"croatian" poems
Why am I so obsessed
With checking my notifications
If no one texts me
It feels like suffocation
That little red dot
Next to my application
It ***** me off
When it won’t work down at the station
I've got a mate who's into spontaneous flirtation
He met a bird on this app
I think she's Croatian
They went on two dates
And then went on vacation
Meanwhile I'm sat at home
Watching babe station
I fell in love once
Then realised it was infatuation
She said I had no drive
But she had no imagination
When we go out
Theres no conversation
Even Siri
Gives me ******* quotations
My new phone
Is the new sensation
Checking Facebook
My only temptation
I check my phone
Just to know my location
**** it
I’ve had it...
With this nation
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 6:28 AM UTC
Remember, The Olympics
Not for Politics, but sport
Leaders of so many countries
Choose to use this to distort
The reason all are gathered
To present their efforts best
Not just for Queen or Country
But to continue with their quest
To achieve a brand new standard
A true Olympian at heart
It's time for the worlds people
To come together, do their part
We all cheer for our countries
But we should put them on the shelves
For the next two weeks in London
Cheer on the athletes, themselves
Today I am Canadian
Tomorrow maybe, Dutch
American and English
And French...well not so much
Albanian, Croatian
Serbian as well
I will cheer all the worlds athletes
And I will be the first one who will yell
When a record does get broken
Or a personal best is set
If a time gets smashed in swimming
Or a ball goes in the net
My country is my favourite
But, whichever flag's unfurled
For the next two weeks in London
I am a citizen of the world
I will sit here on my sofa
Acting like I'm on the bench
and I'll cheer on all the athletes
But...I won't cheer for the French!!
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 8:04 AM UTC
Murva fashion collection introduced at Eco Fashion Week has been a life long process for Ivana Knezovic, Creative Director / Designer. This was not only the 29 year old Croatian designer's first collection, but also her first international performance.
She debuted her eco-friendly collection titled Rust & Flow on the runway at Eco Fashion Week in Vancouver, Canada. Her pieces are all made from eco-friendly wool flannel.
Ivana Knezovic made interesting use of symmetrical lines, and I admired the draping from the shoulders framing a dress low-cut in back. One dress had several parallel vertical cut lines on the backside.
Many of her tops had capes, hang from one shoulder or both, paired with slim pants or a skirt. A nice touch of dramatic flare as the models moved down the runaway.
“Fashion design was always in me,” say Ivana Knezovic. Having resided in New York, Toronto, and Switzerland, designing was something she always wanted to do. "Murva is the name of a tree in my village. My company represents a return to my roots, to who I am at my core."
"I like structure. I like hiding the body behind some kind of a structure," said the designer who makes all her own clothes and cosmetics. "Eco is a product of maturity and of wholeness that you can only achieve when you really and truly grow up."
As a designer, she told me that she strives for “pure minimalism,” yet her eco-fashion designs are made for a sophisticated, minimalistic, and determined woman.
