I have aborted you
from my palms I let you go
or from human touch
to call it noblessly
for you like noblessy

I have aborted you
completely let you go
to the world black
adrift to the claws of it

you live

In the cage of words unwind

Forget numbers, letters, words
each of us, sinks into
blessedly,
when thinking, drinking or
giving supreme swords
the noblesy can only be found
when winking,or ringing
the bells
in the words unwound

Think in colors and contrasts
of the poetess that pretends
to be kissing you
oh, you are trapped

Show me carelessly the senses
through your trust,
without lust
love me

Make me one of the
WORDS
UN
WOUND

How I have not been

I have not been writing lately
I have not been signing outloud

through windows I have been watching
beauties of the daily mail
through breath I have been tasting
the sickness of morrons

I have not been carrying myself
Lately I have not been carrying the cross

Chapels have been bending down
Christ has been checking on me
just with one eye
that is what he likes to do
When I have not been lately

I have not been fading you
I have not been losing myself

Blossoms were walking through the meadows
We were all witnessing it

But I have not been lately.

zvysok dna travim v posteli
coby v dennom ruchu
travnatych koseli
pokym hry a sny
sa zjavia v posteli

v objati noci
budem tancovat
z oci do oci
lamat hnev v sebe
ked vlockami lasky
opatrim teba

Reply to Zuzka

Jeseň má čaro krídel namočených v mede. I keď je jeseň často prehliadaná pod dohľadom depresie, melanchólie večrných podlampových rozjímaní a nostalgiou po inšpiratávne-čarovnom lete, ja sa vznášam v tejto agónii. Netreba sa báť tmy, ktorá príde. Netreba sa báť holých stromov a bledých tvárí. Ono to všetko pominie. Príde nostalgia. Opäť.
Opäť.
Nostalgia za večným ponorením v čajových dúškoch, dumaním za knihou v tmavých odtieňoch, za vánkom červených líc, ba i vín, strapatých vlasov a vanúcich klasov. Za konverzáciami podobajúcimi sa modlitbám.

takto chutí jeseň.

we were dying drinking into night

and once Little Prince said
we can see things truly
only with our hearts
what if my heart was transplanted
into sad people
migrating birds
cattle grazing in the Dead Sea

and here I sit, on a marble
while the bird is humming a keynote
kids shaping hands from a sand
and bees, one by onem disseminate vote
asking "who is to live, who is to suffer"

.HaRp PoEtRy.
So I am writing poetry
so you know
it is not quite like a pottery
the class that you find to attend
to create a universe
out of a small piece of shitty mud

so you know
I am writing poetry
it is not quite like a random talk
you conduct having three beers
attacking your hollow mind
mind that has been lost
from the surface of reality

So you know
I am still writing
to give you some clue
it is not like being on a first date
when you hide more than give out
I am giving out
myself to you

So I write poetry
in the calamity of ideas
unrefutably true
at the moment of conjuring them
oh, I touch them with eyesight
and sense them with every step
of my uncertainty

So I wrote a poem
a poem full of letters, words,
conceiving thoughts
of my own existence
forging through the swamps
of my own foolishness
I am giving out.

once the night brings the moment
when limbs just limbs are
and elbows seem to soothe
the body into a position
of storytelling


far away

a battle rings
in ears of pedestrians
crossing the paths
i welcome all the sound
to be paraphrased
properly in the name
name of moroseness

the one that comes and goes
like flowers in the spring
and in the winter when
they die to be covered
by holy holy snow
and crude breeze

that is how one prepares
himself for the discoveries
of that night
you can just taste it

penelope ma poslala
na dno mojich myslienok
oceanom posiatych
v dnesnych novinach
klasickych reci
nachadzam smiech a plac
avsak nie detstky

for a solitary, hesitating moment,
the one persecuting each of us,
i reconsidered the days gone
gone with the wild, the prosperous
silent trees echoing me head
those drugs worth to spread
among you, me, and them as well,
having power of ancient pearls,
i do not condemn those days,
days of cloudy ideas, and sheer fear,
i declare that condemning would mean
that i condemn all of us

on my grave

on your grave i send roses
clever, folded pages of a book,
with ancient gilded lines, writing
itself seconds after your death
ruined the days of your happiness.
happiness of mine,
it was defined by mysteries,
wonders of the moment that came
cruelly inconsiderately,
on my grave i brought those
those which I claim to be yours
so blind you are?
fingers surrounding all of
where your mind seem to linger
i, in vain, exert a call,
to nourish once more,
many aspects of you
those physical mostly.
not ashamed, not a drop,
a grain, a refrain,
of a flashy elegy only
pervades.

