"sarajevo" poems
.*if, and however many mistakes i made in typo... attempting to compete with Spawn, using the black panther... ****** please... it's like that "healthy" competition of butter, using margarine... Black Panther isn't Spawn... Spawn is... Spawn... yeah... thanks for ruining my 12" wish fetish... i was so dying... to... i was never going to **** an English girl to begin with... thank god.*
you're seriously going
to "correct" me
using black panther....
seriously?
spawn was the ********
to what....
to whatever you're
doing these days....
i don't want to be
the blank panther...
**** being black panther...
************
i want to be *spawn"..
******* quasi-nigger...
john coltrane...
you a mariah carey
back-up singer or some
otherwise alien whacky
alien-backlog?
compared to spawn...
the black panther
looks like a ******* ******
wing guy...
for what's deemed
12"...
black...
mire like bleak Parthenon...
some columns,
no spirals...
waste of time...
black Panther, what?
so Spawn...
was just a waste of time?
Spawn was the gran-daddy
where the Batman was the daddy
given the Joker
was the gran-gran-daddy...
you get me?
Miles Davis too much for you?
the blank panther is such
a ***** move...
it's like... come Kosovo...
when expecting Sarajevo...
****** this **** will not
stick...
high flying ****
if you think this will become
a ******* pancake...
no, ******
take your blank panther back
to Yakanda, or whatever...
your Spawn was cooler than
Lego Batman...
**** your white *****
and leave me to my existentialism
of... making a "heroic" exit..
akin to Elvis...
but more or less minding
Roy Orbison in a sing along.
p.s.
lego batman movie quote:
black panther *****
spawn go go go! spammy!
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 12:02 AM UTC
In a strange mood - see/write art
in a strange way, disorganized but straight on,
light tinted magenta, issuing, in frothy large pours, from my mouth,
knowing what to say, and the meaning too,
I can more than walk, can write, on water,
where all can read weeping, Mary-miracles of seeing, living words,
themselves, on light waves lapping in a
shifting rotunda vision, color reorienting spatial senses.^
in a strange, strange stitch, seasonal spirits and witches,
Chagall, Baez, Dylan Thomas, Donovan, Richie Havens
doing their knitting in my brain, from Montmartre to the Midwest to Monterey,
painters and poets in lockstep head-messing with me,
imperfect clarity but still one voice,
see/write art,
so went and caught the wind, going gently into night
to banish the hodgepodge of uncertainty from inside out.
knowing well you don't understand fully, but jumbling tumbling
verses are sliding off my rusted tongue as fiddlers fly above,
roughened words, hewn from a paper cup, spilling diamonds uncut, imported from Sarajevo, Montparnasse, the Lower East Side.
wretched me, in the hour I first believed, this amalgamated conception conceded,
seceded from my mind into your palate for a tasting,
tho neither drugged, nor deaf and dumb, just slammed poetical-like, this write is
all I have to portend is your affections, your attentions, to yours, am beholden.
a ***** well respected man in daylight,
the hidden references accuse,
woke up to see Wednes-day Caesarian born,
askance glanced at the prior passages of the night before,
when my palate clefted,
when eyes chose not to distinguish
between right and lefted,
in the nightlight,
a ***** man disrespects language convection/convention,
and lays before you activating stanzas and his mind, prone,
but always the truth, speaking,
the visions, leaking, mind to eye,
recombinant, into our minds eye.
^ http://www.guggenheim.org/new-york/exhibitions/on-view/james-turrell
Rather than write extensive notes on the many references, inspirations in this poem, if there is a line that intrigues, ask me
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
Surviving a War that doesn’t seem to end, bombing and sniping all around. This is the real story in a book called “ The Cellist Of Sarajevo”, where three characters emerge to face this adversity head on. You have Arrow once a innocent young girl, now trained assassin to **** her targets without making a sound. Then you got Kenan a person who risks his life to fetch water for his family and others in need, no matter if it weighs a ton. Finally you have Dragan the person hard to explain, he just does what he needs to do, he will come to not care about the dangers of the outside, because he will control his own destiny. Each of them has their place in the race to survive this cruel onslaught from the men on the hills weaponry.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 2:45 AM UTC
at standard cruising altitude
sipping my digestive
after a quite decent hot lunch
on the flight from Vienna to Athens
I gaze through the scratched
double plexiglass bulleye
shielding me from the outside world
and try to pierce the blinding haze
of a lazy spring afternoon
hiding from me
the people shot by snipers
the shelling of suburbs
the burning houses
the crowded hospitals
of Sarajevo, Gorazde, Mostar, Zadar ...
