Long Hungarian Poems
Long Hungarian Poems. Below are the most popular long Hungarian by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hungarian poems by poem length and keyword.
Poet friends from the cemetery
Often brings my soul way into a cemetery
It is an amazing old place, maybe a thousand,
a thousand years old garden of the past lives
There is an old church, a thousand years old
A thousand old years old one, so beautiful
An old local teacher told me that walls contain
tiles from the Roman period. – Hmm, history.
Amazing place, with tombs from different ages
In this garden, the sun never shines – never
The trees are huge, and the ancient vegetation
so nice, and rampant. Oh life! Life lives here
In this place, in the garden of the dead. Life
So many times I visited this garden; the inspiration
Yes, that’s why, I need ideas and fantasy
Good to meditate here, yes, just sit here
On a corner of an old tomb, and see the view
Incredible place. Old names, people, nobles
I love all of them. They help me, love me
They see my sad life and understand, hmm
And magic, this place is a gate to the other side
Yes, I know it, I have spiritual experience
from this place. Angelic and demonic. Oh, Hell!
So interesting, there lives a lot of soul still
One always followed me to my home. Close
And used me to drink, and helped me to write
Maybe an old dead priest or a wise teacher.
I don’t know, but this is true and fantastic!
Communicate with the dead people’s souls
Hmm, magic, parapsychology, the same
for me. The same for me. Same things.
Yes. So interesting, I am a Hungarian
But my entity was an English man.
And my mind and soul were compatible
He used my mind in Hungarian. Unbelievable.
So, after death, there is no difference
Everybody understands everyone. Great!
Soon I will visit this cemetery again
I must find my old died living friend
For ideas, for friendship, for wisdom
He will get a bottle of red wine gift
We will drink together, until my death
HUNGARIAN RHAPSODY
Her hand’s swan-like dance,
ivory shadow puppets
romance. Hungarian rhapsody.
The musician sans existence
as emotive fingers move
imaginary marionettes
with splendiferous precision.
Drama drops onto piano keys
occasionally taking a gentle stroll
then in sensuous sway, sashaying
like an exotic dancer. The musician
plucks and plinks as if
with chameleonic charm, like an
angel playing a harp.
Her fingers fast walk the keyboard
then resound tremulous keys.
(The audience swoons, spooned
by a rapturous torrent that enters
the heart, strokes and kisses
the yearning flesh, like the taste
and feel of brandy, burning and
tantalizing in breathlessness)
The musician’s slender fingers
now strum along in gaiety, like
paramours on the streets of Paris,
Springtime in the air. Palms nearly
rest upon silent keys as if two lovers
lay back upon a bed with puffs of smoke.
Dawn’s crescendo, with peaks of happiness
reside upon streets of ebony and ivory.
Life’s serendipitous monologue begins
once more with foreboding or adventure
or both. Is there loneliness upon this crest
for what has happenstance brought,
are they star-crossed? Do we see the sun
and the moon racing through their pulse —
days of birth and mourning?
(The blond marionette in concert black
seems to be mesmerized or hypnotized
by the muse of music. She’s like a dream
on a performance stage. Practiced in
illumination of flame. She releases the arrow
and the audience brightens up like a chandelier
with clinking and brilliant crystal pieces)
Happiness once again but with ferocious fervor
sends the keys to a heavenly place - to ears,
to mind, to soul...a cheer of a great parade,
and then the shivering of climatic peak,
followed by a lullaby of dreams - we imagine
a newborn wrapped up in a life well-lived.
The darling gal still doesn’t give up the ghost
but plays and plays...can you hear the needle
stuck at the vinyl’s end...spending all love gives?
Only the Creator Himself can lift the arm and
carry the musician still incubating all her charm.
3/19/2018
Civil War 2.0
Reading the latest polls
Showing that President Biden
And Ex-President Trump
Tied in a dead heat
In the polls
Particularly in the swing states.
. I realize there is
Real possibility
That Donald Trump could
Be elected president again,.
Again, and if so, what would he do?
These nightmares keep me up
At 0 dark hundred.
Nightmares that President Trump
Ending American democracy
Replacing it with Hungarian-style
Neo-fascism overwhelms me.
Another factoid in the news
Is that 25 states,
According to the Texas Independent Movement,
Would likely join Texas in seceding.
From the U.S. in the event
That Biden is elected president.
The proponents of this Great Divorce
Call it Civil War 2.0.
And in most cases, it's led by Texas.
Leading the Red States
And California leading the Blue States
Including the entire West Coast
And NE America and Chicagoland
Out the proverbial door.
