miercuri, 7 octombrie 2015

You know nothing, Jon Snow



‘You know nothing
dear Jon Snow’
she said to me –
her voice was low,
and when I rest
upon her chest
she bit me hard,
it’s wild wild west!

The night is dark
and full of terrors,
are you afraid
to make some errors?

Your mouth is sweet
and kind of juicy,
are you a diamond,
are you Lucy?

Now I confess
while you caress
my hair, and I
your brand new dress.

Our hearts beat fast
while they unite,
is this the last
time I might hide
within you hair,
so bright, so rare?

‘You never know –
she said – it’s simple’
I might be Jon,
might be a cripple;
then you dismiss
me with a kiss,
for ignorance
sometimes is bliss,
but I am conscious
while I dream,
so, please, do welcome
to the machine!


luni, 28 septembrie 2015

If the mockingbird don’t sing



Drink whatever water
the rain is willing to send you
because one day the lake you will
be swimming in
will become a mirror
sheltering your image.

Seek whatever truth
your heart is able to give away
because every lie adds to
the collection of darkness stored
within a blind lighthouse
seconds before
the perfect storm.

Greet with an open heart
whatever lover
who tells you goodbye
because the Broken Trinity
of the Broken Father
the Broken Son
and the Broken Holy Spirit
is the last joyful mystery
and the end of all guessing.

Accept whatever diamond ring
your mama is willing
to buy you
because the mockingbird
won’t sing at five o’clock when
you will be serving your
precious tea
but in the morning
at the least expected hour
when every absence
seems so real
and every presence
uninviting.



vineri, 18 septembrie 2015

Being afraid, Love asks its bare question



Being afraid
Love asks its bare question
robs us of our separateness
forces us too close
to one another
and we succumb to the feelings
become part of them.

Being afraid
Love is a dancing partner
who will shoot
the heels off your shoes
if you are a lousy dancer
and believe me
its bullets are not blind!

Being afraid
Love is a salesman
of fancy pajamas
for even fancier parties
because lovers
are embarrassed
to show up naked
on their first date.

Being afraid
Love is a false clue
in a private investigation
because nothing
can really kill anybody
when they need
somebody to love.



luni, 31 august 2015

You were there



When Eve bit the apple
and the sweet apple juice trickled
down her neck
like a melted necklace,
you were there.

When the Tower of Babel
was risen,
there was no tower at all that rose
towards the sky
but our insincere words
and you know that
because you were there.

When Jon Snow
was stabbed to death
by the watchmen
you knew that he was not
really dead
because you have Targaryen blood
and fire
runs through your veins.

When Christopher Columbus
discovered the New World
and stepped with his right foot
on virgin territory
he wore one of your sandals
because you were there.

When I was born
and after a while eventually died
all this time
you were there
like a sunny piano under my skin
playing your favourite tune.



sâmbătă, 29 august 2015

The wedding



Fuck the bride
said the groom
have no pride
and then bloom
said the spoon
while bouncing
the baloon.

The wedding
will be over soon
said the groom
and if we hurry up
we would be on the other
side of the moon
by noon.



miercuri, 19 august 2015

There was no moon that night



There was no moon that night
but the stars were falling
like flies and we rode our bikes
through dry lands and through
time until we reached
the bank of the river where
fish were jumping
with their open mouths
catching flies and mosquitoes
and falling stars.

There was no moon that night
but after a while she took off
her backpack
opened it and handed me
a bottle of white wine
and two crystal glasses wrapped
in paper and boy
was I surprised: this girl
thought about everything!

There was no moon that night
but nonetheless I enthusiastically
asked her if the next thing
she would do was to propose me
under the falling stars
but she suddenly threw me
a straight face and told me
not to get any ideas
because we are joking partners
that’s all we are!

There was no moon that night
but I tried to kiss her
while she distracted me
by tapping my shoulder and
pointing at the sky:
Look! You are missing all
the falling stars!

There was no moon that night
but the landscape was nonetheless
romantic and despite the perfect
alignment of stars there was
noone to conquer.


joi, 13 august 2015

Silent listen



A song
which I shall never sing
has fallen asleep on
my lips
and I felt like the Earth
when the shadow
covers
the wet grass.