flowers pinned down to their petals
uncovering the world
within them, them flowers
seizing winter, fresh, cold

wintering the sour faces
of dignity, humility, like a disorder
paying those in human paces
which not let the northern

light to rise, arise

ako vločka páperová vločka snehová
sklamem ťa opať tým, že dosiahnuť
ma nemožeš svojím dotykom
ma zmatieš, spletieš, popletieš
do očí mi vietor prinesieš
možem ti odmietnuť keď nemám
zbrane?
túlať sa možme spolu, bez seba,
vytvoríme kvet bez tŕňov
svet bez trápenia
poďme sa spolu milovať nesebecky
v myšlienkach hriechy spytovať
o láske nepochybovať
dáš mi zvolenie?

vstúpila som do rozprávky
pomaly, isto, s brázdami v očiach
očiach kníh majúcich strany
a tých strán ktorých sa stráním
či sa bojím či sa tým káram
svoje krídla zvláštne prepletám
ako by som zabudla že lietať
viem, ved to je odveta
bohov bohucich na meno
moje, znejuce trepanim
kridel pristrihnutych
hlavou nehlavou
vrham sa strmhlav

spring has grown with
thousands of forgotten kisses
i slowly watched
those who a human seems to miss
when walking by, wondering

spring has come
announcing its birth
offering petals, and eggs,
and magic and mirth,
i am
discovering

spring has walked
into our days lost,
and reflections, and blankets,
and beauties banned
i am looking into a mirror
forgetting my own steps
that led me to it

toward the end of an lonesome street
where salient cover multiply
THEMSELVES
supposed to seek to squint to meet
the corners missed by a breath
parabolically moisting a pretty lie
IT ITSELF
slowly, among its ragged edges
morosely,withing the agreed period
wisely, reciting a prudent ode
defencefully, housing hedges
SPREADS over in a wry
MISTAKE

ranný mrázik mi kriví tvár,
nie to ty mi ju krivíš,
a ja v údolí mojich myšlienok,
márne sa hľadám,
Keď ty sa len divíš,
skús obuť veľkosť mojich topánok,
vedieť čím ja zem zemúcu zametám.

Ranný mrázik, odpusť,
že ja pre svetlo sveta,
nevidím samú seba,
niežto teba.

***

I wake up this morning with poetry
with green book covering many faces
faces undergone many phases
of green-glass mottos and colonies
of sad, long forlorn memories
when life was a ballad only
cruel, mournful, lonely
it plagued the unplaguable

we wonder of its clarinets
playing music without melodies
discarded somewhere within the histories
of us, lonely birds, loving
the essential, careful steps
toward immortality glowing
its shades onto the clefts
of opening for many decades


we lost the holy wilderness
in the bouquet of the earnest
it burns my skeleton
just to think about it

You , oh classic, stay praying
within the rhymes of my prayer
grown the thorns of the grayer
liturgy penetrating me
without permission without joy
constantly

bez-radná

tvár ako úroda jablone mladej
tak sa s úctou, s rešpektom pozerám
čumím, civím, a bránim sa bremenám
že ona je naveky nemenná
drevená?

nespatrí nikdy svetlo mojej duše
dušej malej, oknom do sveta,
aká svetlosť jej, a tá obeta,
do jame levovej ma zavlieka

keď oči svetlo sveta spatriť nevedia
v tej noci, zamatom pretkanej
márne hľadám môjho človeka
keď vlastná duša nezlomne ma zamieta

