to give it a name

it appears out of nowhere

and even if I guess it

or not

I pretend to be too clever

to water its roots

with lacy butterflies of hope

too busy, too awake

to walk the walk of dreams

daily surrendered to dawn

like freedom 

by caught and trialed killers

and when it stings

like a bee that knows all about 

honey

all about petals and fate

it feels grateful and peaceful and forever

lost

it appears out of nowhere

it floats

and the blood carries it everywhere

obeying its deep undisputed route

to the heart

where some day

you may turn

a London bus

Oster-Monath

your seconds stretched over me

like the arms of a lover

day and night

I thank you for my gifts

the whispers of his lips

(oh, his lips)

the air built around feathers

in towers and towers of freedom

the blades of grass betraying the wind

the blood gushing in petals of tulips

(oh, his tulips)

the sun kisses crushed by skin

like strawberries by tongue

you leave me no choice

no other choice but promise

on the silence of your lambs

that I’ll be yours,

 all yours

until May do us part

100% primăvară

prin noi curge aceeași sevă

așa se mînjesc corcodușii cu alb

îmi spui

și așa

fără rușine

soarele zgîrie nervos cu laba

prin parbrizul lipit cu ulei de lavandă

 în palmă ți se văd urme

de bulbi plesniți în același loc

 pendula din hol

își ucide minutele calm

cu bătăi regulate

în timp ce

cocorii au uitat din nou drumul spre casă

mi-e mintea limpede ca cerul

cînd te întreb

ai venit să înflorim pe același ram?

Poem cu capul în nori

la început ea îi împleti un semn de 

carte

din părul și cuvintele ei

el îl așeză pe gînduri

închise ochii și adormi

în vis se făcu dintr-o dată

iarnă

și părul și cuvintele ei îi împletiră un fular

ce-i acoperi  bărbia și gura

din care acum vorbeau amîndoi

si zilele treceau și noptile își plimbau pe sub nasul lor

luna

el lîngă foc, ea cu fruntea lipită de pătura

împletita acum din părul și cuvintele lui

 ce crescură înalt,

 înalt cît o casă, cît un turn, cît o lume

de basm în care

și el și ea

se-ntrebau din cînd în cînd, nedumiriți

la ce oră le va ateriza sub picioare

pămîntul

Shhhh...

“Yes - but you would have to be half-mad to dream me up.“ – The Mad Hatter

aici nu ne atinge nimeni,

iepuroiul meu alb cu ceas și joben

mă poți striga în limba lui Nietzsche

ori picta în culorile lui Picasso

firul ierbii e lung nu oferit pe zodii

sau rang

cu gesturi lente visele sînt învîrtite

precum lămîia în ceaiul de dimineață

“You're almost Alice…” – The Blue Caterpillar

pe rochia mea în carouri

un nebun

își sărută încontinuu regina

și buzele-i gem

de cireșe

de sete

de foame

‘bea-mă’

pastila verde te înalță pe vîrfuri

cît să mîngîi luna pe frunte

‘mănîncă-mă’

pastila albastră mi te aruncă în sînge

într-un rollercoaster de inimă roșie

“Arrest that girl for unlawful seduction!”  Stayne – Kanve of Hearts

deasupra e lumea

un pachet de cărți jucate

privind prin gaura cheii

cu jind

“You're all late for tea!” The March Hare

I do

you remember the corridor?

the corridor which carried our footsteps

like a golden chariot King Ahab

it took forever to understand

the white piano’s tune

our heart beats put it to shame

with every passing moment

we reached the room

turned the knob

the walls had pearled silky paper 

carefully designed for dream catching 

and we knew

there was no exit for love

no stairway, no door

no way out through the narrow balcony

but in each other’s arms

your mouth stilled

by mine

a wet gift from 

the sea

forgotten words

I remember

your hands talking to me slowly

like the lips of M. Monroe to

a crowd of marines

me panicking between lines

..to Mr Baby

Note..

