Maria Barbara Korynt
I am writing the poetry and the prose. I am not shunning the satire and little literary forms miniatures, haiku, tanka itp.) happen for me onself to write texts of songs.I finished the journalism, but I having a job, running the own educational company. Writing is my passion to whom I will be able to entirely devote the time only when I being retired. I am inviting to read and comment. Thanks and greetings. Maria Barbara Korynt more »
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Maria Barbara Korynt Poems
(33) warm pieces - I know what
I am outside the range and very well nobody will reach me unless I am willing
a season for bats - this poem is dedica...
this dream is beginning in the street when at night carefully I am looking at the more and more dark sky and suddenly I see creatures some strange are flying degenerated though similar to reptile-birds
She is falling softly on the floor with thin muslin Taken down nervously from shoulders. As will o' the wisps on swamps Hands turning white with glow of the moon
A warm coolness
You are searching from the morning for the oasis. It is only a mirage. Don't delude yourself. You didn't want to listen
still sleep and dream, before the first ray will wake you up. let weakness and sadness leave you
a dream on the run
here is many door. and you always hit into my most. often when there is no me. you are stopping. and you are entering. in order after oneself to leave something.
depth of your eyes attract me as the magnet and I am drowning in them
a power of love
love isn't asking, when it is taking into the captivity. love doesn't ask but it is forcing his way by force then you have trouble when to sleep you cannot you aren't sleeping after nights and you are mixing
and there no pain...only the...BRIGHTNES dying quietly in the morning
A short poem on goodnight.
Already sleep and sweet dream Darling...
a stairs to tenth - (satire)
I am going I am going I am going I am going... one step, two, three.... nine.... ground floor, first, second, third,
haiku - 10
like with rainbow stripes the separated blueness
a legend remains in the memory
you are humming a melody under the nose whom you remember so well the past is returning with refrain
A BLUISH PURPLE
you want to con me, like waters, straight into the fist, until bluish purple
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
(33) warm pieces - I know what
I am outside the range
and very well
nobody will reach me
unless I am willing
but to it isn't becoming overcast.
the black cloud covered the
bright image for me and those days
I am not having to break heads
in order to invent anything
I can only shout insults at who deserved it
I always search
for a tart
apple, it is raising my spirit
when it is as sweet
as you, when something
and I know what.