My Poetry

My window looks at a fairy tree.
Its branches bend and twist.
Its leaves are whispering with glee
Its hallow makes a whistle.

A little river under the tree
Is running through the fog.
And a marvelous song amazes me
Performed by a tiny frog.

By Sergey Skudaev

When I listen to you, sorry,
I am not always attentive to what you are saying
because your speech for me is
like a singing of a bird.
And when one is listening to a bird's song,
one is not thinking about its contents for
one is just listening to enjoy its sound.

I was so happy, smart and pink,
I could consume a pail.
I am getting old. I cannot drink.
I am boring, sad and pale.

If I drink coffee it's decaff.
If I have day it's blue.
If I have car it's handicapped.
If I have guest it's flu...

Everything is down until dawn.
Don't, don't go in town!
All windows are slow.
Ghost walking in the glow...
All paths are crooked.
Shut windows don't look!

I would like to be
A heavy, round rock,
Laying on the side
Of an endless road.
Blocking no one's way.
Drawing no attention,
Holding the whole world
In my serene mind,
Thinking

From my web site serge-world.com