Del et dikt du har skrevet eller som du liker

[AnonymBruker]

KGuidensk Talenter💯😎

Where are you, love of mine?

I've felt your silouette 

just passing by, to wait, I wait

Will she remember me?

No way, answered the stars 

But I look a different palette

where she sees the sky, pain,

 blossoms her chest, oh Faith

Haven't we belong to someone else?

"Listen closely and you'll be there-

whispered the wind,- my dear friend"

What do I have to hear, northern wind

Down the valley, a breeze of cold skin

claiming your destructive thoughts

and feelings to free, just breath again.

As I tried, it worked so well, to inhale 

a medicin and exhale the pain

At what cost?-she asked somewhere

Everything and more, my angel. 

Have faith, live up to be good

and feel the coldskin breeze, 

Life will bring you more to accept

As there is no one to please,

There is nothing else to say

Every day for you I'll pray.

Forever will be missed, okey?

I'll wait on the place you dreamed with

Ea Vita. Alea iacta est.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Anonymkode: bef15...da7

[AnonymBruker]

Jeg liker dette:

Den gang jeg levde, sa den døde kvinnen,
da var jeg bare jeg og ingen annen.
Nå er jeg havet, himmelen og vinden,
du føler stryker deg så svalt om pannen.
Og når du kommer etter, hvisket kvinnen,
da skal jeg vente i den svimle svingen,
bak havet, himmelen og vinden,
der skal vi være evige og ingen.

Av Inger Hagerup

Anonymkode: 3a306...3ac

[AnonymBruker]

Dette er mitt favoritt dikt ❤️ Det er alt mine besteforeldre var ❤️

 

Jeg tørker tårer ved kisten din. 
Du er ikke der, men i sjelen min. 
Du lever fortsatt i solens skinn, 
i snøens glitter, i våre sinn. 

Med rynket hud og med hår i hvitt. 
Du ledet meg med trygge skritt. 
Fortalte klokt og bygde bro
Fra deg til meg, fra da til no. 

Du holdt meg på ditt trygge fang. 
Eventyr og barnesanger. 
Spant tråder inn i sinnet mitt. 
En styrkens vev når alt er stritt. 

En rose ligger på kisten din. 
Den visker varmt i den kalde vind. 
Sov søtt du kjære farmoren min. 

 

Anonymkode: 1796d...cdb

[utakulanini]

Weighted baggage
Fueling fear 
From a past self
of romance and betrayal

Be gentle with your words
Until 
I’m on my knees 
Shame me not for my polluted mind 

Because it is 
a mirror of yours

Except you have the benefit
of genders 
guiding you proudly through any storm

Unlike me

Unlike us

Surviving the rain 
but feeling the cold 

Wondering when to be let back in 
Wanting to be invisible
Only for a moment

To feel and 
let feel
without
reproachful eyes 

Accepting the judgements
Ignoring the guilt 

Watching
Talking
Judging

Bridges burnt
But boats built 

So allow me the honour
of sticking around 

I will swallow your sins
If you devour my soul 

Kill your hunger with my lust 
but kindly leave me each time with
compassion and soft kisses

Accept me
for all my colors
and with all my flaws

And do not think that I am made of glass
For I am 

honey

Bring me warmth 
and I shall melt

Bring me your wounds
And I will help you heal

I adapt with the seasons
and so does my flavour

I can be 
hard
and firm 
and strong

So judge not my boundaries from the delicate skin that you see

You can be

Rough 
Rough
Rougher

Push my limits and feel my pleasures 

See them
Hear them
Share them

Allow your rawness to greet mine 
while whispering your desires to my neck

Enjoy me 
taste me
take me 
use me

Love me
Love me

Love me


- in restraint

[AnonymBruker]

The Tyger by William Blake

Tyger Tyger, burning bright, 

In the forests of the night; 

What immortal hand or eye, 

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

 

In what distant deeps or skies. 

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand, dare seize the fire?

 

And what shoulder, & what art,

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand? & what dread feet?

 

What the hammer? what the chain, 

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? what dread grasp, 

Dare its deadly terrors clasp! 

