In the silent mornings or in the silent nights
there is a hunch there is a thigh there is a panther
I try to catch your shoulders using a violin
as a butterfly net
but if your hair chimes it's because it's dreaming
if your eyelid blossoms it's because of the wind
if your hand howls it's because it's night
if your ears sleep it's because they're famished
if your shoes laugh it's because they're thinking
and if your shoulders take flight it's because it's very late

If your hand falls silent it's because it's a seashell
if your veins race it's because of the mandrake
if the thigh listens it's because there are still leaves
if the blood foams it's the fault of the umbrellas

If your frock screams it's because it's dying
if your shadow flickers it's because it's burning
if your fingernail sits on the curtains it's because they're violet
if your foot whinnies it's because of the clouds
if the lungs fall asleep it's because it's dark
and if your shoulders choke
it is assuredly because of the trees.

Gellu Naum, Vasco da Gama and other pohems, Humanitas Publishing House, Bucharest, 2007

bring the pizza,
pour the beer,
turn off the phones,
draw the blinds,
lets pretend,
we are not here.

we will be as quiet,
as mice in a church.
eat in the dark,
put the child,
early to bed.
mute the tv.
make love slow,
and silent,
lit by it's flicker.
before we dance naked,
one for the other.

eat cold pizza,
and drink warm beer,
with no one knowing
we are here.

today there was nothing on the table
cutlery, yes
plates, yes
my mug with handpainted rabbits, yes
but today there was nothing on the table.
in your haste to impress the
distinguished guest, don't forget
the need to exhale.

contrary to popular belief,
I realized I missed you when
we were finally right beside each other
giggling over Oliver Wood and
Ron's stubby nose.
I don't want to leave you again, but
I'd be lying if I said I'd stay forever.

Forgive me.

a  flawless poem
if such there were,
will always be,
the next one

my poor soul,
my rag tag heart
has no censor,
so careless, reckless,
as if words were but
frivolous treasures,
easy spent, easy get

if only, how I wish I
could harvest my best,
with golden cutlery excise
the single flawless poem,
that I know in my possess

lay down this hand so weary
from cupping tears,
be satisfied at long last,
so much so,
that my casket lowered,
hands in repose companioned,
clutching his best, easing his rest,
a paper record to join his ash,
his flawless poem,
at long last

What if I fell in love
With a broken down *******
Not because I needed to fix him
But simply because I wanted to revel in his beauty
The maddening craziness
Of a life
A life that didn't need to be maintained with perfection
A life where you could just knock down pillars that you didn't need
Destroy friendships that weren't beneficial
A life where one could disown one's own mother
Without the whole neighbourhood offering their tut-tuts
And their 5 cents too many
About how to trim your garden
What if I fell in love with a life
Who let their weeds grow
And created a garden out of thorns
A **** patch that would make those neighbours shriek
What if I fell in love with chaos and disorder
Not to right the tables
Nor to order the shelves
What if I didn't attempt to prune the garden
But I let it grow into a forest
And then laughed when I stepped on a thorn
What if I let the sun shine through the madness
What if I opened my arms to the destruction
What if you sung me a lullaby out of tune
And I asked you to sing it anyways…