In my youth, I was very fond of poetry. And the fact that we were given grades in literature for the poems we had learned also contributed to this very much. For almost every lesson, I taught from a poem, and since all the cells in the magazine were occupied by “fives”, some of my failures in essays were not noticeable, for example, in Chernyshevsky’s “What is to be done?”, I didn’t even have to read this book. I loved to read, but I still don't feel much interest in this work.
As for poetry, here I was also very selective - I was always attracted only by love poems. That is why I was not particularly interested in poets who did not write about feelings, and from all the rest I chose poems only on love topics. So among my favorites were Blok and Akhmatova, plus I liked something from Pushkin and Lermontov, individual poems by Tyutchev, Fet, Balmont, Gumilyov. We had collections of poems by poets of the golden and silver age at home, I read them up and down in search of something that would resonate in my soul. And I still remember something: “I squeezed my hands under a dark veil ...” Or something else:
The door is half open
Lindens blow sweetly ...
Forgotten on the table
Whip and glove.
The circle from the lamp is yellow ...
I'm listening to the noise.
Why did you leave?
I don't understand…
Happy and clear
Tomorrow will be morning.
This life is wonderful
Heart, be wise.
You are quite tired
Beat quieter, deafer ...
You know I read
that souls are immortal.
It seems that there are so few words, but there are so many in them, a whole life ... And this verses are strong and beautiful, especially talented verses.
But the school has long been left behind, the poets of the golden and silver ages also began to be forgotten, and all the more receded 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 love poems, one can only regret that poetry is now far from the most popular form of creativity. Because there are such wonderful 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…
Let's try to fix it at least partially. So, modern love poems are piercing and desperate, passionate and shivering, touching and romantic. And as a bonus - a few poems about life, philosophical. I once found all of them in different places - on the site stihi.ru, with friends in LiveJournal, they just caught my eye somewhere, they caught my eye with something, 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 slime,
Three thin, thin webs,
Van Gogh early paintings,
Cognac, arsenic and creme brulee
And gradually adding
Three drops of lifeless water,
And unbloomed flowers
And the expectation of trouble
And the smell of mint, of course,
Halva, hills, psalms and songs,
Thick darkness and bright light
Yes, a fuzzy trace in the snow,
And fever, chills, and heavy delirium
Houses and roofs, stairs,
And an incomprehensible slight fear,
Az, beeches, lead, xi and psi,
confessional paths,
I want to reproduce
All that is in your eyes ...
***
You can weave wreaths of rye and flax
And at the same time not a drop to be a poet.
Maybe I'm a little in love...
Maybe even a little bit... that's not the point.
So a hand glides softly over a silky smooth surface,
Like you're wondering what it's like
Finding over the black lace stocking universe
A particularly delicate strip of my skin.
You are very simple. Painfully simple.
God, creating you, was extremely accurate.
…I feel you with all my skin. Like air.
…And I like to inhale you.
Very.
Very.
alta18611
***
I will run up and jump into the black sky - do you want to?
I'll take off a couple of stars for you and back.
It's hard to keep them in hand.
If you can, and I'll get the sun - will you?
Milky Way, if you like, in a bottle
It will flicker and stand on the table.
Through it I can look at you at night,
If you want, look too - do you look?
I'll drown in your eyes - can I?
Rozhdestvensky gave me the idea.
After all, happiness drowns in your eyes,
In your cornflower blue sea.
I will steal the wind from God
And I will give you a gift - will you become?
Will you join me tomorrow?
Can I be with you tomorrow?
If not, then I feel sorry for the people!
I'll rip out Danko's heart,
I will deprive the whole planet of fire,
To melt your ice - do you melt?
Suddenly you melt, and I'm not around,
Just think - next to me - think!
I will dream about you - can I?
Even if I can't dream, I will.
poignant love poems
However, it is no secret that more often love poems are written in a completely different state - restless, rebellious, full of unrest, doubts, worry. And after all, it is they who turn out to be the strongest, biting, such that goosebumps run on the skin and tremble, and sometimes tears come to the eyes. Such verses, perhaps, are the majority, and we probably respond to them more often.
***
I catch drops from the sky and almost cry with happiness, the urban pro-English spleen disappeared in the gray puddles, just tell me, whispering brown-eyed boy, why do I call you mine now? I’m used to being alone, and should we be afraid of the rules, dark courtyards, lonely cold days ... Tell me a secret, brown-eyed handsome guy, why are you calling me yours now? You forgive my poems, dislike for acquaintances, let you grumble, but you go 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 lights of the hotels have disappeared in the bustle of the city, there are no hanging keys, the rooms have all been handed over for a long time. To be honest, we didn’t really want to see you, we will return home, that’s because the sweet word is we. We will go with you in the spring to Barcelona, to Nice, we will get lost in the crowds of tourists from prying eyes, we ... yes, I couldn’t even dream about it - everything that I am experiencing with you now. I’m afraid to wake up - our happiness will be dispelled by a haze, I can’t fall asleep if you suddenly aren’t around, and you look after me with a condescending grin and shout after me - again I didn’t take my beret!
You give me tulips, and most often - daffodils, I'm happy with you unconsciously go to the bottom. Will you find the ordinates or abscissas of the point where our destinies once merged into one? Maybe it’s just that the planets suddenly descended from the heavenly orbits or the gods, out of old habit, went crazy, how I lived and didn’t know that you were passing somewhere, how I lived and believed that I could do everything myself? Light rain drizzles, I sob, and this means - for the first time in my life I am happy. Exactly. Today. Here. The sweetest, beloved, native brown-eyed boy, I am indebted to God for the fact that you just exist.
invasora
***
…Mom, I am stronger than everyone thinks.
But weaker than I would like...
And saves only one thing - the eyes are made up,
If it weren't for them, she would have burst into tears.
Mom, I'm so eyeliner
I draw so clearly, they say, I'm happy.
I don’t get drunk on martinis - more often on vodka.
I don’t need it to be beautiful - I wouldn’t hurt ...
Mom, you're sorry. I just grew up.
And I'm looking for the smart, the strong,
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 do you not know, on whose behalf
I want to throw myself at the walls.
Yes, I grew up - lipstick, hairpins, arrows,
And how many unnecessary ones are in the memory of the mobile ...
But while you tell me "My girl"
Mom, I can do anything. I am strong with you...
Yulechka Garkusha
***
I will bind your life
From fluffy mohair threads.
I will bind your life
I won't lie a single loop.
I will bind your life
Where a pattern across the field of prayer -
Happiness Wishes
In the light of true love.
I will bind your life
From cheerful melange yarn.
I will bind your life
And then I will give from the bottom of my heart.
Where do I get threads?
I never confess to anyone
To bind your life
I secretly release mine.
