Painter Arseniy Lapin One red cat from St. Petersburg Hired for babysitter, And chatted on the roof With a familiar mouse This red cat is from St. Petersburg. Одна рыжая кошка из Питера Наняла для котят

Running ringlets poplar, snickering, their pedestrians are trampled into the mud, their breeze, from nowhere, throws up, throws down, they are quicker than a sparrow, wingless angels of kin, and you go

I do not renounce anything. The pain is gone. Remained only sadness. In your present do not happen, In the future and the past I remain. Nothing else happens. Only the rain walks along the fences. Time

Artist Dmitry Kustanovich Before the light, birds open their mouths, They start singing and dropping. Recorded the night turnover Madly their voices. Swipe and you tear your hand: Spring, entering the

Sometimes it is so difficult Learn familiar features. Loving flimsy stars, To be saved about emptiness. To write absurd sonnets, And to be one in a hundred individuals, And to know: on a small planet Lives

Winter is the time of contrasts, Graphic landscape. Forget bright colors Autumn makeup ... The tree is sharp No birds, no leaves ... It's simple: white-black, And this is the beauty. Beautiful smooth lines

Painter Arseniy Lapin And the stars are also fish, And the fish - sails, So that we could swim Towards miracles, So that in the reflections of the swell As the wasps are striped, Like fish on bezrybe There

Figure Gedra Vaitiekunayte At my doorstep Maid-touchy, It's Spring In the blue of dawn. And you, soul, Again the pussy, Like a tree with a bitter wind, You make noise with foliage. What music In your wing!

I will not notice one hundred shortcomings, One hundred shortcomings of their own - a fight. I'll go out on the leaves rustling towards, To see the dawn with you. How much torment you will give me - I

Between the curtains - the light strip. I forgot and it's strange not to remember, What hides in itself warm soot On candles and on droplets of wax. To hide everything that yesterday warmed, And get used

Not the beauty of verse, not originality, Not a break with the distraught crowd, There is the best laurel for the muses - defenselessness Before fate, people and themselves. She walks, and a heavy porphyry

In the shining bright sunsets, In the pearl cool dawns, In the roaring formidable raskata Summer is approaching us. The sky blue joins the rivers And the rainbows are shining above us. And it seems, happiness

Spring? One pretense Around, And not spring! You touch the kidney - And she cringes. But the young willow, Already despised fear, As a young seal, Emerges suddenly, To fresh, huge Space swallow And fresh

What is not given, what is taken away. And all - one thing: Eyes - strangers' rooms And it's dark in them. How hopelessly thrown Two words after ... Half a century - a heart in the past, And there is no

Where once snowdrifts lay, And the wind drizzled, The sky puddles in a puddle In the black openings of their liquid mirrors. He would fall to the ground and not move, To fall into suspended animation and

Believe in the Beast and in God. You admit: and this will pass. To the outcome you go, as to the threshold: The road - where will it lead? Mirage twisted to vomit Hope, trouble and calculation. Pass your

Habits do not regret. The soul is silent. Everyone to himself - and with his temptation. ... Their desires are thought in accordance, We recall the hordes of locusts. The soul is silent. Habits do not

Fog flows from tender brown branches. Slides darkness on the glossy slippery roofs. Let's share the last cigarette. I'm joking, and you ... You - keep silent. Unfulfilled attachment of foam, Forgotten

The evening lasted, lasted, lasted The horizon was scorched. Why did not you pretend, What is really in love with me? Did you never call me sweet? You are silent, and I am silent. I would forgive your

This is my entry for contest - goldenhourphotography by @juliank and @photocontests