February 2017

21 February 2017 at 2:44 (Poems/Poetry) (, , , , , )

for my baby boy
I play a crucial part
in a house treasure hunting
he shoves a toy
into my lap
as if I was a drawer
that keeps all gems
being motionless
makes my role complete

he will shoot
a sweet little voice through the floor
to recognize his treasures
are in good hands
I nod
determined not to show
an amusement

his face a seed, someone
to grow with and around
skin moist as the day he was born
turns cheeks a shade of pink
I’ve only seen in carnations
haribo bears in his breath
allow to swim in a candied state all day

not yet a mother
of a lolly kid crowding
the checkout line
before plunging for a purse
already a parent
scrapping charcoal toast
to be dipped in a runny egg
always in hurry

trivial things coat my mind
sort of breadcrumbs in fajitas crispy chicken
– tightly
they turned up on my doorstep one day
with borders opening
as my baby boy fall into arms
jumped off
tumbled into obstacles valley (27th January 2017)

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October 2016

5 October 2016 at 23:34 (Poems/Poetry) (, , , )

for some
home is us
all depends on tenants
either bring a meaning to the place
or leave it empty

home will value most
things to be forgotten:
an insecurity slipped off shoulders
draped over chair
a ring marked table
after dinner argument
a sun – bleached rug
drenched with worries
a hunt for colour
to blanket dying comfort
once plain but now pallid
vaseline desiccating
under mattress in a master bedroom

those who stayed in hotels
holding each other’s hands
being set in a motion
by for thick & thin memories
not willing to slip into a song of regret
hotel guests with a public access
face wonders
collateral damage, too
years close behind them
with a revolving door
that no one remembers (02nd October 2016)

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September 2016 (2)

24 September 2016 at 22:17 (Poems/Poetry) (, , )

my arms
a soft blanket of care
carry a backpack
with teeth decaying treats
a press of lips
lightly planted on a face
a patience lost over petty moments
that eventually tip toed out
orders cut into pieces small enough
for a child to swallow

in a backpack
if a spotted hole isn’t mended
becomes a station
where tendered deeds I packed
get on and off
insulted for a reason
insulted for none (24th September 2016)

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September 2016 (1)

24 September 2016 at 22:13 (Poems/Poetry) (, , , )

predictable nights
a cycle of time
lost and in a second to be
we count on a trivial item
– nail varnish
to stifle a routine
change it into something

the ordinary
at night is amplified
small talk into discussion
hopes into promises
we know we won’t keep

some lampshade slouches in worry
its rough-and-ready character murders
our ego while asleep
in times
when everything insightful
was already said and done
we are left with
a cheap happy ever after
it could be a curse or a favor
it could switch us off completely, too
(14th June – 22nd September 2016)

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March – May 2016

11 May 2016 at 20:30 (Poems/Poetry) (, , , )

they say here
a cup of tea is good for everything
what is everything? I am raising my voice
inside tea lovers’ throats
their constant celebration
occurs not because they are happy
they fear unbearable reality will creep at night
sew up misery tears
together with eyelids

a cup of tea with eyes closed
is vile
one would say we deserve better
like we didn’t know
from the moment we were born
– that was before war
but war is after war

you say a cup of tea?
I take it black
just like everything else
from the comfiness of my sofa
I tend to listen to a loud sadness
exploding in the neighborhood (22nd March 2016)

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February 2016 (3)

2 February 2016 at 23:21 (Poems/Poetry) (, , )

we share no passion for foreign languages
although a language helps to determine the accent
since we all communicate in English

anger is a fuel
mind’s contagion
infecting the flesh
for hell to spring in us
we simply cannot stop mourining
dead and gone
not even try to set the clock back
to before the loss
or keep it still for new losses not to occur

tomorrow may be better
maybe without breaking law
crying out of pain
whether future is a curse or a chance
could not be fully known
by a mankind with cold gunmetal
against the skin (18th September 2015)

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February 2016 (2)

2 February 2016 at 23:19 (Poems/Poetry) (, , )

a debt collector
ruthlessly lifting
poor family belongings
from own immune system –
tortures weak mortals

it is also a hazardous liquid
oozing as through God
has overlooked and left it running;
inevitably jealousy has closed in on God

it doesn’t laugh at the punch line
drily keeps pretending it’s all good
when at least some of it hurts
its voice seems to exist not
in the air but already in our blood –
makes it the only nourishment
we could be certain about (16th September 2015)

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February 2016 (1)

2 February 2016 at 23:03 (Poems/Poetry) (, , , , )

At city B the streets are shut down
nearly every summer weekend
for ulster bands to go through

peeve non – protestant communities

At city B bullets tearing body
scattering bones across front lawns
become BBC news novelty not a custom

yet unidentified crime still takes place

At city B mates discuss:
funerals, football and politics
phew – phew finger pistols aim at any correctness

At city B you let a waitress forget the gravy
mother smack a child in a grocery store
because citizens are a verb in passive voice

recreated and reshaped
aspiring to become part of a proper capital (27th August 2015)

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July 2015 (8)

24 July 2015 at 19:24 (Poems/Poetry) (, )

if buzzing days
had not been sidetracked
by bad accidents
we wouldn’t have walked to boss office
confused by his ‘I am so sorry for your loss’
we would have kept on feeling lonely
for years but never seconds
there might have not been
a knock at the door
police cars lined up at the front
grief might have not been
crumpled between fingers
previously welded to coffee cups
maybe we would have still strung pearls
into a necklace of good moments
shining and perfect
as toys never were

maybe (23rd July 2015)

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July 2015 (7)

24 July 2015 at 19:22 (Poems/Poetry) ()

one may wonder
how many movie scenes
were shot in a car:
broken hearts of a foolish kiss
open to what was promised
ended up lost in a romantic maze
that’s an obvious vision

through a whole day an asphalt
sucks in heat and stinking fumes
to let them out at night
one does not foresee a suicidal someone
could get punched with those foul odors
jumped out on the next turn
rolled over into a highway
like a beef roulade with no gravy
one does not imagine cops
finding someone slowly gassing himself
who wanted to get drunk
but fallen asleep in a broken car
I do,
my mind lives on exits
holds uncommon stories
ready to be told (21st July 2015)

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