"magda" poems
I dont want life any longer
I'm tired of all the lies
Its in Dreams where I find you
I hope I nwont be awakened this time
No not as much as anyone tries
In dreams I still hold you
Your skin soft as a babys
Your skin is smooth as silk
I just cant go on this way
By being awakened day after day
Leave me alone Im not going to **** myself
Not as long as I have my dreams
Dreams where I can love you
Where I know just what to do
They are where you are mine
Every bit of the time
See my Magda I just dream of you
These dreams are all I save
Just leave me alone before this matter becomes grave
Leave me alone in this one place where Im not times slave
Where I can feel you again and hear your voice my sweet babe
Its happening again someone is trying to wake me up
I said this would happen then
If you could just for me
Be happy I'll be out of misery
I'll be there where all one does is dream
Finally to be in Tanelorn
The one place I can find peace
Even if the directions cant be released
I wish I was in another world
Or on a different plain
Or living my next life my love
So i'd see you again
For now Im lost forever
You see I only dream at night
I cant take this life anymore
I guess
Its time to say goodnight
Goodnight
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 9:17 PM UTC
*and you shall be content with stirring up the sentimentalities of the old,
rather than be content in capturing the imagination of the young.*
i only write in my mother tongue when i feel too much
oppression, when it’s not worth being reminiscent
of the years 1772 through to 1939, only then do i use it,
and using it weep. i know of the post-colonial stress disorder in
western societies, it’s effective use in psychiatry
of these societies to curb any ambition of historical reminiscene,
i know of the oppression where man integrating
into these societies is told to relinquish his mother tongue,
i know of these oppressions: and of eastern european "exotica" -
you wouldn’t be fooled to expect tigers and polar bears,
palms date trees and icebergs to be so close to england!
murzynek bambo wita! kopciuszek magda wita!
hanzel und gretyl / bambo i magda!
but did you know poland is the host nation of the european
bison, and the no. 1 tourist destination of storks?
oh... polar bears it is.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 6:19 AM UTC
Apple cinnamon, ice cream pie
tasty pastries land on my thighs;
Tell me, which side will you like? crumbling crust out layer
Or cinnamon squeezed with nutmeg apple inner?
Secret sour flavour waves off ice-cream. Sweet tasty apples,
Hot pie with
Cold ice cream
Fresh and yum yum..
~~@ Magda and family
Many thanks to share with us
A homemade Apple Pie 🥧😋
May 9, 2021
May 9, 2021 at 8:19 AM UTC
Exploding into the air
With sporadic beauty
Sparkling lights everywhere,
so many to gaze at
I am struck once again
like every unfolding eve
By the magnificient beauty
of this gigantic display of awe
But this time around
it's not in the air
Utterly silent, yet gripping
Darkness is still shattered
and the beauty more glorious.
It is right before my eyes
as I behold yours.
I see another kind of fireworks
.........My fireworks.
Je t'aime beaucoup Magda
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 4:09 AM UTC
You're an emerald zipped up
you are like a thousand eyes;
that traverse the Universe ...
you are like stone
made new sand and water.
Grain to Ladder Magda sand
I take you with my arms,
because my tears
reel in your mermaid kisses.
Magda mother you are full;
like a statue of sand,
leave my rib and my hip
to be attached to your zipper.
Where should you be and how are you?
if you are not dressed as a skirt,
all skirt all whole
all mine, without a change,
makes us think Magdalena.
Emerald impregnated in the stone ...
no one will change your world,
since the world grows like the wind;
like the one who catches your nose
like the one that ages your brain
spawned in fields of mist ...
You are wind ... from the high tree,
of the highest in the world,
of emerald paths ...
you are the indifferent wind that carries your weight;
condense your grief ...,
and rush your sweat into the most beautiful sand ...
Hey Magda sweat;
sweat beads raining sand on you,
you don't aged and you don't die ...
Well you and heaven
they are a poetry family
that pierce your eyes and mine,
in the conquest of having you Magdalena ...
Jun 10, 2020
Jun 10, 2020 at 3:25 PM UTC
If only, if only a small red fish would come
show his golden eyes above the apathetic ocean and ask me
to make three wishes, to have three dreams I can’t come up with one
If only, if only the tides would come, burning
to wash us off the shore, to take us, wrap us
and bury us like amnesiac seeds in its warm ***** its vast womb
If it came as an enormous face, a shining face
to look us in the eye, to draw us into its blinding mirror,
to make us press our mouths to its vast lips, and into its huge blue eye
retreat and rest...
If only, if only something, someone, anything, anyone would come,
a ray of dark apocalyptic light, an effervescent narcotic toxin,
a new shiver, a new anxiety, a leap into a different world,
if only there could be another man, another wisdom, a new thought
to think us all to deliver us from ourselves, to abolish us
and we cease, universe, souls, if only we could endure the birthing pain
to sleep... die... sleep... to rise again into Imagination...
Magda Carneci from My Cup of Light
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 3:51 PM UTC
The Calm Sea
When Magda died, all barriers broke.
No depression, no sorrow, just stillness.
Like the calmest sea, flat and dark,
stretching beyond sight.
I existed in my purest form, MYSELF.
No borrowed traits, no learned habits.
Just being.
Sometimes I envy that state,
but I know not to linger too long in it.
I only acted, every word, every motion,
a performance for the world.
Like a machine, programmed to react,
empty of meaning, void of self.
When something new arrived,
it never truly touched me.
Just a passing flicker in short-term memory.
I drifted further,
speaking less, withdrawing more,
except to the few who still reached me.
Then, the ripples came.
Subtle at first, but they grew,
stirring the abyss, reshaping me.
I gathered fragments of the past,
blending them with the present,
constructing a new SELF,
wiser, changed.
I struggle to recall what came next.
What did I feel beyond the void?
Only that I found love again—
deeper, truer.
It grounds me. It holds me safe.
Now, standing at the edge once more,
I wonder what memories will resurface.
This is not a will,
nor a testament.
Just words adrift,
like autumn leaves, restless in this October wind.
Left for the reader to unravel,
to find meaning or glimpse
into the corridors of my mind,
a reflection of this fleeting moment.
A glimpse into a mind meeting mortality,
facing fragility once again.
I do not yet know how I will bear it.
The womb that gives life,
that nurtures, shelters, loves unconditionally
how can I fathom its absence?
I understand now..
some beings never leave us,
we carry them always.
Yet in the fleeting moment of loss,
the weight feels unbearable.
An internal big bang
a collapse into that quiet sea once more.
One day, I will face my own mortality.
Soon, or in the distant unknown.
I fear it,
but I long for it too.
The beauty of nothingness calls to me,
whispering in the hush of the tide.
And sometimes,
I listen.
Mar 6, 2025
Mar 6, 2025 at 3:46 AM UTC