Sfârșitul e aproape
coloanele se înclină peste ceruri
umbra ta dispare în soarele ce naște
pașii în nisip sunt gânduri puse-n ghips
ochii se închid –
mătase se revarsă prin jaluzele trase
ape izvorăsc din piatră
orașul se transformă în stihie fără dogmă,
îngenuncheați primim chemare
rădăcini de sare celor spovediți în Mare
degetele rupte
mere de alamă
Edenul este o cursă cu suflete de sticlă
trandafiri din plastic
toamnă de pe pânze,
ceara ta fierbinte curge peste buze
fiecare carte răpește o himeră
cuvintele șuvoi,
ia-le înapoi,
eu doresc lumină –
sfârșitul e aproape
șoaptele sunt coapte
plouă peste trupuri cu baionete roase
din inimi nemișcate macii se înalță
dar orele, orele sunt moarte…
Category Archives: Drumul spre mine
Setea
Am pictat la așternut de seară
condurii tăi cu talpa măslinie și luna presărată în geam,
în linii uniforme am unduit o apă
să zăbovesc în brațele-i doar nuferi-gânduri
și torțe roșii într-un lan din veșnicie…
Plouă peste oază și stoluri curg în mare
nimicul se adună și e o sete care doare
când din țărână crește iarbă și din iarbă nasc stejarii
durează-mi Mare temelii din stânci cu tâmpla albă
și-mi sculptează tu Iubito sufletul din sare…
Vino-n vis cu mine în noaptea cea mai lungă
să răsărim necunoscuți în calea de pe urmă
să-ți scriu ochii în poezii și piept în florile de viță;
oare mai răsfoiești tu stele aprinse peste zare
și insule din zile cu misterul șoaptă temătoare?
Vision
I want to hide from the present day
in a conscious thought of my own
beaten and outside the law
my God has forgotten me
the steps go down,
from the darkness that is left to shine
I want to run
why won’t you let me be a sinner?
beauty that I crave
when nothing else can’t touch me
I just need to feel
the deserts sliding through my hearts,
into so much place to build
I want to hide from me now
my face covered in dust
no mirrors to see me
only essays in art,
I am a sinner
love is for the absent mind
it does not obscure my eye
I can still see words in between…
Portretul lui Alice
Noapte
frunze mov pe aleea de pe marginea lacului
mână caldă, degete reci
ochi felinare – privesc și le iubesc fără să văd
brațele ramuri, picioare stinghii vopsite mov
dragostea odihnește în mine aripi ce bat înspre cer…
o chemă încă Alice
un nume ce-l purta fără să știe înainte să o cunosc
în lumea din oglindă,
ca o neliniște pe valuri ce izvorăsc între stele
trăiește în întrebare, temătoare
vâslind, vâslind, vâslind
viață, între bulgări de soare –
și-a pierdut chipul
roșu ca o inimă, într-un câmp cu maci
sorbind portocale fierbinți sâmbătă seara;
Alice, lași urme de pași pe dale
Alice, lași urme
Alice!
îți creionez sufletul
în Marea din spatele pleoapelor
unesc zenit cu nadir și între ele conturez o lume
te răpesc pentru mine
nemuritoare în clipă ca o apă care curge
tânără tu, tânăr eu
vise-gânduri sculptate de timp…
The Dance
There is a time
it’s most days hidden
when the dark veil falls to ground,
curtains open to the few that still believe in love
and the nights be getting longer
filled with words that make the dreamers want to rise
you and I shall talk till morning catching nameless countless stars,
we’ll be making the dissection with a rusty human knife
in a double blinded trial
we’ll be sailing running kites,
finding threads to build a story strong as Russian Kevlar vests
and a backyard with an oak for our golden restless mutt,
not afraid to ask the questions
not afraid to listen to
answers are embracing shivers
knowing me and knowing you,
falling deep we’ll find the ladder
adding steps up to our heavens if we go shall be together
hand in hand or souls like feathers,
are you ready for the treasure
diamond feelings that no other could have measured…
Reflection
Submerged
I write
the flickery path no one takes anymore
from the moon
through mountains
back to my second left toe…
My thoughts diffuse
as endless waves travel
on a surface of still that I touched,
with raspberry roots
which are all left to be culled,
and
my hands are frozen…
A kiss,
on the moss in the shadows,
yellow dream
like a glimpse of unexpected,
forests rise
over the pond at the end of the world
over eyes
over giants
over time
a fence between the green and the purple.
