Category Archives: Scrisori de dragoste

Melancholy

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©A fabulous woman

Hard covered, written with the gift
you found a book to live by it
then I kissed you on the wrong right cheek
since the night the pages fled was so dark I could not see,
wished a poem brought you back
to that wicked pub where we last danced
but it is too late,
statement’s made in white, bowing under petrol eyes
and I got the Sun inside to shine no wisdom –
could I burn you if I tried?
is there purpose in this drive?
felt each time he asked “are you a Jew?”
“no, I’m not!” just one among so many few
something lost in between the pagan I have been
and your perfume in the London fumes
I would touch yet would not feel,
taught me how to nurture and not to stir
on the memories we shall become
let them flowers grow
a whole garden painted on a purple sky…

the music

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lucky notes and lyrics written for no fame
on a New York City oldest grumpy stage
with empty chairs,
in the end
music is what still remains
and there’s no shame,
we walked those roads and climbed the stairs
in pairs –
we were young and had no care
nothing could’ve bothered,
hair was long and rich and brown
riding in my mustang ’65
money scarce but love was strong
was all that mattered…

lucky strikes in nameless pubs
after shots and after dark
poured us whisky in the jar
and we never stopped the gig
until the end –
fell in love with life that I dissent
white porch, roses and a swing
so we ceased to be a thing
but music played,
nothing could’ve stopped the beat
round that summer in the heat
I did write my greatest hit
but it’s a sad song
for it was wrong…

as with poets rise and fall
Rolling Stones be getting old
and Bowie,
David’s in the stars with Cohen
and I’m even more alone
in this kingdom built from gold,
the gold is cold –
like empty chairs surrounded by a whole
it’s raining roses
in the New York City oldest famous hall,
the music never stopped…

round that summer in the heat
I did write my greatest hit
but it’s a sad song
for I was wrong…

The Poem

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I want to write a poem about a time I have forgotten
I want to sing a song we played a life ago
running long the streets to another half-full café
where people kept smoking and beer was cheap,
do you remember the guitar riffs
and the full glasses with good words to sip,
used to get drunk on glances and the last Sunday hit
your red ribbon on that sky blue dress
I’ve danced you baby to the last of my deep breaths…

I want to write the words, all that I have promised
I want them engraved on a stone from the sea
for the world to know and your heart to feel it
all that’s been missing is what we left behind,
I do remember the walks in the park
pride made us wrong and guilt drove me crazy,
my way took a wrong turn and I could not find you
I took a chance to ask a big diamond
and the sun went purple in a pool of free stars…

I want to write a poem about a good time
I want to sing a song about tomorrow…

I once got to know a girl

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I once got to know a girl
I gave her flowers
I gave her words
but most of all I gave her songs and listened to them all,
it made me fall the high rock hill
danced this dream along,
she followed for a while
gone the wind and gone her springs
I loved her on the wire…

I once got to know a girl
her eyes were forged in fire,
fed her pages from the book to build up on desire
never told me what she took
purple heart was old and tired,
on the road the star went higher
shone me to the west…

I once got to know a girl never to forget
beat the rhythm in this cellar
something must’ve changed,
got to know that girl or so I’ve felt…

Life after you

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I find it hard to follow
it’s hard not to believe
you are not the sunny mornings
the sun is more a cerebral imprint,
is this a hint?
made me be a giant
a bear to hug if cold outside
and
I
still love you…
why can’t you believe
roses in the garden
oaks that drain into the sea
sometimes I will wonder
what is you and me,
a game we played so well
promises to void
feelings that rebel
dancing in the evening
who am I to tell…

I loved you for an evening
a way to ring the bell
colors fading
what else is there to spell,
my heart belongs to nothing
to something I have felt
and flowers in the morning
kissing under stars
I had you for a while
my lips to spell your name,
missing
the painting of a mile
and greatness comes along
to play
the odor in your smile
made me live again…

Sonet

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Cu degetele înmuiate în sevă pictează noaptea înstelată pe trupu-mi dezgolit,
hrănește-te cu carnea de pe mine
și rupe bulgări din țărână,
stoarce flori de viță peste munții amândoi
să nască iazuri reci când totul e fierbinte;
din palme toarnă stropi de rouă, seara peste ceruri și astăzi peste mine,
paznic pentru buze, gândul de pe urmă,
pune-i pecete de ceară…

Love (Story)

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Love is that one kiss on the forehead as the sun beams into little ponds formed by the rain filling our foot marks in the forest,
warmth after a cold morning,
sharing the last cigarette with coffee in the garden,
a plunge in strong memories igniting lost fire,
crying together in a Hungarian tavern,
calls running late into the night,
a private diary page opened,
building,
tormenting,
anticipating,
thirst and water,
loosing and finding faith,
drunk kissing,
in the dark,
caught,
fear,
coming back home and silent prayer on the steps of a locked church,
away,
a riddle,
a longing for more,
a night at the movies,
yellow flowers on a cloudy day,
a purple star that does not exist,
closer,
first kiss,
expectations,
a night trip by the bus,
small box in woolen thread,
light auburn hair and teddy bear,
an Indian restaurant somewhere,
drinking on the left side of the Rhone,
highest road over mountains and room with a view to the stars
tram 28, two glasses of Porto and Fado,
left –
the pain,
the questions,
“Talk to me!”,
a rock concert at the Eiffel tower,
the trip,
the visits,
the mother,
her daughter,
one last kiss to say goodbye,
brunch in the city of painters,
new year in Paris,
“On the Road”,
September the 30th
…
…
“Happy Holidays Stardust!”

Elephunts

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I am wrong
you are wrong
life is nothing but a sadly played love song,
embracing fears on snowy nights
hot tea and spicy pumpkin coffee latte
and letters in the mailbox with handwritten thoughtful doves,
poetry when in despair
a good little song to take it well,
I am not perfect
you are also far
but the highs are in the stars
and there is ice-cream in the storm
purple rivers sailing north
turning warm the very cold
snow fights justifying being close
going up on slippery slopes
I was dreaming
and dreaming were you,
me imagining you while imagining me,
I am but a fool
and so are you
drowning in the sea good memories,
remember when asked me twice
if you held me someday really tight
who may tell in the awful bright
is this the morning or the deepest of nights?

P.S. Happy New Year! …and no regrets