why, perhaps, they are so relevant in a new way and touch a nerve, although, in essence, we are still talking about the same eternal and enduring truths that we comprehend throughout life.
***
God called.
He apologized.
He says he was busy.
Disasters, tsunamis, falling prices and planes.
Dead children. Rotten sprats. Broken souls.
And who is blamed? That's it.
I'm tired of it.
I’m tired of treating everyone, dripping iodine on my heart, blowing on wounds.
“It stings, of course. It hurts, of course.
Do not Cry. Everything will heal. It’s not too late, it’s so early.”
God called.
He says he had to help.
Someone died there. Someone didn't return home.
Someone blew something and roared into his shoulders about how screwed up he was.
And then he threw barb after barb,
slapped his cheeks, accusingly.
So vicious.
But it seems to have gotten better.
God told me that this is more important.
Someone hates Him, someone sent him three letters.
Someone wished Him the most severe torment and cursed His birthday.
“But what can you do? It will pass... with time.”
God came...
He was so tired and sad. But he smiled.
He sat down on the arm of the sofa, ran his hand over the top of my head and quietly asked:
"What's happened?" And I fell silent. It became so embarrassing...
I poured him tea, tart hot,
wrapped a blanket around my knees, and
sitting down near his feet, he quietly read poetry.
Just so he could rest.
Just so he wouldn't be sad.
Just…
Cat Drunk
***
I write: “Here, I’m baking a pie and making compote.”
They answer me in the comments:
- Here!
So you have a peaceful life, compote,
Do you know that there is a war going on in the world?
I write: “Look, this is a cat.
He's funny and behaves terribly..."
They answer me in the comments:
- Crap!
How can you?
People died there and there!
I write: “I fed the blackbird chick.
He barely survived because he fell from the nest.”
And they write to me:
- What kind of blackbird is this?
You've probably lost your mind, right?
You don't know that trains have derailed
Do we care about the thrush chick?
And one day you write: “I’m lying in the grass,
Stupid thoughts are jumping around in my head..."
And suddenly the answer will come to this:
I thought I was dead. It turned out not:
I read about the cat, about the thrush, compote,
This means that life goes on for others.
This means there is still a chance.
For people like us.
For me.
For us.
Darina Nikonova
For what?
I can do a lot of strange things:
Collect mushrooms, look for ticks on the dog,
Swimming, skiing, laying bricks,
Having purchased the necessary products, bake Easter cakes.
I can make a fire, cut down a tree with a chainsaw,
Paint, varnish layer by layer,
Plane with a plane, twisting the shavings into a spiral,
I can strum something if I have a piano at hand,
I can nail nails, drive a car,
I can dance a waltz, or maybe even a square dance.
Having fallen down a snowy slope, catch yourself with an ice ax,
If in a brigade, stack the logs in a log house.
I can go through a (not the most difficult) rapid in a kayak,
I can make cottage cheese from kefir (or is it correct “cottage cheese”?)
I can, sipping ice-cold whiskey, roll balls with a cue,
I can stretch out on the warm bridges and listen to the mosquitoes itching,
Weave wreaths from dandelions (they make sticky fingers),
Wandering around airports like a true wanderer...
A wanderer... Yes... But this is not important and will never be useful to me
In the cramped space of a ship that has been flying to nowhere for ten years now...
***
Here is a man - a dream in the middle of the garden.
With one hand he reaches to the sky, with the other to the sea.
Talk to him. Tell him what you need to say
And return to love. Out of love. With love.
midori_ko
And in conclusion, about modern poems about love and life, just good, warm, peaceful, for the mood. Let it be like this sometimes, as a break from our hasty, hectic life.
Here's the yard. Here's a pear. Here comes the dog.
Again he carried a brick in his teeth.
Neighbors are old friends.
What's on the agenda?
- Oh, did you do your laundry today?
– Yesterday we played lotto!
- How much are tomatoes today?
- And I’ll tell you a new recipe!
And so in the cycle of days
The little world lives by its own destiny.
Here the aunts got fat early,
And the guys went bald early.
Time doesn't fly here at all,
And it hangs peacefully in the air.
So we need more soulful, warm poems in our lives, from which the soul is filled with music. Love and warmth to all of us, my dears!
