"macedonian" poems
Women are born with heavy feathered wings
Hands that hide starlit craters
Celestially they spin in infinity and find each other
Stroking the softness, in awe at the wonder of the unashamed mystique
That perpetuates newly hatched faces
A world without the incessant need for reassurance
Which towers intimidatingly over the forest border
Small ordinances that keep themselves airless
No longer striving for the greater force of flight
Clipping away their feathers with garden shears, hosing down the blood
Tuscan architecture abandoned countless ages ago
Ancient in idea and aesthetic
I’ve wandered many miles to reach such exotic visions that have been dead for so long
The heads of kings lined up on the edge of a waterfall
Their bodies still holding onto the swords they clipped their wings with long ago
A little further, a river emerges and spills cold water from the azimuth of God
There was a communicator present at the time of cleansing, unbeknownst to me
To accept ones sins is to be cleansed of them, don’t you agree?
He asked this with shaking shoulders, his robes unraveling to reveal the scars on his chest
One for each pectoralis
I looked away in tragedy
I enter the wooden gate, into the Macedonian fortresses of old
My torso has been replaced with a harp, which I feel these princes pluck so sensitively
I hear the timber echo throughout my chest and vibrate in my throat
My back has merged without consent to a beast that bends backwards
The harp strings have been torn
I am now mute
Raising the weary head of the sleeping dog and the sleeping disdain
I slept in an isolated piece of land untouched by human hands
And sank into the forest floor
In which the grass and all living creatures decided I had left the physical form
My eternal resting place
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 5:54 PM UTC
I am ashamed that I am Spanish because of Franco
I am ashamed that I am French because of Algeria
I am ashamed that I am Algerian because of France
I am ashamed that I am American because of Bush, Iraq
and the bloodshed once among brothers
I am ashamed that I am Russian because of Stalin, Gulag
and recently of this and that
I am ashamed that I am German because of ****** clearly
(Pol *** appears more and more seldom in the lists, but one is horrified, humanly ashamed, remembering)
I am ashamed that I am English because of football etc
I am ashamed that I am Polish — only when I am not proud
I am ashamed that I am Turkish, but then there are Kurds...
I am ashamed that I am Czech and allowed myself to be stifled
(I am just as ashamed myself — some say, who feel
shame in its extremity and hide weapons in pantries, waiting for that moment
in which they wash away their shame with the blood of traditional enemies)
I am ashamed that I am Orthodox or Catholic and I wedge and split
the mountain on which Jesus bled — before others made even smaller
pieces out of his Golgotha below
I am ashamed that I am Indian because... well, it’s no matter
I am ashamed that being Macedonian I let the Greeks be even more
I am ashamed that I am Korean and one of Kim Ir Sen’s
I am ashamed that I am Korean no matter where, as long as
Kim Ir Sen’s Koreans remain
I am ashamed that I am Serbian, but... let me think
I am ashamed that I am Chinese because: ‘You’re Chinese?’
I am ashamed that I am Romanian because of Ceausescu, Dracula of course
and now, God, all these Romanians all over the world...
I am ashamed of my nation even when I am not ashamed
— but each of us seeks to forget something
I am ashamed because .......... [Everyone: fill in the blanks, write yours here!]
but you, but you — you, only you
you, whose nation filled the desolate earth with life and kindness
you are the man who begins the new day
today
with your first step
Ioana Ieronim
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC
"Democracy is the lesser of all evils."
Says the Liberal.
The Libertarian.
The Corinthian.
The Macedonian.
The Farrier.
The Squire.
The Stoic.
The Astronomer.
The Ornithologist.
The Eschatologist.
The Augur.
The Retiarius.
The Hoplite.
The Centurion.
The Governor.
The General.
The Senator.
The Orator.
The Assassin.
The Emperor.
The Ferryman.
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 8:54 PM UTC
Love Is Not Love
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth
Love is not love that never looked
within itself and questioned all,
curled up like a zygote in a ball,
throbbed, sobbed and shook.
(Or went on a binge at a nearby mall,
then would not cook.)
Love is not love that never winced,
then smiled, convinced
that soar’s the prerequisite of fall.
When all
its wounds and scars have been saline-rinsed,
where does Love find the wherewithal
to try again,
endeavor, when
all that it knows
is: O, because!
