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sweet silence
like none other
despite the library door
slamming everytime
someone leaves or arrives

it seems to slam louder
when they leave

i am not perturbed
or distracted, nor am i
expecting not to be

here, alone, surrounded by books,
i just am

lamenting this place not being
as busy
as it should be
who’s fault is that?

celebrating this place not being
as busy
as it should be
guilty as charged

all these faces i see
it’s like a small town here
sometimes abandoned
sometimes inhabited

once again,
i don’t care

how can i?
my head, full of
Aurelius and Bukowski
doesn’t have space to

well, deep down,
i guess i do care
but not as much as
i suppose society begs i

how can i?
i’m too busy figuring out
who i truly am
and the books help, Bukowski
was correct, these philosophers are
like brothers to me and i speculate
my deep “connection” to them
to men whom i never met
yet felt more fatherly care from
than my own

maybe that’s the root

sometimes, all this reading begs the question

do i like books
more than people?
or people more
than books?

i think i know the answer,

i love books, and individuals alike
i don’t like people
especially when they group up
in congregations and crowds,
strangers in a
can of sardines
with no space to possibly
ever care

only to survive and barely breathe
or to escape such a reality

how could i?
when they don’t
even care for themselves

it’s disheartening, really
to witness such potential
in one soul
and watch it *******
melt away
around his or her friends

around their families’
incessant influence and needs
abusing providers

consumed by their personal troubles and struggles
and vices, infected by the amplification of
a hang out
girls night
boys night
the clubs, the bars
the gossips of nonsense and ****
that simply isn’t their business


their obvious and yet
radiantly painful,
like a sunburn that isn’t on you
but hurts to look at on someone else,
avoidance of themselves
begging the following:

could these souls spend
an hour, alone, with a book
and paper and pencil?

how could they?

they’d like to, i’m sure,

but hate themselves just enough
to not be able to.

i dont know, i was in a mood

Zywa May 2023
Forgive me
I don't want to explain away
the fact that I needed time

to put the consequences
of one or the other

The appearances may be against me
but I didn't hold aloof
really, I never wait and see

I don't look away
I just look thoroughly
for a well-considered decision

because so much is happening
and often there is no clear line
in all the details

And I don't want to do anything wrong
That is the seed
of my passivity

My aversion to misdeeds
Evill Will: Passivity (out of aversion to misdeeds)

About misdeeds: poem "Evill Intent" (see May 17th)
Zywa May 2023
I dare to get into bed with you
Your big mouth is too small
for the world, your heart too big

for me, here I am
Well, tell, then I'll dream
with you, about you

in a purple cloak
the skin of innocence and power
Very discreetly, very discreetly

you take revenge
on anyone who does not get into action
and just lets everything happen

You issue wise orders
that camouflage your agenda
Much trouble for nothing

for though you loathe them
they are not another species
they are like you

only not angry enough
to be able to choose
what is important

That is the seed
the seed of your anger
Everyone's passivity
Big Bad Wolf: Anger (out of aversion to other people's passivity)

About passivity: poem "Evill Will" (see May 25th)

Collection "Mastress"
Zywa May 2023
Hand over my mouth, I laugh
at the evil child
you are, who wants everything
as it should be

a better world
justice, equality
and brotherhood, now!

No longer an ideal
that makes fellow human beings suffer
in order not to lack anything themselves

So immature, not you
your complaint, your desire
for more

more solidarity
more harmony
more self-criticism

I know, the seed
of your gluttony
which wants all that
is your sweet anger
Evil Child: Gluttony (for justice, equality and brotherhood, solidarity, harmony and self-criticism, out of anger at the lack of them in society)

About anger: poem "Big Bad Wolf" (see May 24th)

Collection "Mastress"
Zywa May 2023
We live a sober life, enough
is enough for me, and reserves
are necessary according to you

Everything is insured, luckily
no loans, we are working hard
because otherwise one has nothing

The children have their own lives
they won't take care of us
and are already asking for part

of their portion of inheritance, but it's stuck
in stone, in vaults, and in your head
that also wants to cover the coverage

People should grow up
and take care of themselves
reap their own harvest

though we could share more
relying on mutual aid
not just on our own character

in which lies the seed
the seed of greed
Our fear
Evil Boss: Greed (for fear that others will not help you)

About fear: poem "Evil World" (see May 22nd)

Collection "Mastress"
Zywa May 2023
The people here
are not quite grown up
They live past inconveniences

So I'm gonna settle it
Like a parent for their own good
Comment is all in the game

I don't mind, we have to move on
Who does not act, is manipulated
and my own preferences
don't appear out of the blue
I have experience

I chip and wipe away the chips
I am a doer, a maker
No expensive gestures
no desperate remedies
to reassure desperate patients

I know what I'm doing, there are goals
to achieve and worlds to win
with ambition

the seed of my misdeeds
my taunted pride
to want to achieve something
Evill Intent: Misdeed (out of pride, subordinating fellow human beings "for their own good" to an interest that has your preference)

About pride: poem "Evil Eye" (see May 18th)

Collection "Mastress"
Zywa May 2023
Just sully your hands

and cover them, draw the veil --

of your black money.
Communist equality and true equality

"Trzy kolory: Bialy" - Równość ("Three Colours: White" [Equality], 1993, Krzysztof Kieślowski), Karol

Collection "Mastress"
Zywa Apr 2023
Will people ever

love the earth, their mother, more --

than all their vices?
Hymn "Dies irae, dies illa" ("Day of Wrath, that day") in the requiem mass (2020) by Antjie Krog, performed in the Organpark on April 22nd, 2023 under the direction of Gonny van der Maten

Collection "org anp ark" #285
Pyrrha Jan 2023
Words are ****** to a poet
When we run out it makes our blood shiver
Our hands tremble and our lips tremor
A muse becomes an addiction
I miss the high of loving you
I crave the way you made me feel
The cravings dig a hole inside me
Allowing the emptiness to win
It's like my bones are bleeding and my veins are freezing
As I sit with a pen in hand and a paper made of sand

I wish that emotions captured in a sentence or two
Could chase away the withdrawal of being away from you
David Hilburn Jun 2022
General time
To live the life, electric
In a count of fames, a name of trying
That will begin the heed, of reach, exact

Secrets, only a demon could see...
The tooth and the envoy of truth
That collected a shrewdness, in all anarchy?
The scope we adjust to a new light we Rueth

Spare demonstration, for decency to quiet
And hold for a sulking hour, houses of repute
Come to the fashion of seasons before twilight
Time is am's honored party, sat to describe its sordid worth?

But hate is such, a future foolhardiness...?
When we are, the culture of simplicity...
In the name of conscience lead, to a very different guest
My name is whole and clear, of what a soul was, intimacy

Clamor of a self-sufficient eye
Many more than out, to seek the world of else
Wealth in the spy of virtue, that can suspect a total, for a lie
That we have come to know, like the basis of what seems to be, hell's...

Night comes for a tired eye to complain:
Here in saving hindsight, I have learned with the coping hours of others
And their burden, sense set before me, in sate or plane
The voice of love, with eyes to follow and hide, ruin from the peace savored, together?
For people that notice a brand-new day; rude and crude to done, is no future...
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