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Best Lithuanian Poems

Below are the all-time best Lithuanian poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of Lithuanian poems written by PoetrySoup members

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The Best Lithuanian Poems

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MUSIC TO DIE FOR

Have you thought about the music to send you on your way If they played you Bach not Beethoven would there be hell to pay I had to make the difficult choices when my father died Mario Lanza ‘I’ll walk with God’ – oh how my mother cried The Lithuanian National Anthem, of his heritage dad was proud I can still picture him proudly singing it; he always sang it loud Gaudeamus Igitur was another favourite song of dad’s He would sing it regularly when he had a beer with the lads Maybe its time now for you all to think ahead For it will be too late when you are already dead So think about the songs that you would choose Do it while you are still here – you have nothing to lose! 16th August 2015


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015

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NO LONGER AN UNSUNG HERO

Dad you don’t have much time left in this world
Recently we sat and looked through yellowing photographs
Pictures I had never ever seen showing images from your past
Of places I have never visited, of faces I had never seen
One photograph in particular stunned me
It was a photograph of you in a military uniform
Standing with other men dressed the same
You were in the Lithuanian Resistance 
Fighting for your freedom and that of your countrymen
Fighting against the Russians who invaded your homeland
Helping others to escape from these tyrants 
Several years ago you were awarded a medal 
This secret from your past was finally out in the open
Dad you are no longer an unsung hero; you are my hero

Written about  my dad who passed away 20th February 2015


30th July 2014




Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2014

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A LETTER TO MY FATHER

Dear Dad

We know time is running out, you are at the end of your life
I promise my best to continue to look after mum, your ever-loving wife
The last few months have been so so so difficult for us all
God has his place in heaven for you, you will respond to his call
Since you got diagnosed in June with two types of cancer
It has brought us all closer together; family time is the answer
We sat and looked at photos together I discovered things anew
How you were in the Lithuanian resistance – oh how I admire you
We've talked together for hours and hours and put our ghosts to rest
Dad I treasure every moment we have together, you simply are the best
I know the future will be difficult when you finally leave
Many sad tears will be shed, we will all reminisce and grieve
But happy memories will remain, I will never forget your smiling face
I will carry this in my heart and wish you were still here to embrace
I will sign off this letter and give you all my love forever
Your ever-loving daughter 


09~03~14
Contest: Maybe the Last Letter
Sponsor: Elly Wouterse


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2014

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To Your Majesty, One Big....

...Hoender - Afrikaans, Pulë - Albanian, ???? - Arabic, ?????? - Belarusian, ???? - Bulgarian, 
Pollastre - Catalan, ? - Chinese (Simplified), ? - Chinese (Traditional), Piletina - Croatian, 
Kurecí - Czech, Kylling - Danish, Kip - Dutch, Kanaliha - Estonian, Manok - Filipino, 
Kana - Finnish, Galiña - Galician, ??t?p???? - Greek, ??? - Hebrew, ???? - Hindi, Csirke - 
Hungarian, Kjúklingur - Icelandic, Ayam - Indonesian, Sicín - Irish, ?? - Japanese, 
??? - Korean, Calis - Latvian, Vištiena - Lithuanian, ??????? - Macedonian, 
Ayam - Malay, Kylling - Norwegian, ???? - Persian, Kurczak - Polish, Pui - Romanian, 
?????? - Russian, ???????? -  Serbian, Kuracie - Slovak, Kuku - Swahili, Kyckling - Swedish, 
??? - Thai, Tavuk - Turkish, ????? - Ukrainian, Gà - Vietnamese, Cyw Iâr - Welsh, 
????? - Yiddish, Huhn - German, Frango - Portuguese, Poulet - French, Pollo - Italian, 
Pollo - Spanish, Chicken - Maltese, Chicken - Slovenian, Chicken - English.,...-=.....-=..-=..-
=..............-=...-=....-=....-=...-=.............-=...-,...-=.....-=..-=..-=..............-=...-=....-
=....-=...-=.............-=...-,...-=.....-=..-=..-=..............-=...-=....-=....-=...-=.............-
=...-,...-=.....-=..-=..-=..............-=...-=....-=....-=...-=.............-=...-,...-=.....-=..-=..-
=......HA! HA! HA!...for old times sake...lol...Your Kidster, Your Majesty.