Epoch of woman

The last two centuries have been certainly dedicated to the dynamics of woman´s role in the world, in the world of world of man. It seems that woman haa always has a peculiar, sometimes indefinable role.
The behavior recognized predominantly as female at the beggining of 20th century (and reaching far beyond that)has transformed from the inability-to-express-any-opinion-stricken housewife, to a range of distinct acceptable behaviors in the end of the 20th century.
We have a woman, emancipated, erudite walking on the street with I-do-not-care-how-should-I-look-like image on one hand, with image of a woman concerned with her beauty, fully convinced that the role of the woman in the world is to 1, either be admired by a man , or 2, to be relentlessly admired by man.
The pedestal of the most significant concepts in woman´s world have changed in a tremenodous way. The endeavor to have a certain role, more distinct, more independent from the male perceptions. However, this always has been/is/will be an interaction of the two self-influencing counterparts, female and male, both reacting to a reaction of the other one.
I adhere to the idea of a woman to be still judged by the appearance, and beauty concept.
I list "procedures" that SHOULD be executed by woman, the activities expected from her (in comparison with a list of male ones)
Woman : Shaving (different parts of body), hair dying, or regular haircuts, make-up, manicure and pedicure (nail painting), wearing jewelleries, highheels (ough),...
Man: shaving - (and it´s voluntary).
Of course, the female activities are voluntary, or voluntarily decided upon, however, still expected into cetrain extend. I defy some of them, disdain with the greatest disdain of world disdain collection.
Hereby, by reviewing the concept of a woman I propose to "rethink" how emancipate women are, and how much their emancipation is ingrained (as anything else) in the societal pressure,in the way society imposes a very stringent dimension of respectable sets of not just behaviors, but more underneath- the range of accapted appearance. I admire women that are inside they own world, their independence, their unconnectedness to the pressure. And I am trying to swim in that independence as much as possible, so once I will learn it completely, without safety vest and manly help, and instructions.

the raindrops bouncing
bouncing on the invisible
as i've been, through and though,
falling deep without cellar
you keep me in

grace

poetry and prose
tree and rose
poetris and prosis
trees and dozes of roses
you sets my skin
in the tremorosis way

dead snowflake.

once you were here. Dancing as you were a ballerina, like a child, when so carelessly dances into the rhythm of unknown keynotes, like a piece of flesh, hot and thick, pulsing on and off. I watched you, but you did not know. And I did. A fatal mistake happened to you, will you ever dance again? I watch you falling, slowly, without any resistance , or resentment of being a part of human existence, and of penetrating my mind, the cells of humanly created something, and thereby creating an idea of you.

Your little hand. Branches. One by one, escaping from the center, as to be alarmed by a sudden surprise that, escaping never really. like sugar never really escapes the salt, the sun the moon, the gravity the earth, and you, you, your center.

You are falling, and I do like you. I wanna have you in my possession, maybe forever, if possible. Do I deserve you? and will I appreciate you forever? And will yoy be here in my sleepless nights? will you hold my hand while I cry? Do not wipe my tears, please.

And now, you turn what you want me to be.


Oh, wait, I had lost you! I am lovely, so lonely now.

good morning, nothingness.

make me the burden,
the universal one,
to realize,
to witness
that we carry the sword.
give it to me, and I,
with one stab, i will do it,
to make myself be free,
yes,"the" free like you are without me,
no. Wait. I really have to find myself.
and one day i will be born again.

Window (or Jeff' s favorite)

you let me see
the world
i imagine, and i bet
you love me so?

Oh, you did let me
but let me be bruised
all in the heat of blood
on my world cruise

i was wrong, i take it
can i , can i not?
see through you,
the ephemeral spot?

open.

On a plate of sorrow
i am passing by, passing by
today, tomorrow

fellow. spread your wings
wings of compassion
i will be illiterate
of sorrowness mansion

voice is mute, voice is silent
mumbled in inner violence
i perch here, i perch there
forging that hollow air

loneliness.utter.

praise....to heaven I praise
for him to come home...
in the commas you find more
so much more than words can conceal...
.heaven! is deaf,deaf, deaf
bringing me the almost death