Exactly what the eco-fashion movement needs.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2015
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
Sapiosexuals^
she quoted Shakespeare most appropriately when needed,
her fevered fervor scientific was the non-fossil fueled engine that STEMed her quantum analytics of NFL football,
as an intellectual amuse bouche, that was uncannily correct,
on FIFa she passed it was just too corrupt, but Wimbledon was”fun”
we all bet her predictions for her error rate was insignificant
she claimed her knowledge of a cure for Alzheimer’s was done,
but bio-pharma suppressed, and a single pill existed taken once, could cease and desist the brain for craving ******* but the politics were too complicated and really boring to explain
instead she preferred to wile the hours hanging with
lesser poets, to see if taking them at their word
was an accurate indicative of their professed prowess in bed
but when she sampled my wares regularly,
I called her study statistically biased,
to which she replied,
“ain’t you the lucky one,
that my standards are lowly rigorous,
and you possess a mighty cute bi-assymetry“
in Croatian or Mandarin (unsure)
smart lassie indeed
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 2:04 PM UTC
takin the load down the dirt road,
thinkin about the reggae girl me once loved,
boy did i like the way she rubbed,
i notice me rasta themed pants had a little bump,
me third leg was feelin a little stiff,
i decided to light me a little splif,
me started to rub thee bumb in me pant,
no way i was bout to stop, no way, no chance,
i feel a sensation, me son is Croatian,
me lost control of me rig and next ting ya kno,
me in the ditch wit at sticky hand,
me **** leg cost me 1900.00 annually in
insurance. me learned dat me dont
have much indurance. da lesson to be
learned is if your feeling an itch on ya
**** leg, pullover because if ya dont
you be broke as a reggae boy lost at sea
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
Shining lights on a Dalmatian shore
Broken little mirrors on an aqua sea
provides the backdrop for boys wrestling on a concrete diving board
Girls soaking each other with a push button tap
The thin old man in speedos intervenes
One hand holding a roll up
The other gesturing in Croatian
The setting sun behind the city of Split
Is a rusty heat haze for swallows to dart over
Truffle oil fills the air from the cafe
A couple use sign language to speak as the sea roars in
Backs and shoulders covered in beautiful inked art with Angels, crosses and devils
Pine trees provide shelter on the stony beach
Families playing cards and laughing.
The church bells signal it is time to go in
We start up the hill and look back at the sky.
A night to remember and a night to repeat.
Aug 9, 2022
Aug 9, 2022 at 4:28 PM UTC
I USED TO THINK THAT DOGS THOUGHT IN ENGLISH,
BUT, OF COURSE, IT COULD BE GERMAN OR SPANISH,
IF YOU TELL THEM TO SIT, THEY MAY NOT RESPOND,
JUST RUN AWAY TO THE BACK OF BEYOND;
I'M LOOKING UP 'SIT,' IN RUSSIAN, 'GET OFF
THAT ****** CHAIR,' IN CROATIAN AND 'COME
HERE, THERE'S A GOOD BOY' AND 'WELL DONE,'
PERHAPS WE JUST NEED AN 'ESPERANTO' SO
THAT THEY WILL ALL DO AS THEY'RE TOLD,
OTHERWISE WE WON'T LET THEM COME IN FROM THE COLD,
'STAY,' IN SWEDISH COULD MAKE THEM PEEVISH,
'FRIEND,' IN SWAHILI COULD MAKE THEM AN ENEMY,
WE DON'T WANT THEM TO BARK, MOPE AND PINE,
DON'T FORGET THE MAGIC COMMAND - 'NEIN, NEIN, NEIN!'
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 12:58 AM UTC
Benedict turned the page
of the Dostoyevsky novel.
His brother puked in the bidet,
too much cheap wine,
Benedict thought,
but he’ll be fine.
He immersed himself deeper
into the Russian world
of ****** and fear
and dark corners.
Crime and Punishment
was one good tale all right.
Even the book cover held
the attention, he thought,
turning it briefly over.
His brother’s moans
interrupted the puking.
Benedict asked an
are you all right?
There was a groan
of response.
Benedict recalled the time
he had been in that condition
in Yugoslavia the year before,
same cause: too much
cheap wine.
And that beautiful guide
came to his room
to see how he was
and sat on his bed
and all he could think of
was when would
the puking end.
No thought at all
of her presence there,
her body so close,
her perfume making him
more nauseous.
She was Croatian,
he thought, pausing at the page
of the Dostoyevskian novel.
And that waitress
he and his brother had liked
in the restaurant
at the Yugoslavian hotel.
***** Yes, that was the name.
Got no where though.
Just the luck of the draw.
His brother returned
from the bathroom
and flopped on the bed.
The puking over maybe,
Benedict thought
and his brother hoped,
pale of complexion,
perspiration on brow.
Outside the window
the Parisian streets
echoed with life:
Cars, coaches, buses,
people, natives, tourists,
males and females.
Tomorrow they’d be out
on the streets again.
Sit in restaurants where
the famous once sat
over coffee or beer:
Hemmingway, Sartre,
Picasso, Henry Miller
and the others.