suspended in diffuse light
all I can see is
the silhouette of an occasional
snow-capped mountain range
there is no sign
of human suffering
May 1992
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
It's hard to know from where you rang out, and how the tone changed from memory to sorrow. Perhaps all those little cuts from the knife of Aristotle came with a price. Or maybe the polygraphic wildlife detected in your letters, enough to stir the inner fabric of my womb, drew out the scent. This is more than obligation, child. This is about the seasons of force or choice. And how the aural disintegrations from your mouth sound so effortlessly submitted and submerged. I fear they've turned to acceptance, their floral remnants as besieged as a Sarajevo Rose. My love for you will never live on the margins. This love is a tree-lined battlement. An endless voyage on the barometric sea.
It's so hard to know from where you rang out. But worse, I suppose, to hear nothing at all. Nothing until ambulance day. And the words a mother should never have to endure.
Jul 3, 2023
Jul 3, 2023 at 11:43 AM UTC
Tightening the rope as the fools dance and dither
Squandering the moments as hourglass falls,
Walking the tightrope in a world lost to thither
Assassins maraud as the fat General calls.
Flat fingers hover above plastic buttons
Hover in hesitant moments of pause,
Waiting in limbo instructions from Hades
Exultantly plunging to holocaust cause.
Plunging erotically down to the plastic
Smearing the sweat and blood in a pool,
Lusting your moment of utter destruction
Casting all humankind’s best …to be fool.
Doubt not veracity’s balance in tremor
Out there the Devil is dancing his jig,
Everywhere globally men flee in terror
Uncertainty slides with the squeal of the pig.
Russia inflates as tyrannical tyrant
Isis is spreading its carpet of blood,
Worldwide the military gird for battle
Appeasement disbursed in a torrent of flood
Shades of veracity flood Sarajevo
Memories taunt of that drumbeat to war,
Demagogues strut now the march of the scarlet
God flees reality….and is no more.
M.
17 March 2015
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 1:01 AM UTC
i found that showing off your
taste in music
is actually more intimidating
than walking around in Eden
stark naked - given
the auspiciousness in the "glamour"
industry and elsewhere, odd, isn't it?
we are more ashamed by
our musical taste, shunned by it -
the Balkan Slavs are the Spaniards
of what most people call "cheap taste",
you now, oiled and greasy
six packs and - well the Balkan Slavs
bred with the Ottoman Turks,
what do you expect?
we are more intimidated by our taste
in music being exposed than our naked
bodies -
believe me, i'll cry at the beauty,
i'll cry at the beauty but i will not despair -
i rather allow tears in, because i know
laughter too will come, i rather cry at beauty
than inhibit it with a masculine heart
expected of me to be stern and in the belgian
trenches - stupid youth idolising the warring
of old farts who have a disclosure for
swollen prostates and can't take the banta (
huh?! goli? i hate slang incorporation,
it's absolute nonsense) -
so instead they shove young men into warring
enclosures and then lay wreaths of poppies
with a 1 minute silence... i told you,
absolute ******** - i rather cry at beauty when
it appears like a picturesque sunrise -
that Armenian will have a beef stake weighing
at half a kilogram to box with translating my works -
i don't mind standing naked like this,
another example https://goo.gl/pJpddh.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 11:49 AM UTC
He was the shootings in Sarajevo
to my sorrow
Memories were the reasons
Self-detest, the most prominent
Self-destruction, the ultimate goal
8.06.14
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 7:24 AM UTC
Into you
learning to be
a divided
submersible
once so perimetric
on the fringe
of all that grows within
we thus fall
and settle
much like Sarajevo Roses
colorfully resting
in the lasting drawn out
places we made perish
now
here
am I
into you
the ******
connective
entirely dependent
upon
the quotient
of two integers
the way we love
is a method
of mixed results
Jun 9, 2020
Jun 9, 2020 at 12:48 AM UTC
You are somewhere between
my coffee eye and
the toffee thighs of
the earth, bunching
into mountains,
scaffold to rivers.
You are something between
the wide words of Andric and
the wide words of your own,
a caravel in
the high tide
of my chest.
Apr 30, 2019
Apr 30, 2019 at 1:35 PM UTC