Intuitive and metaphorical cards, postcards, panels
for yourself and as a gift
Continuing the topic
I present to you a selection of the best love poems from the classics. Here are presented the love lyrics of poets of the Pushkin era and poets of the Silver Age.
The best classic poems about love
One more acacia
I lowered the branches with flowers
And it’s spring over the gazebo
She did not round the fragrant vaults.
A hot breeze blew
We sat in the shadows with each other,
And in front of us on the sand
The day was golden all around.
The night was shining. The garden was full of moonlight. were lying
Rays at our feet in a living room without lights.
The piano was all open, and the strings in it were trembling,
Just like our hearts follow your song.
You sang until dawn, exhausted in tears,
That you alone are love, that there is no other love,
I came to you with greetings,
Tell me that the sun has risen
What is it with hot light
The sheets began to flutter;
Tell me that the forest has woken up,
All woke up, every branch,
Every bird was startled
And full of thirst in spring;
She gave herself without reproach,
She kissed without words.
- Like a dark sea deep,
How the edges of the clouds breathe!
She didn't say, "Don't"
She didn't expect vows.
I fell in love with you, I just saw you for the first time.
I remember there was an insignificant conversation going on,
Only you were silent, and your speeches were fiery,
Your gaze sent silent words to me.
Maybe when you leave me,
You will be colder towards me.
But all my life, until the last day,
Oh my friend, you will be mine.
I know that new passions will come,
With someone else you will forget yourself again.
"Love!" - the rustling birches sing,
When their earrings bloomed.
"Love!" - the lilac sings in the colored dust.
"Love! Love!" - the roses sing, flaming.
Be afraid of lovelessness. And run threats
Dispassionate. Your afternoon is suddenly far away.
Oh, woman, child, accustomed to play
And the gaze of tender eyes, and the caress of a kiss,
I should despise you with all my heart,
And I love you, worrying and yearning!
No. Leave quickly. Don't call for delight.
Be in love? - Loving, killing - that’s the beauty of love.
I love only a moment - and I move away.
It was a clear day with me - the night swirls behind me.
I believe: under one star
You and I were born;
We walked the same road,
We were deceived by the same dreams.
But well! - from a noble goal
Torn away by a storm of passions,
I forgot in the fruitless struggle
Legends of my youth.
In all centuries, philosophers and poets, doctors and scientists, astrologers and psychics have tried to come to an accurate definition of this unique feeling, which can be so strong that it captures a person completely, burning him in the fire of passion, and can be light, sublime, airy. So far, not a single outstanding mind on the planet, into whose head such thoughts have occurred, has been able to answer the question “what is love.” And is it worth trying to interpret such a complex matter formed by the interweaving of two loving souls, ready to turn inside out for the sake of each other’s happiness?
Lyrical poems about love are what carry eternal love stories through the centuries. They contain everything: all-consuming joy, unearthly bliss, the triumph of a great feeling, insane lust, wild passion, slight sadness, the sadness of separation, the pain of loss... This list of feelings that the authors put, are putting and will put into their immortal creations can be continued indefinitely . As we see, there was a place in it not only for bright, joyful emotions, but also for the bitterness of separation and loss. And this is not surprising, because love can be compared to the elements. It is like the sea, sometimes calm, peaceful, sometimes stormy, boiling, destructive, sweeping away everything in its path.
Beautiful rhyming lines are ideal for opening your feelings. With their help, you can convey everything that is going on in your soul, what you feel for a person very close to you. And it doesn’t matter whether we are talking about the first timid feelings, which are filled with still unclear languor, tenderness, or in poetic form you once again decided to reveal your aspirations to your soulmate.
They say that love is the feeling that fills a person’s life with meaning and generously bestows divine blessings on him. Even if you have not yet had the opportunity to experience this incredible feeling, from lyrical poems about love you can learn a lot of new things about human relationships, open the door to a wonderful world without conventions and boundaries, where Her Majesty Love reigns.
In this section, we have collected for you the best lyrical poems about love, which our editors managed to find among the great variety of pearls of famous and just beginning poets. We hope you enjoy our unique selection. Love and be loved! Perhaps it is your feeling that will someday form the basis of another heartfelt and sensual lyrical poem.
Vladimir Zabolotsky
Line spacing of interjections
Between us there is a whiplash,
It hits the spineless rocks,
Burns your back with its tail:
I would be glad not to sing about you,
Don't waste your delight
Do not knit loops from stitches
In a simple way about simple things!
