why would you come?
what do you think you can do here?
dark shadows battle in the mirrors
the walls are red
the laughter’s a bright yellow
wax candles waltz into my tears
a silver coin rotates on my dark table
the Spanish chest is filled with photographs
there is no room on my bookshelves
for other loves
bring the sweetness of kisses stolen in dark alleys
the snow in ghastly cemeteries is too high
the spleen of those who’ve never known what love is
(souls fly the sky when children play with kites)
the gnostic knowledge of the ones who died
your poems breathing solitude and myrrh
the untranslated birth of shooting stars
i see the stars
are you already here?
image: ROMAN NOGIN/Shutterstock
The waves found me laying alone on that dark faraway beach, Miguel’s Maria de Guadalupe medallion broken in my right palm, my face bruised by tears and scratched by humid sand, waiting for the miracle of Christmas to heal my never-ending pain.
I am delighted that my poem “come back to me” was included in the anthology: America’s Emerging Poets 2018 Southeast Region (Z Publishing House, December 13, 2018).
The anthology is available on Amazon
The publishing house contacted me and asked me to submit my poetry.
Thanks to each and one of you for your support. Your likes and comments made the discovery of my poems possible.
Here is a short excerpt from “come back to me”
“for you i’ll stop the ebb and flow
i’ll make the sun to set on eastern temples
i will transform my body in a flame
in moonless nights like shooting stars
your hidden passions …
we’ll wait in silence for the skies to open
the waves will build an altar on the ocean
gold fish will crown my head like precious diamonds…”
a canary sings
your flesh pays its tribute to some other lovers
come and go like seasons
noisy V-shaped flocks
then i listen to a monk who reads
from a book of psalms
rings sleep on my fingers
arabesque designs shiver on my skin
pastel sunsets whisper in the winter’s sheen
i walk through your dreams
soaked in poetry, baptized by your verses
your heart adorns my chest
(work of ancient minters)
your lips burn my rings, and with them my fingers
agonizing wings toll bells in the air
i go for your veins, my hands rip your shirt
everything’s a dream
at the edge of silence
mirrors sleep and grin
you’re forever mine!
do you think i joke?
here’s the silver coin which can get you off
that’s what i thought
you would never take it
in the lovers’ bed monasticism’s asleep
a cat purrs on my thigh
your eyes become my eyes
my skin tastes like sweet pie
see, why Adam was so keen to sin?
for hidden in deep waters
You is always I
even in a dream
Very grateful to Brian Geiger – the editor of Vita Brevis – for publishing my poem “love letters” in his magazine.
You can read my poem here.
swollen seas bite my wrists
upbraided winds haul in the room
black birds are eating from my soul
hands peel laces from my skin
i empty drawers looking for that day
there are no days
for days are nights
since you have left
my body’s buried under an old oak
there are no pictures on the walls
i lost the bedroom’s key
the bracelet from the silver market
is all is left
“There are only as many realities as you care to imagine”
Lawrence Durrell, Balthazar
Covered by a sea of white lilies I lie in bed like felines lie in grass.
A cube of ice attempts in desperation not to melt inside an empty glass.
The night’s long fingers feverishly drop you on my left side.
Disoriented I turn and look at you.
Your hands get stuck in my hair like bunnies in a trap.
My silver icons sick with shyness cover their eyes.
Your touches wake me up
My nails aim at your shoulders
Soft vowels change the time
I start thrilling my Rs
Eros plays his dice
The planets change direction
There is no turning back
Our bodies feed on trees
Rivers stretch like cats
The air is drunk with roses
The stars are drops of blood
Exhalations of hot summers
Tie our souls into a forever knot
You on my left side?
Is this a dream or what?
imagine: Maria Okolnichnikova/Shutterstock
Memories of a humid summer, dripping with love, when you finished your book.
In the night red wax trickles over a torn page that says, “for you- whose love fills my life with joy and makes all things possible.”
My arms ache.
I try to pull you back from a memory abyss filled with pain.
Can I still make all things possible?
The walls stay silent.
your tired feet have walked the desert
thorns and thistles scarred your skin
consumed by fires
enraged by liars
your nights of passions
felt like the apocalypse
enter my room
you bearer of the bleeding hearts
i’ll lock the door
and toss the key out of the window
come in my arms
i’ll read you poems written by Baudelaire
i’ll give you wine
made in Mendoza
adulterated prayers from the faraway Corinth
the walls are gray
the music plays
a reddish sunset lingers on my dress
and when my left leg steps back
into the rhythms of tango nuevo
i’ll give you what you’ve never had
the scream of the primordial ecstatic bite
and then the abolition of all sins
imagine: Pavel L Photo and Video/Shutterstock
between your subconscious and mine
during the night
over my head
love words like cannonballs have flown
at the edge of some imaginary bed
sensuality has wept in B major
caged like a bird
i choked on metaphors
strategies of conquest
swam inside your mind
like koi fish in a pond
i drink and burst to light
roses crawl around my body
scented by eight aromatic salts
the pages of your book
sit empty now
white orchids hanging in a tree
your book is the last place
in which you want to look for me