Watercolor Cat, Watercolor Cat,
You are the most wonderful Watercolor Cat I have ever could dream about,
And I wonder, my friend Watercolor Cat, and admire you perplexed and mesmerized,
Tell me, how you know and how you do that you stand up straight and mastered this dignifying posture,
Like a masterpiece,
And these yellow eyes, like sunflowers, while sitting on a such big stone, on a such long road
When you are not a red cat or white, and not even lost, but
Just an easy touch of lilacs that comes with the sunrise and leaves at sunset on the shores of volga,
My friend, Watercolor Cat, when I see you standing up like this with all your pride, sharp years, and flying tail,
You suddenly are the most blue-yellow cat in the sky, like you swallowed the sun with your wondering eyes.
Why do you wonder my dear friend, Watercolor Cat, why do you wonder and look like you are waiting for something wonderful to happen.

it's as light as snow, and the steep hill
when the sun rises must not move a finger,
obedient child, -
the earth wears its white feathery garment,
putrefied by tears
there is no need to raise  up my  eyelids, no need to  speak or be silent,  
when i listen like a newborn wrapped in diapers i let the snow cover my green
eyes,
when you say: not today. not tomorrow. i don't  have to cry,
i look at the world smiling: - what a miracle,  what a blessing,

i don't have to do anything of those things,
i don't  have to expect a breeze, be touched  on my hand by a ladybug,
and ”never ” and ”nothing” is so much lighter than the stone of an arrow,
except
we still dream in the eyes of forgotten children
among the flowers,
now when we are about to get older,
wiser, and
everything is sooo easy,
and it gets easier
and
easier,

All you need  is someone to dream about,
Someone who raises your pulse up as a knight,
Moves the dunes in the sea, warms your palms without
touching you,

Cuts the fog, with no wings, makes you fly above the clouds,
Lighting up like a thunder, lighting up  like a thunder, in the night,
All you need is someone to dream about,

There are games that poets never can win, as dreamers do, in the walkabout,
Forbidden to touch you, but always  rearranging the starlight,
Moves the dunes in the sea, warms your palms without
touching you,

The reader  reads that confession  can harm  or make famous only  the poet,
Without the attempt to evade the hero's journey, and fight,
All you need  is someone to dream about,

And do not wonder, that you sit alone at your table,
When we”ll grow up I want us to have chestnut bights,
Move the dunes in the sea, warm our palms without
touching,

There is nothing in the world that you know better than stones,
And yet, my darling, you crash them in search of diamonds, light,
All you need  is someone to dream about, that
Moves the dunes in the sea, warms your palms without
touching you,

There were two good friends,
The flower-woman and the fisher-woman,
One was selling flowers at the market, and the other one was selling fish.

On the weekend the fisher-woman  invited the flower-woman for a sleep over.
After talking for a long time they were tired and want to bed.
The fisher-woman  fall asleep immediately, as she was sleeping in her home.
The flowers-woman could not fall asleep.
She was tossing because of the smell of fish in the house.

She woke up, and got a few flowers from her basket, and put them on the table.
The flowers smell helped her easily fall asleep.
Suddenly,
The fisher-woman got up wondering from where this awful
smell was coming.
“ I can’t tolerate flowers smell. “
She removed the flowers from the table.
The fish smell again helped her fall asleep.

The master of the dawn said: - It's strange to be here
on the black lips of the fields, and the evening caught up in between drops,
black trees making me shiver, - Kalos Gheron all dressed up in wet clothes,
blowing hair in the sky and a long beard rooting in the ground,
without cravings and sandals, penetrated by rain, crushed by worries
at the farm, takes the cows to pasture, - the mystery has not left them,
in peace, they ruminate wisely,
the master of the dawn said: - it, also, will snow tomorrow at the fair.

It's morning in the broken smile by tender snow,
heroic, simple, altruistic,
doubtless is sleeping on the branches with the hearing and sight of a partridge,
under the selfish blue sky, a trumpeter improvises,
- the aristocratic fields parade their white robes,
and the deer you saw last night is lying naked on the blind grass,
waiting for the groom in feather flakes to come,
two stars slip in her eyelashes gently whispering:
- down at the spring the lord of heaven cries out to us,
the time to receive the prayer (until dawn) arrives.