And my mouth gets filled
with scents
nostrils with fire
from the inside,
lighting the cord that’s keeping me here,
birthing the Sun
and the river…
Green Eyes
Oh I need eyes to see
beauty that was put in me
for I am blind
to the passing and the time,
this heavy heart needs rest
from sunflowers feeding off my chest
and I need to grow
vineyards in my desert soil
on the paths I traced for finding me;
and they are green,
like musky valleys in between
mountains shaking when you scream,
and I need those eyes to see
through colors fading next to me,
the face of the unknown
voices speaking backwards
when there’s no one there to be,
close your eyes
and look and love with me
there is always this to see,
the sunshine,
and the oath you took with me…
Old cotton
“We all imagined his hesitant, stammering manner
Merely concealed his heart’s strong core,
But he had his misery, his hesitant stammering manner
And nothing more”
– Mary Megan Scorato’s poem for Dr. White
Mount Misery by Samuel Shem
***
Old cotton in my coat just married with new leather
I wonder if eleven years will bring at least another seven
and if I pray to Jesus and the saints and Holy Mary
my heart may come to life and fall in love with Jenny…
The coat I bought in Central Store I never sewed a patch
it’s like that constant feeling you have known but rarely had,
I did not see at first nor did I really want, it got imposed
but soon I fell for good, so down that no one understood…
Old cotton tainted brown it lived and traveled all around
the stories bound to tell are more than I could spell
had I for each a nickel my words would touch not tickle
and the image that it sells makes the good girls slowly melt…
Cotton coat with dark-brown leather suites me like a feather
like the letters that I wrote when bouncing off the heavens
and the late night promises while holding hands together
it turns me into a gentleman, a fellow with good manners…
But when I put on my leather coat everything turns dark
in the cotton dreams that follow I’m a giant built from sparks
I crush and burn and love the thousand miles of road ahead
and nothing’s going to stop me from blowing up your bed…
Holy Ash
Writing glances to the sun
bathing in the days sculpted in your inner eye
your skin is turning red while memories are boiling
to the scent that got you drunk before
and burning on your upper thigh
is a portrait of the saint that touched your soul…
but let your head fall
into the glory, to drink up once more
the savage pleading covering you whole
while listening to Pink Floyd,
arms open wide
mouth does speak the words
and it is all but fantasy,
wake up,
memories are cruel
wake up,
before this weight breaks you too…
They once put me on the cross
ironing my feathers next to yours,
how could you keep your heart untouched
plead forgiveness where I cry for war –
it is holy ash
and it is raining from above
brushing colors onto Kafka’s wall…
Follow me,
under the sun I dared to dream
and I was gone so flawlessly
whole world turned dark and I came to be alive
given to feel this symphony
caressing moss that spreads on you
among the hills springs silently
the sea that pours the life in me,
oh, give it back…
for stars bewitched be moving
on summer nights when lights are out
and moments seem to last forever,
I will fall so deep
grasping for a meaning I intend to keep,
it made me kneel
when all prayers in the book have failed
and learned true love can never heal…
The Wake Up
What have you done?
Where are you now?
It’s not a first,
you didn’t learn a thing –
and now you start to pray
to angels in the skies and all the ones beyond,
wash away my fear
let me hurt them all
my true words be spilling all feelings that’ve gone wrong,
even if I stay alone
and my poetry may never find a home,
in the deepest dark
let me find a path to light…
What have I done?
Where are we now?
A cruel thing did happen
along with deeds I’ve done
the pastor tried to save me
but all I were was scribbles on the wall,
speak to summon me
and hold on to the shapes I drew on you,
dancing on the silence
a tribute for the wild,
I’m more awake in dreaming
mornings bring the night,
for a falling star I witnessed wished upon my heart…
Un Jurnal Neverosimil 