The perfect poem
has an infinitely small
vocabulary
which in the end
is reduced
to these two words:

SILENT
&
LISTEN

both spelled with
the same
letters.


duminică, 2 august 2015

The songless bird



From all the turtles in the world
I chose to love a songless bird
From all the pebbles in the sky
I chose The catcher in the rye
From all the buzzing honey bees
I chose a chocolate cake with cheese
From all the priests and holy faces
I chose a pair of shoes with laces
From all the disciples of Zen
I chose Catwoman & Batman
From all the mountains in Nepal
I chose to smoke some red Pall Mall
From all the famous Jedi Knights
I chose to read Wuthering Heights
From all the roads made of red bricks
I chose a detour in Twin Peaks
From all the heroes in Egypt
I chose to die in my own script
From all the sea horses and fish
I chose an Apollonian dish
From all the common bucket lists
I chose the woman with no fists
From all the flowers in the field
I chose the house that Jack once built
From all the mornings in September
I chose the one not to remember
From all the hells and purgatories
I chose a bag of rusty worries
From all the nasty cuts and stings
I chose to hide under your wings
From all the books of poetry
I chose Serghei & Dimitri
From all the horses, mules and sheep
I chose to haunt your beauty sleep



sâmbătă, 25 iulie 2015

Cinderella



Do you want me to show you
the edges of universe?
I asked her.

No, she said to me,
I only want to live in a small room
where we could grow kids
and make tender love all day long
and where during the night
you would lock me in like a Cinderella
so that you can go out and see
other women.

But I do not wish to see other women
I only love you and if you
don’t want me to show you the edges
of universe
I will gladly live the rest of my life
in a cabin in the woods
with you.

Don’t be stupid, my dear,
you need your daily dose of inspiration
and I can no longer provide you
with that
for my pussy has turned dry
and I got wrinkles all over my face.

Oh, stop it, I know you don’t actually mean it
and this is some kind of testing
and I am not falling for it,
no, baby, you haven’t got wrinkles yet
and if your pussy turns dry
I will moisturize it with the morning dew
because you are one of the few
and I love the way you cook stew
and I also love you.



joi, 16 iulie 2015

Say my name



If you are kind enough
baby
to save all the drama
for your mama
say my name.

If you prefer
things that don’t run
at supersonic speed
say my name.

If you dream of a hero
with no muscles
no massive triceps
no tight abdomen
but with a sexy ass
and a big heart
say my name.

If you enjoy
the simple pleasures
of life
say my name.

If you agree that
the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’
breakup explanation
is just plain old fashioned
bullshit
say my name.

If the marks on your neck
are love expressions
written in flesh
say my name.

If you want death
to have the same attitude
towards you
as a drunkard
towards an empty bottle
say my name.



sâmbătă, 11 iulie 2015

Please ‘Like’ this poem



I like the new Like button
in my chat list,
one thumb up burning
and erect
like the blazing torch
of  the Statue of Liberty,
the symbol of appreciation
towards everything that
we like.

One Like has a single
dimension,
it is able to enter our body
and expand itself
into our groins and bowels
like an endoscopic snake
until it finally owns our soul
and we like that.

I myself have the childish
satisfaction of
continuosly pressing
this Like button
like a retard who discovered
his pubic hair
(or, on the contrary, the lack of it)
for the first time.

It somehow owns us
and there is no possible
way to fight it
because its eyes are infinite
and sad
like those of a newly
born animal
and its torch shines
in the distance.



vineri, 10 iulie 2015

The art of a soft landing



When God created death and life
the poet sought a muse
but instead he found a wife
and drowned in self abuse.



marți, 7 iulie 2015

Full moon



When I showed my latest poems
to the editor, he told
me in a patronizing voice:

‘Why on Earth do you
write in English
when we live in fucking Romania?’

‘Well’, I told him, ‘everybody
in this country understands English.
Hell, Romanians have the tendency
to speak it better than
their mother tongue.
All Europeans speak and understand
English fluently, except our
Hungarian brothers,
but who cares about them?’