I was wondering if the scarf made last year

feels warm and soft  to your neck

holding above the chin I have bitten and kissed

or

if the Victorian blanket I knitted

covers well your knees

the ones I caressed when they were sore and bruised and bleeding

or

if you’re still listening to

the carol I sang in a lower key

after I cried and cried  with my arms in a knot around your waste on that platform

or

if you are growing the tulip bulbs I’ve sent you

in a row in a bunch or in a pot?

are the reds mixed randomly with the yellows?

or

if on our chess board

my queen has yet taken

your king

has the sorrow in your heart

been replaced with the

helium

of a party balloon?

every word you send me is a secret silver bullet fired under a full moon

this is our cozy underworld

the rest is nothing

(..from Mrs Baby to Mr baby)

Time after time

come on in

the coffee has been steaming in the union jack cup

for a while

take of your coat

the cookies (can you smell them?) are

ready

sit down

I shall lay my best hand-made napkin

on your knees

open the book

at the page where he never leaves again

and read it

to me..

Frostbite

walk with me into the polar night

cold is the new heat

[didn’t you know?]

you like to watch blood penetrating the snow

do you want to touch it?

the climate will change

the oceans shall rise above our chins

and turn our fur to white

the sun shall linger under the horizon

patiently restrained by strings of darkness

[the sun shall never come up!]

walk behind me, the winds are strong here

I will teach you the language of killing

the peek-a-boo with fear

 the waiting under the ice  

[do what you’re told!]

you will learn me

when crawling is about to begin

you will shiver

when the edelweiss bursts through the skin

beneath the claw

like a frostbite 

C&C&C

Correspondents by Carol Ann Duffy

(read by Corina Papouis)

dusk till dawn till dusk

her face too subdued 
(don't you think?)
her hands too small 
her ears in the right place
unlike her eyebrows, her nose and her mind
her back? a pack of bones
holding hopes at night
and that!dress
in the morning
she should eat more
no, less
no
her chin never moves
never moves
she sometimes does this with that
sometimes she doesn’t
sometimes she doesn’t?
she never ever.
could she be closer?
could she be further away? (yes, just there would be fine)
could she crawl?
[grin]
what? she didn’t, did she?
her eyes don’t blink 
her roses dead
her tires low
her zipper undone
her roast dry
her life 

..they are rating

Ra

(..’only dream I ever have is the surface of the sun…every time I shut my eyes is always the same’ - Sunshine)

hey, creatures of earth

I'm off to the sun

I’m packing up light,

no tooth brush, no gun

farewell weeks and years of earthly chores

I'm letting go now

my gravity's yours

the rocket is ready I'm happy to say

a heart and two wings

and a ticket one way

people are waving

their faces look numb

I smile and I show them

that up is my thumb

fear not for my future

full of fire and heat

I'll be hugging the light

while you'll lie or you'll cheat

10 9 8 7

I'm ready to go

6 5 4 3

this countdown's too slow

2

1

then

lift off

my God, what a blast

I'm coming I'm coming

behind me just dust

I'm passing the moon, the mysterious stone

good bye and farewell

hope you're happy alone

adieu, adieu

oh, muses of mine

I'm wishing you well

in my last hour rhyme

don't cry, I am smiling and that's all I can say

I’d be writing you letters and notes on the way

I'd be drawing you charts, as my words melt like butter

but the papers would burn and their ashes would flutter

I’m close, oh, so close

I’m finally there

what do I see?

is what no man would dare

***

as you stare at the sun

on a beautiful day

on a little blue planet

many light-years away

just smile for no reason

for I could be a ray

You jump

..

I jump

in deep water

not to cross the ocean

not to compete with the killer whales

or the great white sharks

not to find the biggest pearl in the world

or Nemo

not to solve the mysteries of Titanic

or the secret of alternative life

not to understand about sand

and seagulls and sailors

and the goodness of algae

not to watch the Spanish dancers

or the dolphins

or the corral grow

not to feel the salt climbing into my pores

and the big blue flooding my senses

I jump

in deep water

just to be with you

wet, under, holding.

our hands and our breaths

..