 

When the stars threw down their spears 

And water'd heaven with their tears: 

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

 

Tyger Tyger burning bright, 

In the forests of the night: 

What immortal hand or eye,

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

 

 

 

 

Anonymkode: bef15...da7

[AnonymBruker]

🌷I stumhetens pine
Blir minnene kun mine
Det stille farvann
gir ingen lyd
Ei heller et uttalt ord
Fortielsens bakmann 
stikker meg som et spyd 
Og i meg etterlater et dypt spor 

En kvalt skam
Så umåtelig stram
At den selv ikke med tårenes stri, slipper fri
Innerst inne et ønske om å fly 
Men det gir meg lyst til å spy
Jeg har sett
at jeg holder tett 
Hvor ingen får adgangsrett 

Kun meg 
Som bærer preg 
Av det groteske
For alltid gjemt i en skjult eske.🌷

Anonymkode: ebafe...cb4

[powerpuffen]

Ikke som en Cæsar gjorde,
skal du med et sverd bevæbne
deg mot verden, men med ordet;
Amor Fati – elsk din skjebne.

Denne formel skal du fatte
som din sterkeste befrier:
Du har valgt din sti i krattet.
Ikke skjel mot andre stier!

Også smerten er din tjener.
Lammet, sønderknust, elendig
ser du at den gjenforener
deg med det som er nødvendig.

Også fallet, også sviket
hjelper deg som dine venner.
Dine nederlag er rike
gaver, lagt i dine hender.

Engang skal du, tilfredsstillet
av å bli din skjebne verdig
vite: Dette har jeg villet.
Alt som skjer meg skjer rettferdig.

Si da, når din levegledes
grønne skog er gjennomvandret:
Intet vil jeg anderledes.
Intet ønsker jeg forandret.

[Kågebruker]

Jeg vil være det rolige regn 

Lars Saabye Christensen 

 

 

Jeg vil være det rolige regn
som faller når min elskede har glemt sin paraply
jeg vil være den heldige dråpen
som renner langs hennes panne

Jeg vil være det rolige regn
som ingen er redd å gå ut i 
jeg vil tenne trærnes kroner
og lage dammer til lekende barn

Jeg vil være det rolige regn 
som får min elskede til å sove
så vil jeg stå på skrå gjennom drømmen
som en søyle av stigende sol

[AnonymBruker]

Her er hele, jeg husket ikke ordrett alle versene da jeg postet det lenger opp her:

Dengang jeg levde, sa den døde kvinnen,

da var jeg bare jeg og ingen annen.

Nå er jeg havet, himmelen og vinden

du føler stryker deg så svalt om pannen.

 

Jeg elsket deg nok, men jeg så deg ikke.

Jeg var meg selv for heftig og for meget.

Nå ser jeg på deg med det store blikket

som solen modner kornet med på neget.

 

Det var for trangt i rommet og i tiden.

Men døden er så åpen og så stille.

Og alt har hendt for lenge lenge siden

av disse altfor mange ting jeg ville.

 

Og når du kommer etter, hvisket kvinnen,

da skal jeg vente i den svingen

bak havet og bak himmelen og vinden,

der vi skal være evige og ingen.

 

Inger Hagerup

Anonymkode: 3a306...3ac

[Rumle]

Er så glad i dette ❤ Wild Geese av Mary Oliver

[Kågebruker]

Alone 

Edgar Allan Poe

 

From childhood’s hour I have not been 

As others were—I have not seen 

As others saw—I could not bring 

My passions from a common spring— 

From the same source I have not taken 

My sorrow—I could not awaken 

My heart to joy at the same tone— 

And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone— 

Then—in my childhood—in the dawn 

Of a most stormy life—was drawn 

From ev’ry depth of good and ill 

The mystery which binds me still— 

From the torrent, or the fountain— 

From the red cliff of the mountain— 

From the sun that ’round me roll’d 

In its autumn tint of gold— 

From the lightning in the sky 

As it pass’d me flying by— 

From the thunder, and the storm— 

And the cloud that took the form 

(When the rest of Heaven was blue) 

Of a demon in my view—

 

[AnonymBruker]

Ts her😊 Tusen takk, jeg ønsker deg en fint dag

Let me live the life I dreamed

Even when you take my soul

I will always wait my soul to be

washed by waters at the shore.

