On the dirty streets of Budapest laying some homeless, they feel themselves alone
Workaholic people are travelling on overcrowded vehicles far from home
Bridges are full of vehicles like bus or tram
They are waiting their turn in the traffic jam.
Have you ever seen such a Monday morning in Budapest?
You never ever been to Kispest.
Lights are swaying over the road.
I'm waiting for my toast
Some sleepy people are running on the street.
They feel the awaking floor in their feet.
Everything is silent and dark
Even the dogs in the park.
Near the main road lighting some lamps in a white house.
In three bedrooms some moves make noise and open some wardrobes.
I wake up in my bed and go for a walk
I make my sandwich and clean my tooth without talk.
After 30 seconds I'm on my end of my road.
Hear the chalk scratching on the board.
Reply
Juli
2/20/2013 04:21:56 am
The sun goes slowly down,
I can hear the sound of the town.
The train drives forward,
The whole district sleeps well.
A quite singing sounds from the walls,
And I know, the opera-singer is home.
The dogs bays during the night,
And the cats crys into the sky.
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Teadora Tyler
2/22/2013 02:42:46 am
The place called home
This part of the district is quiet and calm
I look out the window to the street and yawn.
At fall our neighbours burn all the leaves
That fell - yellow, red, dead - from the trees.
Our house is rather small than big
It's perfect for us to live in it.
It's colorful, warm, always in a mess,
It's the family's very own fortress.
My room is the smallest of all,
There are postcards, photos on my wall.
I share it with my bearded dragon,
Plants, crickets and a box of mealworm.
Entropy is high on and under my bed,
If anything is stuck under it, its probably dead.
A huge mess took over my table
To conquer it, I'm clearly unable.
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Laura Seben
2/23/2013 02:24:51 am
Where I live
The fine fragnant drives away the dream of my eyes,
While I'm going down, I see my brother still lies,
I cast a glance at my breakfast on the table,
I took notice of my name on a cable.
The coruscating sunshine is calling me for a walk,
I grab my favourite book and a piece of chalk,
I went down till the park offers calm places,
I keen on studying the people's different faces.
Dusk is coming, now, I should go home and having a rest,
I can't stop thinking about the couch, that's the best
in my room, where I always have good dreams,
Now, as usual, I wake up together with the beams.
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Liza Takács
2/23/2013 05:21:02 pm
Walls are bright
My room is on the right side
It's not really big
But i like it.
Flowery patterned bed
Pictures above my head
A few books laying on the shelf
There's a mess on my desk.
My mother is angry
why I don't clean it
Truthfully I also don't know it
Maybe I'm just lazy.
Reply
Nóra Komlódi
2/23/2013 10:11:29 pm
Where I live
Grandma cooks the dinner,
It's hot steam flies around the air,
Front of my door it gets thinner and thinner,
Blowing inside like a green snake pair.
In my bedroom the digital hour,
Rangs every day at seven,
But now with it's sleepy peaceful power,
Sleeps like a child in heaven.
Neklaces and bracelets hanging down,
From the top shelf of my cupboard,
The first one is the most expensive in town,
The last gift from my grandparent.
It's shining with a dull bright,
Wich spreads out from the window at nightfall,
In the garden the moon's light,
Shines the horse chestnuts while they stand tall.
In our street some people stand under the doors,
Their grey smoke of cigarettes,
Whirls in the cold black air and falls,
Back to the kitchen floor of our flat's.
Reply
Borbála Péterffy
4/6/2013 09:32:46 pm
Nóri, this poem is really great. I can almost see your house!
Reply
Borbála Péterffy
2/23/2013 10:22:55 pm
Our house is light yellow
It's greeting you with a 'Hello'.
Our house is not too big
But it's a fine place to live.
My room is full of little things
They all capture memories
The sun shines on my desk
And finds regular untidiness.
In the garden blooming flowers
In the spring with a million colors
White roses and red tulips
Cherry and peach on the trees.
An old lady in the street
Knows and sees everything
She listens to every movement
Telling the gossips of the moment.
Reply
Gábor Szikszay
2/24/2013 01:36:12 am
Trees follow the road by the sidewalk
Making the spirit when it's dark
I remember them by my heart
Trees follow the road by the sidewalk
Humps and mounds on the asphalt
Gleaming blackly like the basalt
Making the cars to rapidly halt
Humps and mounds on the asphalt
When it's winter, the street is snowy
For the people it's a harder journey
To pass here, you need to be dodgy
When it's winter, the street is snowy
In the summer it's so empty
The people are relaxing mostly
But that's crowded, when the wind's chilly
In the summer it's so empty
Reply
Teadora Tyler
4/7/2013 05:35:07 am
This poem captured me with its atmosphere. I really like it.
Reply
Siklóssy Regina
2/24/2013 02:26:43 am
My room
My room is always messy,
Things are lying everywhere,
The walls are full with posters,
There's no free place anywhere.
