Monthly Archives: November 2015

My Share of Time


I write to you a letter from the trenches
in clear black ink
sealed in a SASE envelope

around here some people still play war games
they clash in couples or alone
bringing blood on the whites of their eyes
they shoot each other in the corner
of their minds

others pull out whatever they can
from this life
caressing cats and dogs and newborn babies
as if these were a kind of secret weapons
they spy on those who have a sincere smile
because good intentions create suspicions
they arrest those who give charity
and those who buy flowers
cutting off their share of potatoes and beans

if it is night or day it makes no difference to me
I am much more sour
much more yellow on my cheeks
since the street guards whistle at scheduled moments
time is trenched more accurately in equal parts

it is as if no one understands
why I am so calm why I have only civil clothes
or what kind of devil do I expect to be blind
in order to pass the last border line
and finally scream I’m alive

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Black Pines Alley


maybe too close from my house
maybe above or
maybe below
up to the small window there grew hunks of rotted flesh
eyes molding without eyelids hearts over hearts bitten by rats
grinning skulls with black tongues smiles eaten by mites
red spiders instead of lips
and i started to scream in a whisper swifter and swifter
because i was drunk from so much death
and i was lost
wondering why all these/ how did they get like this/
/what do you hold against me/
after all
i can’t depart for another star

here lies a saint as pure as the driven snow/ there a sinless virgin/
on the other side those dead in the name of justice/
everywhere all the innocent ones
only worms and yellow rats with swollen bellies
and above it all not a single flower

keep silent/ i can’t listen to you any longer/ i don’t want to/
let solely the rain fall/ to wash out/
all my memories are flesh from my flesh/
the angels’ dreams are the wings of my dreams/
barely i understood that they too are the same
that all of them my lord were so clean/ so good and white/
they were just people
for they rotted easier/ faster than the leper’s flesh
and their bones were cleansed like autumn trees
of falling leaves

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Red Ink


not just a little …
I wrote my poem and I cleaned the extra ink
I impressed the letters with gold leaf
I drew daisies and buttercups
I made small holes in the paper with a needle
as if my poem were supposed to stay here like a special gift cake
and you did not even look at it

I told you why I like the tall stained glass at Sainte Chapelle
and the smiling angels from the Chartres cathedral
I explained to you how I feel about Gaudi’s blossoming stone
resembling castles made by children from fine sand and sea water
I cried for all the beautiful things
I saw rainbows through my eyelashes
I raised my hands in prayer
like the open mouths of swallow chicks under the eaves
but walls glided between my fingers
wherever I opened a window there was another wall facing it
colder and colder walls as if I were a Cinderella
working out my soul in vain

not a single letter in my mailbox
not even the image of a heart copied with carbon paper
from a discount drugstore catalog…
and I still love you after all

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The Scapegoat


it was someone’s body breaking
it crackled like the upper floor of a lunatic asylum
it was a wall covered with frames emptied of portraits
a museum transferred
in the basement
because sometimes there came bombers cruisers military robots
guided missiles informational wars
(thanks God we don’t have those things here)
and all conflicts changed their target
from a psychoanalytic therapy standpoint
from the infant stifled with the umbilical cord to the terminal ill
those who desperately want to be euthanized

the target was another body breaking
through another harsh winter
in snowbound cities with damaged sewerage
defenseless prisons defenseless mental homes
like nutshell boats floating on the river
(another song about the summer of 69)
another very loud scream pulled out from the throat

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Word-less


Well, my Word program is broke on my computer for some time….it would have been hard to write poems directly on my blog or on different sites. I wrote stories about my life, that is much easier. So, until I will repair it (if I will) I made a free ebook from older poems, that are on this blog (most of them). If you wish to read them again, here it is:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/595132

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