Copyright © SillyBilly theKidster | Year Posted 2010

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Flight And Crystalean Visors Bronze To Blue

Copyright 2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
POETIC LYRICS BY THOMAS LAM HSI ANDRESS
(Chinese, Vietnamese, French, German, Italian, Russian and Lithuanian...
'Three-DNA' Tests Show!)(Currently...Six Feet and Two Inches Tall...on my
way to Six Feet and Four Inches Tall & 250 lbs., AND, eight-and-one-half inches
'Down-Under' THICK TOO!)



Long legs make NO SENSE...when the MUSIC is OFF BASE!
And when the RAT RACE...doesn't see RIGHT or WRONG!
'Cuz the RAT RACE...is THE WRONG RACE...!
If the WHIRL and TWIRL...is OFF BASE...!
GET ON BASE!

ROLLING TO THE LEFT...AND ROLLING TO THE RIGHT!
GET ON BASE!

Unroll that parchment...to see A DIFFER-ENT FACE!
DAMN THAT RAT RACE...get onto FIRST BASE!

ROLLING TO THE LEFT...AND ROLLING TO THE RIGHT!
GET ON BASE!

WEREN'T you meant to be FIRST PLACE!
DAMN THE RAT RACE!

WHIRL AND TWIRL...or go OFF BASE!
ANOTHER RAT RACE...tounges and LIES!
'NOTHER...F'ing...RAT RACE!

GREAT-NESS AND DESTIN-Y...F-THAT-RAT-RACE!
GREAT-NESS AND DESTIN-Y...F-THAT-RAT-RACE!

ROLLING TO THE LEFT...AND ROLLING TO THE RIGHT!
GET ON BASE!


PITCHED-RIGHT...DOWN-AND-OUT...KNEE-TO-HEEL!
PETAL-TO-THE-METAL...DOWN-'N'-DIRTY-'N-HOT!
TOO-HOT-FOR-YOU...TO-HANDLE!
I'M-TOO-HOT...FOR-YOU-TO-HANDLE!

PITCHED-RIGHT...DOWN-AND-OUT...KNEE-TO-HEEL!
PETAL-TO-THE-METAL...DOWN-'N-DIRTY-'N-HOT!
TOO-HOT-FOR-YOU...TO-HANDLE!
I'M-TOO-HOT...FOR-YOU-TO-HANDLE!

It's My Flight...and Crystalean Visors...Bronze to Blue!
My Flight...and Crystalean Visors...Bronze to Blue!

PITCH IT RIGHT!
PITCH IT RIGHT!


Copyright © Thomas Hsi | Year Posted 2014

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Juozas Miltinis Learning Years in Paris


It was September 
Of one thousand 
Nine hundred seven
The end of summer
With apples lying thickly
Under the apple trees
And the smell of Autumn
Covering the grass
Filled with ripe yellow
And orange squash
He was born in a little
Wooden house that night
At the very edge
Of a very small village
At the rail tracks
Where lonely train 
Run once a day
Every other Sunday

Then one rainy Autumn day
He caught a Paris train
And ended up on the stage
With Jean-Louis Barrault
Who was taming a wild horse
In As I Lay Dying famous
Performance that stunned
The artistic community
Of avant-garde France
And Théâtre de l'Atelier 
Became an icon of the time