Published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea, The Deronda Review, Better Than Starbucks and Stremez (translated into Macedonian by Marija Girevska)
Keywords/Tags: Love, zygote, binge, mall, soar, fall, wounds, scars, tears, persistence, hope, fetal ball, sob, sobs, sobbing, shake, shaking, throb, throbbing, wince, wincing, smile, smiling, convinced, prerequisite, wherewithal, endeavor, just because
Mar 4, 2020
Mar 4, 2020 at 3:28 AM UTC
Moses descends from the rugged heights of Sinai bearing the tablet
"You shall not ******
Nietzche organizes the cobwebs of his mind to declare morality is his own
"God is dead"
Even Monty Python creates mockery and mishap from "The Meaning of Life."
A Macedonian, a **** a Patriot
with Intelligence, Voice, and Sword
step over the caution tape and march nations
into the deepest valleys atop the heights of Everest.
The likes of Augustine put their chips on the table for patience
but Patton has a pair of aces and the academics fold before the river.
The denotations of Good and Evil are forever
infinite and versatile to the dismay of the Philosopher,
while God himself
is denied power
to undo the past.
Humanity lives
on the nourishment
of knowledge.
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 8:51 AM UTC
Famous Macedonia
the land of Alexander,
you drove away the barbarians,
and now you are free!
You are and you'll be Greek,
the very pride of every Greek,
and we will be looking
at you with pride again!
Macedonians cannot
live enslaved,
even if they lose everything,
they still have their Freedom!
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 10:46 PM UTC
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After seeking blood. The five sons of
God, and Instead of the same number of
children, the voice was loud in Judea,
Five people, groups, groups, children,
Women, women, women, women, women,
Women, money, stories and pedestrians;
Plato does not have holes in stories,
containing stoves; Dance. Weight, paraffin,
eagle, Money, but in us Holy Spirit's work
overall; Warning. Those in it who are lowly
are not true Christianity: a paradox, and
that the nature of Real protection. economy
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women, women, women, women, Women,
money, stories and pedestrians; Plato does not
have holes in his stories, containing stoves;
Dance. Weight, paraffin, eagles, Money,
but in us is Holy Spirit's work. Memorial reminder.
And this kind of we are humble and, indeed, all
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groups, groups, Children, women, women, women,
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not passed by the nurses' Canvas belts, stoves dance.
Weight, Dad, Bucket, money, but in us The Holy Ghost
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true Christian-"Paradoxes" and Nature's True protection.
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and women, business or history; On this
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from the list on the basketball and the
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Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 4:23 AM UTC
It’s not that every leaf must finally fall,
it’s just that we can never catch them all.
Originally published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea, this epigram has since been translated into Russian, Macedonian, Turkish, Arabic and Romanian.
Feb 23, 2020
Feb 23, 2020 at 3:06 AM UTC
Join 1 house photos - and all around 1, but you
will tell what the Lord himself did, at the end?
How to cut United States DEA of America? Charles I
and Charles II; such as number numbers;
Macedonian: It is, It's a problem, It's a problem,
why, I'm The car came to me; John John to enjoy
our morning team with wood. transferred, located
in the United States; From dark shadows; First, Max?
in our bones; on the lips, mouth and face; My page 1;
As follows: write your name. Milky Granny;
So be a good camera - ten year old love and 666 -
you know how we can get cell phones and when talking;
you're Drinking, goal 50 Showing all darkness.
On the way to go to his husband, not my wife; to
marry his mother, In her eyes the eyes, mother
is deformed. and delightful with their removal list;
As a result, Two Of The Popes' Success ensures
the equations. Keep in mind the memory of the
Son of God; Bob, Bob, Themes - What we created
is a lake. The women have slept to sleep, Between
bridges and women including your trials, safe safe
safety, cream is cloudy. Wait for the Karmic account;
That will lead to the work of trees and hair. the lusts
of the shadow of the six things, god of all, and here,
and places for six years; Six percent of those in Asia are
Traditionally traditional, but correct in light of the
Son's punishment. and for his health care; I am Matthias'
bad songs to the third song people and bread; I was
a hypocrite when I was a boy; You do what you can,
they can hear you from your own country? In recent
years, it was a fantastic meeting, I liked everyone.
No, it's worth keeping some words unsaid, music,
war, I think the truth is proof of temptation, because
it is established to have a good name; Know what,
Asia, any more of you will cause a pandemic ... for
you? You know, for example, both partners; Status
will eat; Mucho fun in fact for the pets.
