smashedbridges

[smashedbridges]

TEA AND CRACKERS

PRAYER AT ‘ROCK AND ROLL BLUES’

Some of us are dead.

Some of us still breathing.

There is sun in the air

But it stinks of bad Karma

I wanted it to be easier

I thought I found my words

I have lost almost everything

And I carry this wound in my heart.

It’s bleeding out and crying

There is nothing I can do

I’m getting them cold scars

On my feet and hands

Of heavy chains and plenty of insanity

This is it. Here I am.

A question mark underneath

Blue skies and a sun full of teeth.

It’s sun outside and bathing

I’ve been living in a cube for a long time

It’s full of joy

Small and pretty to react

But drowning in the smell of numbness

A chemical disaster

I never seem to overcome

Dear reality,

Have you lost faith?

Or are you trying to play a game?

Are you still breathing?

This is for me

So I know where my feet stand

I have been poisoned

It’s all pointless,

It’s a never ending paradise

All the wounds are in my heart

So much on my heart

And mediocrity

I’d give to her all I have

I’d take her anywhere

I’ll love her until the day I die.

Forgive my words if it’s too much

Forgive me.

JUST US...

I think I fell in love

With a shadow, a whisper in my hair

So delightful like the wind swinging it by.

My skin turns pale with chills

Like honey shredded guitar sounds.

Butterflies move slow

The sun?...Always above Atlantis

Time slows down

I watch them

With half opened lips to guess

Their next restless choice of journey.

I look ahead

Tall grass is spoiling itself in the wind

Passing on the silent vow

Te crown of mystery

It’s spinning above it

Such privilege to wear it.

And then I sit and wonder

How much of a mistery

My own life is

Such privilege to wear it.

I think I fell in love

It was not a ghost

It was just me...

RIDDLE

Man has

One foot stuck in the seeds

One foot clubbing on by animals

A body full of industrial strength.

An arm up in the blue sky

And one falling towards the ground.

A head of constant dualism

A perfect engine with

‘Multiple personality disorder’

APPLY HERE...

It’s said that everything has a reason

A reason for being.

As if the whole life

Is one big Ex-terorist

Full of vacant jobs

So are flowers, animals

The sun, the water, air and fire

The sound that travels

Through the Vrancea

Down skipperul roads.

The smell of fresh food

You lay hungry eyes upon.

Everything gathers and grows

Magnificenței CV’s

Pages full o delight

God must be a busy person

But, no doubt, he’s not too bored.

What about us people?

So highly complex, complicated and willingful.

What reason do we have to be hired

In the world’s biggest, most profitable enterprise?

Some say it’s creativity.

Others say it’s innovation

Might as well be...mathematics.

But we’re forever kind of lost

And thirsty for it work.

It’s just sometimes

When the hammer misses the nail

And falls on a finger...

When excitement grabs a flower by it’s thorns

And bleeds hot red...

That we, people, start to find

A shimmer of meaning...

Shy and surprised...

Never more empty.

It measures it’s height

When it comes to everything

Nature makes him feel small

But he dreams itself big

Because we should be

Living like Giants.

NIHILISM

I wish to write about ‘the ugly’

I wish to write about it all.

Moths, black cats, vampires and butterflies

Women with masks and painted faces

The skeleton man in expensive black suits

I wish to take that person out of myself

I need to let her know:

The beauty in things

Shines through with contrast

Not Annihilation.

The cradle of the light between the oceans

Lies inside the chaos.

Any shortcuts?

WHAT WAS GOING ON WITH ME...

I thought we had more time.

Some measure time in quantity.

Some measure time in quality.

I like to weigh them both.

What I don’t like...

Is being in a hurry

Or blabbing all around.

Especially hate the people

The people eating time instead of food

Like it would all belong to them.

Like they’re immortal.

I’ve been forced to vent it

In ways I never thought possible

I have complicated my life so much

That it finally looked simple.

Sorry for taking your time,

Would be appropriate.

WORDS FROM MYSELF TO MYSELF

I’m giving myself the words

To describe the beauty I see in you.

