Da se moze ja bih umro za te

Bol boluje lijepa Fahira
Pod orahom i pod jorgovanom.
K njoj dolaze svi dilberi redom,
A najvise Omer momce mlado.
Pa govori Omer momce mlado:
- O, Fahiro, bolovo bih za te!
Da se moze, ja bih umro za te!
Odgovara lijepa Fahira:
- Niti boluj, nit´ umiri za me,
Vec se svuci, pa lezi uza me!

bosanska narodna ljubavna poezija 

citat:

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geronimo wrote:

Svaka cast,RPM.MOra da je od Copica jer koja bi budala tako nesto lijepo napisala.Steta sto se ubi.Nego,ako si pri sutu,ima od Zmaja "djulici uveoci".Strahota bozija,trazim je godinama,pa ako mozes?

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VIII

Mrtvo nebo, mrtva zemlja,
Ne micu se magle sive;
Mrtvi dani, mrtve noci,
-Samo boli joste zive.

Tone, pada mrtva nada
U narucje mrtvom Bogu,
Izmrlo sto je moglo,
Samo boli jos ne mogu.

Navila se suza oku,
Izdahnuti tu je rada;
Al´ se s mrtva oka vraca,
Pa na mrtvo srce pada.

Mrtvo srce, suza budi,
Padajuc na nj sa visa,
Iz njeg´ nicu ove pesme,
mrtvo cvece bez mirisa.

LIII

Pojte, pojte, vesel´te se,
Ta to meni nist´ ne smeta!
Jer se meni tako cini
Da vas gledam s drugog sveta.

Pojte, pojte svojoj sreci,
Ne dajte je iz svog kruga!
Samo sreca nek je prava,
Kao sto je moja tuga.

Usklik vasa radovanja
Zice srca moga njija,-
Glasi srece,- glasi bola,-
Pa ipak je harmonija.

LIX

"Vidis onu zvezdu gore",
Astronom mi jedan reko,
"Mozak stane kad pomislis
Kako j´ zvezda ta daleko."

"Daleko je, visoko je,-
Sto godina dugih prode,
Dokle njena svetla zraka
Do nasega oka dode."

"Mi vidimo zvezdu ovu,
Vidimo je kako trepti,
A nje mozda davno nije.
Verujes li?"- Verujem ti!

Jer s´ i meni kasto cini,
Usred noci sam stojeci,
Ko da cujem slatke glase,
Ko da cujem mile reci.

Cini mi se ko da vidim
Svetlo lice zvezde svoje:
Ja je vidim, ja je vidim,
- A nje davno nestalo je....

J.J. Zmaj

Geronimo to je sve sto imam.

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Ti bi jednom ja bi vise,
ti bi glasno ja bi tise,
ti bi sporo ja bi brze,
ti bi grubo ja bi nezno,
ti bi danju ja bi nocu,
ti bas neces kad ja hocu!!! 

The Raven
Edgar Allen Poe


Once upon a midnight dreadry, while I pondered, weak
and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a
tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber
door.
"´Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber
door;
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon
the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of surrow, sorrow for the lost
Lenore,.
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name
Lenore,
Nameless here forevermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me---filled me with fantastic terrors never felt
before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood
repeating,
"´Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber
door,
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door.
This is it, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came
rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my cham-
ber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you." Here I opened
wide the door;---
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, won-
dering, fearing
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to
dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no
token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word,
"Lenore?",
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,
"Lenore!"
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me
burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than
before,
"Surely," said I, "surely, that is something at my window
lattice.
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore.
´Tis the wind, and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and
flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven, of the saintly days of
yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or
stayed he;
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my cham-
ber door.
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber
door,
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it
wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven thou," I said, "art
sure no craven,
Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the
nightly shore.
Tell me what the lordly name is on the Night´s Pluton-
ian shore."
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so
plainly,
Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his cham-
ber door,
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his cham-
ber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did
outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then he
fluttered;
Till I scarcely more than muttered,"Other friends have
flown before;
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown
before."
Then the bird said,"Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and
store,
Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful
disaster
Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one
burden bore,---
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never---nevermore."

But the raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and
bust and door;,
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of
yore,
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous
bird of yore
Meant in croaking, "Nevermore."

Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my
bosom´s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease re-
clining
On the cushion´s velvet lining that the lamplight gloated
o´er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating
o´er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an
unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted
floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee -- by these
angels he hath sent thee
Respite---respite and nepenthe from thy memories of
Lenore!
Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost
Lenore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or
devil!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee
here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--
On this home by horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore:
Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me I im-
plore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil--prophet still, if bird or
devil!
By that heaven that bends above us--by that God we
both adore--
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant
Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name
Lenore---
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name
Lenore?
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!´ I shrieked,
upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night´s Pluton-
ian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath
spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the bust above
my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form
from off my door!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon´s that is
dreaming.
And the lamplight o´er him streaming throws the shadow
on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on
the floor
Shall be lifted---nevermore!