But it can’t - it’s not easier,
The singer's throat is not silent:
You are hidden in every thing
A loud rumble in the chest,
You splash a raging river
Because of all my dams
You tear down the roofs between the rivers,
You dream of happiness in the flesh
- I hope the dream was prophetic:
I sang in it - and not alone.
Jade
I belong to no one. And now a stranger to you,
I am not for you, but I was.
The splash of the reaches, the water of the creeks -
Floated away.
Now I'm wet outside the windows,
Behind the circles in the autumn water,
Behind the winds with faded fans,
Beyond the spaces, there - in nowhere.
What shot up with a high flame,
What flickered in the depths of the eyes -
Everything faded, died, froze,
I'm a stranger to you now.
Handed over (God knows what he's doing)
For me alone, for you alone
The whole world and the whole freedom,
Indivisible in half.
And I can’t be returned, I can’t be exchanged,
I can’t think of it (not that, not that one),
And no flame, and no name,
The chill of an empty leaf.
Natalya Silantieva
My passion is from the fox family -
No matter how much you tell her “screw!” - but no,
Doesn't understand the cat's language
Not intimidated, not wasted
For women's shaggy fur coats.
With her it would be different, with her it would be affectionate,
Otherwise it will just circle around in the night,
And don’t lure him out, and don’t gut him.
My passion for winter has darkened,
Yellow-eyed, brutal,
From the frosty dawns, mischief,
Irrepressible, wild,
Resourceful and cunning -
Neither with traps, nor with half a liter,
Not by deception, sneaking up on her from the rear,
I can’t catch her, bitch.
Exhausted by the chase,
I'm standing by a pine tree, and standing
You can see loops of footprints circling
Between past and present.
Resting my butt on the ground, I
I'll close my eyes... The last ones
Days are like a dream, but there are chances to rescue
Me myself. Single shot.
The beast will tremble as it runs - and there’s nowhere to go
To run away, there was space - but there is none!
Taurus - in the snow, not breathing... By morning, under her
It will thaw down to the lilies of the valley.
Just wait... If you and time
Firmly connected, inseparable,
You break into moments
Flying over the cliff
Second by second, almost invisible,
The pain of the fragments would be collected by the handful...
You see, autumn is knocking playfully
A frozen rusty bunch
Out our window?..
No, what vulgarity -
Covering the foulbrood with purple,
Expose the myocardial cavity
Under the clips of gray-haired Cupids!
Just wait... I'm waiting. It didn't work out
To become an actress, all this is in vain -
It's funny for me to watch how magnificently
The remains of summer stick out
From garden sculptures, their shoulders
They climb out of the neckline shamelessly...
Cover yourself up... Cold evening
And besides, it’s almost invisible
Too late…
In museum splendor
They will not be eager to give roses
To the pretty old frescoes,
Warped from the frost.
Autumn, having drunk, bristles its wings,
And think what audacity
Exude vanilla aroma
In this gloomy shame and abomination,
On this night, where the asphalt is mutilated
Dirty puddles, and the dawn is in wrinkles,
It would be too inhumane
Indulge in the root cause
Our weakness... or strength...
Who will sort it out after the fact!
Nauseating scent of vanilla
Along the sides of wet roads
Slightly noticeable...
But how powerful
The time is approaching you
Like a lover, caressing passionately,
Kissing your neck.
So rejoice, have fun and celebrate!
Dresses in bright autumn colors
They fly around you... Well, hello.
Soon it will snow and that's it.
Wait a moment! You are beautiful…
Elena Zhambalova
I recognize and bless.
Today you and I are united.
On the magical colored tram
maybe to Mecca or Medina,
it's all in your head, good one,
it's all in your head, hostile,
this song of my road,
this healing thought of mine
drink, don't darken your eyes,
our tram sometimes shakes,
we choose our own routes
or they choose us.
I don't know, I'm 30 soon,
I'm still childish
I can bang my head
at the same doors, and even strongly.
And while you haven't left yet,
although hidden in the device screen -
I love you, my ex-friend.
Smile.
"Monkey Brothers"
I've never played a game without rules
But for some reason it turned out like this -
Leaving his native harbor forever,
The frigate of love raised the pirate flag.