Belyaeva Valentina
It would be difficult in our story about modern love poems to ignore Vera Polozkova. And although the theatricality with which she herself reads her poems is not close to me, but I, silently, in my rhythm and with my intonations, love to read them. Talent. And well done, that he knows how not only to write for himself, but to convey his works to the general public.
***
Let's be like this: we'll just be separated,
It's like in long-distance negotiations,
And I'll stop knowing what you whisper over
Her right ear, stroking a fluffy heap
Her hair, listen to joyful imps
Your restless thoughts and every rustle
To recognize you around: here are the keys ringing,
Here are the fingers ruffling the bangs, here is the wind in the curtains
Confused; here is the SMS signal, here it is filmed
Block of buttons; the parquet creaks, but the steps are light,
The click of the lighter, exhalation - and that's it, beeps.
And I'll stand in the cabin while 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's be like this: as if five years have passed,
And we turned into clean and plump
And they became not so booming in decibels,
But we are already worth a thousand for a ticket.
We work like normal boys
We cut like from a bush, we don’t let the head idle.
And I already know in general what I'm worth,
I don't care that no one will give me that price.
Meet up, roll over by three
Chilean young semi-dry
And you say - I'm proud of you, Polozkova!
And - no, nothing twitches inside.
- That August we also drank by the parapet,
And you are in my jacket - we joke, we sing, we smoke.
(You hardly knew what became from that night somewhere
The hero of my tantrums and pantomimes).
Someday we'll really remember this
And they don't believe themselves.
Come on, to return my mischief and agility,
They would take away all the stoop and softness,
And to completely stop covering me
And you didn’t want to write poetry anymore;
So that I do not sob every chorus, hoarse,
Like a painted singer from a restaurant.
How nice that you are sitting at the screen now
And you think
What are you reading
Not about myself.
Vera Polozkova
Here is an absolutely incredible love poem...
***
Yuzek wakes up in the middle of the night, grabs her hand, breathes heavily:
“I had a terrible dream, I was so scared for you…”
Magda sleeps like a baby, smiles in her sleep, does not hear.
He kisses her on the shoulder, goes to the kitchen, flicks on the lighter.
Then he comes back, looks, and the bed is completely empty,
- What the hell? Yuzek thinks. - Where could she go?
“Magda died, Magda has long been gone,” he suddenly recalls,
And so he stands at the door, amazed, with a beating heart ...
Magda is hot, and something is pressing on her chest, she sits up in bed.
“Juzek, I’ll open the window, okay?” - whispers in his ear
He strokes his head, touches his fingers gently, barely,
He goes to the kitchen, drinks water, returns with a mug.
- Do you want to drink? - but no one is there, no one answers.
"He died a long time ago!" - Magda sits on the floor and howls like a beluga.
The fifth year of their fence, wild rose and ivy twines.
And they still dream and dream of each other.
Elena Kasyan
***
I can do everything. I know it. On the flute? Can. On thin strings.
And even if I become white, I will not add wingspan.
My smoky wind will fill my lungs and I will tangle in countless moons.
And may one day all those who gave me wine and strength forget me.
Let them not know that I can do anything. Until hoarse. And to dumbness.
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 sheets cannot bear them.
But I can. Play open. And, eluding generalization,
I will run away. Filling my lungs with heavy smoke from burning roofs.
I won't be forgiven. But learning to fall without crashing is the hardest thing.
And curl in jets, hiss on the body, while you can, while you burn ...
But I can. Drain along the body. Submit passwords. Up to one.
So, I will write unevenly so that my paper turns red:
"Yes. I can do anything." And you will believe. "And what shall we do?" I don't confess.
And if in the morning your dog cannot find me in the ravine,
That means everything. I can now. Fly. And fall. Without breaking.
Of course, how can I not write here about the poems of Sergei Fattakhov. I am always glad to have the opportunity to tell about him, and although here I will not quote all his poems, but at least something, in part. But in general, I have both, and ... And given what I wrote at the beginning, it is not surprising that his work resonates so much with me, because he has just all the poems 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 an uneven thump of drops on the pavement.
The season is over. Exhausted and closed.
The hero is crucified and removed from the game.
A bad example for books and children.
An idol for drunk songs with a guitar.
The world sneers: now it calls to cry, then to sing.
At first glance, it looks like an absurd twist.
And yet there is still hope.
Not the first try. And not the second.
And you can live from "anyhow" to "what if".
But at every moment of your easy fate
Anyone you seemed to forget
Your soul is dying in fragments.
***
And if they ask, then we are the sufferers. The rest are happy rabble. And so, it seemed, what to be afraid of? Two crossbars. From the gate. And autumn breathes. And everything is according to plans. 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 usually walk on the edge. But for some reason - like the first time. With a cardboard tank, I bite into the hills on an endless, like a world, arc. And the day is short, like air, woven from sugary sadness for you.
And if they ask, then we are not in the subject, who got the lucky prize. And we loved. And we wanted. Yes, for some reason everything is oil down. But it's all right. Troy is brave. Autumn mocks, takes a run. And this is not the world at all arranged, but it will simply suit everyone. Yes, it's all right. We just floated, carried along the way.
And if they ask, then we will not be happier in the world at all. Broken souls, put down roots. 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 pick up and live.
But in a mysterious dream I see you again.
If the path to you through the abyss lies,
So we are closer. We are closer. Closer.
If the world is indifferent, and more often cruel.
If people squabble like wild animals.
Only the sun in the morning hurries to the east.
So I believe. I believe. I believe.
In the depths of your eyes without fear of drowning.
In the nakedness of your words without thinking about falsehood.
In inevitability to go this chosen path.
So, we are next. Next we. Further.
Let's lie and dream. Don't let it! Don't hold.
I keep the warmth of your hands in the palms.
I will pass. You just need to pick up and live.
So there are two of us. Two of us. Two.
***
See off autumn rowan berries,
And the snowflakes began to swirl.
You can never love half
How can you not live halfway.
Open your heart, cover your back
Forget dates and years.
You can never go halfway
How can you never go back.
And pushing simple grief into the depths,
In order not to find and not to get,
You can never forgive half
How can you not 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,
Waiting for the train.
What is the wind 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.
Twilight cuts the sides of the lanterns.
Quiet. But it seems that the forgotten cat is crying.
There, at the door.
Just don’t think if the dishes beat for happiness,
The stars are falling and crashing into the foamy surf,
Time rolls on, but everything is on the slope. I will
Next to you.
Sergei Fattakhov
Passionate Poems
And what kind of love is it without passion, so, of course, even poetry cannot do without it.
***
If you could see his shoulders, girl, you'd be crazy
I wanted him ugly - I burned the world around with my heart,
I loved him unrequitedly - I could not give him away ...
Only the sky reproached me - you forgot to get up from your knees.
If you could see his hands, girl, you would go to the bottom.
