The pain of vibrant flowers scraped out Pandora

Poem for my 43rd birthday – Authors note: This means nothing 1 Everything, the October announcement, a hand of god nebulae form three dirty yellow patches of fog, and five days of compassion dipped in the pupil, arose mododktil, rags…to see eternity, friability opposites as growing cold rivers always appear Heavenly heroes of soiled masksContinue reading “The pain of vibrant flowers scraped out Pandora”

People die, dogs stay longer

 I could write about a woman who sounds like Johnny Mitchell’s Alcoholic tobacco mix I could act a strange attachment to the Middle Ages Or to learn that I don’t know-how to keep quiet about my love I can be a cloud or a tree that are always there, but they emerge from us iContinue reading “People die, dogs stay longer”

The Theatre of the Dead – A Letter from Contemporary Poet to the Dead Fellow in Craft

Contemporary Poet: (Life’s Pleas and Questions) To start conversing beneath the soil, watching death through a kaleidoscope, the way it was lifted by the movie directors and transplanted onto a movie screen. In the opacity of the grave, there is water, and gifts from the deceased one’s kinfolk there is a lid which each ofContinue reading “The Theatre of the Dead – A Letter from Contemporary Poet to the Dead Fellow in Craft”


Dark, deep and challenging spaces cut in white, sharp flat does not only show random links to the dark circles of Dante’s hell. It is a hell of beings and languages, a devastated wreckage, death bypassing speech, the newly born meaning that stops the contest of the resistance and challenge, a helpless page filled withContinue reading “Resistance”

sync with mine wishes for the better days for all

a hinted thought within my head’s grasp processing attempts as each memorising sublime flash of evil genius penetrates my mind blinding ringing echo of fire awaiting for the return of some being I personally have never witnessed before and yet continue bearing like a treasured secret code of the heart to share yet long asContinue reading “sync with mine wishes for the better days for all”

In The Balovale’s tribes mausoleum (of human history od living and dying)

  Airily at a fragrance-oozing garden                                         a gem-beautified tree leaving a peg of bright white wood   Thrilled hand sculpting faces to add to                         Continue reading “In The Balovale’s tribes mausoleum (of human history od living and dying)”

embrace the moment. (in technicolour)

embrace the moment. (in technicolour) At midbrain, shorthand words word more words a tongue-tied rope of words strangler from tongue’s taste bud saliva through the throat But there’s an arched jewelled pendant to catch the last mouth rinse and Technicolor to x-ray the red-handed tongue Me the old Judge of eternal hatred, as Cernuda, onceContinue reading “embrace the moment. (in technicolour)”

Homeless Sun

  inspired by pampered materialists pushing books on how to get nirvana forever while arriving from end-of-the-wealth orders whose only concern is wandering between special feasts and diets and signing petitions to protect endangered species, fashioned and on the other hand,  after talking to a homeless person between toilet and scaffolding climax seasonal socka underContinue reading “Homeless Sun”

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