It’s been mesmerizing me

I have been blind with one eye

Until I saw you

I wanted to embrace your light

I wanted to embrace you.

But time drags itself along

With it’s black wings

And fiery burning eyes.

Behind it stays

On all the black alleys

A perfume of sadness and

The smell of your memory.

Forever alive.

Forever to be...

Thank you for embracing me

When I cannot...

Thank you for carrying my soul

To higher peaks

While the earth stays

There... All quiet...

All the same.

COUNT BESSIE

The never ending industry

The machine keeps turning it’s wheels

It feeds the pigs, the cows, the chickens

It gives them medicine and ticks them back to bed.

It waters all the crops and all the plants

Slivers then to hungry people.

It’s mouths won’t stop shouting

Don’t be in it’s way, be an observer...

And the threat will easy go by

With the confirmation of a tired eye.

It welcomes people at work

In and less high skyscrapers

Where only the wildest dreams are being born

...In secret.

The gain is, turn as many wheels

As you can produce

To this initial construction

Beautifully functional and absolutely restless.

It’s children, warriors, spies and builders

All have gave birth to ‘culture’

Something that doesn’t need wheels to work.

More secrets. Smile.

Most loyal ones, are most privileged

Big cold homes

Tiled floors and walls

‘Simplicity of luxury’

Books on some shelfs...

Colors not to bright

But balconies of freedom.

Crows are singing in the autumn

If they can reach the height...

[smashedbridges]

TO NEW BEGINNINGS

SEASON LOVE

Spring has come again

Another season full of it

I am happy, looking forwards

To the life it promised to us all.

I’m looking forwards for green and other colors

For Easter bunnies and gifts.

The New begining is here

Gradually wanting up

Like a pie in the over.

Spring be good to us

You only come once

Clean and cleaned whatever you may find.

I love you!

You are the season of LOVE.

YOU

Courage, that’s what it takes

To spread the Wings and fly

Courage I seem to find somewhere

To smile, to be, to listen to the right things.

But I often wonder, where do I belong.

Often wonder what you are thinking.

Are you good and hopeful as I remember you?

Time has a tendency to distort

If your standing in it’s way.

Thank you, for all the good times

I ever had.

It means much more than you will ever know.

SUMMER OF 2022

It’s been flourishing around me

New aroma of blooming flowers

All my views have sunshine in them

And everything blends

In vapes of coffee and freshly cooked food.

It’s been hard.

Not all new beginnings are good.

Some bearly make it on the list

No matter how many coats they would

Wear and change around

They’re all in need of God’s keen eye

Lately...

Everything is in the need of a lost God

A lost religion

That just calms the nerves and brings back

The familiarity of competing gaps

Of missing DNA.

It often seems like it is all nothing

And we want more flowers, more birds to sing

To feel like we are changing something

That we’re all the same...

The same flesh and blood

While the blue orb keeps silently, slowly, moving.

BAD LUCK?

Las summers were hanging heavy

They had shortness of breath and smell of disease

The man fought...

The man thought...

The man forgot about himself

And he thought he stands no chance.

Like a feather passed previous years

Ironically heavy in their depth.

Man fought like a lion

But in time he got depressed

Man got bored and sank slowly

In the bottom of his thoughts

The mind got stronger and it demanded weapons.

Instead of celebrating life

He started to spite, to hate,

To make ‘tragedy’ a reason for revenge.

Last summers are like preserved flowers

They keep their beauty

In between open lips of pried our petals

But their smell has gone with the ephemeral.

The man is glad to be alive

When he finally realizes

There is nothing but air between him and God

The sound of his voice echoes back...

The secret is not to be religious

But to know...

That a tied up and blind-folded ‘LadyJustice’

Might bring

A little bit of bad luck.

REBIRTH

It’s good for us that we’re still young

In our hearts, forever.

When we are scared,

When we are small,

We know that once we’ve been

Even more so, within these dimensions

It’s nice to know

That your name flies in the wind

Somewhere out there

That the sea can still heal the wounds

And the sand kisses red chicks

And golden curls

In return.