Issues

laid on the table

love looks rather silly

naked

wobbly

feelings spreading inside a

soft white belly

in knots

ticklish ears

weakness at the knees

no eye contact

muddled words

sweaty palms

you put the knife down

and say

to yourself

‘is this it?’

then

you go out

as you do

and slam the door

with the ‘gone for lunch’ sign

hanging on the outside

so all can see

all but love

Open letter

hi there God,

I’m here @ your mercy as usual

no, I’m not alone

although at times

I feel like a balloon of emotions

in a world of pins 

I haven’t got much time

(‘here we go again’ you must think)

they say you don’t have either

although yours is a bit of an eternity, isn’t it?

but who am I to judge?(who am I full stop?)

and no, this is not a prayer.

(I bet you had enough of: God, please this, God please that)

and we’re not friends 

on face book or anything

so

I’m not even asking for forgiveness

as my sins are in progress

and you know it

(don’t you?)

I was just wondering,

with my human mind,

which separated from the soul you gave me a while ago (God, it seems ages now!)

sums up to 0

so, I was wondering

about the schedule

of my personally designed Bang (nosy me!)

my Nokia diary, full of daily tasks or endless ‘to do’ lists could squeeze in the time, the date even the minute 

my minute!

(Nokias are great! The one I have now has blue tooth and GPS and a 12 megapixel camera with video editing. Yes! I know! A M A Z I N G!)

so

go oooon!

I could really look the part, you know?

the day before

I could care and sing more than I usually do

I could smell flowers, drive over the limit and smile at the cameras on the M25

please others, kiss,

dance tango (which I’m really not good at!)

roll in the grass and hug people I know nothing about

possibly resist temptation (I’m not good at that either!)

and defeat the feeling of: ‘what I want - I get’

(or at least try!)

for,

(what I gather, from your sources)

I do quite a lot of and

it kind of rocks a few boats in the waters of heaven

well, better dash,

you know me (better than anyone, I say!) 

always on the go

give me a sign, 

and my love 

to JC

all yours, God, all yours,

me

x

So, what is Xmas for you?

..the red cheeks of children,

the scarves and the rush

the patches of snow

lips in strawberry crush

I finish today the tasks of tomorrow

I’ll make a new list of TO DO

and to borrow

more time more time

I need it for something

perhaps to arrange all these cards on a word string

the kitchen in frenzies

the turkey asleep

the spuds and the pies

and the microwave bleep

the tree in the corner the cat and the guests

and the million dollar last minute request

the presents wrapped up

the smiles in their eyes

the mulled wine smells good

(I ‘m having a high!)

the sneezing, the coughing

the ‘I finished I think’

the sore feet and headache

the ‘I need that drink’

my eyes getting heavy

my glass gleaming red

the sounds bypassing

the thoughts in my head

as I sit by the fire

they should now all agree

that mission’s accomplished

...and this is Christmas for me

picture taken from the internet

1 2 1

december

so tough

on ears and throats

sore

with missing

each other’s voice

these toes

frozen and curled

under rough

silent blankets

of faraway and waiting

only our thumbs

warm warm

alive with

significant letters

filling

screens and

the meaning of days

“afflicted by love's madness all are blind”

and

I can’t see

those eyes

lip-reading my

xxx

(quote by Sextus Propertius)

Dove with green peas (why?)

his kids wear bibs 100% silk that stay white through the day

he’s growing wild orchids in the deepest darkest circles under the eye

he makes jelly out of dry words with broken fingers

his dragons sit fetch and roll before breakfast

he can pat his head and rub his belly while sawing buttons for orphans

he can spin plates on the tip of his mind

his books have pages no One can turn

he looks like a stolen Picasso behind a kitchen cabinet

he spits diamonds in fate’s face and walks off whistling  

his universe locked itself in and threw the key through my eyes

*

every night I’m getting interviewed by the wind, with my will cuffed, with a moon in my face but I’m saying nothing...

Return to innocence

no

I did not need a mirror to see my blood

deserting its own artery for another

nor did I need my flesh flaking

in the view of the public

at the sound of this name or that

the quest?

I need it

to give my soldiers their Caligula

someone to follow to their death

with eyes tightly shut

and fingers clenched to their swords

a pair of cracked lips to sip wine with

from rusty pateras

in the early hours of dawn

before the enemy strikes

my hands?

oh, my hands are innocent

the left will caress young Jew hair

the right will carry on

playing Bach

...

In Paris with You

by James Fenton