Dozens of my favorite stars,
Smiling on me from the wall,
My carpet is red like the sunset,
It sleeps quietly on the ground.
My bed is full with stuffed animals,
I have filled boxes with memories,
My curtain is childish, a piece of my past,
This is the place where I can be myself.
Reply
Veronika Kelemen
2/24/2013 03:29:30 am
My bedroom
My bedroom is my own castle
It's causy, beautiful and small
It protects me from the monster
Who lives behind my wardrobes door
A fluffy hamster lives in my bed
I always hug him when i sleep
He's soft, huge, and really fat
Without him my heart would bleed
Our flat is on the 9th floor
So my window shows me the world
When I want to be alone
I close the door and watch the birds
Reply
Borbála Péterffy
4/6/2013 09:34:56 pm
I like this! The second stanza is so cute :)
Reply
Hoyle Anna
2/24/2013 03:42:44 am
The garden where I lived my childhood
Where I built little houses from wood
I swang on my swing untill dark
Run away from neighbours dogs who loved to bark
In the summer I took out my dools
Made them sit on grass rolls
I climbed trees and ate burrys
Never thought of growing up
Reply
Blanka
2/24/2013 03:49:39 am
Herceghalom
Between the warm,soft,hugging hands
of the rich and plentiful lands
there's a small,sleepy town.
Far away in the peace it stands
Where the nature kisses its sense
Like a shelter,hidden by dust.
It calls,you cant oppose 'cause you must
Live in this small 'heaven'
The place you can always trust
And you find yourself at last.
In the Center, up in the hills
far from the fine,bordering fields
there stands our house.
A green giant who saves us and shields
where I live my life and dreams.
My room's upstairs, on left, the third.
It has a window to the world.
It's my empire
I love the blooms,all furniture'
I have the most homelkie room,I'm shure.
Reply
blanka
2/24/2013 03:53:24 am
sure :)
Imagine there other corrections
Reply
Kristof Gal
2/24/2013 05:12:23 am
Bedroom
Like a little piece of comfort,
with opened door,
waiting on the second floor,
for me, my bedroom.
When I'm not in there,
she feels lonely,
with all the furnitures in it,
my bedroom she is.
There is that huge gardrobe in,
holding all my things,
clothes, memories and secrets,
my guardian he is.
My bed is just like a large shield,
behind I sleep and I'm in peace,
until laying on it,
nothing can hurt me.
Reply
Fru z s i n a
2/24/2013 05:25:13 am
Where I live
In the Vth districht it's good to live
We have some things what mayors give
E.g. big heap of potatoes or a christmas tree
If you wanna get them you need an ID
Hundreds of policemen driving down the streets
Cameras on the corners are like soldiers or it seems
That's important because some strangers from the suburbs
Don't really know how to behave
The streets are renovated the houses are nice
in every shop you can choose several types of rice
To arrive home at 3 a.m. is not so hard to roll the dice
Shops are opened during the day 'n' night
Everything is close to me
I can decide when I want to leave
To buy an important piece
of clothes I just take a rest and in peace
I go and spend my money.
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Benji Berczi
2/24/2013 11:23:15 pm
My bedroom is my garden,
my place, where I've been taken.
It's tiny, but it keeps my dreams.
My window is a door to a field,
A field of stars and thinking,
I'm deep in my head, wrestling.
It's hard to say victory!
Because it is not glory.
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Csoma Viktor
2/24/2013 11:51:55 pm
My bedroom has a balcony
my hous has a colony
I live on the second floor
where the quality is low.
In the garden I don’t wear coat
And we don’t keep there a goat
You know,I live in the suburb
That’s because I dont’ like travel.
Out TV is big enough
to watch soap operas
The picture around the wall
watching like angry dogs.
Reply
Csoma Viktor
3/4/2013 12:06:22 am
*house
*pictures
Reply
Dorottya Repkényi
2/25/2013 02:28:44 am
Home
When I'm walking home,
I feel like I'm alive.
When I step in my room,
I just do what I like.
It's a place for keeping secrets,
a place to be yourself.
Nothing's serious, jut cute and smiley,
but mine with huge mirrors is only shiny.
My bed's divided by some wardrobes,
my desk is brown like small walnuts.
It's nice, warm and seperated,
It waits to be decorated.
Reply
Balage Barnicsko
2/25/2013 06:16:58 am
Our house is yellow like the floating islands,
Its taste is like the warmness of concrete.
The smell mixes with a nearby forest's,
It's quite quiet except when a train goes by.
The sun smiles back from the rooftop.
Blooming flowers glime in the morning.
Apples riddle with grapes all around.
Then we do when we eat them all up.
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Erika Kispál
2/25/2013 08:59:24 am
Garden
A big garden sprawl
Next to my family's home.
