Collection of A.S.L [Антон Сергеевич Логинов] (fb2) читать онлайн

Антон Логинов Collection of A.S.L

Poetry. The suffering of a lonely person.

Kos, my gaze,

Hellish existence!

Scythe and straight, the deity looks,

Life, on fire,

Fate may not be like everyone!

How to be a white sheep, among gray grimaces.

If life passes on the bolt closed.

Alas, I will not see the white light.

Gray houses, streets, grass.

How familiar it all is to me.

The sight of monotonous life is blurred.

No joy, no sadness.

Everything is monotonously familiar.

Alas, I can't overcome it.

It's time for me to go to bed, sleep on a monotonous bed.

Farewell, my primordial god!

Maybe we'll meet again sometime,

Maybe the next day.

Poem Subscribers

I am deaf and dumb with you.

Only the heart, pounding in A minor.

Maybe it's love.

The heart is gnashing from parting.

Subscribe, become a friend!

For the frantic me.

I am mute and deaf in conversation.

But know, with your love.

I am ready to conquer the whole world with you.

One- armed Knight

I am a one-armed knight.

I'm not afraid of skirts or a fork in the eye.

The Hero and the Spy

The hero was making a birdhouse, the children were watching him.

An American spy noticed what the Hero was doing.

American Spy – Children in Danger America will protect! He took out a pistol from under his raincoat

. Covering the body of children. The American spy, pointing his finger at the Hero and his

tools, screams.

– This is a maniac, children are a butcher's axe, a saw that America will protect children. And

what is this

Children are a birdhouse.

An American spy is a birdhouse. I went to the dense one and began to examine it.

From the birdhouse PEEK-A-BOO! said the Cuckoo, who abruptly poked her head out of the birdhouse.

The American spy ran away with all his legs, screeching in his pants on the phone.– New

Russian weapons Russian skvobrezhnev! The weapons of the Russian skvobrezhnev! Skvabrezhnev Skvabrezh-

nev!

The end.

Poetry Corrupt

A corrupt official, like a pioneer.

Always rushing to the rescue.

With an envelope, bubonic plague.

Poop

I'm sitting in the toilet.

Poop one,

poop two.

What a beautiful toilet – said the Poop.

The end.

A pot of honey

There may be more than honey in the pot.

But also marmalade and chocolate.

Every kid will be happy.

Feast

Legs under the table.

Someone in socks.

And someone in sandals.

Feasting, a busy day.

Corpses

The smell is stinking, corpses.

They are cut into pieces.

All without heads.

Only the screeching of life brightens the way.

But we eat them alive.

They are round, delicious for our mouths.

We put them on the food.

Their life is fading in our stomachs.

God is our judge, for the killed eggs.

Hacker

At night, under the moon.

Hacker, got into my seal.

I'll start typing.

He's right there.

Then it will force you to write from a new line.

Then it will mix up, all the words are for me.

I will disconnect, from the network, overseas.

And I'll hurt you.

You can't make a mess, you can't fix it anymore.

As I publish poems.

Minecraft

Minecraft, the love of my soul.

Iron horse, maybe Batelfield.

But you're my love, you're slowing down on it too.

Unfortunately, I will turn off the shader, a beautiful one.

I'll reduce the schedule to a minimum.

And I will look at the beautiful pixels.

On an eight-thousand pixel monitor.

And I will be glad, creeper and skeleton.

Using a wooden sword to smash them, getting an exp.

Poetry Hedgehogs

Hedgehogs, took knives in their paws.

And we went to the forest to cut a fox into sausage.

The fox saw that hedgehogs with knives were following her.

She straddled a rooster, and at the moment, she was fluttering in the sky.

Schoolchildren and online games

One computer, gifted

The one who is raised with a computer.

On verbal diarrhea, doomed.

From Colombia, Ivan the Fool and the Frog.

The sun has risen. Ivan woke up. Mom made breakfast. After Mom asked

son go to the forest for mushrooms. He went to the forest for mushrooms wearing pants, shirt, sandals,

gloves. In the rainforest in Colombia, Ivan shot a slingshot into a tree. Suddenly

a frog fell on the sucker's head. Taking the frog by the paws. Thinking that a princess would appear, he

kissed her. And the toxin affected him. Ivan stopped feeling his legs. And he fell to the ground.

Some kind of liquid rose to my throat. And foam appeared in my mouth. After an hour of convulsions, the heart

it stopped. The "terrible leaf climber" Frog jumped on …

The fairy tale is a lie, but in a hint that you need to kiss your frogs, not overseas ones.

How the artillery hunted ducks.

Forest, taiga, dawn, only the first rays of the sun illuminated the tips of the trees. The gunner

crawls making his way through the bushes to the lake.

I see ducks, I transmit coordinates.– said the gunner on the radio

Somewhere in the distance, a volley was heard. Ducks stirred, shells hit the water. The explosive

wave tore off the legs, heads, partially or completely mutilated bodies hung on

the branches of trees growing close to the lake.The lake turned red with blood.

All targets are hit. – said the gunner from the shelter on the radio.

Go back to the base – someone told the Gunner on the radio…

the end