Joj ova je jaka k´o zemlja, zamalo nisam zaplakala, zar ima i ovakvih muskaraca

She was too kind, wooed too persistently
Samuel Butler


I
She was too kind, wooed too persistently,
Wrote moving letters to me day by day;
The more she wrote, the more unmoved was I,
The more she gave, the less could I repay.
Therefore I grieve, not that I was not loved,
But that, being loved, I could not love again.
I liked, but like and love are far removed;
Hard though I tried to love I tried in vain.
For she was plain and lame and fat and short,
Forty and over-kind. Hence it befell
That though I loved her in a certain sort,
Yet did I love too wisely but not well.
Ah! had she been more beauteous or less kind
She might have found me of another mind.

II

And now, though twenty years are come and gone,
That little lame lady´s face is with me still;
Never a day but what, on every one,
She dwells with me, as dwell she ever will.
She said she wished I knew not wrong from right;
It was not that; I knew, and would have chosen
Wrong if I could, but, in my own despite,
Power to choose wrong in my chilled veins was frozen.
´Tis said that if a woman woo, no man
Should leave her till she have prevailed; and, true,
A man will yield for pity, if he can,
But if the flesh rebels what can he do?
I could not. Hence I grieve my whole life long
The wrong I did, in that I did no wrong.

III

Had I been some young sailor, continent
Perforce three weeks and then well plied with wine,
I might in time have tried to yield consent
And almost (though I doubt it) made her mine.
Or had it been but once and never again,
Come what come might, she should have had her way;
But yielding once were yielding twice, and then
I had been hers for ever and a day.
Or had she only been content to crave
A marriage of true minds, her wish was granted;
My mind was hers, I was her willing slave
In all things else except the one she wanted:
And here, alas! at any rate to me
She was an all too, too impossible she.

MV, meni se cini da je ona htjela, a da on nije mogao zato sto je mislio da je pogresno da je iskoristi:

She said she wished I knew not wrong from right;
It was not that; I knew, and would have chosen
Wrong if I could, but, in my own despite,
Power to choose wrong in my chilled veins was frozen.
´Tis said that if a woman woo, no man
Should leave her till she have prevailed; and, true,
A man will yield for pity, if he can,
But if the flesh rebels what can he do?
I could not. Hence I grieve my whole life long
The wrong I did, in that I did no wrong.

Tek nakon mnogo godina se pokajao sto nije uradio, jer mu je njeno lice bilo stalno pred ocima..

Ah, amore a posebno ljubavna poezija....ne kaze se dzaba da onaj ko vlada rijecima, vlada cijelim svijetom, ukljucujuci i zene

Nije ljubavna, ali je prijateljska i prelijepa:

A Friend Like You
by Author Unknown

There´s lots of things
With which I´m blessed,
Tho´ my life´s been both Sunny and Blue,
But of all my blessings,
This one´s the best:
To have a friend like you.

In times of trouble
Friends will say,
"Just ask... I´ll help you through it."
But you don´t wait for me to ask,
You just get up
And you do it!

And I can think
Of nothing in life
That I could more wisely do,
Than know a friend,
And be a friend,
And love a friend... like you.

To all my friends

Sajt je fenomenalan, Rusi su ba Bog sto se tice poezije.

Ja sam mislio da sam sljedecu pjesmu vec stavljao, ali haman da nisam. Ona se zove Jelena Langold i ja je strasno volim, a pjesma je, a sta drugo, do "Poslednja pesma:"