Art thrived here.
Ideas born
from philosophic minds.
Benedict book marked
the page and closed
the book and put it aside.
Some one laughed outside
in the street, another sang,
voices of ghostly singers
of the past, breathed
from the walls.
His brother returned
to the bathroom,
more puking.
Benedict thought:
poor brother.
Of course, he mused,
gazing at the Parisian
night sky, they’d never
tell their mother.
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 2:17 AM UTC
why,
why must my mind float,
float so far in to the ocean,
on a boat,
a boat made of strong roach,
growing thoughts
in me brain compartment
that have no rational
like the socks department
of Walmart next to the Starbucks
on exit 15 on the i95
looking back on the poem
that i wrote as high as Ben Bowen
i feel a sensation
that me reputation
is less than Croatian asians
i must say
i would appolagise
all day
if i had the chance
i love you
my followers
live my dream
love
***
of
i
.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
The restaurant in the hotel was busy,
waiters passed with trays
hands beneath
holding confidently,
faces stern
eyes ahead like
ancient sea captains
eyes on the horizon
for new lands.
Abela sat beside me;
her eyes following
the waiters like some heron
watching fish swim by.
We had rowed the night before,
after the piano recital
of Chopin and Debussy,
when she caught me
chatting up
the Croatian waitress.
Benny, she had said,
if you keep looking
and chatting up
that waitress,
I will ask
for a different room.
We had slept
in the same bed,
but inches apart;
no ***
just lying there close,
but not so.
What's on the agenda today?
I asked.
Don't know,
she said.
Thought maybe
take a boat
to that small island
the guide
was talking about,
I said.
A waiter walked past;
her eyes followed him.
If you like,
she said,
turning to look at me,
I wanted to last night,
she added,
but you'd gone to sleep.
I thought you wanted
a different room?
I said.
That's just me
being moody
after you chatted up
that waitress,
Abela said.
Just being friendly,
I said.
Well don't,
Abela replied.
I pushed thoughts
of the waitress in bed
in wet dreams
out of my head.
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 3:40 AM UTC
You pick up the book
on Schopenhauer
that Benedict had been reading.
You scan a few pages
then put it down.
Benedict is in the shower
showering after the ***
half hour back.
You had been first
standing there
feeling the hot water
freshen you up.
Soon you are going out
to the City to go see
that pianist play
a selection of Chopin
and Debussy.
You go to the window
and look out
on the grounds
of the hotel.
After the concert
dinner at that restaurant you like
and hopefully be served
by that Croatian waiter
who sends a tingle
through your nerves
when he speaks
and his eyes are on you
and he does stare so.
Benedict doesn't notice
he is so busy ogling
the passing female
waitresses to notice you
fluttering your eyelashes
at the waiter.
Hurry up Benny
you call out
over the Puccini aria
on the radio
nearly time to go.
Won't be long
he answers back.
You remember him
the night before
******* you
from the rear
saying
won't be long dear.
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 2:09 PM UTC
asia is the victor of manual labour in croatian tale
a breadbasket of rice left the loser without weight
another favour is a un agreement towards aliied habitat
so a currency isnt the clear way to a refuggee camp
the sheep will someday overpower the treason
but for now lay in the shadow of a communist state
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC
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Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 4:23 AM UTC
Why the Schopenhauer
book now Benny?
Abela says,
lying on the bed
in our hotel room,
hands behind her head,
looking at me
in the chair
with the book
in my hands.
We can fit in
some *** before dinner
and a walk
around the city,
she says.
Just this page,
I say.
She sighs;
there's time for reading
and a time to cease
from reading,
she says,
turning on her side
to peer at me.
I close the book
and place it down
on the small table.
Last night you were
too sozzled to have ***
despite shouting it out
to the whole landing,
I say,
gazing at her.
Did I?
She says.
Yes shouted out:
come get me lover boy
at the top of your voice.
She smiles;
don't recall that;
so why not now then?
She says,
just to make sure?