And if Trump does not make it
He would call it rigged
And announce he would be happy
To serve as the President
Of the Christain States of America
Immediately Texas and 25 states
Succeed and hold a constitutional convention
To enact Constitution 2.0
So if Trump wins Christain Fascism
Followed by Civil War 2.0
If he loses Civil War 2.0
Followed by Christian fascism
In the Christian States of America.
These are some of my nightmares
That I hope will not come true.
Looking into the water I can see the face of a person that has always enjoyed nature.
I know what you are thinking, you are wondering if it is my reflection.
That ship has already set sail to a dry mountain like the one in Turkey.
The face I see is of a person with cornflower hair.
What a mystery that I would see someone with these qualities as mine are from the largest continent, more specifically in the South.
Roses are the most beautiful when they bloom in the South this includes South and Southeast Asia.
The person I see is a tumbleweed that moves from different places and never knows where to call home, her home.
A tragedy has occurred that has left her in grief and in confusion; a time of evaluation that has involved the analytical thinker of the Damned!
Your words of hopelessness and where the future lies when you are given a site farther away from your hometown is quite troubling as it is telling me that you are only focusing on the latter of your stays and not on the truth.
Are you truly here when you say you are? Or Are you there every time you are sent out on an assignment? It is quite possible that a drive of nearly a day would make you think about what you want in life.
Being in a state of hopelessness has led the Ravens of Odin to tell me that you are a Red Herring, similar to Bishop Aringosa. Being forever alone was your fear or it has become the self-fulfillment of your life.
How many men have you said that statement to and how close were you to them is a concept that I have started to question. It is possible that they felt forced and that you are living a lie of a mental patient without medication.
All we can do is be friends and nothing more as my Aunt Odalys stated, “Sometimes it is better to have that one friend you cared about.”
I would have never believed that you would burn bridges before they could start to take shape. I already know the answer.
Even my family has started to see through the veil you have cast. If you cannot win the heart of the Italo-Spagnolo Hungarian Mother then it would be difficult for the Unity.
You have become the Red Herring of Colorado
Are you truly looking for my heart or have you been lying to me?
I ask this while I am looking into the Arkansas River at the Raptor Center.
Do not lie to me! I already know the answer! I am looking for the integrity of the answer.
Beyond this poetry with soups far apart,
Cabbage with snail traces of temptation,
"Papana?i" in sweet palace of cheese,
"Gumboti" - plum dumplings`nation
Scented with cinnamon on their knees
Kind of the three musketeers`story
- Although we like four- for your glory!
Sweet-sour Hungarian-Wallachian`desert.
Many of my poems are just like... cabbages!
My attempt to add serenity`s smile to all ages:
Now and then, you may find a cauliflower
With thyme and dill and tarragon`s power.
Actually, it's not about art of cooking dreams
Of vegan menu, without any sausages-rhymes;
Nor hot Brazilian ”saudade”- with tea and ice;
Oswald de Andrade's, who is really so nice!
As dedicated body and soul to crown
Gourmets eating themselves; invisible:
In the most post-modern way possible;
I pay a visit to great poets of the world:
I do not wear a shield and a sharp sword
Like in films with pretty ladies and knights
Singing "Chavaliers de la table ronde"-twice;
But I think I love you all, everyone, everyone!
Form:
The Parrot
The bird in the cage has featherless wings folded
to the naked body like squeaking scissors
I'm 89 today let, me out of this bloody cage!
Its owner is hard of hearing, is the widow of a war
veteran, I think the First World War
She tells everyone she meets, 8 million horses and
12 million donkeys were killed on the battlefield and no one
took notice
Humanity only thought of their suffering and were
impervious to animals' feelings, more, a wounded animal was eyed as a potential meal by hungry soldiers
Dragged from a green field to a soggy battlefield and
not a word of thank you
Goulash, the famous Hungarian dish, was made from horse
flesh and camouflaged with paprika, pepper, and salt
for 89 years, the parrot had only been able to read
the titles of books on the shelf on the opposite wall
It had a lively mind and listened to the radio every day
well educated can squawk with the best of them
The kings of backgammon, descendants of
Bulgarian kings and Austro-Hungarian princes
Russian counts and countesses, Czech barons
Your ancestors have seen better days.
They accepted their fate as the natural state of affairs
And when it turned out to be just a fickle fortune
They had the nurture and tact not to show their shock,
Though usually such a ruthless discovery crushes many.
Now, as you spend your days playing backgammon in smoky cafes
You rarely remember the fragments of days gone by.
You've learnt to rejoice in trifling victories, and not to be disheartened by losses.
The descendants of exiled kings and ruined nobles
They organise championships of sad joy
The winner owes a round of beer for everyone.
