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Poem
Rhianwen  - 43
Fortgeschrittener
(offline)
Dabei seit 11.2008
64
Beiträge
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Geschrieben am: 13.02.2009 um 22:33 Uhr
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Müssen hier selbstgeschriebene Texte stehen oder gehen auch welche von bekannten Dichtern oder Schriftstellern?
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Elli91  - 34
Champion
(offline)
Dabei seit 08.2007
2830
Beiträge
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Geschrieben am: 13.02.2009 um 22:35 Uhr
Zuletzt editiert am: 13.02.2009 um 22:35 Uhr
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Zitat von Rhianwen: Müssen hier selbstgeschriebene Texte stehen oder gehen auch welche von bekannten Dichtern oder Schriftstellern?
Ist an sich wurst. Wenn du das Forum durchsuchst, wirst du einige Texte sehen, die von berühmten Dichtern stammen. ^^
Edit: Du solltest halt angeben, von wem der Text ist. :)
Someday we gonna dance with those lions
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Rhianwen - 43
Fortgeschrittener
(offline)
Dabei seit 11.2008
64
Beiträge
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Geschrieben am: 13.02.2009 um 23:59 Uhr
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Dann poste ich mal eins meiner Lieblingsgedichte.
The Little House of Lost Play (Mar Vanwa Tyalieva) by J. R. R. Tolkien
We knew that land once, You and I,
and once we wandered there
in the long days now long gone by,
a dark child and a fair.
Was it on the paths of firelight thought
in winter cold and white,
or in the blue-spun twilit hours
of little early tucked-up beds
in drowsy summer night,
that you and I in sleep went down
to meet each other there,
your dark hair on your white nightgown
and mine was tangled fair?
We wandered shyly hand in hand,
small footprints in the golden sand,
and gathered pearls and shells in pails,
while all about the nightengales
were singing in the trees.
We dug for silver with our spades,
and caught the sparkle of the seas,
then ran ashore to greenlit glades,
and found the warm and winding lane
that now we cannot find again,
between tall whispering trees.
The air was neither night nor day,
an ever-eve of gloaming light,
when first there glimmered into sight
the Cottage Of Lost Play
New-built it was, yet very old,
white, and thatched with straws of gold,
and pierced with peeping lattices
that looked toward the sea;
and our own children's garden-plots
were there: our own forgetmenots,
red daisies, cress and mustard,
and radishes for tea.
There all the borders, trimmed with box,
were filled with favourite flowers, with phlox,
with lupins, pinks, and hollyhocks,
beneath a red may-tree;
and all the gardens full of folk
that their own little language spoke,
but not to You and Me.
For some had silver watering-cans
and watered all their gowns,
or sprayed each other; some laid plans
to build their houses, little towns
and dwellings in the trees.
And some were clambering on the roof;
some crooning lonely and aloof;
some dancing round the fairy-rings
all garlanded in daisy-strings,
while some upon their knees
before a little white-robed king
crowned with marigold would sing
their rhymes of long ago.
But side by side a little pair
with heads together, mingled hair,
went walking to and fro
still hand in hand; and what they said,
ere Waking far apart them led,
that only we now know.
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Ashleyolsen - 31
Fortgeschrittener
(offline)
Dabei seit 06.2005
72
Beiträge
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Geschrieben am: 25.02.2009 um 16:31 Uhr
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ich poste auch mal eins..is eins von meinen lieblingsgedichten
geschrieben von May Swenson
Question:
Body my house
My horse my hound
What will I do
When you are fallen
Where will I sleep?
How will I run?
What will I hunt?
Where can I go
Without my mount
All eager and quick
How will I know?
In thicket ahead
Is danger or treasure
When body my good
Bright dog is dead
How will it be
To lie in the sky
Without roof or floor
And wind for an eye
With cloud for a shift
How will I hide?
_SoMeTiMeS tHeRe IsN't AnY wAy To CoMpRoMiSe_
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ViolentFEAR - 33
Champion
(offline)
Dabei seit 01.2006
13295
Beiträge
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Geschrieben am: 25.02.2009 um 18:41 Uhr
Zuletzt editiert am: 25.02.2009 um 18:48 Uhr
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My evergreen:
A poison tree
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears
Night and morning with my tears,
And I sunned it with smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright,
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine -
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning, glad, I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
- Bill Blake
also:
The Garden of Love.
I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.
And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And "Thou shalt not" writ over the door;
So I turn'd to the Garden of Love,
That so many sweet flowers bore,
And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tomb-stones where flowers should be:
And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars, my joys & desires.
Die Kunst ist eine Tochter der Freiheit
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-Niinaa_ - 32
Halbprofi
(offline)
Dabei seit 08.2008
175
Beiträge
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Geschrieben am: 01.04.2009 um 17:22 Uhr
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An elephant goes like this and that,
he's terrible big and he's terrible fat.
He has no fingers an he has no toes.
But goodness greacious, what a nose.
''Where are you going my little cat?''
''I'm going to town to get me a hat''
''What a hat for a cat?, a cat gets a hat?,
who ever saw a cat with a hat?''
die mussten wir mal in der 5. Klasse auswendig lernen 
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