What time
is dinner?
Half hour,
she says,
unbuttoning her blouse.
The radio is playing
some Bach piece.
She is taking off her skirt,
and I watch her,
wondering if half hour
is long enough.
Come on lover boy;
don't waste precious time,
she says,
down now to her
skimpy underwear.
I wonder
what Bach piece it is;
maybe an ***** work.
I undress as I watch her
lie back prepared
and smiling.
The Bach ends
and some one talks
in Croatian.
I watch her staring
at me, waiting,
then Chopin begins
and so do we:
no foreplay,
least not now,
not today.
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 2:54 PM UTC
tattoo the word Holocaust
onto the palm
of every African-American....
and wait...
Apache!
hood crux pixie...
heroin addicts in Westplate....
and wait for a century...
give it 100 years in Auschwitz...
or give it ***** hope for
a pear....
and then i'd too
coagulate into custard phlegm...
auf wiedersehen lenin...
contort hippie named contra...
armed boa:
and that handshake...
hoarce Horace!
shatayin bigger, bottom-blob
bound into eminem....
and it was always
to be dirtied by luck...
fetish...
dodged and the dog and cameod
the crucifix...
igloos in egypt:
senf (mustard) gaz (gas): khaki
diarhhea.
gravitas in the grün...
mein iris... regen bonne hund!
volphren kind...
prunes of y in iota said: dried out
kynd...
and pirates toward a je - taime calculator:
taming the berserk stierhund...
bison-knirschen:
hans klaus -
myth-gate ᛋᛋ...
bolt and Zeus...
i am: heritage +.
Croatian nazis....
nicht, nic, die volk.
annehmen steuern... katakombe denken...
ᚠᚨᚱᛟᛖ ᛁᛋᛚᛖᛋ...
told: by a hobbit... or originating from Dublin:
fuck's sake!
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 9:03 PM UTC
Abela had gone to sleep.
You lay there awake
listening to her breathe
and late night revellers
along the hotel passages.
You had both been
to a concert in the city
a string quartet had played
late Beethoven stuff.
Afterwards you boozed
a bit at bars then came back
to your room and undressed
(quickly) and had ***
no foreplay too urgent
she had said.
Now she slept
sound as a child.
You lay awake
thinking of
the Croatian waitress
with the bright eyes
and smile
and tight black dress
and how she swayed
as she walked.
Abela hated that
how you watched
the swaying.
Now she slept
and maybe dreamed
of you and her
or not as the case maybe.
You lay there
like some sea captain
gazing out
at a dark sea.
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 1:19 PM UTC
I heard that Russian tongue but once
Slavonic syllables spilling with facility
From the lips of a venerable old man
An aged Croat friar reciting poetry
His eyes shone with that joy authentic
Which is the sweet fruit of deep, long, suffering
A happy man who remembers pain
A brave man who has not forgotten fear
With sly wink and a mischievous grin
He reminded his shocked parishioners
That his schooling was not Croatian
That his youth was Yugoslav
Naturally, we asked about that red time
When red meant a new order
When red meant fire burning churches
When red meant martyr’s witness
But he only ever said one thing:
“They killed thousands of priests,”
Was how he summed up the wrong,
And with a grim grin he added simply
“But… we were strong.”
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 9:36 AM UTC
I am made of wilted spinach,
soaking in my grandmothers cast iron.
I am craving the hot and heavy words
they feed me.
I am not your songbird,
floating high among the daisy beds.
I am jersey sheets, thick Croatian prayers,
the sharp steady edelweiss
lasting.
I am my Dante Mary’s willowed secrets.
Soft and pillowed – my voice cranked,
trying to reach further than they told me.
I am my grandmother’s angel,
but I am down on earth
crusted.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 1:12 AM UTC
A devil of a song
That swirling Russian rubakha
Under Norwegian Angels in chains
Tick tocking Croatian beat
Mocking that emotional Maltese break up
Romania finally not forgotten
May 18, 2021
May 18, 2021 at 5:02 PM UTC