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 11:44 PM UTC
there’s a drizzle
of tiny pebbles
too small
to bother anyone
they fall on his
hands, but stay
unlike the snow
that broke his heart
he tried to explain
the loss, but they wouldn’t
listen, so he
looked at the pebbles
and made a
decision
a few pebbles make
a molehill, and we all know
you can make
mountains out of
those
so he built himself
a mountain tall
taller than anyone
had seen
now they will listen
he thought
now they will
see
and he stood
at the top
proud as a Macedonian
king, awaiting
endless praise
but at the top
of that mountain
only the wind blows
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 6:57 PM UTC
Keep your trees, keep them for your heaven of ashen dusk
And night like the pale-faced deathmask of emperors,
No reason that the commoner to oblivion is hushed,
These old-wise woods and leaves, peopled without us.
Keep Macedonian dust lightly conquered over the breeze,
So that it shoots its tail like the centuries-sole comet,
The scorched earth left by Alexander’s mapmaker eyes,
Swung wide like his Sarissophoroi over Persian might.
Remember the lesser grove of his teacher Aristotle’s tribe,
They have only slipped their sandals off, to bare themselves
Of sound and the concourse of the foot’s impulse,
Caught the lithesome wind, to flow outside our hearing,
And muse as empire of air and loss and forgotten walks.
Keep your trees and the darkening sky through them
That remind me of the passing into the past.
Never is the poem from tongue of ***** or plow.
Jan 21, 2020
Jan 21, 2020 at 10:14 AM UTC
If we strip away all the accouterments of war,
perhaps we’ll discover what the heart is for.
Originally published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea, this epigram has been translated into Russian, Turkish, Macedonian and Arabic
Feb 23, 2020
Feb 23, 2020 at 3:10 AM UTC
Whatever winds encountered soon resolved
to swirling fragments, till chaotic heaps
of leaves lay pulsing by the backyard wall.
In lieu of rakes, our fingers sorted each
dry leaf into its place and built a high,
soft bastion against earth’s gravitron—
a patchwork quilt, a trampoline, a bright
impediment to fling ourselves upon.
And nothing in our laughter as we fell
into those leaves was like the autumn’s cry
of also falling. Nothing meant to die
could be so bright as we, so colorful—
clad in our plaids, oblivious to pain
we’d feel today, should we leaf-fall again.
Published by The Raintown Review, Deronda Review, Jewish Letter (translated into Russian by Vera Zubarev), The Chimaera, Freshet, Contemporary Sonnet, Stremez (translated into Macedonian by Marija Girevska), The Eclectic Muse, Better Than Starbucks, Glass Facets of Poetry, Victorian Violet Press
Keywords/Tags: Childhood, autumn, wind, winds, fall, falling, leaves, backyard, heaps, piles, rakes, bastion, gravitron, patchwork, quilt, trampoline, laughter, cry, bright, colorful, plaid, plaids, pain, memory, recollection, remembrance, die, dying, death
Mar 1, 2020
Mar 1, 2020 at 4:22 AM UTC
Rolling over encumbered waters and their peelings. I am deloused in the sanctum of brazen ladders that were manufactured in a tunnel in Somalia now that tunnel lies, sinking gradually by attoseconds. Africa is connected to Arabia via this passage “and how could I know?” I hear you ask. Well you don’t know, and you never will. But lo’, am I not making your mind nod? Stubborn as you may believe yourself to be, I remain an anvil and you are a blanket. So, there is no better reason to acquiesce. Beneficial, it will remain. So what say you, friend? Shall I continue? Well, here’s the second frame that has materialized within the half second: I’m writing vigorously, beholden to a contrived cosmic thing and erratically, I dream of a mauve ******** I reckon it’s an amphitheatre. The fiery rings of chairs are segregated according to the stature of the ***** that rest their heads on them. Briggyn Losyandr, a fisherman Thraex, assaults me with a Macedonian lance. Its blade is merely a tongue, and an oxidized one at that.
“Begone, man! I’ve got no role to play in your firetruck ambush.”
“Sir, this conflict isn’t for me, but I belong with you.”
The writer is supposed to be disconnected. That’s a constant, you hear? Dig? Up? Soil? Out. Out, now.
Feb 19, 2020
Feb 19, 2020 at 5:59 PM UTC