The master of the dawn said:- with him, I kindly realize how fear drifts far
and how his fantasy rotates, thaws the mist into white locks, (like a trumpeter playing
outside the scene with extinguished effect) at the call of the stars
the lord of heaven calls us.

last night I slept with the moon in bed,
I didn't close the window like before: -
come in when you want, I told her,
and she came in,

morning arrived,
I woke up, full
the moon
sat on the left side of the bed, with the heart in hands,
the sun rose on the right

be
a little dreamer
and (I'll) hold you in my eyes
-  sparkles
under the same shadow
two little dreamers
breathing tears,
planting stars in the soil
while the rain is  craving the grass taste,

is always returning to the sky
so the wind can play with falling leaves

be a little dreamer
when  birds build nests
and i will hold you in my eyes

nature”s most precious gift
we all have a love affair with it,
and we all know that  sooner or later it will serve us well
in good times and in bad times, it will serve us well
like  an actor that is ready to make a leap into
singing, acting his best role
delivering an oscar  performance to his audience,
&because of it
some of us are stellar performers
no matter what

no matter the severity of the drama,
the severity of the fall, be dignified, as a buen maestro,
walk with dignity through the film of your own drama,

for that sort of entertainment, you will need to give up on something,
  lie down on the floor and respiro,  respiro,  respiro …
more respiro,
                       floating
letting go,
let it flow ... for your own soul,
for your own soul drama is honey,
drama is money
be dignified, you are a Star

criminal touch,        infractor that kills on paper,
torment me,
                    torment me,
                                        and let me dream of you,
- have you below the air

      i will  fall on my knees, like a leaf, when
the earth cracks from one end to the other, half awake,
half asleep,
        let me learn your firmness,  drown my eyes in every word,
- a blind man, with the tip of my  fingers i read your blood,
                                                          ­                    your lips -
chaotic, whispering:  - what a calligraphic writing, organized and
without mistakes,

let your rigor entice me, like a spear piercing you,
          passing through the air                        until we become experts,
specialists in criminal law

thin pale grass
competing with the
big, strong tree roots
pushed to the surface
from below the ground

below the ground
there are secrets

heavy clay
compacted soil
striving for moisture and air

below the ground
there are secrets.

we cut the tree roots
remove the grass
plant a new garden

below the ground
there are reasons

we float freely unhindered by anyone,
only the air reaches our origin,
  - a root of a gnawed mushroom and mould plant,
- a meat animal devoured by parasites claiming white fame,

despite  existent poetic hunger haunted by virtual air,
all that brings us closer is the greed to smell each other's freedom, -

after glass wool walls (steklovata)
oil emissions enter our pores,
burn the eyeball, the words of a language,
other languages, cogitation, hesitation,
we survive in the form of particles,
biogenic dust,
finally,
free under the sun

you swim, as if you were an amphibious man,
you catch her, the fire ignites,
she burns like a good lye wood,
the salt and ashes  sleep  between your fingers,
a Fairy brings the spring water to your gate,
you sip  from her palms
(with a thirst of a fish drowned in its own brine)

The fairy puts words on your lips,
calls you by name, you reach the shore,
with  eyes, wide opened you  look in the dream book,
you realize, - there is no escape
big nuisance, "I'm touched by a drop of wax"
you'll never be what you used to be
the rain takes a cold shower on you

You run outside and sit on the roadside bench,
Finally,
You see how little John and Mary play in the rain puddle with a paper boat.

in our own homes
i want to dig up my ancestors
-ask if they are willing to change places

- ask them who we are
where we come from
and where we are going

Sunday morning, I am running at the farm market,
For buying three pounds of organic enlightenment,
Glutes tight, chest stiff,
Every single step is marked on the asphalt,
A little bird pooped on my forehead,
Hoaxed by this joke I stepped on some dog ****,
That got me mad even more, while an old lady asked me
to carry her over the pit. I mimic, wait
“I will give you help after, I am in a hurry,
I want to buy three pounds of organic enlightenment”
I keep running, every Sunday morning at the farm market.

candlelights

destined lighthouse keepers 

shining light in my eyes

my eyes lighten up your eyes

our eyes illuminated hearts

two candlelights in the far distance

destined lighthouse keepers

Captain Hook
i know, you've got scars that can be seen with an open eye,
and yet, when i look at your long curls like stalactites, i wonder
why don't you tell me more,
i know for sure, you'll have fun seeing my relatives,

hope the numbness in your right hand is gone,
it's one thing when peter pan cuts your left and quite another
when you die with the sword in your right,

are there eyes bluer than the sky to see through the waves
and salt
when i bite your nails, devotee,
when my lips cover your lips, silently (the only way to survive)

but if your right hand dies how will you carry your cross,
how are you going to gather yourself at one point when
the pinky/ring fingers sit nicely in the middle of the palm like yin/yang,
forget-me-nots,