In these palms I want to die and I want to live in spite,
In these palms, joy and sorrow, waves of large ports,
You just sit and wait for punishment from its fast winds.
If you could see his lips, girl, you would throw yourself into the frying pan.
This heat is unbearably sweet, it burns you to ashes
This heat will burn out and die, will inject a dumb trembling into the body,
And then for more than two weeks you wait so obediently.
If you could see his heart, girl, you would forget to sleep at night
It beats loudly under the skin, then you start to forget everything,
It beats like a bird in a cage, its wing beats are difficult,
He will say: "You know, dear, I think I really need you."
***
One look at you and now I'm an elusive target
I run through the forests, through the swamps, along the overgrown roads,
One word to you and here I am nothing more than just a shadow
A fading sunbeam under the vault of heaven.
One look, one word, one exhalation and one inhalation,
I move quickly parallel to other people's routes.
One of your shots - and my ashes will scatter between the stars,
There will be a place only for your unanswered sounds.
One intersection, the second - how could you love me?
Unfaithful, sharp, strange, scurrying through the halls.
As soon as the chance arises, you must kill me:
I am the most terrible of all that was created by God.
Kira Wind
***
Do you want me to love you passionately?
You will beat under me orgasm.
Do you want a feeling of sweet-sparkling
And everything so passionately different?
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 stand to find your G-spot and
Vector from her to impossible
Stretch through the hum of a heartbeat?
Do you want all your streams subcutaneous
Will I bring it to a boil?
Do you want flammable kisses
Pave the path 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, isn't it? How much warm feelings they evoke in us, it immediately becomes good in the soul even just at the thought of them, so it is not surprising that there are a lot of poems about coffee and cats.
***
It was built in some sort of 11th century.
Nearby lived a dazzling black cat
A cat that the Man loved very much.
No, not friends. The cat just noticed him -
She squinted a little, as if looking into the light.
Her heart was beating... Oh, how her heart was murmuring!
If at a meeting he quietly whispered "Hello" to her.
No, not friends. The cat just let him
Stroking yourself. She sat down on her knees.
In the park one day she was walking with a man,
He suddenly fell. Well, the cat suddenly went crazy.
A neighbor howled, a siren ... An ambulance rushed.
What was going on in everyone's head?
The cat was silent. She was not his cat.
It just so happened that… that was her Human.
The cat was waiting. Didn't sleep, didn't drink or eat.
Meekly waited for the light to appear in the windows.
I just sat. And even turned a little gray.
He will come back and quietly whisper "Hello" to her.
In dusty Moscow, an old house with two stained-glass windows,
Minus seven lives. And minus another century.
He smiled, "Were you really waiting for me, Cat?"
"Cats don't wait... Stupid, stupid you are my Man."
Sasha Best
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 that I remember is saturated with that smell ...
A thin thread in an everyday anthill.
I'll drag him invisibly, unknown
For those who scurry past, for those who do not understand,
Down the street, up the stairs, to my house.
I hide from my family and from my comrades.
There is too much spicy and teasing in it,
Frank, alluring, forbidden.
Ah, he will betray me with my head, the lost one,
My secret is freaky, utter.
***
The wind beats on the roof. Our old slate rattles about its own - it is not clear what, the rain clatters with enviable persistence, which is simply the reality of peace. Levkoy doze in a vase, and with the influx of wind, the memory of childhood and summer is entwined with the sound of magic on a sleepy morning, where the noise of the wind on the roof is more visible than heard, and where the cat on the window is a bit of a fairy tale itself.
super kakadu
About coffee
And you sit with me for a cup of coffee,
Just like that unexpected first time.
And you say you hate your profile.
And I'm afraid to look at you full face.
I'm afraid I've made a mistake again.
Although, most likely, he admitted yesterday.
I'm afraid you'll move the cup away now
And you say that, alas, but you have to go.
And we will each go our own way.
And I can even (run) in the subway
Dive into the last train. And tomorrow morning
The earth will mend the rose of its winds.
And everything will pass. As it was not in sight.
Magic moment. Short blind flight.
Accidentally someone will take out the heart,
Warm in paws gently. And will return.
Sergei Fattakhov
***
And lips that can extract long, long groans,
And hair smelling for many years of the same cool smell,
And the hands in which the flesh of the saxophone beats in hysterics,
And coffee, so incredibly bitter, and a cigarette in the morning, instead of breakfast.
All this will fall into my poems, nightmares, dreams, notebooks...
And it will stay with me for a long time. I should keep and keep quiet about it.
Someone, looking into me, will understand: not mine, alien, superfluous.
Maybe I will understand this too, forgetting you and living until the summer ...
I'll just stop eating breakfast. And the coffee is bitter. And tobacco smoke.
And the skin is tightly saturated with the same sweet smell.
Where did you learn how to beat in the face and swear through your teeth relish?
And stroke the guitar neck with your fingers so that the strings howl and beat in a fit.
All this will become almost mine. Like the memory of muscles, like a needle through the skin ...
It's like I'm repeating phrases from past lives, from ancient songs.
As if coffee and a cigarette through a sleepy look will help to unravel,
How did it happen that my little world with your departure became too small?
But I'll get used to it, I'll almost forget it, I'll almost believe it, but I'll shudder a little,
When I press the bend of the guitar to myself with the same familiar gesture.
And the smell of coffee, like the smell of leather. I am muscle memory. Not theirs. I remember.
As you sang to me... Everything is clear with me. Through the smell of coffee in thick smoke.
Poems about life
And over time, I still 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, because, perhaps, they are so relevant in a new way and touch a nerve, although, in fact, we are still talking about the same eternal and enduring truths that we comprehend throughout life.
***
God called.
I apologized.
He says he was busy.
Disasters, tsunamis, falling prices and planes.
Dead children. Rotten sprats. Broken souls.
And who is blamed? Here, something.
Worn up.
Tired of treating everyone, dripping iodine on the heart, blowing on wounds.
“Pinch, of course. It hurts, of course.
Do not Cry. Everything will live. Not too late, so early."
God called.
He says he needed help.
Someone died there. Some didn't return home.
Someone blew something and roared into his shoulders about how screwed up he was.
And then he threw a taunt after a taunt,
slapped his cheeks accusingly.
So vicious.
But it seems to be getting better.
God told me that this is more important.
Someone hates Him, someone sent three letters.
Someone wished Him the strongest 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 shut up. It was so embarrassing...
I poured him tea, tart hot,
wrapped a blanket around his knees, and,
sat down at his feet, quietly recited poetry.
Just to let him rest.
Just so he doesn't get sad.
Just…
Cat Drunk
***
I write: "Here, I'm baking a cake and making compote."
They reply to me in the comments:
- Here!
You, then, have a peaceful life, compote,
Do you know that the world is at war?
I write: “Look, this is a cat.
He is funny and behaves terribly…”
They reply to me in the comments:
- Crap!
