Here is a poem featured in
by the CalendArt They also organized the Balkan Writers Project. Belgrade Poetography Exhibition last year, which I’ve already mentioned And, as last year, the promotion was fun and creative, a great experience! here.
Rustles — feverish, sore
Whistling — chronically loud
Eyes closed, September strides
overtaking what came before.
Weeps — rainy sweat
Whines — stormy breath
Embraced by nature rushes forth.
Who knows where it wants to go.
In a raincoat, looking at the sky,
I’m wondering: Will it arrive?
This poem is oppening to Oblivion Corpus I wrote a while back.
We were strange dandelions
Little, yellow and extraneous
Wind blew followed by a ray of sun
So we became merged as one.
Cursed be that whiffing
Destiny’s thread is pulling
When nature goes on spree
And completely eradicates thee.
In your turmoil you’re not vain
Although in lack of that ochre mane
For I was just about to bourgeon
To me the world wasn’t a burden.
The roots interweave
From confinement no relief
Did what you thought was right
To cut down before we start
A boy. Restless, hyper-all
through vessels sugar rushes.
Oh, the fun!
Cars on a colorful rug
against the laws of physics
Toy soldiers fighting aloud —
shooting, breaking, demolishing.
A plush Teddy, now a stained bear — suffers.
Stuffing hovers and falls.
Broken pencils, scraps, slips, splinters
taking over the floor. No room for
a car and soldier toys.
A child, when there is no more space for him to play — departs.
The mother will clean up; the child will return.
A Human, when there is no more space for him to play — departs.
The Mother will clean up. The Human — removed.
No room for a toy soldier if Mother gets hurt.
A single all hues colored fleck
restless and fidgeting
just a bug
the fruit one
that flutters through the air
and bobs around our heads
we shake our limbs
something burns within
so we stretch it’s wings
across our bloody palm
what is that which bothers us
which takes our peace away
when we can with just our hands
spill it’s bile and cease a fly
that now forevermore
I’m a blazing furnace
That chemical in mace
Which burns your groins
Holds you to your loins
Until the moist is out
And my ashes sprout
When I am well done
We clean up the fun
And start the meal over
Cause I’m a lucky clover.
“You truly are my favorite poet
It delights me when you’re open
Inspiration you always do share
Along with ‘her’; it seems you care.”
I have unveiled talents that
You didn’t know you had
Many of those are bed bound
Some of them are word sounds
For you are becoming a poet
A good one; I know that sonnet.
It’s been inside this whole time
Now you are ready to burst out
With beautiful words of joy
Go down there; be a good boy.
A town embraced by earth’s hips and bosom,
neatly laid between the curves and sways of trees,
colorful under the heavy clouds,
brighter soaked in rain…
Welcomed me into its cold, yet reassuring hug.
When the sunshine drops through the sky’s rug
it glimmers and laughs, echoing over the mounts.
Loud… and silent when silence is required
wet… and dry when your feet get tired,
Posted in Other Poems |
Tagged Balkan, city, country, Earth, East, heaven, home, love, memory, mother Earth, mountains, mounts, poet, poetry, rain, river, state, town, West, writing |
as close of the day in
as yearning that carries
as a stare of a bird into
that is how I love you
that is why