September

15541409_376768759326070_7825553307591737798_n

Here is a poem featured in CalendArt by the Balkan Writers Project. They also organized the Belgrade Poetography Exhibition last year, which I’ve already mentioned here. And, as last year, the promotion was fun and creative, a great experience!


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?

 

ONE

IMG_3016

Mom’s dandelions.

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

My part.

Game Over

game over, marija mrvošević, child, globe

A boy. Restless, hyper-all
through vessels sugar rushes.
Oh, the fun!

Cars on a colorful rug
against the laws of physics
follow lines.
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.

Fruit fly

 

abstract-acrylic-just-another-monday-mike-savad

A single all hues colored fleck

flies

flies

restless and fidgeting

flies

flies

just a bug

the fruit one

that flutters through the air

and bobs around our heads

flies

flies

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

flies

flies

The Furnace of Joy

61df3f99c84c9de5564b7e87f9a6153d

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.

 

His Home Town

20160430_215021~2


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,

Continue reading