I've never loved

         or hated you more

                   in this moment...

I'm in the here&now;
or on a ***** street busy with indifference
daylight falls over
like an iron curtain
and my caged dreams
suddenly claim
their seed innocence

I thought I met you
on unpredictable roads under my skin,
in the splitting of one second into another,
in the empty spaces of the atoms,
in the breath of the night
into the unthought known
or some promise, untaught

I’m holding here
my exhausted smile
me and a flower lady
holding  unwittingly
a water lily
redeemed

We are passing through a blue
period after
a grey period: 'Surely
a green age will follow.' You
stifle your remorse. We are on
our way to
yet
another chance
for tears
in our mother's eyes. Don't you agree? Mothers
enfolded
in the depths -the depths
of land dear
to our souls - where the gods
live
steeped in their
energy. That energy
is proof enough that never, not for
one single
moment, have their hearts
departed
from that magnetic place.
               Magnetic? Of course...
Alone in those lands,
they hang on to their sadness, their wisdom,
while their children
              reach out to catch
                         the golden ring of freedom,
and the risk:

the risk of wandering on an endless,
senseless pilgrimage. Flying
like model planes? Oh,
the thrill
until -
three thousand, twelve thousand
years - they're found, fossilised in sedimentary rocks,
mothers
separated from their children, layers
and layers apart, preserved,
with a bit of luck, in mint condition
(maybe) buried
with all the things that might
be needed in the afterlife...
A movement
from East to West, following
the progress
of the sun. What

was I saying? Oh yes, we are passing through
a blue period, after
a grey period...

Liviu Ioan Stoiciu, from Born in Romania, Contemporary Literature Press, Bucharest 2014

I move towards you,
But you evade.
Like a rainbow.

There is no you,
Just an idea.
A unicorn.

The slow flash of blue
On a touch screen
That indicates

There's nothing
More to scroll
To.

To live well and to die well is the same task.
Epicurus

the song of the old rusty swing
like a frozen pane
(somewhere in a passing memory)
not knowing if there can be
such thing as genuine trust,
you wait for transparent nights
amid angst,
the turmoil of words, rushing gestures,
tired patterns
suffocating all
clairvoyance
you wake up from the lethargy of dreams
to the cruelty of life devoid
of connection
a door got jammed

your parents and their distant lives
-their past is your future-
carrying their never ending childhood
like a message in a bottle
the contraction of days bears you the same
the taste of death is just a habit now
no safeguard
you whisper your dreams to the ragged baby doll -
“Bebe” is here for you
You’re the pain taster
forcing dangerous juxtapositions
or the silent screaming melodies
abundant in misattunement
while mother flashes her cracked smile
on empty days
it might have been better to swallow
her thoughts
while father has a croaked ambition
never to rest
translating his will of power

the promise of tomorrow
left you unscathed
slipping out of time
needs practice,
a neat forehead,
to bear in mind that
light holds on to uncertainty
every time you fall

last mile home is the hardest

I lie with the cool moist breeze caressing my skin.
The mossy grass as soft as a feather mattress at my back.
I hear the birds up high in the canopy of leaves.
The sounds of the glade, from the squirrels scurrying to the foxes prowling assail my ears.
Peace pervades this forest, life carries on unhindered, from the ants to the worms, time and existence carry on full circle.
I'm part of that circle of forest life
ever since you took mine with your knife.
Leaving me lying staring up at the sky.
I see you returning every now and then,
do you see and hear and feel what I do?
Or do you just see the rotting me,
lying as still as a mannequin?
My murderer know this, I have been a feast to the beasts,
and I live on in them.
Soon, you'll not come back again, but I will always be with you.
And so will the insects, flies and life that bred from me in this glen.