Sve sto sam kazala, sve sto sam ucinila
Sve sto ucinismo, zapravo,
Ne misleci da je kretnja tek privid neceg mnogo
Veceg,
Evo vraca se stostruko, mnogoglavo:
Sve citiraju te noci u kojima nisi hteo progovoriti
Sve velike zime i njene smesne gordosti,
Evo banalnih monologa, dolaze po svoje.
Bolje bi bilo da smo pili do jutra, moja trezna
ljubavi,
Da smo cupali tudje cvece koje pozelismo u vazi,
Umesto pedantnog odgajanja vrta.
Sve biljke koje posadismo rastu izmedju nas
Kao strasni suncokret, secas ga se, kojim smo plasili
Tudje macke.
Bolje da smo imali svoje macke, moja cista ljubavi,
Macke koje bi ostavljale svoj dlakavi trag, svoje
Mirise.
Bolje da smo pustili korov do ponora
Jer evo cistina je i sve je tako savrseno glatko
I ti strcis i ja strcim, moja ljubavi.
Bolje da smo se sakrili u trave, u koprive, u grmlje,
Previsoki smo za pod koji uglacasmo.
Evo nas na ravom polju dok su gromovi,
I sad vec istice vreme za tvoje precutane poljubce,
Vec je neko ruzno gnezdo na njima, moja uzdrzana
ljubavi.
Toliko dugo si bio bez slabosti da sam ti poverovala,
Svi kocijasi obukli su se u crno i cekaju da me
Povezu.
Sve stvari koje toliko volis, moja smesna ljubavi,
Razbijacu lagano usput, poklanjajuci je neradnicima
Davacu ih losim ljubavnicima, davacu ih
Prevarantima.
Sve vazne stvari, tako pazljivo birane
Prodavacu ih u bescenje na periferijskim pijacama.
Desavace se da ih izgubim, moja odgovorna ljubavi,
I ti ces osetiti bljutavost u dnu usana, odjednom
Snaci ce te nesto poput mrznje dok budes okopavao
Vrt.
Nesto poput besa, moja nemocna ljubavi.
Sve tamne stvari govorice ti o mome sjaju
A ti nisi covek koji bi zbog toga polomio tanane
Stvari
Pa ces se tako dugo muciti
Premda to nije najgore sto ti ja zelim, moja jadna
ljubavi.
Strela koju ti saljem odavde gde vise nisi
Pozar i krv i dzelat,
Ljubav koju ti saljem prepuna je noktiju i oruzja i
Demona,
Zuta ubistva i djavolje sluzbe da te snadju,
Jer ja sam uranjala usta u pregib tvojih kolena
Toliko puta mogoh pregristi tvoj vrat, sad je kasno
Jer ja sam kucala kao pljosnato srce duboko u tvojoj
Cipeli,
Na plazi na kojoj si u groznici spavao
Mrzela sam sve senke, talase i decu koja vriste.
Toliko puta pomislih da si umro u snu, moja tiha
Ljubavi,
I svaki put umrla bih sa tobom, a ti bi preziveo.
Secas se kako sam sklapala oci kad si bio blizu
Nije vazno sto smesno hodam po snegu, po pesku
Postojala je harmonija u mome telu, naucena na tebe
I nacin na koji sam postajala lepa, razbijajuci
Ogledala.
Kako ce me divno sada ljubiti svi koji me ne poznaju.
Ubijacemo te svaki put kada spojimo tela
I ti ces osetiti dok budes zalivao vrt
Kako sam podatna i sliska, kako me nema
Kako je sve drugacije bez mojih lekovitih ludosti,
Ali je malo i to sto ti saljem odavde gde te vise nema
Uzalud da otresas moj obraz sa svog ramena
Jer ti si tako siguran u svoj crno-beli um
Da cu mozda i poverovati u tvoj spokoj, moja
Nespokojna ljubavi
Jer ti si mozda sposoban da zaboravis krik u mraku.
Knjige bez poretka sve govore o tebi
Bolje bi bilo, zaista, da smo pili do jutra
Da nismo provetravali
Da smo imali i psa i macku i hrcka
Da smo se umeli ljubiti po danu i u nevreme
Jer evo strasni poziv i jeka dolaze
I gavrani i sve gadne velike ptice kojih se plasim
I mrak u kome ne umem sama bez tebe da zaspim.
Cujes li i ti te zvuke nocne dzungle
Sanjas li grozne insekte, moja tuzna ljubavi?
Toliko ruznog o tebi sam rekla svim ljudima
Da vec osecam potrebu da te odbranim.
Zato kazem: postoji slika na kojoj su tvoje oci vrlo
Tople
I jos nesto: covek koji voli da ide u cirkus
Mora biti da nije bas toliko los.

citat:

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Anna wrote:

citat:

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m-v wrote:
Neki dan sam greskom obrisala jednu pjesmu koju nam je prepisala cutie, i jednu koju je prepisala Anna . pa evo, da ih vratim:

cutie:

Ne vjeruj

Ne vjeruj u moje stihove i rime
Kad ti kazu, draga, da te silno volim,
U trenutku svakom da se za te molim
I da ti u stabla urezujem ime -

Ne vjeruj| No kasno, kad se mjesec javi
I prelije srmom vrh modrijeh krsa,
Tamo gdje u grmu proljece leprsa
I gdje slatko spava nas jorgovan plavi,

Dodji, cekacu te| U casima tijem,
Kad na grudi moje priljubis se cvrsce,
Osjetis li, draga, da mi tjelo drsce,
I da silno gorim ognjevima svijem,

Tada vjeruj meni, i ne pitaj vise|
Jer istinska ljubav za rijeci ne zna;
Ona samo plamti, silna, neoprezna,
Niti mari, draga, da stihove pise|

Aleksa Santic, 1905.

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zar nije ovo pisao J.D.?

Cini mi se da sam ja u srednjoj ovo morala da naucim napamet , jer kad sam pocela da citam, rijeci samo dolaze odnekle iz podsvijesti...

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