The frigate of love is captured by corsairs,
And the wind-pain carries him aground
Waves of tears across the ocean of crying
On the last journey over the reefs of betrayal.
The battle was lost and the team was captured,
As a captain, I'm thrown overboard.
And the bitterness of tears corrodes my tonsils,
I can't believe that love is over.
I can't believe that you are in captivity of depravity,
What time spent with you,
Spent on building a frigate
With such an unpredictable fate.
The frigate flew swiftly onto the rocks,
I went to the bottom, blowing bubbles,
You stood at the stern thoughtfully
And dissolved in the glow of dawn.
Tatiana Bezridnaya
Doomedly I will expose my lips to the wind,
biting kisses, like slaps.
There are eternal kilometers between us,
well-wishers, gossip, guesses, rumors.
What do I know? I do not know anything
about you and the world beyond myth...
Nothing, alas, will happen to us
except for the shadow of a brief half-moment:
Time problems, contact failures,
and the car will stand in the dust of the road,
and I will no longer be acquaintances: “How are you?” —
casually ask carefully...
Well, if I pay anyone, it won’t be you: you know, all this is nonsense, vanity and trouble, and the thought that it’s soon forty, and again oatmeal for breakfast, red borscht for lunch, and, as always on Saturday, buns with nonsense (choose: cinnamon, raisins, jam), I’m blind without glasses, I can’t see you, I’m no longer afraid to live with my misfortune. And if I ask for help, you don’t count, I’m not proud, I’m not at all, but I simply have nothing, the organ has not yet been born to turn to you, to shoulder this bitterness, rage, torment, sadness, guilt: everything that There is bad on earth - because of me! - It’s worth spitting nothing, going to the bottom, just who to leave these lines to? Not for you, don’t be afraid, live as you are, accept, fall in love, get excited, like, don’t think about me, I’ll be here, still in the same place, go to sleep, don’t cry.
Pyotr Lodygin
Dedication
You are my sky. You are my soil. You are my candle stub.
Powdered overnight. Fall asleep at night. Red brick colors.
It's hopeless outside. On the road indefinitely. Anyone who has fallen must lie down.
Happiness in the form of a horseshoe. The size of a horseshoe. From granite and marble slabs.
Touch it carefully. Feel carefully. Look at me carefully.
In the very heart of separation. In the very heart of separation. The hole is covered in ice.
Immaculate, my angel. Not durable. Lanterns were raised on poles.
The light outside is flickering. And it goes out outside. And it blinks and goes out inside.
Bricks by bricks. Lanterns by lanterns. Wormwood is wormwood.
The body will leave the house. The mind will leave the body. Life will pass you by.
Don't be sad, my angel, don't be sad. Go to sleep. Forget about sadness.
I'm certainly not heaven. Of course not the soil. I'm certainly not a candle.
I'm in plaid, and you're in polka dots.
The property of water is to go into sand,
Love - imitate the shape of a circle.
The whole day I was diligently melted into the asphalt
Now a hidden source of light.
A circle can fit perfectly into a square,
The man evades the answer.
Calm down. Deep breath.
Life is beautiful, elastic in its properties.
I'm in plaid, and you're in polka dots.
We are obviously made for each other.
Irina Kutuzova
How long did it take for us to overcome them?
These hazy, short, cold days,
For June to say: “Let the night disappear!”
And everything that was pressing disappeared with her!
How long do we need to endure the heat of the furnace?
How many difficult losses to go through,
So that in the end you can chain the keys out of happiness,
And then match those keys to the door?
Don't love too much -
Common and wise advice,
As soon as you spread your wings -
You'll start blocking the light.
But, being dusty truth,
This line makes no sense:
Don't love too much -
Is it possible slightly?
Agrippina Pchelkina
Yes, honey, I'm humbled by you,
Trampled. Well, let's look at it differently:
Raised by love above the crowd
Unloving ones. Among their faces looms
Your slightly sad face
Shrouded in a fabulous glow.
Stories with a predictable ending
Nobody likes. If only I knew in advance,
What will be your indifference
So cruel and unbearable
I would like this cupid's spear
I didn’t agree to carry it in my chest.
I would enjoy the sun and flowers.
And I might never have known
That there is another kind of beauty,
That even pride means very little,
And, in general, reciprocity is not important,
As it was thought, for true feeling.
Your silence is not silence
It sounds. It's poignant and sad.