Note: Mr. Hook, if you really want something the desire must be greater than the column of infinity or the tip of your nose.

going
childlike
and childish
who cares? as
long as
the golden
sun
still rolls on the ground
chasing
how? steps enter my voice
and heart murmur
follows
in quiet
breathing
childlike
wonder

caresses the guitar with his jelly fingers
he sings "y my love"


the rain is coming anyway
it's coming and lifting you up in the sky


chris rea sings "i don't sleep tonight"
"y my love"


i make love with  the sky,
you make love with the rain

chris rea plays the guitar
"there is nothing to fear"

Shrinking
us
into
Rootless

When lost in giant thoughts
and mumbling lips don’t hear
how divine prayers fall
on puppets on the walls
In vain you pour your soul,
Is all in vain, my man!

When darkness bends the light
and you hide from y’own eyes
and you run from y’own voice
and force the cogit shut its door,
In vain you pour your soul,
Is all in vain, my man!

When lazy sky transforms
the clouds into boomerangs
and crippled stars pretend
to be white angels of your lies,
in vain you pour your soul,
Is all in vain, my man!

When houses are cold
and candles are not burning
and tears are pervert actors
that never listen to the silver bell,
In vain you pour your soul,
Is all in vain, my man!

sometimes love is like a superficial vein full of varicose,
swollen, twisted,
stretched to unsightly, non-existent,
unbearable
sometimes love is a venous collapse that leads to the reduction of veins
cold-blooded, skilled surgeons, we'll remove it like the longest vein
without the leg being affected,
only the blood that has passed through it will slowly change its course
and the saphena, available, will patch a coronary bypass,
pointing at her with our fingers, we'll shout: look at her, she wears a crown,
she became queen too

*dear, who will turn the blood from your sole to your thigh again
when our love will be only a second-degree relative,

only
the steam pushes you toward me

  the floor is flying, smashed
like marble

lying
under the table
is licking my feet and  
palm

we look at him
swallowing the void like the night is swallowing the stripper,

and the rain falls on the window
  drop by drop

wet, wandering free on the streets,
sly, you looked into my eyes exaggerating with a cough: - i think i'm getting a cold,
isn't it the best rain,
the best day,
hug,
in the warmth of a hug, we melted like butter in each other's arms,
it was spring,
and it was the saturday before easter,
an aunt selling flowers on the sidewalk in the voivodeship park
she pointed out to us: - what a lack of education,
look at them, wet and without common sense
and respect, they kiss in the eyes of the world
today, on a easter saturday,
today's youth is  in disarray,
(she looked around seeking consolation, approval from passersby)



he was the lover that every woman carries within her from birth,
he caressed not as if he longed to be satisfied as a skilled lover,
he was soft and tender as a little kitten,
all he wanted was to stay inside her forever: without getting lost,
without taking up space, silent, without demands, pretensions wanted to stay there like a zygote,
a single cell resulting from the fusion of gametes,
without mouth, without eyes, lips, nose,
just  an embryo with a large forehead
which began the life cycle immediately after fertilization
and continues to weave the organs, the body (like when the bees  build the hive)
to mix life, the light that passes only through her womb.



he suddenly jumped up and down:
- this must be the realm between heaven and earth,
he started telling me everything he remembered,
yes everything
it was as if he was rolling like a snowball towards his own center

It is snowing today with Crumbs of bread,
the Crumbs pass through the air,
fall, and only where they do not fall,
and only who does not nibble on them,
every day a flock of birds flies
around a Crumb of bread, an anthill feeds,
*
There were so many of us around the table,
like giants in drops of blood,
my mother didn't scold us
if the Crumbs fell on the floor, rather
a sister or brother pointed the finger:
you have made Crambs, it falls from you,
not from me, from you, see how you scatter,
- I just swept around the house,

My mother knew how to calm us down:
"The Crumbs come to our house from heaven,
grandparents, grandmothers ask to be remembered
my dear children, it's a great pity to quarrel
or blame each other when you eat at the table,
- you know, we, people whatever place we pass
we leave behind us Crumbs,
you better call the birds to nibble at will,
and let the Crumbs also make wings.