The new Russian opposition makes the right acquaintances
Just like the old one did a hundred years ago
And in their later years, they all convert to Catholicism
Since Orthodox churches don't have pews
At least with Catholics you can doze off unnoticed
With a sniff of incense through the candle light.
My Life is Sin
My life wasn’t a sin, just independent
My life is a sin, because I respect
Traditions, religions, and pasts
European youth and early middle age (mine)
Eastern European, Hungarian
The moral was different
And the morale was different than the present
Then I met with Western liberalism
Now my tradition is the sin (In the West)
Those are the traditions that I respected
Love of God, church, nation, woman
I like women, so I’ll be arrested
This is a kind of Western moral psychology
Watching a woman on a train is sexual harassment
But an almost naked woman on a train is not a problem
(Direct sexual exhibitionism can also be sexual harassment.
If a man watches a woman like this, then he is a sexual criminal.
Oh, where is the truth? I think this is a very good question.)
I am using public transportation in London every day
I don’t watch women there, never. Because of English psychology and law
Oh, my friends! I am vomiting now! I feel dead bad!
I stay away from English women because of English psychology and law. And I respect the English law. I don't watch. Never!
I don't look at women of any ethnicity. And I don't talk to them!
I respect the law!
(Sorry, self-censorship.)
Where is the Beginning?
Where are Eve and Adam??
My sin is my tradition
My sin is my grandparents
My sin is my parents
My sin is the ancient principles
My sin is
Not accepting
Here
The psychology
Ankles
“Ankles.” Noted, Master Satan.
Yes. Ankles. I saw beautiful ankles.
“Where?” In Wembley. On the street.
“What ankles?” What kind of ankles?
She wasn’t European or an English lady.
“So?” I think she came from the east. From far.
What did this woman look like?
Well dressed. White clothing. Snow-white.
Tall and slender. Short jacket. Indian style trousers
And high heels. Age around thirty. Nice face.
The Pharaoh’s Daughter. But something was interesting.
“What?” The time. I saw her when I entered the shop.
Walked in front of the shop. Slowly. Watched.
I bought a big bottle of cider. Then I talked to the shop assistant.
He is my brother. An indian guy. After shopping, I crossed the road.
Then I arrived at the corner. She crossed the road before me at the corner.
“She waited for you.” Yes. I think. Because I talked in the shop for minutes.
Then she came in front of me. Walked. I saw her ankles. Her steps slowed down.
“I understand. What did you do later?” Wait. I want to find the answer from.
“Where from?”
From my Catholic Prayer Book. Text is in Hungarian. Wait. Just a minute.
Thank you for your patience.
From the Seven Deadly Sins: Lust.
“And?”
I touched my body with impure intent.
“Hmm. Why?”
I was blocked
From the ankles
It happened at
25. 08. 2025
Afternoon
In Wembley Park
How are you and me?
Where did you learn? In my life? Be mine.
I loved you. You are a woman. Please. Love.
You come from a university in the United Kingdom
I come from a vocational training institute. And high
High school. And a higher vocational training institute.
And you, oh my English Love. You come from one of the…
One of the best universities in the World. London University.
Yes. This is our fate. You were born in London. I am in Hatvan.
Hmm. I just needed you. Oh, English Love. Vilmos. Guest yours.
Someone loved you, English Linguist! Give me time! I will be best,
better than you
I just loved you, loved you, dear English Woman. I respect you.
Satan loved you—forever life. Be with you. Someone loving you
Your life is yours. Mine. I will not forget you. You. Be my memory of love.
English linguist, I loved you. Time is mine. Let us our love. At the right time.
Our sad fate can not be lives. Yes. Your psychologists killed our lives.
English Woman, my loved linguist, but we never met, hmm, loving you.
This is true. Someone thinking about you. Yes. Someone. A nothing.
The man without money. Yes. I know, I know. This is the problem. I am sorry.
I am sorry, sorry. Oh, my dear love. Love is gone, and find you. Stay love?
I needed you, loved you a stupid Hungarian man. English woman, go love.
I needed just love
This my confession
And I needed your love
Your touch
Your hand
Your heart
English Woman
I love you
Go. Accept you.
Our fate is endless.
We live together. Yes.
I loved you, Stop. Please.
You are a heart killer. Sinner.
Please, feel me. Just a love.
I am talking to you. To you
Be my love of you. A girl!
Say! Yeah. The arm is yours.
English Woman, someone needed you
Me. Still feeling you. Get my soul. Take.
Still loving you
Still, want you.
Get my life
Wembley
Home mine
Loved you
This guy.
Loved you.
Vilmos
Bye