For an average person it's nice,
For me it's the real paradise!
You can see a green ocean
It's effect like poison
Which spreads really quickly
And expel your anxiety.
Big fruit trees dances together,
They are colorful until the end of the summer.
After they become tired and older,
The lake freezes over.
Reply
Fanni Adorján
3/2/2013 11:39:46 pm
My home
Welcome to Kőbánya,
It’s Lavotta Street.
The bus stops, and I get off.
The Sun tries to shine,
But the high flats
Are stand in its way.
I look up, I feel dizzy
Of the 10th floors’ height.
The playground preserves
Memories of my toddler-ages.
I reach the house,
It is always the same.
With the code I go in.
Our mailbox waits for me,
I open its big mouth
to take out the mails.
I go up to the first floor.
Our neighbour, Mimi,
is like my grandmother.
Our heavy door opens
For me and let me in.
I feel the warm air,
The special fragrance.
It is my sweet home,
I go in my bedroom.
I can smell my parfume,
I used it in the morning.
My pink hearted blanket
Rests peacefully on my bed.
Necklaces lying on my desk.
The nail polishes lined up
in military discipline.
From the double window
Soft orange shine comes in.
This afternoon ligth strengthens
the yellow color of my wall.
Outside trees are standing,
They always show the season.
Finally, we have a balcony.
I love to sit in its harmony.
Reply
Réka Tóth
3/3/2013 06:27:42 am
My place
I have got my own place,
It is so misterious like space.
There is so much little secret,
I can not hide all of it.
There is a little disorder,
That is just my own order.
My mother would say mess,
For me it is happiness.
My bad is the perfect bad,
I could never have better then that.
I sleep every day with Teddy bear,
He brings me all the happy dreams.
District five, the downtown of the city
During the day people fills it in
At night becomes sad and lonely
Stays calm, quiet, wait for the morning.
A few streets away some young drunk shouts
The old bulidings just listen to their voice
Beautiful ancient times that they think about
There are no noise but nobody hear their hopes.
Bridges whisper to each other
Danube crosses their words sometimes
Whether one or the other shines the river
Stars have a fight with Chain Bridge’s lights.
This way just Moon light shows district five
It stops breathing when people wakes up
At night the city’s parts are alive
Then just yawns into the face of the Sun.
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Adrienn
3/4/2013 01:06:24 am
I live in Budapest, the capital of Hungary,
It is really nice.
This poem will be a summary,
Which I'll write in light.
Our street's name is a name of a famous composer,
He was Béla Bartók.
There are lots of treeson the street everywhere,
They are very tall.
Our flat is spruce,
It is a lovely home.
In the kitchen you can drink some juice,
The glasses stand like a dome.
My room is very comfortable,
My plush animals are very cute,
But they are not vegetable
And a litte bit rude.
Reply
Kasperkievicz Bence
3/4/2013 07:27:22 am
X. District
The streets are long,
The panels are high,
Here the life is strong
But you can survive.
The public translate is dirty,
And the aunts are wordy.
The criminals come with twenty,
In the end will win the sturdy.
I live here since i was born,
Because from these i learnt.
But I found the nice things also,
So I will stay here tomorrow.
Reply
Lili
3/4/2013 08:06:08 am
Home and OCD
Yellow walls and blue, green, vine,
I count 5 steps, up and down
Out of 4 laptops, 1 is mine
These bookshelves are huge, nearly thrice my height.
(the top portion on the left is mine)
I count 5 bedrooms in our house
Out of that 5, 1 is mine
In that one room, 2 tables are
...the purple chair stands out in the dark blue light
There are two showers on our floor of the house
One is useless, the other works fine
3 combs 2 brushes,a hair clip, a hand tow'l
Don't touch those, mine,mine, MINE!
Reply
Fehér Berci
3/5/2013 03:21:16 am
My home
I'm living in the rich suburbs
In an awesome place: Hűvösvölgy.
Where the 61th tram line ends
Up in the small Buda-mountains.
Reply
Henrietta
3/7/2013 04:38:10 am
The village
The village, where I spent all my summers,
A little house with a big garden.
Sitting on the terrace all night 'till dawn,
I am not lonely, although I'm alone.
I just want to watch the beautiful view,
Watch the mountains, the dessert and sea, too.
If I'm bored, I go and swim in the sea.
There is no place, where happier, I could be.
Reply
Bálint
3/24/2013 08:07:23 am
Where I live...
My room it's a cool place.
I can stay inside all day.
There are guitars and books,
Anything else, what I love to use.
My home it's a good place.
Make a smile to your face.
There are lots of food in the fridge,
On the shlefs there are book you can read.
Reply
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Students,
After closely reading the poems on the left, do your very best to use Jozsef's poems to inspire your own. Model your poems after his. Click the red "comments" Iink and post your poem that imitates Jozsef's in form, theme, and feeling.