in a moment of                                      
delirium                                                        ­  
your cigar                                      
is glowing
in the dark
as a steady light
gripping                                                        ­   
on my heart
without flame
or blame 

in a moment of                                      
delirium                                                   
I am
breathing
yellow fume
and coughing
in a room
filled with
perplex glow

fresh crumbles fluffing on a graded road
propelled  by the calcified touch of a heel-flipped flesh
looking through the cracked heel,
thank god, floating vapors calm the thirsty flensed skin

because it  burns  you
you don't like the sun
and the shadow doesn't buy a story,
It knows its edges and the milky ways,
attached to a leaf tail
chlorophyll counts its rays,
***** energy from its light,
- we grow elephant ears,
our heads have shrunk like the peak of a needle
bifurcated,
time does not lie
instead of being permanently bent
head
now it is one meter above the ground
hands / feet / thighs
we do everything we want in upright bipeds
yes,
to get out of africa
we walked thousands of years until we  picked up "the first thumb up"
then again we walked thousands of years,
we raised the thumb up again
thousands of years ... thumb (up) drive one gigabyte,

time does not lie

- i saw you at the țoțora in the polk of medhorotsky,
with the toma from brăila digging  ditches to keep your feet lower,
at a french carnival, you loved a girl and called her by the name
consuelo, mon amour, consuelo, - you wielded swords,
used feathers to write (with the blood) on a soap bubble
you were looking for

the time that does not lie

did you say:

- the night is just beginning to taste like molasses
- from afar, you see love like a bloated balloon lost in the distance
- to recognize the shape of the earth, i have to feel the stars beneath my feet,
to see the one above my head
- people are programmed to see faces even in sandwiches,
to believe strange things, that they can walk on the water or
like in little prince  to believe a talking fox: “though the eyes are eyes, they cannot see,
only the heart can,
tame a flower, and you”ll see that time does not lie ... ”
then what can you expect from the sun
when it burns like a madman in the wilderness and dances like a *****,

hallucinate

they say we are 13.7 billion light-years from the edge,
how  the sun not to like you when it heard you singing a song without a sound,
so simple and clear,
and now every morning it brings you a basket of jackfruit at the gate,

be ”the edge” truth or assumption,
”the foam that forms us and breaks into a vast cloud of styrofoam bbs” (Ken”s words)
who knows, otherwise
it seems that we are close to knowing the real shape of the earth:
jump up, fall on it, is  not  moving,
standstill and solid,
it doesn't matter which way you want to go
you can go in any direction
go far enough
go as far as you can
you will always reach the ocean

did you say:
- we live on an island

Don’t be afraid of what you don’t know,
You are too strong to know everything
Too strong,
Can you hear me, too strong,

Do not be afraid of the crowds,
They are too small for you,
Petty muggers,
Hear. how they make noises like  starved  mosquitoes,

Do not be intimidated by knives, when
Your eyes are like gillet match 3,
Listen to your own steps cutting their own steps
Cutting. the dead. Dead. Corners. of the streets.

Headlines  
Everyday
Telling you what to do

...
~

castaway

we use words to stay on the surface

beneath  each word
we find the emptiness of the sea, comforting
when we reach the Mundus point, at will
the blood flows like a waterfall as if has no past and no future,
then maybe
maybe
in a wildly literary language confronted/confused with a word
or two:  gentlemen, how do you feel about being scalped?
- thank you, we feel extremely well, gentlemen,  as you know
at the tip of the tongue, we find everything we are looking for (the needle,... the cannon...)
and
a samurai's sword is nothing but his soul, - baked dough  în empty eggs,
a clot in the veins,
vessels of..., vessels for...

shipwrecked

we use words to stay on the surface like a healing bruise
healing by itself

the fruit of their few
joyful days together

easiness
the traveling light
thaws time
- from sunset
to the east
late borders we are
watered by rain with its silence,
- two halves of a stone rounding their edges in the sun,
two forgotten lips in the lull between two *******

broken
surroundings
hidden
underneath
discrete skins
flat spots
drowning in
superficial
layers of
constricted
capillaries
walls
embed in
bleached skin

made of
salty tears
and eggshell
crystals
cutting out
the wafting
of diurnal
light-blue
ozone

resistant
coating
burning on
crusted
cheek
beneath
thin
recalcitrant
cuticles

forcing into
lamping
layers of
red-blue-
purple-yellow-
green-white-
ecchymosis
symptoms
just­if­ying
on its own

poetry at war with time

Lean                                                             ­       
Delicate                                                 ­                                                     
“ne plus ultra”                                      
Cooked slow                              
Gastronomically Intelligent        
Unassuming                                              
Gentle ­                                   
Docile
Fashionable                                  
“ne plus ultra”                                          
Ethical         ­                                         
Ecological ...    
...voices rumbling through refined-dining,

Excuse Moi, Mr.Gluttony

Since when is Meat Ethical?
If meat became so Ethical,
Then,
How Ethical You are?