The spirit, tired.

Always restless watching carefully

And fighting the dark corners.

Comes to ask for payment.

Take care of your spirit...

Give it back what it asks

The peace in the voice and the eyes.

The spirit is patient...

Smile; please take over my words

Light as a feather,

Strong as the thunder...

It’s a bible of new testaments

And all the old ones have resurrected.

Forever yours,

From clean wet clay where no seed will grow the worm

Me, the little alchemist.

I AM, WHO I AM...

I’m trying to find my footsteps

So I can remember

Where I go and where I’m coming from.

It’s been days with sun

Bidding sadness in high thoughts

It’s been days with smell of rain

Hiding blessing in colors of rainbow.

More so, I missed finding myself in them

My mind feels a lot assasinated

So does my language and feelings left behind.

I miss my freedom

And looking at myself in the mirror.

Smiling back at me.

For the kindness I once knew.

I wish my words were more convincing

Bring me back to earth

Wash away the burning fires in my heart.

I am who I am...

-For I haven’t betrayed a single thing I had in mind

While writing this poem-

‘PUMPKIN’

Hey Pumpkin’

Did I tell you how happy you made me

When I saw your flickering eyes this morning.

Hey Pumpkin’

Have you been up all night?

Chasing around me dreams

Like a damsel in distress?

Did you find what you were looking for?

Your vulgar half-way opened and laughed mouth

Just hangs on this big cigar

Only waiting for a light!

The words you tell,

Takes my mind to Never-Land.

To that floor where big and patient man

Are rolling them like tables

They never sat at,

The place where few wise man were

Trying to have some fun

And they were nothing but Gentlemens.

You smell so much like autumn’s breath

It’s hard to distinguish

Your skin from the vegetable tissue

Your body from the strength of trees

That will remain.

Your appetite for life

From the greedy song of crows

Fetching victorious treasures between their beaks

Never willing to let go of the game of numbers.

Hey Pumpkin’

You mean the world to me.

And the rest of the planets I have not yet

Had the time and costume to explore.

My banana lays autumny,

Next to the lighter

And cry out for help:

‘Pease pumpkin’, please...

Won’t you be my sweety-pie?

Sigh.

Smile.

ODE TO GRANDPARENTS HOME

Finally there is strawberry fields everywhere

Pies are smelling like temptation in the oven

Hot with flavor they stray the air at opened windows.

Grass is greener in my neighborhood

Fountains are pouring, crystal clear waters

Sparks of bouncing, wondering drops

Are making the plants grow as an army marching to victory.

Skies are blue, hopes are purple

With lavender aroma

You taste like cherries

And marmalade of roses

Your hair falls windy in the sunshine

And brings back the sound of crickets.

My cats are licking their fur and sigh through the heat

Dogs are barking to their awakening

All the bees and butterflies, dragonflies and moths

Are doing their ritualistic dance

So maybe the rain is coming soon.

There’s nothing more I’d like to see

But your body caressed by it’s drops

Your warm smile through the storm.

I want to see you jumping and yelling

Spin around, fall, raise up again.

Walk through it... while it doesn’t want to stop

With red chicks and mud all they way to your hips.

Would you care to do and give

This ode to childhood

To all I forgotten grandparents

To me and you

To love and friendship.

And to life itself

Like the water we drink

And can’t live without?

[smashedbridges]

[smashedbridges]

ABOUT LAST NIGHT

It wad around 10:00, an hour in the night,

When tongues of my clock were melting

I couldn’t stop thinking of you.

Then 12:00 comes a little later

As the night has teached me

The Moon came by my window every night this week.

It’s still seductive and still sucking me under it’s spell

I’ve seen it’s every shape and color

It seemed it had a purpose to be here

It kept spreading this affection straight into my heart

I see it as sign, I think of you and it doesn’t match my expectations

It’s about 02:00 o’clock now

The Moon is out of my reach, but not put of my soul

It goes road-downwards

With stars and bright lights together with it

It’s not a dream.