How can you?
There and then people died!
I write: “I was feeding a thrush chick.
Barely survived because he fell from the nest.
And they write to me:
- What kind of thrush?
You must be out of your mind, right?
Don't you know the trains have derailed
Do we care about the thrush chick?
And once you write: "I'm lying in the grass,
Stupid thoughts jump in my head ... "
And suddenly the answer comes:
I thought I was dead. It turned out not:
I read about a cat, about a 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,
Swim, ski, lay bricks,
Having bought the necessary products, bake Easter cakes.
I can make a fire, fill up a tree with a chainsaw,
Paint, lacquer layer by layer,
Plane with a planer, twisting the chips into a spiral,
I can strum something if the piano is at hand,
I can nail, drive a car,
I can dance a waltz, or else, maybe a square dance.
Falling down the snowy slope, stop yourself with an ice ax,
If in the brigade - fold the logs into a log house.
I can go by kayak (not the most difficult) threshold,
Can I make cottage cheese from kefir (or is it correct “cottage cheese”?)
I can, sipping ice whiskey, roll balls with a cue,
I can, stretched out on warm walkways, listen to mosquitoes itch,
Weave wreaths from dandelions (sticky fingers from them),
Wander around the airports like a real wanderer ...
Wanderer... Yes... But it doesn't matter and I'll never need it
In the cramped space of a ship that has been flying nowhere for ten years...
***
Here is a man - a dream in the middle of the garden.
With one hand he reaches the sky, the other - to the sea.
Talk to him. Tell him what he needs
And return to love. Out of love. Love.
midori_ko
And in conclusion, about modern poems about love and about life, just kind, warm, peaceful, for the mood. Let it be so sometimes, as a rest from our hasty, vain life.
Here is the yard. Here is a pear. Here is the dog.
Again he carried a brick in his teeth.
Neighbors are old friends.
What's on the agenda?
- Oh, did you wash today?
We played lotto yesterday!
- How much are tomatoes today?
- And I'll tell you a new recipe!
And so in the cycle of days
The world lives by its own destiny.
Here the aunts got fat early,
And the uncles went bald early.
Time doesn't fly here
And it hangs peacefully in the air.
So we have more sincere, warm poems in our lives, from which the soul is filled with music. Love and warmth to all of us, my dear!
Intuitive and metaphorical cards, postcards, panels
for yourself and as a gift
Continuing the theme
Love is a wonderful feeling...
Love is courage and fear.
Sometimes it's sad
But that rarely happens.
Love is happiness and joy
When it's so warm inside...
And it's heavenly sweetness...
And two hearts as one.
There are so many words about love
There are so many songs about love!
But all are born again in the heart,
The lines are fresh, like couplets.
We can't breathe without love
We often suffocate from love.
And sometimes it's so hard for us to understand
What to love is complete happiness!
Sometimes they are apart.
Between them the ocean, taiga, snow.
But always remember each other
And it seems that there is a right hand nearby.
And often it can be: spouses
Forgot about each other...
Someone whispers to me in silence:
We met with you not by chance,
And at the behest of the angelic soul -
She found out our secret.
We dreamed of knowing love
Feel your heart cry.
Once met - and again
Only happiness will disturb us.
Snow white-white,
pouring rain,
Quiet, clumsy
We are going to love.
No matter what happens,
We will always be.
It's not in vain for mercy
We are given love.
I love therefore
I want to be better
And whether in winter, whether in summer
I'm flying to you.
When love touched me
Spring has awakened in my soul.
Blizzards and snow are gone
The perfect time has come.
With love I conquer evil
I surprise others.
And I understand that it's not in vain
You chose love, me!
Love, we get better
We feel people and the world deeper,
It gives meaning and inspiration
And every moment is beautiful with her!
May it grow and prosper
Good, success and joy promises
May its fruit be blessed
Let us help you reach the top!
Pearl from the sea
Secrets from the earth
And the feeling, like bondage,
Eats from the inside.
And if everyone knows:
Hope is the longest
Lives in this world
That love is like a sin
Lives in a mortal body,
And by genes through the centuries,
Love is immortal
She's like a void
Fills all spaces
And gives you the opportunity to
overcome adversity,
And sing to her glory.
So let love keep you
So let your heart beat strong
Love is like a diamond, granite
Kohl is real - it does not beat!
Love is meaning, understanding,
Feelings of sincerity and attention,
Love is an alluring scent
And real taste of life!
Love creates, exists,
And draws pictures of happiness
Makes it better, calls to fly,
There, where the cherished dream awaits!
Like the hottest summer day
We are all looking for a shadow from the heat.
As through the wind and cold
We want to warm up by the fire
So in life we always
We are all waiting for her to arrive.
She makes everyone drink
He warms everyone, shelters.
Hope, faith, strength will give,
And he will never betray us.
So always look for love
Open your hearts to her!
Not in the amount of happiness
Not in money and days, -
And in love and passion,
In good news!
Not chasing a dream
Not in food with wine.
And in the native family, -
Where peace lives.
Throughout the ages, philosophers and poets, doctors and scientists, astrologers and psychics have tried to come up with an accurate definition of this unique feeling, which can be so strong that it captures a person completely, burning passion in the fire, and can be light, sublime, airy. So far, not a single outstanding mind of the planet has been able to answer the question “what is love”, in whose head such thoughts have come. 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 love poems are what carry eternal love stories through the ages. Everything is in them: all-consuming joy, unearthly bliss, the triumph of a great feeling, insane lust, wild passion, slight sadness, sadness of separation, pain of loss ... This list of feelings that the authors have invested, are investing and will invest in their immortal creations, can be continued indefinitely . As you can 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 with the elements. It is like a sea, sometimes calm, peaceful, sometimes stormy, boiling, destroying, 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 does not matter whether we are talking about the first timid feelings that are filled with still unclear longing, 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, generously endows him with a divine blessing. Even if you have not yet experienced this incredible feeling, from lyrical poems about love you can learn a lot about human relationships, open the door to an amazing world without conventions and boundaries, where Her Majesty Love reigns.
In this section, we have collected for you the best lyrical love poems that our editors managed to find among a great many 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
Interline of interjections
Whipping between us
Beats on the rocks of spinelessness,
It burns its back with its tail:
I would be glad not to sing about you,
Don't waste your enthusiasm
Do not knit from loop stitches
In a simple way about simple!
But it can't - it's not easier
The throat of the singer is not silent:
You hide in every thing
A loud rumble in the chest,
You are splashing like a seething river
Because of all my dams
You tear down the roofs between the rivers,
Dream of happiness in the flesh
- I hope the dream was prophetic:
I sang in it - and not alone.
nephret
I belong to no one. And now a stranger to you
I am not for you, but I was.
The splash of the stretches, the water of the backwaters -
Sailed away.
