Muddy brain hazy vision
dry -- nostrils
Fire emission. Ask for compassion!
Competition, Computation
Indignation inclines
Ignition.
The monstrous Monotone
Struck weird
Mono world. Design Utopian
without existential
Dynamic diversity of man taken
into consideration!
There Can Be Unity Only in Diversity.
Absolute Conviction --
dimly lit
this night of sweet farce
word and thought
tangling
to make time dance
gay entrails of sparkling
preoccupation
a near do well chance
phrase
enrapts only further
this wonder of
my mind
leaving all else
half heartedly behind
poetry
such a strange
collaborator
a constant comfort
and agitator
folded by the wind
and flapping
even when motionless
in the yet born subconscious
Melissa
(written Sept 19,2003 2am)
In germs of purity
We await our infinity
Faintly existent
Yet, illogically present
The fetus will cry
Begins to die
Outside the womb
Astride its tomb...
Time dims the light
Again the night
But time was never
And now...it's over...
To fight for purity, we chose
But germs must decompose
So pray to the Trinity
To give us infinity
Fold those coarse hands
But see the fine sands
Sift into our graves
Designing our staves
We die in our mystery
Our malignant crude history
And before we can run
....follow our sun
Our life is dying
But our nod is denying
That we've lived at all
Outside our skulls
And before we can ask it
They've nailed our casket...
(Do I try to infer,
That we never were?)
Maria Lia Grigore
pusblished in univer. newspaper/71
Only saddness surrounds me;
Everything gray, everything gone.
Maybe maddness inbounds me;
My memories diminshed, but pain replenished.
I will stay here forever.
From whence I came
I know there was grief there,
yet I don't remember why.
No love here, no warmth, no one else
just me and eternity.
My existence unites with nothing.
Not a soul will come and no one will hear me.
For who knows where I am?
Where is this place?
Gray. No light, no darkness.
No one, just me and eternity.
The moth is but a staled butterfly
With graceful flight
Lusting over the sweet perfume
Companion of the endless night
Like a star that burns lukewarm
In the belly of a cave
Clearing out a path provoking
Spitting in the sun’s cruel eye
Blind him so slightly
For the moth is but a butterfly
The bat is a bird
The moth is but a rag
And you throw your darts
Like torpedoes set a-flight
And pin me to the wall
Grinding your sands between
Your salted teeth
I shy away
Withdrawn
For I am but a moth
Blackest bat about the cave
Blackest sun upon
The shore’s cruel lips
They march along the clouded earth
The frosting grass, the mischief
Following the sun, his harp under arm
His humming dance, They march like ants
He’s a spade, he’s so gray, he’s so old
Watch his face unfold over the kingdom
Marching away the day
Marching away the riddle of the shade
Of his humming dance
Of jejune expression
The hauteur of penguin parades
The sorcerer of the eye, of his face unfolded
Of his face so cold, his face to mold
Of his knuckled hands aged to the bone
Watch his face unfold, like a get-well card
Like a newspaper, like a bedtime story
On a cold rainbow
Sleeping away the day
They drop their trades without me
March in dusty snow, in the vision of the sun
A penguin parade marching without me
Marching like a cold,
Like ants upon a hill of destiny
A destiny without me
As I sleep away the years
As I dream without a care
I’ve missed true love a hundred million years
I’m stuck in this dusty desolation
In the clouds of their trade
Creating a path to destiny
Forbidden like my past
Forbidden like the sun’s bearing stare
Why do I care?
seducer of butterflies and wind
you know your one true calling
well
every man woman and child alike
long for your appearance
on the happy horizon's shelf
such love affair is grand
seekers of your golden pale ribbons
to wrap themselves up in
gather by the beached horde load
to paint themselves tan
greedy baskers are they
in your radiant atmospheric glory
faithful worshippers of your life
bleaching light
all organisms reach and grow towards
your regenerative delight
happy receivers of your water trading
might
Osirus loved you so
and anticipated his return to your
golden thrown
but for most today
you are seen as a roughly kind faceless
gift
life making
life staying
life saving force
one who's duty alone
keeps man harnessed to this planet
'til his own time here's gentle end
In my penned praise
allow me to say
I bow to you
MASTER LIGHT
here deep beneath the clouds
(Aug 14,2000 830pm)
From here to eternity is just a title, which will be forgotten like speech problem. Walking on a hill that was once an island, I was touching the tree leaves, recognizing the healing herbs, listening to sounds dripping down a birch.
There will be sea here again, than drought, finally hills and dust. Some pets were edible, some weren't - and that has been the only difference for a long time. Later we learnt to be disgusted by the difference and then we started keeping steaks in a cage.
Not one of these things is important and perhaps it is good that way. The canary flew off with a flock of sparrows to the rainforest and never appeard again. Sparrows dopped by sometimes. They got tired of it later. Then they flew away, flew away.
From flour once bread was made and we ate it. It is happy fable about wheat and secret police services.
The awareness that an echo lasts longer than the person groaning, only tricks us. But it tricks.
Homelessness
The old priest on TV spoke with a sigh”
“It’s not the lack of housing and of roof,
As “Homeless Folk” so many qualify,-
All those deprived of shelter, care and love.
“Consider now the home for kith and kin,
The seedy home of guzzler Frank John Doe,
The strangest things go often on within
Its fortunate the neighbors do not know!”
“The toddlers slink away and duck and cry
The guest, an auntie, looks a little lewd,
The children fear her too, but know not why
Their kin folk think her querulous, but prude.”
“They all do feel a certain homelessness,
But youngsters leave the Home and seek the street,
To find that selling grass can bring success,
And learn to love the king pins of the weed.”
“A homeless man,- the old priest said- is he,
Who sits with a catheter full and rings.
And has no view back black and white TV
Urine overflows,- the nurse is loitering”.
“Thus homelessness, -it really does - extend,
It’s met in losses and adversity,
That does befall good folk in every land,
Although they have a roof and can drink tea”.
And homelessness is in the Nursing Home,
Where sheltered people suffer martyrdom
And in the ward psychiatric few are kind.
With sheltered people that have lost their mind.
“Great is the longing of all people for a Home,
To dwell in and to serve their every need,
But strangely, off-spring does prefer to roam
The darkest corners of the city street.”
“We do we put the “Homeless” with address?-
The stunned bereaved who hold a box for mail,
And even own a key, but nonetheless,
Fight for existence daily tooth and nail?”
“Gone is the “Home” of mutual support,
The chilly place yawns hollow emptiness,
Gone the dependable and bright consort-