The morning cracks like one egg in a Dahli painting

First is shivery cold, wild and frightening.

The clock must be showing 04:00 o’clock now.

It’s getting clearer and clearer

The warmth wants to kill this brief early baby-breath

Of sunmer mornings.

I think of the Moon as a hero now

It has delivered me to my morning safely in no time

More animals start to greet the brightest sun

It must be 07:00, there ain’t much of last night.

Except for your memory as I hold it dearly next to my heart

It’s just me though.

With eyes cracked open shining like an egg in a Dahli painting

Kissing another night in paradise goodbye.

CITY OF ANGELS

I’ve been speaking before

About the bright phenomenon

About a fire in my heart.

I dreamed I was lost in feathers

In clothing with perfume and starshine

And it all seemed to be

Part of a stranger type of heaven.

It was all so clean, so pure

With all it’s dualities included

I tried to look at them

And wanted to believe.

I wanted to believe

My gut, the instinct and my own heart

When I glimpsed at their gaze and storm

That each is hiding down below

A beating heart that it’s alive.

That something it was giving hope.

I said before, I necer thought

Such delicate creatures

You can maybe only find in the forests

With the same distinctive aura.

The scent of sacred feeding up.

Or maybe it’s the stuff of fairytales

And it only blooms in flowers

In our minds and soul-gardens.

But for some reason,

I still dream that I can touch them

That I can share with them

The bits of kindness love and pain

That I can hold the core of endless perfection

In it’s tragic and dreamy condition.

But they are far from fading away

The snake cannot stop talking around them

I’m trying to find my way out

Lost in the feathers, the light,

The clothing with parfume and starshine.

NOT THE ENEMY

I was dreaming of new beginings

I was dreaming of wings and Angels

Just when I thought I reached heaven

I was shot in my mouth.

Before that I was hoping for New Horizons

I was dreaming of happiness and freedom

The feeling of being at home

I was looking for my words

I am deaf in my little drama

I am being told to fight against myself

I know. I am not the enemy!

ANOTHER CRY OUT FOR JUSTICE

My happiness always looked

Like a big black hole with

Distorted edge.

I never believe in the stories I read

Or the monsters I watch.

I trust my silence and my ghosts.

This is my shelter!

Some people hate it

But I think it’s loneliness

They hate the most.

One thing that never gets better...

Death keeps telling us to worry about it.

PENCIL DRAGONFLY WING-FLAPS

I was thinking life has an order

And it doesn’t hurt that much

That chemistry makes all things bind and flow

I thought every man gets judged

By divinity and faith

By it’s own deeds.

I thought there is a point

To be brought into this ring

To... something.

I would feel sorry for myself

But that is not an option

That is an assasination

Like all the greedy mouth

Looking out to suck my

Word, my breath, my happiness.

Please, learn to smile.

I AM

While there is still light

While I can feel my heart beating

‘While’ is such an improbable time

Like automn my skin has turned lemon

My mind feels like a lemon too

Are you with me?

As my time goes by

I start to feel the scars of other wounds

Stiches, leeches, bullet shots

I can feel it stealing

A tear, perverted and fructous

I am nothing but wreck

And my restless crazy self

Becomes so infatuated with this illusion

Making me strip and wear

All my shadows and my wings

In an euphoric madness.

I am!

[smashedbridges]

CASINO

So it catched up with me

And I’ll give away into temptation just a bit

To kiss the long missing textures.

I do it for myself,

And maybe I am selfish,

I’d rather be like this.

There is no more room for shelter

Ironically,

I am changing.

Don’t worry I’ll leave some

For you too,

My little lego construction.

THE ‘VENOM’ METAPHORA

��I am so happy, I just don’t know how to tell you’

This is from the previous poem which did not get too far

Because now I feel like a snake

Beaten by it’s own flesh and blood

But a poisonous one.

It seems I cannot get to die or to live with it.