‘Well, tough luck, smart ass! I have a
Hungarian great-grandfather and
I don’t speak English and thus cannot
evaluate your book! How can I
publish something
I don’t actually understand?’

‘Quite simple, sir. You have to trust
your instinct. I assure you this is
a fairly decent book,
not for the masses, but for
the refined reader.’

‘Well, that is a solid argument
not to publish it.
I need manuscripts that sell,
not subtleties. I published
your previous manuscript and nobody
bought it. I have a strong feeling
that the poems you are now
burdening me with
will not resist ‘til the next full moon.’

‘I disagree, sir. It all depends
on the marketing. If you want you can
advertise my new book
on the day of the next full moon and
publish my manuscript in blood ink
and tell the public
that I am a dead writer
who returned to this world as a zombie
in order to write
the memoirs of his lost love affair.’

‘Get out of here before I zombify you
myself!’, he shouted and threw the
manuscript towards me.

‘Well, fuck you, sir!’, I answered
and left.



vineri, 3 iulie 2015

A Dick of A HABit



While reading the climax
of Moby Dick
when the captain finally
confronts his nemesis
I turned page 589
and accidentally caught the whale
by the tail
and dropped it on the ground
thus serving a very consistent
meal to the cat.

As you can imagine
Captain Ahab was not very pleased
and after he cast upon me
all the pirate curses and insults
that he could remember
he stung my thumb
with his harpoon
and got drunk for the remaining
64 pages.


marți, 30 iunie 2015

Tea poem from the tea bag she gave me



It was getting more
and more obvious
that she
would never be convinced
to join the
5 o’clock ritual
with me.

It was,
you might say,
not her cup of tea.


joi, 25 iunie 2015

To be in love



To be in love
sucks more than
love itself.

They both suck, actually.

Nothing sucks more
than the awkward sensation
of flapping butterfly wings
inside your stomach.

There you are,
a nice decent fellow
and the next thing you know
you find yourself smiling
like an idiot at the sight
of a devilish lady.

To be in love
hurts more than an open
surgery
without anesthesia
or a hundred broken bones.

To be in love
is a fucking disaster,
World War II reloaded
or just the simple equation:

(Hiroshima + Nagasaki)²

To be in love
is craving for attention
like an ego maniac
lost in the ego trip of
his own desires.

To be in love
is the blind gesture
of counting the petals
without realizing
the irreversible damage
you do to a flower.

To be in love
is forgetting to eat and
thus devoiding yourself of
protein and filling your heart
with maple syrup instead.

Worse than being in love
is falling in love,
that split second that led to
the retarded decision of giving
attention to the chimera
who will devour
your soul for the rest
of your life.


marți, 23 iunie 2015

It´s not about



It´s not about
the one true love of your life
the soulmate you think
you have just met
but about all the others
you previously failed
to love.

It´s not about
the future you are dreaming for
but about the past
you were never aware of
and the present
you often dismiss so easily.

It´s not about
the one true God you think
you finally found
but about all the years of ignorance
before that.

It´s not about
the adorable kitten you are
now affectionately caressing
in your lap
but about all the others
you drowned
at birth.

It´s not about
private jets and bullet trains
but about the pedestrian walk
our ancestors used
for so many generations.

It´s not about
one inspired poem
but about
the previously aborted ones
and all the failures
that made you who you are
right now
and from now on.


duminică, 21 iunie 2015

Scar song



I have more scars
than a war veteran
but despite their disgusting
appearance
women tend to find them
sexy.

Not a single woman
has stopped dating me
after I acquainted them
with my scars.

First, they stare at my scars
as if they were some kind
of surreal masterpiece
signed by Dali
with a toledo sword
and then timidly
ask me
if they can touch them.

Then, they beg me
to recount the story of
each one of them
and are very insistent
about it.

So I chronologically
start my scar odyssey
with the one just above
the belly button (given at birth),
continue the journey with
the one on my left elbow
(won at a penalty shootout in
my early childhood)
and abruptly end my voyage
with the nastiest of all
(tumour extirpation)
along the femoral artery.

By the end of the story
some of my listeners are so impressed
that they begin to cry
as they bend over and tenderly
kiss my scars
as if they were some kind
of sacred icon.