I'm now behind the wet windows,
Behind the circles in the autumn water
Behind the winds faded fans,
Beyond the spaces, there - in nowhere.
That went up in a high flame,
What flickered in the depths of the eyes -
Everything faded, died, froze,
I am now a stranger to you.
Handed over (God knows what he does)
For me alone, for you alone
The whole world and the whole freedom,
Indivisible in half.
And I can not be returned, not exchanged,
Do not come up with (not that, not that),
And no flame, and no name,
The chill of an empty leaf.
Natalia Silantieva
My passion from the fox family -
No matter how many times you tell her "Shoot!" - but no,
Doesn't understand cat language
Not scared, not wasted
On shaggy fur coats of women.
It would be different with her, with her would be affectionate,
Otherwise, it will be circling in the night,
And do not lure, and do not gut.
My passion for winter darkened,
Yellow-eyed, brutalized,
From the dawns of the frosty shalay,
Reckless, wild,
Crafty and cunning -
Neither with traps, nor with half liters,
Not by deceit, sneaking up from the rear to her,
I can't fucking catch her.
Weakened by pursuits,
I'm standing by the pine tree, and standing by me
You can see the loops of footprints circling
Between past and present.
Resting my butt on the ground, I
I'll close my eyes... The last
Days are like a dream, but there is a chance to rescue
me myself. Single shot.
The beast shudders on the run - and nowhere
Run away, there was room - but there is none!
Taurus - in the snow, not breathing ... By morning, under it
He will thaw to the very lilies of the valley.
Just wait... If you and time
Strongly connected, inseparable,
Break into moments
Fly over the cliff
Every second, almost invisible,
The pain of the fragments would be collected by a handful ...
You see, autumn knocks playfully
Frozen rusty bunch
Are we at the window?
No, what vulgarity -
Covering the foul with purple,
Substitute myocardial cavity
Under the clips of gray-haired Cupids!
Just wait... I'm waiting. Didn't work out
Become an actress, it's all in vain -
I find it funny to watch how magnificent
Stick out the remains of summer
Of garden sculptures, their shoulders
Climbing from the neckline shamelessly ...
You cover yourself ... Cold evening
And besides, it's almost invisible
Too late…
In museum splendor
Do not crave to give roses
Pretty old frescoes,
Warped from frost.
Autumn, having drunk, puffs its wings,
And think what an audacity
Exude vanilla flavor
In this gloomy coldness and abomination,
This night, where the asphalt is mutilated
Dirty puddles, and the dawn in wrinkles,
It would be too inhuman
indulge in the root cause
Our weakness... or strength...
Who will take it apart after the fact!
Sickening Vanilla Smell
Along the edges of wet roads
Slightly noticeable...
But how powerful
The time is coming to you
Like a lover caressing passionately
A kiss on the neck.
So rejoice, rejoice and celebrate!
Dresses in bright autumn colors
They fly around you ... Well, hello.
Soon the snow will fall - and that's it.
Stop, a moment! You are beautiful…
Elena Zhambalova
I recognize and bless.
Today we are one with you.
On a magical colored tram
you can go to Mecca or Medina,
it's all in your head, good,
all in your head, hostile,
this song of my road,
this thought of my healing
you drink, do not darken your eyes,
our tram sometimes pumps,
choose your own routes
Or they choose us.
I don't know, I'm 30 soon
I'm still childish
i can beat my head
through the same doors, and even strongly.
And while you're not out yet
although hidden in the screen of the device -
I love you my ex friend.
Smile.
Monkey Brothers
I never played a game without rules
But for some reason it turned out like this -
Leaving forever the native harbor,
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 weeping
On the last journey over the reefs of change.
The battle is lost, and the team is taken prisoner,
As 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 a captivity of depravity,
That the time spent with you
Spent on the construction of a frigate
With such an unpredictable fate.
The frigate flew swiftly on the rocks,
I went to the bottom, blowing bubbles,
You stood thoughtfully at the stern
And vanished into the reflections of the dawn.
Tatiana Bezridnaya
Doomedly I will expose my lips to the wind,
kisses biting, like slaps in the face.
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-blink:
Time problems, failure in contacts,
and the car will stand in the dust of the road,
and I will no longer be familiar: “How are you?” —
casually ask carefully ...
Well, if I cry to anyone, it’s not for you: you know, all this is nonsense, vanity and trouble, and the thought that soon forty is no longer scary, and again oatmeal for breakfast, red borscht for lunch, 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 nothing, but there’s simply nothing, such an 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, after all! - it costs nothing to spit, to go to the bottom, only to whom should these lines be left? Not for you, don't be afraid, live as you are, accept, fall in love, enjoy, like, don't think about me, I'll be here, still in the same place, sleep, don't cry.
Pyotr Lodygin
dedication
You are my sky. You are my soil. You are my candle stub.
Powdered for the night. Sleepy at night. Colors of red bricks.
It's hopeless outside. On the road indefinitely. Who fell, certainly lies.
Happiness in the form of a horseshoe. The size of a horseshoe. From granite and marble slabs.
Touch carefully. Feel carefully. Look carefully at me.
In the heart of separation In the heart of separation. The polynya is covered with ice.
Immaculate, my angel. Not strong. Lanterns were raised on poles.
The light outside is flashing. And it goes out outside. And blinks, and goes out inside.
Bricks by bricks. Lanterns with lanterns. Polynya polynya.
The body will leave the house. The mind will leave the body. Life will blow you away.
Do not be sad, my angel, do not be. Go to sleep. Forget about sadness.
I'm certainly not the sky. Certainly not soil. I am certainly not a candle.
I'm in a cage, and you're in peas.
The property of water is to go into the sand,
Love - imitate the shape of a circle.
All day I diligently fused into the asphalt
Now a hidden light source.
A circle can fit perfectly into a square,
Man dodge the answer.
Calm down. Deep breath.
Life is beautiful, elastic in its properties.
I'm in a cage, and you're in peas.
We are obviously made for each other.
Irina Kutuzova
How much did we need to overcome them,
Of these hazy, short, cold days,
To say June: "Let the night disappear!",
And everything that crushed disappeared with her!
How much do we need to endure the heat of the furnace,
Through how many difficult losses to go through,
So that in the end from happiness to forge the keys,
And then pick up the door to those keys?
Don't love too much
Common and wise advice,
As soon as you spread your wings -
You start blocking out the light.
But, being dusty truth,
This line is meaningless:
Don't love too much
Is it possible a little?
Agrippina Pchelkina
Yes, honey, I'm humiliated by you
Trampled. Well, look at it differently:
Raised by love above the crowd
Unloving. Among their faces looms
Your slightly sad face
Wrapped in a fairy tale.
stories with predictable endings
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 did not agree to wear it in my chest.
I would love the sun and flowers.