While it spreads around with no maps

I guess the little reptilian brain cannot handle it so well

Maybe it doesn’t even understand the injurie

Or maybe, a creature with such fine primitve instincts

Would end up in a semi-concious state of aknowledgement.

Why do you bit me if you’re not around to suck the venom out?

Aren’t I a sweetheart?

Maybe on this transe you’ll get it used to me

It will become a hybrid

Just like our selfless emtions

Hanging on to sleepless nights.

HIDE-AND-SEEK

I sat down to write

And a part of me just wasn’t there

At first I thought

This must be the famous artistic conndition

A mild handicap with depressive culminations

But that wasn’t always the case

So I assumed we’re playing a game

A sort of hide-and-seek

It’s not my favourite

But it’s sad.

(Where do birds fly?)

Where do fliee go in winter?

Where do virtues go when there’s no holidays?

Where does luck go when it has a date with irony?

Where does a part of me go,

When I give it the chance to shine through?

To grab the slots, to win it all away?

FAITHLESS

I might as well tear it all apart

All the work you plant in it

To grow and to be steady.

The trees breathing through it’s walls

The hanging doors and tight fixed windows

Might as well just mess it up

With all the ghosts which come to live there

With their babies, and moaning drama

My own ghosts, bits and demons

Have no place left to drag eternity.

If it was such a short time

They would keep taking walks around.

But eternity is forever

And ‘forever’ is contagious

As a modern mass-appeal.

I might as well let animals live in it

And heat it like their shelter

It won’t be much scandal then

Since they know their place in the trophic chain pretty well

What will I do with it?

When it’s such an ease for my soul

And such a perverted sight in other eyes

Why must you know

What I might as well do with it...?

WHEN HANDS ARE NOT ENOUGH

I am doing this because I have to

I don’t feel any better or any worse

Still feel eaten away like history by time

Rocks by water,...

But enough about that.

I’ve been through a trance

Of wonderful words and beautiful scenes

I have left myself wait for a breakthrough

Until it slowly been all sucked away

By foreign bodies.

If I were an Universe

Which essentially I am

I would be tight and ready to blow up.

Not in colorful bruised but in pure dumb darkness.

Life has a way of not being able

To give me the aesthetics of it, very, many times

It’s not like it wouldn’t feel comfortable with me

It’s just as light, it gets easily lost on the way.

Now I wouldn’t want to complain too much

I wish there were better circumstances forcing me to this.

You know, before I make any mistakes.

I wish I had more grace with this poem

There is so much sumptuous theory behind it

You just cannot help losing yourself in the essay about it.

I guess I need a writing machine intelligent enough to build it.

When hands are not enough...

Sounds sader then this poem.

So much to say, please burry me underneath these words

And say that you still love me.

A BIRD WITH NO NAME

I have a green bird between my lips

It doesn’t want to fly away anymore

Sometimes it turns blue, red and

Maybe purple

I think it wants to nest in the comfort of my words

It doesn’t seem to plan

To go to warmer countries in the winter.

It’s here when I enjoy my desserts

When I pour alchohol over,

When I taste the sweetest meat.

It stays and it probably forgot itself

Why it keeps hanging around

It would sing but nobody can hear it

It forgets it is a bird

It does not know the difference

Between it’s song and my own words.

Neither will it fly too far

But when it does

It flies so high

A bird with no name

A rainbow in the desert.

CHRISTMAS

It smells like Christmas

Like frozen if it ever had smell

Any kind of steam and candy

It smells like fresh plants

And healthy.

If ‘Pure’ had a smell it would be this one.

It smells and tastes and feels like cozy

You can bite from it like a cinamon cookie

You can hug it in your sweaters

Enjoy it in your cup of tea.

It tastes like Christmas

Like hot-wine, cinamon buns

And roasted peanuts.

Like burning candles with all sort of flavours

Chocolate, cream and cake, candy-apples

And orange scent.

It smells the green in the needles of the trees.

It’s a chemical masterpiece

That makes the artist become a scientist

And the scientist an art-lover.

