Подари мне, нет, ни небо
В журавлиных гнездах -
Пристань авторов вертепа
На китово-плоской.
Ни песочных, ни воздушных
В звуковых дорожках,
А уютную избушку
На куриных ножках.
Нет, ни остров, и ни море
В пене и кораллах.
Ни Купалы в цвете флору,
Призрачный корабль.
А кристальную запруду,
Меду с чайной ложкой.
Помело, огонь и ступу,
И конечно - кошку!
Дата - 26.05.2024
Картинка из интернета
Если терем с дворцом кто-то занял
© Copyright: Наталья Цимбалова, 2024
Свидетельство о публикации №124053003465
Свидетельство о публикации №124053003465
Рецензии
I really liked your poem, dear Natalia! Maybe you know this story?
A man and woman had been married for more than 60 years. They had shared everything. They had talked about everything. They had kept no secrets from each other except that the little old woman had a shoe box in the top of her closet that she had cautioned her husband never to open or ask her about.
For all of these years, he had never thought about the box, but one day the little old woman got very sick and the doctor said she would not recover.
In trying to sort out their affairs, the little old man took down the shoe box and took it to his wife’s bedside. She agreed that it was time that he should know what was in the box. When he opened it, he found two crocheted dolls and a stack of money totaling $95,000. He asked her about the contents.
‘When we were to be married,’ she said, ‘ my grandmother told me the secret of a happy marriage was to never argue. She told me that if I ever got angry with you, I should just keep quiet and crochet a doll.’
The little old man was so moved; he had to fight back tears. Only two Precious dolls were in the box. She had only been angry with him two Times in all those years of living and loving. He almost burst with Happiness.
‘Honey,’ he said, ‘that explains the doll, but what about all of this money? Where did it come from?’
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘that’s the money I made from selling the dolls.’
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_0ZwIdy6RaI
My best regards!
Юрий Губин 28.07.2024 14:10 • Заявить о нарушении
A man and woman had been married for more than 60 years. They had shared everything. They had talked about everything. They had kept no secrets from each other except that the little old woman had a shoe box in the top of her closet that she had cautioned her husband never to open or ask her about.
For all of these years, he had never thought about the box, but one day the little old woman got very sick and the doctor said she would not recover.
In trying to sort out their affairs, the little old man took down the shoe box and took it to his wife’s bedside. She agreed that it was time that he should know what was in the box. When he opened it, he found two crocheted dolls and a stack of money totaling $95,000. He asked her about the contents.
‘When we were to be married,’ she said, ‘ my grandmother told me the secret of a happy marriage was to never argue. She told me that if I ever got angry with you, I should just keep quiet and crochet a doll.’
The little old man was so moved; he had to fight back tears. Only two Precious dolls were in the box. She had only been angry with him two Times in all those years of living and loving. He almost burst with Happiness.
‘Honey,’ he said, ‘that explains the doll, but what about all of this money? Where did it come from?’
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘that’s the money I made from selling the dolls.’
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_0ZwIdy6RaI
My best regards!
Юрий Губин 28.07.2024 14:10 • Заявить о нарушении
Thanks a lot, dear Yuri for your reading and such an amusing review 🙂)
I didn’t know this philosophical and psychological joke story)
“…She stood before him, with shining eyes.
“I am waiting, Martin,” she whispered, “waiting for you to accept me. Look at me.”
It was splendid, he thought, looking at her. She had redeemed herself for all that she had lacked, rising up at last, true woman, superior to the iron rule of bourgeois convention. It was splendid, magnificent, desperate. And yet, what was the matter with him? He was not thrilled nor stirred by what she had done. It was splendid and magnificent only intellectually. In what should have been a moment of fire, he coldly appraised her. His heart was untouched. He was unaware of any desire for her. Again he remembered Lizzie’s words.
“I am sick, very sick,” he said with a despairing gesture. “How sick I did not know till now. Something has gone out of me. I have always been unafraid of life, but I never dreamed of being sated with life. Life has so filled me that I am empty of any desire for anything. If there were room, I should want you, now. You see how sick I am.”
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes; and like a child, crying, that forgets its grief in watching the sunlight percolate through the tear-dimmed films over the pupils, so Martin forgot his sickness, the presence of Ruth, everything, in watching the masses of vegetation, shot through hotly with sunshine that took form and blazed against this background of his eyelids. It was not restful, that green foliage. The sunlight was too raw and glaring. It hurt him to look at it, and yet he looked, he knew not why.
He was brought back to himself by the rattle of the door-knob. Ruth was at the door.
“How shall I get out?” she questioned tearfully. “I am afraid.”
“Oh, forgive me,” he cried, springing to his feet. “I’m not myself, you know. I forgot you were here.” He put his hand to his head. “You see, I’m not just right. I’ll take you home. We can go out by the servants’ entrance. No one will see us. Pull down that veil and everything will be all right.”
She clung to his arm through the dim-lighted passages and down the narrow stairs.
“I am safe now,” she said, when they emerged on the sidewalk, at the same time starting to take her hand from his arm.
“No, no, I’ll see you home,” he answered.
“No, please don’t,” she objected. “It is unnecessary.”