Sheathing your hypocrisy                
and luck of humanity                                
with pompous words,                      
style and fancy clothes,
while you tingling your gustative papillae
with  “le goût friand”, étiquette,
capris and mannerism.
                                                    
You                                                            ­    

Don’t **** the rabbit! so                                                    
the rabbit can **** you in no time, “pooka”
          
Don’t tell                                                  
No one pre-empt you,                            
when asking for healing.

they are invisible
there are always bridges
across the chasm,

Do you want to know how Brave you are?
Then,
Be curious to know your vulnerabilities.

Courage
is directly proportional to your weaknesses,

every bright future is a wind whisper,
a caress of the ray,
every touch in the palm is a getaway for  flying words,
each word, like a *****, wears two white lines and one black,
a life spent in thought, not to withdraw in etilic sevraj, from time to time
raises the glass to taste the words  with its mouth, cheers ... cheers ...
silence,
confessing,  silence
silence,
forgiveness,
every forgiveness is a lucid grave,
a grave clear as water that  watches the angels as they grow wings and fly,
they rise and rise to unclog the springs from the air,  unearth the  sunset
and embrace the light like a newborn at the mother's breast,
every death has a mother, every death has a father.

Won’t earn you what honesty can

In a deciduous forest
a coronach was composed by the
horrendous night, as
a venomous exiguus creature
was waiting for an incursion.

Eximious met today with Exiguous,
and what a tragedy,
they both ended up in exiguity.

You can fool me,
I wouldn't know it,

You can hide me,
I wouldn’t see it,

You can blame me,
I wouldn’t hear it,

You can hurt me,
I wouldn’t know it,

You can love me,
I can not fool you,

Do you think you can write poetry? messing up with centuries of poetry,
be the best  AI-******* in the poetry world?

Do you think you can step on Shakespeare,& Lermontov, Rumi,
and crash the human soul?

Do you?

It is Friday morning,
I feel like a robot lubricating its joints
with peanut  butter and jelly cookies,
repeating its movements over again;
jumping, running and extending into
the big robotic world with the hope of
reaching out to humans.

Driving to pick up Hilda, a soul
that needs a ride to heaven,
her husband a former mafia driver, in his homeland, lost his car and driving license,
as the virus came and switched  his brain on shootings and killings he witnessed,
in his youth days, when worrying more for money than life.

I hope for no shootings today,
Friday morning, and
The sun didn’t show up in the sky,
It can be too much even for him shining every day, not an easy job warming up
earth’s feet when striving for a happy day.

It is early Friday morning,
The dog had no time for barking,
I feel like a robot that has been overused,

Waiting in the car,
I succumb to dreaming and export myself into a passed homeland life, were on Fridays evenings I laugh and wear cherries 🍒 behind my friendly years when Apollon comes with his sweet kisses.

My client arrived, she moves like a robot too ... I drive ... we reach in heaven as we start talking and crying, ...

Hilda opens like a flower to the sunset, while she is telling her life story,
and how much pain she carries in her feet and arms, cut off at every sunrise by her mother denial, shootings hit her heart,
I pray and hope for her husband to be well,
and forgiven by Gods.

Hilda’s storey wakes me up to being a human, ... between tears and pains we find our laughs, ... After we cry, laugh and feel the pain, me and Hilda we feel like two humans on Friday morning.

our dying kiss
two babies were born
with flying wings

Halfway between past and future,
Life and death, singularity and universality,
The eye is looking through the clepsydra of time,
The Absolut,
- I am the only one twisting the strings of conflux,
The Eternal tells,
-All things from today and tomorrow already happened,
It is all in vain, don't even  bother,
There are even memories of
The worlds that haven't been born yet,

Tying to suspend time,
Why?
When the days and nights are unchanged
From the beginning of the world.

full of light is the sun

when bowing down

behind the hills

where feathery flowers

wait for burning its gold

waves of colours faint

in the evening light

and hope scents

the land growing wild

in the flushing breeze

dancing each stem

in its own delicacy

Something mooore, for my soul,
Give me the buy, in your fancy store,
Give me the buy, hopefully, I can be mooor can make it feel mooor,
Poor craving soul, wants sraff, staff, staff,
Anything,

I want to buy in your store, something mooor,
Give me mooor, mooor, mooor, mooor,
buy and buy, mooor,  hopefully I can be mooor,
I can make it feel mooor,
So much hope For my soul,

Something to love, so, the next morning I can throw it away,
Looking to buy Moooooor, Happiness,
For my craving soul,

Somebody help me!

Get out my soul!
Out from your store!
Please?!
Close the store door!
I’ll pay you,