It's raining water now

in the darkness of the December evening

and from beyond the fallen forest

the sound of a grader

still clearing the highway

from snow

30.12.2014

Poetic Epistle to Humanity

World doesn't need mercy

world doesn't need 'charity'

world doesn't need 'kind works'

from those living in wealth

from the privileged

from birth or ennobled by money

We must show no mercy

We must show no charity

We must show no kindness

towards the wealthy

towards the privileged

from birth or amassing of fortunes

We must make a world

where there are no privilege to be had

where there are no fortunes to be gained 

We must make a world

where there is no need for 'charity'

where kindness is no cause to be praised but normal

We must torn down this order that ruins our world

We must torn burn the wealth of thieves

We must trample privileges of the few under our feet

30.12.2014

Reading the obituaries of authors

who translated

Seems like every week

there dies an author,

who beyond labours of

his or her own work

translated that man Shakespeare.

Just wonder how many

of their own works

are left untranslated

when other authors

keen to get on their obituary

the honorific "translated Shakespeare"

put them aside to give the world

one more Romeo and Juliet,

yet another Julius Caesar,

Macbeth....

Culture is kept up,

as a working machine of memory,

with repetition,

but it doesn't progress through

piles of Shakespeare in

hundreds of languages

translated again and again.

Let Shakespeare be,

o translators,

for a generation,

and give us works of your peers

still breathing!

30.12.2014

American Sniper

Even the saddest stories have some

flickering of hope or joy

and the story of Chris Kyle

is no different;

after so many bad things

it finally

had a happy ending;

The killer killed.

27.12.2014

The days of mid-December

are black-and-white,

from the white snow and black forests

of the brief daylight

to the deep ocean of ink

that engulfs the land

when the pale light withers.

In these two colours

the mind makes it's home

of cold and dark,

shivers contemplating bleak memories

as the dour hours of the long night

and the gray aching light of day

come and go,

come and go.

19.12.2014

this morning
on fallen snow

paw prints

18.12.2014

The night is ending

into a black winter morning.

It's raining, water

washing off the snow

that fell during the evening.

Back inside I read the poems

of the dead,

in which they still gaze from

long crumbled towers

on the Yangtze

after sails

carrying friends

into fates long forgotten.

Dust, the poets

of the T'ang and the Song,

water the snow

of yesterday, Villon,

all bound together

by the void of non-being

in which our

words sparkle.

11.12.2014

Foggy, barely freezing day,

frost on the fields

back from the store

drinking coffee beside

the window

watching the trees

vanish into the fog,

deepening darkness.

05.12.2014

Memento vivere

Rejoice now,

for the days

are short

and fleeting.

Every moment in our lives,

every happy day

spent with our loved ones

is borrowed from the eternity,

from those endless days to come

when their laughter

and the joy we feel hearing it

are both silent, unfelt.

04.12.2014

The birth of a poem

A poem isn't born

on the moment

when it is composed by the poet;

a poem is born

when an another

reads the words

it's made of,

awakens it

building a bridge

between two minds.

04.12.2014

A Climate Changed

It's December,

the land bare from snow,

an autumn that just goes on

and I remember

the long "spring",

a second autumn;

half a year of autumn

without green or white,

a world changed

by the human industrial touch.

02.12.2014

Hope is a medicine

some of us

can take only in

small doses.

02.12.2014

In the evening in my kitchen with the main lamp turned off

I'm drinking coffee, with milk

and eating piece of coffee cake

which crumbles when held

between my fingers, sending

small pieces falling on the table,

little light brown morsels against

deep brown lacquered wood.

The coffee mixes with the cake

and the blood from my gums

in my mouth and I know

I would never eat it

if I could see it as it is,

in my mouth, this mix.

01.12.2014

Dead are clay

easily molded in the hands

of posterity, which

makes of them whatever

suits it.

01.12.2014

What is left of childhood dreams?

Bound to Earth and it's soil,

I shall never walk the sands of Mars

I imagined under my feet

in my childhood days,

but there is a bright star on the horizon

over the dead desert

where water once flowed

in now empty streams

and that bright star, Earth,

is me and you too,

on the sky above Mars

and the steps future shall take

on it's dunes and glaciers.

01.12.2014

Afternoon on 1st of December, 2014

Thus dies the day,

transforming to the starless night,

in the darkness

vanish all forms

and all is black.

No light,

just the absence

and thoughts infected with the night

make the mind troubled

during the slow voyage

into the gray morning

when no sunrise

shall be seen.

01.12.2014