After the show was over
They all got drunk with ideas
That were brewing in their minds
They disagreed about many things
And all had different images
Of what future is about to bring
Fiery proving his own point
Marcel Marceau broke a fight
Protecting the mime rights
On the modern theater stage 
Under Mullen Rouge cabaret lights
Where fancy elusive prostitutes 
Stepped down from the paintings
Of dreamy Toulouse Lautrec
Who was leaning at the wall 
At round table very small
In a corner next to doors
Women with blood red lips
On whitish anorexic faces
Whispered little dirty things
In slutty enticing voices
Into Toulouse Lautrec ears 
They danced around the tables
In blurred light with their eyes 
Framed with dark eye shadows
Like deep pools of water shut wide 
On the other side in a dim light 
He saw a man sitting at the window 
Who looked like Antonin Artaud 
With pale face suspended in frenzy
Whispering with eyes locked in gaze
Mystical words of a secret prayer
To his own God whom he called 
Magical cruel theater cage

Later he slept in a room
With Madeleine Renaud
Future wife of J L Barrault
Which they shared in the attic
Of historical stone building
On the Augustine street corner
With trams running non stop
all night along till the morning
Waking up exhausted artists from
The marathon of intellectual orgies
After the premier of Volpone
J L Barrault was still dancing
In the dark narrow corner
With pale shadowy horses 
In his deep sleepwalking haze
When morning broke up
Through narrow windows 
And light was gliding through
The cosmic artsy scenery
Of cosmopolitan Paris streets

One-day Picasso showed up at the door
Of the little room on the top floor
Where the roof was serving as ceilings
in his pocket he had a bottle of aperitif 
And the party went on till next morning
When he inspired started drawing Guernica
On the walls of the attic with his fingers
Tipped in blood reaching the arched ceiling
A beautiful but suffering weeping woman
Emerged in the dark shades of the beams
Screaming about sadness of human being 
In the world that lost its own Identity 
For imaginary empty cruel things

Jean Cocteau brought a bizarre spirit
Of avant-garde into the community 
Of a little world of artistic attic
That was tremendously affected
By the ideas of surrealism in his movies 
Filled with mystical images of dark spirits
Elaborated shapes sounds and forms 
Never seen on the screen before
Love struggle death and rebirth
Of The Blood of the Poet that is 
A part of a divine sacrifice
And the modern world’s price
For being authentic and alive

The next day he went to a market place
With beautiful actress Marcelle who was
Maestro Charles Dullins’ amazing wife
He wanted to learn the lessons of life
And get a reality check of street wise
Also to ask for an intelligent advice
How not to get lost and find a way
And not to scream or cry
In all this spectacular mess
Of imagery and lavish ideas 

He chose Charles Dullin as his teacher
And Théâtre de l'Atelier became his home
And his rigorous training ground
For long strenuous four years
That flew by as fast as one day
He was taught how to learn the secrets
Of sacred stage that is to become 
A new religion of the future to come
On the grounds of Intellectual belief 
That there is hidden true meaning
Of every living human being
In the world that lost its ability 
To be fair and true to itself
He spent days and sleepless nights
Learning behind the closed curtains
The hard lessons of the theater life
Taught by skillful masters of the craft
The signs of the time were brought to life
In that dimly lit space of a closed stage
And lit with bright light to emphasize
The importance of the sacred stage
And the future was to be defined
Of many things of the art of theater
That was conceived in that place
into the craft he was ordained 
To be perfected to absolute space
And time that was defined
In a new creative exiting way
He pledged to be true to the cause
To protect the dignity of human being
To fight for the freedom of art
To become new century's religion

Deep impressions of Paris artistic life
Etched in his brain in a new pattern
That he saw in the back of his mind
He knew he had to find his own way
To bring this pattern to life one day
He was searching for fertile ground
In the Paris and all over around
But couldn’t find the right stage
Till one rainy day he took a train
Back to where he came from
He opened a new chapter in his life 
Book that he was about to write
In images on Lithuanian theater stage
He brought spirits of masters to life 
Off all times in to this little country’s
Tragic life that was about to unfold
In the shadows of the second world war
Brewing in the guts of European core
That was wide opening the doors
For dark evil unpredictable force
To come and change the world
in a way that will never be the same



Copyright © ruta skendeliene | Year Posted 2016