I lost myself in the Norwegian wood I thought it was just weathered, bald and bristled… And I believed that for a day or two okay, then, let it be a month, I’ll come to grips with it, will solve it, and will get used to the Norwegian thorny trees. however, the Norwegian wood, turned [...]
Archive for the ‘• Poetry… just poetry’ Category
Norwegian Wood
Posted in • Норвегия Norway Norge, • Poetry... just poetry, tagged birds, bristled, feather, lose oneself, Norwegian wood, savage, scratch, south, summer, thorny trees, weathered on 07/06/2010 | 2 Comments »
Winy
Posted in • Poetry... just poetry, tagged midge, snarl, teeth, wine on 13/05/2010 | Leave a Comment »
How is one to write a single poem when on the sheets of paper slowly crawl midges, giggling and bearing teeth?! This sheet for them is just a desert island for me it’s pure bait for rhymes. Why should they snarl at my writings, when God made up his mind to have them toothless?! Leaving [...]
Dad
Posted in • Poetry... just poetry, tagged baked chestnuts, chamomile tea, dad, daughter, doze off, jam, mum, plum spread, roasted chestnuts on 23/04/2010 | Leave a Comment »
Come on, dad, get up! In your den even the time has dozed off. We’ve made the jam. Mum’s waiting for you, brewed your chamomile tea… for your nerves. It’s time to reap, what you’ve sown we’ll see. Come on, dad, up you get, mum’s waiting for you with your favourite plum spread. Kiss me, [...]
Heaven and Hell
Posted in • Poetry... just poetry, tagged dust, eternity, heaven, hell, lies, lust, petals, pleasure on 08/04/2010 | Leave a Comment »
I see an ugly picture on the wall of my memories. I cannot draw it any more. Petals of burnt flowers dance in a film of dust. Shark’s jaws bite me… the match-box-size pleasure of the wine I drank. Cigarette smoke penetrates my body, before the Flood… of lively lies. But here they are! white [...]
My Mountain
Posted in • Poetry... just poetry, tagged deprivation, fist, flowers, glue, mountain, rain, truth on 08/04/2010 | 1 Comment »
My fingers are glued with mud. I can’t touch the air, but here it is my mountain that will mother me. All deprivation, all lack of space is not here. My prison disappears in this rainy place. But what if the smog tries to devour my flowers and make their heads droop? I’ll become a [...]
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