Prayer


candle trays are heavy
I hardly find my way among dead and alive
holding a drop of new light
crossing myself with my hand still warm

the bell-ringer pulls down the rope
people stand shoulder to shoulder
I feel the earth’s silence
candle flames sizzling in the sand
straight or bending
separated or united  

an old cross raises in the churchyard
still upright
an apple tree almost touches the stone
leaning completely towards sunrise

I bow under the entrance vaults
crossing myself again
breathing much deeper
................................................................­........

Matins


Eyes opened behind their dark veils,
convent novices step outside
deep into the fresh snow, so soft and pure.

Their fragile long shadows
begin to take shape behind them
dragged over the ivory field, trembling.

Breaking his shroud of clouds
a new sun emerges in front of them
on the right side, as bells toll stronger.
.......................................................­........................

the prophet


crisscrossed fingers
he crucified dead in a row
on the left of daughters on the right of sons
over the eye of the cascade
or the mouth of the precipice

the dead kept silent
until sick and tired of all that
but he spoke about the love from one human to another
a contagious disease
he intended to put into quarantine

from the top of sweet wood crosses
wild roses and peaches without kernel
dropped down
until God woke up for good

it started to rain
lightnings touched the flint stone
and even he died of dream deprivation

they crucified a man in all his might

first they made him smaller
until the eyes were pin heads
and the body like a matchstick
didn’t weigh more than a dewdrop
on the snail’s tentacle

then they made him silent
buried all his words in the worn-out ditch
of an old playing record

finally they stretched him entirely
upon the small wheels of a watch
hidden in the back pocket

eventually it ticks on Easter

It was snowing too insistently,
snowflakes almost as big as the eye,
over nostrils, over half-open lips,
over the white lace shawl from my grandmother,
exactly when I was not supposed to wear it.
I had the profile of a porcelain statue
like a Russian girl proud of her kokoshnik.

After a while I started to breathe hardly,
choking first while crying, then while sighing
and finally while hiccuping.
Maybe because of cold and bewilderment,
or because of the strange story about mulled wine with cinnamon.
How could he possibly hide in my blood then
when I had grown up with bitter cherries and wild sorrel leaves,
when I had sipped  the milk foam my whole childhood
without crying on the blanket made of rough sheep wool?

How could that man travel between my heart’s mill stones
without being ground down completely?
Now only tears are sticking over nostrils, over half-open eyelids
like a glue from a sour cherry bark wound.
Not a single barrier, not a single one way sign,
not a single red traffic light
or at least a church with holy relics.

you thought they would open if you knock
tapped gently with your down eyelashes  
small bud of a girl without home
but churches don’t have eaves to shelter you from rain
and big houses have their dogs running free

they told you love is the wisdom of the fools
so you planted red tulips in a ***
and took them too early in the garden
when anyhow it snows out of the blue
over bare tree limbs
over the first cherry buds

with your big child eyes
you look as if you never saw
a sealed key hole

after all you’ll be a sore spot all your life

Honorable politician,
Truthful and without ambition,
Found behind bars his own place.
Such a lucky mental case!


Her eyes are truly not hypnotic
Although her smile is mystery,
Each man by nature too myopic
Is guilty of adultery.


Because she had an empty purse,
Yet smiling strange like La Joconde,
He drove his Jaguar in reverse
Thinking she was another blonde.


She had a few coins for grissini,
Wearing her old and too short skirt.
With mercy, dressed in white silk shirt,
He bought for her pretty bikini.


A young woman said: “My love is like sunshine”.
An old woman whined: “My rheumatism foretells rain”.
I stood silent between them, under cloudy skies,
Believing the weather report lies.


Sigmund Freud,
Before others find the steroid,
Dived his nose under the *** drive,
But ******* kept him alive.

Schizophrenia survey:

Doctor: Have you ever had hallucinations?
Patient: No, have you ever seen a schizophrenic?

D: Are you a ******?
P: No, until I meet the right man.

D: Have you heard strange voices around?
P: No, my parrot doesn't speak.

D: Do you think you are a great woman?
P: No, I killed only a few cockroaches, with too much spray.

D: Do you think you are a martyr?
P: No, martyrs are killed in a short time and everyone is happy afterwards.

D: Do you think you should die?
P: No, it is better on the floor than below.

D: Can you forgive others' sins?
P: No, Jesus Christ was better than me.

D: Do you think you have enemies?
P: No, I don't have a hammer drill.

D: Do you love your mother?
P: No, only our feelings are the same.

D: Did you try to **** yourself?
P: Yes, because whatever I asked, others said NO.

Patient: Doctor, what are you thinking now?
Doctor: That you never think.

WOBBLE


My questions are no longer keen,
Small pebbles on the bottom line.
My senses bring flavors within,
They blow out my mind like a wine.

The river washes its ground bed
For many years going ahead.

I don'’t search, I don'’t wait, I don’t hope.

All tears left my memory stream,
A fire grows high from a dream.

The past is a white timeless night,
A blind moon forgetting to shine.
I still feel a cold flimsy light
So deep in this body still mine.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

OUR OLD HOUSE


Wandering most everywhere,
I passed once by that small creek,
Finding our old house there
Where I used to hide-and-seek.

I passed once by the small creek
Where wild grasses grew so tall,
And I looked over the wall.

Finding our old house there,
With gossamer nets as drapes
With my grandpa’'s sour grapes.

Where I used to hide and seek
All the trees were almost dried,
I looked back again and cried...


>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

INTUITION


Like a heart upon a stone,
Amber burning on a pyre,
Like the scent drilling to bone
On that painful, brilliant fire,

Like a walking on a wing,
Rustles waking up our ears,
Dreams forgotten every spring,
The beginning of all fears,

Like a truth in this time flight,
Finding in my palm foundation,
Which I held maybe too tight
To believe in its perfection.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

A PAIR


She liked white roses in a vase,
Visiting art shops after school,
He liked sci-fi, boxing, sport cars,
Swimming each Monday in the pool.

They met one day while it was raining,
Shopping for hats on the main street,
And both of them were just complaining,
Because the colors were not fit.

He needed black, she wanted blue.
They saw each other in the mirror.
She smiled at once without a clue,
For she was not a conqueror.

They were engaged after a year:
She wearing blue with a black glove,
Cornflowers for the atmosphere,
Both with straw hats, vowing their love.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

THE STORM


A heavy cloud’s silence is shattered
Through every lightning shrilly blast,
Painful memories are scattered
Like night’s haunting blues from the past.

This time flight of questions and fears
Trims yesterday hopes’ flimsy wings.
My last open smile disappears,
An omen among other things :

A dark moon burns under my eyes,
Coating in ashes a blunt knife.
Red stars hide behind summer skies
Long, tedious and dull feelings' strife.

And if I abandon my dreams
Refusing to taste bitter dew,
Ignited by lost love, like gleams,
Tears grow within torches of rue.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

THE SAME SONG


So many dreams in Venice blurred,
Stars showing gondolas their way.
With sparkless eyes, a lonesome bird
Mourns quietly his love gone stray.

A lonely girl with shaggy hair
Walks all alone in St. Mark's Square.
Her memories dance under vaults
Along a gondolier's sad waltz.