Posts Tagged With: forest

sculpture in a living wood (experimental prose poem)

i still fear heavy furniture particularly that made of black polished rotten wood … i wouldn’t visit anymore museums or antiquity houses even if they had no mirrors a sad song for a blue heart grows between me and the round burnt clay … i don’t admire anymore clavichords with encrusted roses the two inherited paintings are blaming me for everything i couldn’t forget … one day the furniture started to crackle as if it were a mad crickets’ song in full sunshine … with my heart bumping from stop to stop i ran in the street but the clouds didn’t come to let me run barefooted in the rain to fall like a discharged lightning in the gutter’s mud …

so many ant hills and so many wild beehives were built in my marrow … i stay underneath sighing heavily and i see i feel through my fingertips their march from corner to corner … i never got along with insects it is my fault … except for the summertime butterflies and at most dragonflies weddings or autumn ladybugs … lately i found i can speak the language of mites i wake up at night when one of them climbs over my bed i can predict every newcomer regardless of its size … maybe my blood is like old wine now and my heart measures the time along with the insects until the earth takes a rest in winter … and in march even if it is on annunciation day the same cross will weigh on our backs the same chain of wild weaknesses ties us to the living forest where trees fall on their feet …

i understood late that between me and the moon there is only one acrobatic vault in a spider’s web … much too late …

Categories: My Poems in 2012 | Tags: , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Impassive Forest Ballad

Some of the beautiful trees
after becoming accustomed
to winnow and cut the air
for quite some time
ended like lively official papers
of my ingratitude
(getting along in peace with winds
or other important relationships
they really stood firmly in their roots
as if to be noticeable)
accusing me with calm composure
that I forgot the present moment
and after all I’m afraid of my own breath
Was it all that just a saw moan?

Categories: My Poems in 2008 | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment


Maybe one day
I should have been born apart,
at a far distance from the place
where the embers’ shadow wriggles
on the ancient brick wall.

The circle of sun,
a spinning run’s print in the sand of memory,
tightened inside my body
like snow melting in March.
Maybe it was farther than dreams,
somewhere between the autumn seeds
sleeping like buried forests
with their crests tired of a high flight
bluer than the first silence…

And my shadow returned home
before sunset.

Categories: My Poems in 2009 | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Rain Child

It’s warm in September
and the air is rancid,
after so many days of drought
hot clouds roll in the sky’s marrow

Tiredness bites the tendons,
I’m hardly running,
a butterfly rests on my front wrinkles
and there are still cobwebs
amongst the vines
vibrating before being torn
with a shard of smile

In the red eye corner
I’m painting a teardrop
so I can cry beneath the mask.
I put on my gray raincoat,
tightening the laces,
gusts of wind cut my arms
with a young forest hum,
they weigh rootless on my chest,
the air whimpers like a baby
and it starts raining

Categories: My Poems in 2010 | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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