Feb 22
VIZHDAM VI. . .
( I SEE YOU. . . )
( Poem for Onelia )
"Did you know. . ?"
says ALICE
". . .that Lacie is a
an anagram of me!"
She follows me
through Sofia's streets
as my camera clicks
"curiouser and curiouser"
taking pictures
of reflections
the passing world
stopped and stilled
in windows
mirroring reality
back to itself
marrying one
to the other.
"Krasiv!"
whispers the street
to its other image.
"Yes. . .yes!"
I hear myself
answer her
as she falls
out of my pocket
( the wind reading her )
its unseen hands
riffling through her pages.
ALICE as real
to me as I am myself
. . . friend of my childhood.
"And in predictive text. . ."
I offer my fictional friend
"I change ***
becoming. . ."
"Enid or Ethel or
one or the other."
Like a door mouse
in a teapot
my mobile goes to sleep.
Like a grin
without a cat
her laughter
lingers.
This road's yellow
bricks escort me to
an OZ
of words
where an alphabet
dances in Cyrillic
its strange shapes
delighting my eyes
teasing me
with its sense
of real
Unreality.
I catch
a ray of sunshine
stealing into church
saying the little prayer
of itself.
Icons emerge
from the dark
as I walk
through the passing
. . .of ages.
One icon looks
like Berbatov
on his transfer
to Manchester United.
"Krasiv!"
whispers a leaf
. . .in its falling.
"Krasiv!"
whistles the little bird
enjoying a steam bath
in the hot springs
. . .behind the Mosque.
Saint Sofia
guides us
through her streets
we look to her
for our
bearings
knowing where we are
when we find her
standing in the sky
stopping to let a cloud
pass by.
"Krasiv!"
Sveta Sofia blesses us
"Krasiv!"
In the park
a man in a hat & a Mac
chases people
for chess
offering his pieces
as if they were a gift
inviting Time to stop
& play.
And when passers by
pass by
he invites himself
to play an invisible "him."
His unseen self seen
pondering its next move.
The timer releasing
the world
back to itself
where naked
statues shiver
in the park
throw snowballs
at each other
when a human
isn't looking.
A toddler
( as yet unsure )
of all this
"walking business"
tastes
each cautious step
as if
sipping soup
too hot
sip ( sip )
step ( step ).
The park is
melting
revealing itself
as it thaws...thaws
ice & snow
releasing its stranglehold
slinking slyly
away.
Outside the theater
snow has been swept up
into neat
pyramids
as if they were an Art
installation.
I listen entranced
to my friend's voice
a woman made only
of words & thoughts
( paper & E-mails )
now made real
by the beauty of her self.
"Krasiv!"
whispers her smile
to the secret
that she is.
"DA! DA! DA!"
chortles a yellow & black
tram as it "Yes! Yes! Yes's!"
around the bend.
Back at the hotel
my ALICE sleeps
dreaming of when
I will read her.
A book on a bed
in an empty room
chatting to a shaft
of Bulgarian sunshine.
And always
ALICE is
. . .asking:
"Do you know
what tomorrow is. . ?"
And I say "Yes. . .yes. . .yes!
to everything!"
"Tomorrow is all
I can imagine it
to be
&
more!"
Sofia sheds now
her clothes of snow
strips down
to her sunlight
& dances. . .dances.
"Krasiv!"
"Krasiv!"
her dancing translates
finally the word
"Krasiv
is. . .
beautiful!"
And it is
. . .it is!.
*
Reading and re-reading ALICE IN WONDERLAND as I threaded through Sofia's streets drawing its sights through the eye of my mind and stitching it together as the words took pictures and like a patchwork quilt sewed it into the heart's lining. Knowing now( as if I hadn't already known before )that friendship is a KRASIV thing.
( I SEE YOU. . . )
( Poem for Onelia )
"Did you know. . ?"
says ALICE
". . .that Lacie is a
an anagram of me!"
She follows me
through Sofia's streets
as my camera clicks
"curiouser and curiouser"
taking pictures
of reflections
the passing world
stopped and stilled
in windows
mirroring reality
back to itself
marrying one
to the other.
"Krasiv!"
whispers the street
to its other image.
"Yes. . .yes!"
I hear myself
answer her
as she falls
out of my pocket
( the wind reading her )
its unseen hands
riffling through her pages.
ALICE as real
to me as I am myself
. . . friend of my childhood.
"And in predictive text. . ."
I offer my fictional friend
"I change ***
becoming. . ."
"Enid or Ethel or
one or the other."
Like a door mouse
in a teapot
my mobile goes to sleep.
Like a grin
without a cat
her laughter
lingers.
This road's yellow
bricks escort me to
an OZ
of words
where an alphabet
dances in Cyrillic
its strange shapes
delighting my eyes
teasing me
with its sense
of real
Unreality.
I catch
a ray of sunshine
stealing into church
saying the little prayer
of itself.
Icons emerge
from the dark
as I walk
through the passing
. . .of ages.
One icon looks
like Berbatov
on his transfer
to Manchester United.
"Krasiv!"
whispers a leaf
. . .in its falling.
"Krasiv!"
whistles the little bird
enjoying a steam bath
in the hot springs
. . .behind the Mosque.
Saint Sofia
guides us
through her streets
we look to her
for our
bearings
knowing where we are
when we find her
standing in the sky
stopping to let a cloud
pass by.
"Krasiv!"
Sveta Sofia blesses us
"Krasiv!"
In the park
a man in a hat & a Mac
chases people
for chess
offering his pieces
as if they were a gift
inviting Time to stop
& play.
And when passers by
pass by
he invites himself
to play an invisible "him."
His unseen self seen
pondering its next move.
The timer releasing
the world
back to itself
where naked
statues shiver
in the park
throw snowballs
at each other
when a human
isn't looking.
A toddler
( as yet unsure )
of all this
"walking business"
tastes
each cautious step
as if
sipping soup
too hot
sip ( sip )
step ( step ).
The park is
melting
revealing itself
as it thaws...thaws
ice & snow
releasing its stranglehold
slinking slyly
away.
Outside the theater
snow has been swept up
into neat
pyramids
as if they were an Art
installation.
I listen entranced
to my friend's voice
a woman made only
of words & thoughts
( paper & E-mails )
now made real
by the beauty of her self.
"Krasiv!"
whispers her smile
to the secret
that she is.
"DA! DA! DA!"
chortles a yellow & black
tram as it "Yes! Yes! Yes's!"
around the bend.
Back at the hotel
my ALICE sleeps
dreaming of when
I will read her.
A book on a bed
in an empty room
chatting to a shaft
of Bulgarian sunshine.
And always
ALICE is
. . .asking:
"Do you know
what tomorrow is. . ?"
And I say "Yes. . .yes. . .yes!
to everything!"
"Tomorrow is all
I can imagine it
to be
&
more!"
Sofia sheds now
her clothes of snow
strips down
to her sunlight
& dances. . .dances.
"Krasiv!"
"Krasiv!"
her dancing translates
finally the word
"Krasiv
is. . .
beautiful!"
And it is
. . .it is!.
*
Reading and re-reading ALICE IN WONDERLAND as I threaded through Sofia's streets drawing its sights through the eye of my mind and stitching it together as the words took pictures and like a patchwork quilt sewed it into the heart's lining. Knowing now( as if I hadn't already known before )that friendship is a KRASIV thing.