Again she started to remove her hand. He felt a momentary curiosity. Now that she was out of danger she was afraid. She was in almost a panic to be quit of him. He could see no reason for it and attributed it to her nervousness. So he restrained her withdrawing hand and started to walk on with her. Halfway down the block, he saw a man in a long overcoat shrink back into a doorway. He shot a glance in as he passed by, and, despite the high turned-up collar, he was certain that he recognized Ruth’s brother, Norman.
During the walk Ruth and Martin held little conversation. She was stunned. He was apathetic. Once, he mentioned that he was going away, back to the South Seas, and, once, she asked him to forgive her having come to him. And that was all. The parting at her door was conventional. They shook hands, said good night, and he lifted his hat. The door swung shut, and he lighted a cigarette and turned back for his hotel…
Martin Eden, From Chapter 45 by Jack London.
My best wishes to you 🌞)
Faithfully yours,
Наталья Цимбалова 28.07.2024 22:24 Заявить о нарушении
I didn’t know this philosophical and psychological joke story)
“…She stood before him, with shining eyes.
“I am waiting, Martin,” she whispered, “waiting for you to accept me. Look at me.”
It was splendid, he thought, looking at her. She had redeemed herself for all that she had lacked, rising up at last, true woman, superior to the iron rule of bourgeois convention. It was splendid, magnificent, desperate. And yet, what was the matter with him? He was not thrilled nor stirred by what she had done. It was splendid and magnificent only intellectually. In what should have been a moment of fire, he coldly appraised her. His heart was untouched. He was unaware of any desire for her. Again he remembered Lizzie’s words.
“I am sick, very sick,” he said with a despairing gesture. “How sick I did not know till now. Something has gone out of me. I have always been unafraid of life, but I never dreamed of being sated with life. Life has so filled me that I am empty of any desire for anything. If there were room, I should want you, now. You see how sick I am.”
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes; and like a child, crying, that forgets its grief in watching the sunlight percolate through the tear-dimmed films over the pupils, so Martin forgot his sickness, the presence of Ruth, everything, in watching the masses of vegetation, shot through hotly with sunshine that took form and blazed against this background of his eyelids. It was not restful, that green foliage. The sunlight was too raw and glaring. It hurt him to look at it, and yet he looked, he knew not why.
He was brought back to himself by the rattle of the door-knob. Ruth was at the door.
“How shall I get out?” she questioned tearfully. “I am afraid.”
“Oh, forgive me,” he cried, springing to his feet. “I’m not myself, you know. I forgot you were here.” He put his hand to his head. “You see, I’m not just right. I’ll take you home. We can go out by the servants’ entrance. No one will see us. Pull down that veil and everything will be all right.”
She clung to his arm through the dim-lighted passages and down the narrow stairs.
“I am safe now,” she said, when they emerged on the sidewalk, at the same time starting to take her hand from his arm.
“No, no, I’ll see you home,” he answered.
“No, please don’t,” she objected. “It is unnecessary.”
Again she started to remove her hand. He felt a momentary curiosity. Now that she was out of danger she was afraid. She was in almost a panic to be quit of him. He could see no reason for it and attributed it to her nervousness. So he restrained her withdrawing hand and started to walk on with her. Halfway down the block, he saw a man in a long overcoat shrink back into a doorway. He shot a glance in as he passed by, and, despite the high turned-up collar, he was certain that he recognized Ruth’s brother, Norman.
During the walk Ruth and Martin held little conversation. She was stunned. He was apathetic. Once, he mentioned that he was going away, back to the South Seas, and, once, she asked him to forgive her having come to him. And that was all. The parting at her door was conventional. They shook hands, said good night, and he lifted his hat. The door swung shut, and he lighted a cigarette and turned back for his hotel…
Martin Eden, From Chapter 45 by Jack London.
My best wishes to you 🌞)
Faithfully yours,
Наталья Цимбалова 28.07.2024 22:24 Заявить о нарушении
Nice song, nice singer)
http://youtu.be/m5LDWeF_IWU?si=PeeyCKu-f9LsczWX
Наталья Цимбалова 28.07.2024 22:37 Заявить о нарушении
http://youtu.be/m5LDWeF_IWU?si=PeeyCKu-f9LsczWX
Наталья Цимбалова 28.07.2024 22:37 Заявить о нарушении
Thank you very much, dear Natalya, for your answer!
И будет ступа, и изба с котом…
Всё будет у Тебя! Но не сейчас. Потом.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q3XHjANFycA
My best regards!
Юрий Губин 29.07.2024 15:18 Заявить о нарушении
И будет ступа, и изба с котом…
Всё будет у Тебя! Но не сейчас. Потом.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q3XHjANFycA
My best regards!
Юрий Губин 29.07.2024 15:18 Заявить о нарушении
Dear Yuri!
Потом, как известно, суп с котом!)))
А я так и не научилась готовить кошек!)))
И… мне даже страшно подумать 😱
http://youtu.be/b8Iq4Tev-N4?si=EVwhuwk8ObBqP9SP
My best wishes!🙂)
Наталья Цимбалова 29.07.2024 15:28 Заявить о нарушении
Потом, как известно, суп с котом!)))
А я так и не научилась готовить кошек!)))
И… мне даже страшно подумать 😱
http://youtu.be/b8Iq4Tev-N4?si=EVwhuwk8ObBqP9SP
My best wishes!🙂)
Наталья Цимбалова 29.07.2024 15:28 Заявить о нарушении
На это произведение написаны 3 рецензии, здесь отображается последняя, остальные - в полном списке.