And I might never have known
That there is another beauty
That even pride means very little
And, in general, reciprocity is not important,
As thought, for the true feeling.
Your silence is not silence
It sounds. Disgusting and sad.
Love lyrics are the basis of the work of many Russian poets. And this is not surprising, because love itself is multifaceted. It can give joy and pleasure, but at the same time, it often makes you suffer. The duality of love is the mystery that sooner or later every person has to solve. At the same time, poetic natures strive to tell about their feelings not only to the subject of their hobbies, but often trust their paper, creating poems of amazing beauty, quivering and sublime.
10th place. Premonitions of love can be lingering and filled with sadness. However, most often that short period of time, when a person does not yet realize that he is already in love, is filled with confusion and anxiety. In his poem "Premonition of love is more terrible" Konstantin Simonov notes that the expectation of love is like the calm before the storm or a short respite before the attack, when feelings and thoughts rush at a gallop, and the soul is literally torn to pieces.
“Premonition of love is worse” K. Simonov
Premonition of love is scarier
Love itself. Love is like a fight
You made eye contact with her.
There is nothing to wait, she is with you.Premonition of love is like a storm
Hands are getting a little wet
But silence still, and sounds
The piano can be heard through the curtains.And on the barometer to hell
Everything is flying down, pressure is flying,
And in fear of doomsday
It's too late to hit the shores.No, worse. It's like a trench
You, sitting, waiting for the whistle to attack,
And there, half a mile away, there is a sign
He is also waiting for a bullet in the forehead ...
9th place. Nevertheless, you still need to overcome the meat of obstacles and tell your chosen one or chosen one about your feelings, which for many people is a real test. After all, passions are already raging, but there is still not enough courage to take the first step. As a result, poems are born, similar to the one he wrote Alexander Pushkin. His "Confession" is a mixture of admiration and hope, joy and sadness, jealousy and despair. And hope that the feelings are mutual.
"Recognition" A. Pushkin
I love you, even though I'm mad
Though it's labor and shame in vain,
And in this unfortunate stupidity
At your feet I confess!
I don’t fit and I’m not old enough ...
It's time, it's time for me to be smarter!
But I know by all the signs
The sickness of love in my soul:
I'm bored without you - I yawn;
With you I feel sad - I endure;
And, no urine, I want to say
My angel, how I love you!
When I hear from the living room
Your light step, or sum dresses,
Or the voice of a virgin, innocent,
I suddenly lose all my mind.
You smile - my joy;
You turn away - I longing;
For a day of torment - a reward
Your pale hand to me.
When behind the hoop diligently
You sit, leaning casually,
Eyes and curls down, -
I am in tenderness, silently, gently
I love you like a child!
Should I tell you my misfortune,
My jealous sadness
When to walk, sometimes in bad weather,
Are you going far?
And your tears alone
And speeches in the corner together,
And travel to Opochka,
And the piano in the evening? ..
Alina! take pity on me.
I dare not ask for love.
Maybe for my sins
My angel, I'm not worthy of love!
But pretend! This look
Everything can express so wonderfully!
Oh, it's not hard to deceive me! ...
I'm glad to be deceived!
8th place. However, love does not happen without quarrels that can flare up over trifles. But if the feelings are strong enough, then the lovers find the strength to forgive each other mutual insults and reconcile. The feelings that people experience at the same time, he very accurately and vividly described in his poem "You and I are stupid people" poet Nikolai Nekrasov. In his opinion, after a quarrel, love flares up with renewed vigor, giving joy, tenderness and spiritual purification.
“You and I are stupid people” N. Nekrasov
You and I are stupid people:
What a minute, the flash is ready!
Relief of an agitated chest,
An unreasonable, harsh word.Speak up when you're angry
Everything that excites and torments the soul!
Let us, my friend, be angry openly:
The world is easier - and more likely to get bored.If prose in love is inevitable,
So let's take a share of happiness from her:
After a quarrel so full, so tender
The return of love and participation ...
7th place. The opponent of quarrels, in turn, is Boris Pasternak. In the poem "To love others is a heavy cross" he claims that love makes a person more sublime and sensitive. And for the purification of the soul, it is not at all necessary to reward each other with mutual reproaches, and then seek consolation and ask for forgiveness. You can easily do without quarrels, and this is within the power of any person who truly loves.
“To love others is a heavy cross” B. Pasternak
To love others is a heavy cross,
And you are beautiful without convolutions,
And the charms of your secret
The solution to life is tantamount to.In the spring, the rustle of dreams is heard
And the rustle of news and truths.
You are from a family of such foundations.
Your meaning, like air, is disinterested.Easy to wake up and see
Shake verbal rubbish from the heart
And live without clogging in the future.
All this is not a big trick.
6th place. No one knows at what point the meeting will take place, which can subsequently drastically change a person’s life. Love sometimes flares up quite suddenly, and Alexander Blok tried to capture this amazing moment in his poem “The Stranger”. However, he preferred to keep his feelings to himself, enjoying them like tart expensive wine. After all, love without reciprocity is not always colored by sadness. She can give no less joy than communicating with a loved one.
"Stranger" A. Blok
In the evenings above the restaurants
Hot air is wild and deaf
And rules drunken shouts
Spring and pernicious spirit.Far above the lane dust,
Over the boredom of country cottages,
Slightly gilded bakery pretzel,
And the cry of a child is heard.And every evening, behind the barriers,
Breaking pots,
Among the ditches they walk with the ladies
Proven wits.Oarlocks creak above the lake
And a woman screams
And in the sky, accustomed to everything
The disk is pointlessly twisted.And every evening the only friend
Reflected in my glass
And moisture tart and mysterious
Like me, humble and deaf.And next to the neighboring tables
Sleepy lackeys stick out,
And drunkards with rabbit eyes
"In vino veritas!" scream.And every evening, at the appointed hour
(Is this just a dream?)
Maiden's camp, seized by silks,
In the foggy window moves.And slowly, passing among the drunk,
Always without companions, alone
Breathing in spirits and mists,
She sits by the window.And breathe ancient beliefs
Her elastic silks
And a hat with mourning feathers
And in the rings a narrow hand.And chained by a strange closeness,
I look behind the dark veil
And I see the enchanted shore
And the enchanted distance.Deaf secrets are entrusted to me,
Someone's sun has been handed to me,
And all the souls of my bend
The tart wine pierced.And ostrich feathers bowed
In my brain they sway
And bottomless blue eyes
Blooming on the far shore.There is a treasure in my soul
And the key is entrusted only to me!
You're right, drunk monster!
I know: the truth is in wine.
5th place. Nevertheless, a faithful ally of this bright and very strong feeling is passion, which overwhelms a person, plunging into a whirlpool of events and actions, for which he sometimes does not find an explanation, and does not want to do this. I tried to display this all-consuming feeling in my poem "I love you more than the sea, and the sky, and singing ..." Konstantin Balmont, admitting that passion flares up instantly, and only then it is replaced by true love, full of tenderness and romance.
