My new friend at this site Larry has encouraged to write a bit more than my short version biography 'I was born. I live. I will die.'
Well, it should be said something about poetry, right? I suppose, poetry is one of the best tools of communication. As a wise man said: 'Everyone feels the same as poets do, while the only poets are able to express this feeling in words properly.' It's more up to writers than readers if their writings are not readable.
As a poet I invite you to try communicating with me. Satisfy your curiosity, compare your thoughts with mine, live the fictional life I offer, smile and cry with me, argue with me, criticize me.
As a pharmacist ... more »
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Thaddeus Thierisch Poems
If you were a shore rinsed by murmurous waves, Mottled with mosaics of sharp stones and seaweed, Meandering as the curly hair strand shone through by the Sun,
A sad tale
And it seemed to him as he had struggled with a dragon of nine heads In order to free the imprisoned innocent girl from a high tower, But it turned out that the girl, who wasn’t already innocent, Only got bored sitting at home, under the supervision of parents,
A Woman Of Thousand Faces
My woman of thousand faces Is not mine, independently of endless trying on My thousand masks. She’s dipping her lips In the black coffee which flushing her beautiful teeth,
Martial arts in the loo
Once upon a time, a very long time ago, about last Friday, While shitting I found an interesting book. It was inadvertently left by a female individual With whom - even earlier - I was having sexual intercourse.
Monday. Mon Dieu
God has a thousand faces, Millions of bodies And only one doomsday button.
Women don’t like Weak men - Whatever would be said by them, However they would deceive themselves.
All at once: The ice on the lake and violets on its shore, Friendly eyes of a German Sheppard and
Metaphysics of feelings
Sometimes the world is reduced to The rear seat of a car. Your feet support the 'heaven' My hands support the 'earth.'
Summer. The second shot
Prohibitions, prohibitions: no camping, no bathing. Strange, there are no prohibitions from the side of this lake - No overflowing the shore, no destroying the coast.
Hail, Death, This Who Is About To Live S...
My heavenly pregnancy is already lasting dozens of years While the human larval stage is being delayed. Sometimes my shoulders start to itch as if wings would erupt. I would mightily flap and rise up... Far from it!
When I was a small boy I thought that the humpbacks are Disguised angels Hiding their wings poorly.
Stream Of Consciousness
Stream of consciousness doesn’t differ a lot from the brown fountains Flooding from sewers after a heavy rain.
Coffee maniac’s Morning Delusions
Jim Morrison’s spirit’s alive! Non believers are dumbasses.
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
If you were a shore rinsed by murmurous waves,
Mottled with mosaics of sharp stones and seaweed,
Meandering as the curly hair strand shone through by the Sun,
I would not hesitate to jump off on you,
As the whale condemned to death.
Only humans would not be clear
Of such suicidal reasons,
But do not you
And not me.
Will you call me though?