A wonderfull land I had seen, with

ocean, sea and lustrous lakes,

This wet wind washes my ears

making the green-ish horizon opaque

as I run around the tallest trees

marvelous creatures houses make

down the earth and up the hills.

While a light the cloud blocks breaks,

hugs warming up my body clean

Of my afterlife, I wish to be in the place.

 

 

 

Anonymkode: bef15...da7

[Aragorn ll Elessar]

I'm Nobody! Who are you? by Emily Dickinson

I'm Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there's a pair of us!
Don't tell! they'd advertise – you know!

How dreary – to be – Somebody!
How public – like a Frog –
To tell one's name – the livelong June –
To an admiring Bog!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe

Spoiler

Once upon a midnight dreary, 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 some one 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 sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
            Nameless here for evermore.

    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 it is 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 chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
            Darkness there and nothing more.

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal 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 somewhat 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 chamber 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 thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian 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 chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
            With such name as “Nevermore.”

    But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
    Nothing farther 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.”

    This 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 reclining
    On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
            She shall press, ah, nevermore!

    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls 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, oh 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 implore!”
            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 Plutonian 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 lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
            Shall be lifted—nevermore!

 

[Kågebruker]

Ikke et dikt men vakkert likevel

Abraham Lincoln 1838

From whence shall we expect the approach of danger? Shall some trans-Atlantic military giant step the earth and crush us at a blow? Never. All the armies of Europe ,Asia and Africa combined .could not by force take a drink from the Ohio River or make a track on the Blue Ridge in the trial of a thousand years. No, if destruction be our lot we must ourselves be its author and finisher. As a nation of free men we will live forever or die by suicide.

Endret 1. september 2020 av Kågebruker
Feil århundre

[Muscae]

22 minutter siden, Kågebruker skrev:

Ikke et dikt men vakkert likevel

Abraham Lincoln 1937

From whence shall we expect the approach of danger? Shall some trans-Atlantic military giant step the earth and crush us at a blow? Never. All the armies of Europe ,Asia and Africa combined .could not by force take a drink from the Ohio River or make a track on the Blue Ridge in the trial of a thousand years. No, if destruction be our lot we must ourselves be its author and finisher. As a nation of free men we will live forever or die by suicide.

Jeg er veldig glad i dette sitatet som er det første du ser når du kommer inn på The National Museum i New York:

I want to see you game boys,
i want to see you brave and manly,
and i also want to see you gentle and tender.

Be practical as well as generous in your ideals.
Keep your eyes on the stars
and keep your feet on the ground.

Courage, hard work, self mastery, and intelligent effort
are all essential to a successful life.

Character, in the long run, is the decisive factor in the life of an individual
and of nations alike

- Theodore Roosevelt

[Muscae]

 

Yesterday upon the stair

I met a man who wasn’t there

He wasn’t there again today

I wish, I wish he’d go away

When I came home last night at three

The man was waiting there for me

But when I looked around the hall

I couldn’t see him there at all!

Go away, go away, don’t you come back any more!

Go away, go away, and please don’t slam the door

Last night I saw upon the stair

A little man who wasn’t there

He wasn’t there again today
Oh, how I wish he’d go away
William Hughes Mearns (1875–1965)
 

[Muscae]

Spring Morning

 

Where am I going? I don't quite know.
Down to the stream where the king-cups grow-
Up on the hill where the pine-trees blow-
Anywhere, anywhere. I don't know.

Where am I going? The clouds sail by,
Little ones, baby ones, over the sky.
Where am I going? The shadows pass,
Little ones, baby ones, over the grass.

If you were a cloud, and sailed up there,
You'd sail on water as blue as air,
And you'd see me here in the fields and say:
"Doesn't the sky look green today?"

Where am I going? The high rooks call:
"It's awful fun to be born at all."
Where am I going? The ring-doves coo:
"We do have beautiful things to do."