“I love you more than the sea, and the sky, and singing ...” K. Balmont
I love you more than the Sea and the Sky and the Singing
I love you longer than the days I was given on earth.
You alone burn for me, like a star in the silence of distance,
You are a ship that sinks neither in dreams, nor in waves, nor in darkness.I fell in love with you unexpectedly, immediately, by accident,
I saw you - like a blind man suddenly widens his eyes
And, having regained his sight, he will be amazed that in the world the sculpture is soldered,
What is redundant down into the emerald, turquoise poured out.I remember. Opening the book, you rustled the pages a little.
I asked: “Is it good that ice is broken in the soul?”
You flashed to me, instantly beheld the distance, the pupils.
And love - and love - about love - for the beloved - sings.
4th place. Another feeling that is an invariable companion of love is jealousy. Few lovers can avoid this bitter fate, at first tormented by doubts about reciprocal feelings, and later by the fear of losing a loved one forever. And often the most ardent and passionate love, poisoned by jealousy, develops into all-consuming hatred. An illustration of such a relationship is "Ballad of Hate and Love" by Eduard Asadov in which banal betrayal destroys not only love, but also serves as an incentive to survive, filling the heart with a thirst for revenge. Thus, love and hate perfectly complement each other and can coexist in the heart of almost any person who is not able to suppress one of these feelings in himself, and prefers his life to consist of a series of joys and disappointments.
"Ballad of hate and love" E. Asadov
The blizzard roars like a gray-haired giant,
The second day without abating,
Roars like five hundred aircraft turbines,
And there is no end to it, damn it!Dancing with a huge white fire,
Shut off engines and turn off headlights.
The snowy airfield is hushed up,
Service buildings and hangars.Dim light in a smoky room
The second day the radio operator does not sleep.
He catches, he listens to crackling and whistling,
Everyone is waiting tensely: is he alive or not?The radio operator nods: - So far, yes,
But the pain won't let him straighten up.
And he still jokes: "They say, that's the trouble
My left plane is nowhere!
Most likely a fracture of the clavicle ... "Somewhere a storm, no fire, no stars
Above the crash site.
Only the snow covers the debris traces
Yes, a freezing pilot.Looking for tractors day and night
Yes, just wasted. It's embarrassing to tears.
Is it possible to find here, is it possible to help -
Can't you see your hands half a meter from the headlights?And he understands, but he does not wait,
Lying in a hollow that will become a coffin.
Tractor even if it comes
It will still pass in two steps
And will not notice him under a snowdrift.Now any operation is in vain.
And yet life is still heard.
You can hear his walkie-talkie
Miraculously, but saved.I would stand up, but the pain burns my side,
Boots full of warm blood
She, cooling down, freezes into ice,
Snow gets into your nose and mouth.What's broken? It is impossible to understand.
But just don't move, don't step!
So it's over, you see, your path!
And somewhere son, wife, friends ...Somewhere a room, light, warmth...
Don't talk about it! Darkness in the eyes...
The snow must have covered a meter.
The body drowsily stiffens ...And in the headset are the words:
— Hello! Do you hear? Hold on buddy
Head spinning...
— Hello! Take heart! You will be hunted down!Take heart? What is he, a kid or a coward?!
In what after all there were alterations formidable.
- Thank you ... I understand you ... So far I'm holding on! —
And he adds to himself: “I’m afraid
That everything will be, it seems too late ... "Completely cast iron head.
End in the walkie-talkie batteries.
They will last another hour or two.
Like logs of the arm ... the back goes numb ...- Hello! - this seems to be a general. -
Hold on, dear, they will find you, dig you out ... -
Strange: the words ring like a crystal,
They fight, knock, like metal in armor,
And they almost do not fly into the brain that has cooled down ...To become suddenly the happiest on earth,
How little is probably needed:
Freezing completely, to be warm,
Where is a kind word and tea on the table,
A sip of alcohol and a puff of smoke ...Again silence rustles in the headset.
Then through the blizzard howl:
— Hello! Here in the wheelhouse is your wife!
Now you will hear it. Attention!For a minute the buzz of a tight wave,
Some rustles, cods, squeaks,
And suddenly the distant voice of his wife,
Painfully familiar, eerily close!“I don’t know what to do or what to say.
Darling, you yourself know very well
What if you freeze completely
We must endure, we must endure!Good, bright, dear!
Well, how to explain to her in the end,
That he did not die here on purpose,
That the pain even weakly sigh prevents
And the truth must be faced.- Listen! Forecasters answered:
The storm will end in a day.
Will you last? Yes?
- Unfortunately no…
- How not? You are out of your mind!Alas, all the words are muffled.
The denouement, here it is - no matter how hard it is.
Only one head lives
And the body is a cold piece of wood.Not a sound. Silence. Probably crying.
How difficult it is to send a last greeting!
And suddenly: - If so, I must say! —
The voice is harsh, unrecognizable.
Strange. What does this mean?"Believe me, I'm sorry to tell you.
Yesterday I would have hidden from fear.
But since you said that you won't live,
It's better not to reproach after yourself,
Tell you briefly everything that happened.Know that I'm a bad wife
And I stand any bad word.
I've been unfaithful to you for a year now
And now it's been a year since I love another!Oh how I suffered facing the flames
Your hot oriental eyes. —
He silently listened to her story,
Heard maybe the last time
Dry blade of grass clutching his teeth.- So for a whole year I lied, hid,
But it's out of fear, not out of malice.
- Tell me the name! ..-
She paused
Then, as if hitting, she said the name,
Named his best friend!He just wouldn't dare, couldn't, like me,
Endure meeting your eyes.
Don't be afraid for your son. He rides with us.
Now everything is anew: life and family.Sorry. Not the time for these words.
But there will be no other time. —
He listens silently. Head on fire...
And as if a hammer is knocking on the crown of the head ...What a pity that you can't help!
Fate mixed up all the ways.
Goodbye! Don't get angry and forgive if you can!
For meanness and joy, forgive me!Has it been half a year or half an hour?
Probably ran out of batteries.
Farther away, quieter noises ... voices ...
Only the heart beats stronger and stronger!It rumbles and hits the whiskey!
It blazes with fire and poison.
It's torn to pieces!
What is more in it: rage or longing?
It's too late to weigh, and it's not necessary!Resentment floods the blood.
Before the eyes of a continuous fog.
Where is friendship in the world and where is love?
They don't exist! And the wind like an echo again:
They don't exist! All meanness and all deceit!He is destined to die in the snow,
Like a dog, stiffening under the moans of a blizzard,
So that two traitors there, in the south,
Opening a bottle with laughter at your leisure,
Could a wake for him celebrate?!They completely overwhelm the boy
And they will persevere to the end
To drive into his head the name of another
And tear out the name of the father from memory!And yet a bright faith is given
The soul of a three-year-old boy.
The son listens to the rumble of aircraft and waits.
And he freezes, but he will not come!Heart rumbles, knocks on whiskey,
Cocked like a revolver trigger.
From tenderness, rage and longing
It is torn to pieces.
Still, it's too early to give up!Ah, strength! Where to take you from, where?
But here, after all, not life is at stake, but honor!
Miracle? Do you need a miracle?
So let it! Consider that there is a miracle!We must rise at any cost
And with the whole being, rushing forward,
Break away from the frozen ground with your chest,
Like a plane that doesn't want to give up
And shot down, again goes to take off!The pain rises so that it seems
Fall back dead, face down!
Still, he gets up, groaning.
A miracle, as you can see, is happening!
However, about the miracle later, later ...The snowstorm throws ice salt,
But the body burns like a hot summer
My heart is pounding in my throat somewhere
Crimson rage and black pain!Away through the wild carousel
The eyes of a boy that are truly waiting
They are big, in all the blizzard,
They guide him like a compass!- Will not work! It's not true, I'm not lost! —
He is alive. He moves, he crawls!
Gets up, swings on the go,
Falls again and rises again...By noon, the blizzard had died down and passed.
Fell and broke into pieces.
Fell as if cut off on the spot,
Releasing the sun from the white mouth.He passed, in anticipation of the imminent spring,
Leaving after a night operation
On stunted bushes shreds of gray hair,
Like white flags of surrender.Goes on a low-level helicopter,
Breaking the silence of silence.
Sixth turn, seventh turn,
He is looking for ... looking for ... and here, and here -
A dark dot in the midst of whiteness!Quicker! The earth shook from the roar.
Quicker! Well, what is it: a beast? Human?
The dot swayed, rose
And collapsed again into deep snow ...Getting closer, getting lower… Enough! Stop!
The machines hum smoothly and smoothly.
And the first without a ladder straight into the snowdrift
A woman darted from the cockpit!She clung to her husband: - You are alive, you are alive!
I knew ... Everything will be so, not otherwise! ..-
And, carefully clasping the neck,
She whispered something, laughing and crying.Trembling, kissed, as if half asleep,
Frozen hands, face and lips.
And he is barely audible, with difficulty, through his teeth:
“Don’t you dare… you yourself told me…”- Shut up! No need! All nonsense, all nonsense!
By what yardstick did you measure me?
How could you believe?! And yet, no
How lucky you are to believe!I knew, I knew your character!
Everything collapsed, perished ... at least howl, at least roar!
And I needed a chance, the last, any!
And hatred can burn sometimes
Even stronger than love!And so, I say, and I myself shake,
I'm playing some scoundrel.
And I'm afraid that now I'll break,
I'll shout something, I'll burst into tears,
Unable to endure!Forgive me for the bitterness, my love!
All my life for one, for one your look,
Yes, I, like a fool, will follow you,
Even to hell! Even in hell! Even to hell!And her eyes were so
Eyes that loved and yearned
They were shining like that now.
That he looked into them and understood everything!And, half frozen, half alive,
He suddenly became the happiest person on the planet.
Hatred, no matter how strong at times,
Not the strongest thing in the world!
3rd place. It's no secret that over time, even the most ardent feelings become dull, and love turns into an endless routine. Anticipating the development of relationships in this way and realizing that only a few happy couples manage to avoid parting, Nikolai Klyuev wrote a poem "Love began in the summer". In it, he tried to answer the question why people who yesterday admired each other so much are today full of indifference and even some contempt both for themselves and for their former lovers. But - you can’t command feelings, and you have to put up with this, even if at the initial stage of the development of relationships it seems to both lovers that their union is eternal. In life, everything is much more banal and prosaic. Faded feelings are rarely resurrected. And more often than not, a romance that ended in parting eventually causes only a slight sadness in its heroes.
“Love began in the summer” N. Klyuev
Love began in the summer
End - autumn September.
You came up to me with greetings
In a girl's simple dress.Handed over a red testicle
As a symbol of blood and love:
Don't rush north, birdie
Wait for spring in the south!The smoky copses turn blue,
Alert and mute
Behind the patterned curtains
The melting winter is not visible.But the heart feels: there are fogs,
The movement of the vague forests,
Inevitable Deceptions
Lilac-gray evenings.Oh, do not fly into the mists like a bird!
Years will go into gray haze -
You will be a poor nun
Stand on the porch in the corner.And maybe I'll pass by
The same poor and thin ...
Oh give me cherub wings
Fly invisibly behind you!Don't say hello to you
And don't repent later...
Love began in the summer
End - autumn September.
2nd place. But sometimes the image of a once close and beloved person is simply erased from the heart, thrown into the back of memory, like an unnecessary thing, and nothing can be done about it. Experienced a similar situation Ivan Bunin, who in the poem "We met by chance, on the corner ..." warns all beloved ones that sooner or later they will be forgotten. And this is a kind of payment for love, which is inevitable, unless people can learn to accept their chosen ones as they are, forgiving them their imperfection.
“We met by chance, on the corner…” I. Bunin
We met by chance on the corner.
I walked quickly and suddenly, like the light of lightning
Evening cut through the gloom
Through black radiant eyelashes.She wore crepe, a transparent light gas
The spring wind blew for a moment,
But on the face and in the bright gleam of the eyes
I caught the former revival.And she kindly nodded to me,
Slightly tilted her face from the wind
And disappeared around the corner ... It was spring ...
She forgave me and forgot.
1 place. An example of such an all-consuming love, which is devoid of conventions and therefore close to the ideal, can be found in poem by Osip Mandelstam "I'm sorry that it's winter now ...". Love is, first of all, a huge amount of work to maintain a feeling that can fade at any moment. And - the realization that it is made up of various little things, the value of which people realize only when they lose them.
"I'm sorry that it's winter now..." O. Mandelstam
I'm sorry it's winter now
And mosquitoes are not heard in the house,
But you reminded yourself
About frivolous straw.Dragonflies curl in the blue
And fashion swirls like a swallow;
Basket on the head
Or a pompous ode?I'm not going to advise
And useless excuses
But whipped cream tastes eternal
And the smell of orange peel.You interpret everything at random
It doesn't get any worse than this.
What to do: the most gentle mind
Everything is placed outside.And you're trying to yolk
Beat with an angry spoon
He turned white, he was exhausted.
And yet a little more...And, really, it's not your fault, -
Why grades and undersides?
You were created on purpose
For a comedy brawl.Everything in you teases, everything sings,
Like an Italian roulade.
And a little cherry mouth
Dry asks for grapes.So don't try to be smart
Everything is a whim in you, everything is a minute,
And the shadow from your hat -
Venetian bout.