If you were a bird, and lived on high,
You'd lean on the wind when the wind came by,
You'd say to the wind when it took you away:
"That's where I wanted to go today!"

Where am I going? I don't quite know.
What does it matter where people go?
Down to the wood where the blue-bells grow-
Anywhere, anywhere. I don't know.

A. A. Milne (forfatter av Ole Brum

[AnonymBruker]

Mitt favorittdikt

Innbying

Vil du gje meg handa ved månens skin,
Lauv du er-
Under open himmel. Over open avgrunn

Som lauv
er du og eg.
Fort skjelvande, 
og fort borte.
Kom-



 

om livet

Støtt står han der og skuler 
Gubben
på de unge som ikke vet
at livet må skyndes i langsomhet

Han tenker tilbake
minnes en svunnen tid
hva visste vel han
om hva livet hadde å gi

nå står han angrende
ved sin veis ende
da gleden banket på hans dør
gav han seg ikke til kjenne

livet kunne vente
han hadde så mye å få gjort
dagen stilt etter klokken
ikke et minutt gikk til spille
likevel gikk tiden
sakte, umerkelig bort

Han sender en tanke til Henne
Hun som ville dele sitt alt
i Hennes favn der føltes som hjemme
men tidspresset rådet og han
sekundenes slave
gjorde som befalt

det skjønte han for sent
at livet ikke satt pal på vent
trodde så lenge at saldo var lykke
en ny innsikt på eldre dager
må være livets skjemt

Unge!
nyt ferden på din sti
Han vil rope
,.. men får ikke til
En hvisken i luften
Lev livet
trå rett, det jeg gikk feil
 

Anonymkode: 6d01a...832

[Rumle]

Katten
sit i tunet
når du kjem.
Snakk litt med katten.
Det er han som er varast i garden.

Olav H. Hauge

[Aragorn ll Elessar]

And There Was a Great Calm

BY THOMAS HARDY
(On the Signing of the Armistice, 11 Nov. 1918)

I

There had been years of Passion—scorching, cold,
And much Despair, and Anger heaving high,
Care whitely watching, Sorrows manifold,
Among the young, among the weak and old,
And the pensive Spirit of Pity whispered, “Why?”

II

Men had not paused to answer. Foes distraught
Pierced the thinned peoples in a brute-like blindness,
Philosophies that sages long had taught,
And Selflessness, were as an unknown thought,
And “Hell!” and “Shell!” were yapped at Lovingkindness.

III

The feeble folk at home had grown full-used
To 'dug-outs', 'snipers', 'Huns', from the war-adept
In the mornings heard, and at evetides perused;
To day-dreamt men in millions, when they mused—
To nightmare-men in millions when they slept.

IV

Waking to wish existence timeless, null,
Sirius they watched above where armies fell;
He seemed to check his flapping when, in the lull
Of night a boom came thencewise, like the dull
Plunge of a stone dropped into some deep well.

V

So, when old hopes that earth was bettering slowly
Were dead and damned, there sounded 'War is done!'
One morrow. Said the bereft, and meek, and lowly,
'Will men some day be given to grace? yea, wholly,
And in good sooth, as our dreams used to run?'

VI

Breathless they paused. Out there men raised their glance
To where had stood those poplars lank and lopped,
As they had raised it through the four years’ dance
Of Death in the now familiar flats of France;
And murmured, 'Strange, this! How? All firing stopped?'

VII

Aye; all was hushed. The about-to-fire fired not,
The aimed-at moved away in trance-lipped song.
One checkless regiment slung a clinching shot
And turned. The Spirit of Irony smirked out, 'What?
Spoil peradventures woven of Rage and Wrong?'

VIII

Thenceforth no flying fires inflamed the gray,
No hurtlings shook the dewdrop from the thorn,
No moan perplexed the mute bird on the spray;
Worn horses mused: 'We are not whipped to-day;'
No weft-winged engines blurred the moon’s thin horn.

IX

Calm fell. From Heaven distilled a clemency;
There was peace on earth, and silence in the sky;
Some could, some could not, shake off misery:
The Sinister Spirit sneered: 'It had to be!'
And again the Spirit of Pity whispered, 'Why?'