Such wonderful raw organized chaos

With winter having it’s roots deep into ancestoral legends

It raises and cleanses your spirit

For another year to come

Forever maybe.

FULL MOON AND DELIGHTS

It crossed my mind to write,

About this moment in my life

Which does occur quite in sometime

A moment it seems of stillness and delight.

I like to think

To get heavy

In the shadow of my thoughts.

First time I ever wanted to smoke a cigarette

Was when I didn’t want to smoke it

In the first place.

Funny how life tries

To bring out the best in you

The best you have

The more you wait

The more you fall amazed by yor own self

It’s life speaking through you.

Celebrate life!

FANTASTIC

Not particularly fond of fairytales

Never really had the nerve, the patience for them

I picture people that made them must have rather been like this

If I’d ever write one, I’d like it to be well made and well spoken

Every fairytale is life sweating in the corner of your eye

Story is unbearably strange

Moral never comes first...

If I wanted to be one

Even if I begged for one

I could not

Because fairytales are never made like me

They only seem to be

Gorgeous mermaids with honey-sweet voices

Brides with loosen hair and red-full chicks

They all know better what ‘fantastic’ is

So then I wonder... what are they all doing here?

Am I still on the right track...?

[smashedbridges]

[smashedbridges]

How about ‘I love you’?

Spring sings trills outside 

It has arrived all young

With full bloody color in its cheeks

It’s heavy and carries the print of memories

It smells like food cooking in the oven 

And grass 

And from some corner further away you hear

Excited happy voices with songs of birds in them 

There is a teapot screaming

In the back of my head 

My mind has smelled the old familiar 

Scent of memories 

Nostalgia and pride 

Metamorphosis of Newness

I long to bite and taste 

The sweetness of it all

That which leaves my chemical imbalance

Swing however

And sometimes begging for more.

But it’s spring again 

And all the open wings are shinning 

The rock feels warmer,

And the water rolls slowly 

The stars sit tight again naked in plain sight

The moon, the sun, and all the planets 

Are whispering their rituals,

Which our souls follow madly like an orchestra

And all that lives changes into more life 

The eyes open themselves like 

Flower petals around a middle

They pull back and become full of amazement,

They stare at invisible invincible angels, painting all around,

If they’re lucky they will stay like that if they catch,

By accident, one looks upon their glory.

It’s so much love 

That drunkens, 

It falls like a waterfall between my words

I say ‘I love you’ and it sounds

Like revelation.

And it seems I could be doing it forever

But maybe it is deceitful

Like everything else that comes and goes and changes

So I stay by my faith, 

I bury my head in the roses of my destiny

And I carry Spring with me in my heart. 

[smashedbridges]

Primavara

Primavara a venit 

Cu ochi de inger si miros 

De aripi arse

Nedesprinse din gerul lipicios al iernii.

Am fugit

Direct in rai 

Fara sa-mi mai pese 

Ca toate culorile mele

Se scurg usor din mine

In toate.

Si cu cat doresti mai mult

Cu atat iubesti mai putin

Dar omul e facut 

Sa isi puna inima in menghina

Sa iubeasca si de-a curmezisul

Daca vrea.

Si primavara nu minte

Si repara tot

Trebuie doar sa o privesti indelung 

Sa stie ca esti acolo.

[smashedbridges]

Primavara

S-a intors primavara

Tanara si cruda cu boboci verzi intre buze

Atat de fericita cu obrajii rosii 

Si bratele pline de toate cele cateva flori

Are zambetul perfect si miros de raze de soare

A ramas agatata prin copaci 

Pe la ferestre si imprastiata prin paduri.

S-a intors cu parfum nou 

Cu miros de machiaj de fata frumoasa

S-a intors si picteaza

In timp ce amorul se cuibareste si el 

Mai adanc in suflete la intamplare

Cum panda, vanatoarea si cucerirea 

Sunt ridurile ascunse ale anotimpului. 

Este o primavara bolnava

De iubire si de metehne

O primavara toxica si exotica

In contraste.

O primavara diagnosticata

Cu cele putin cateva sindroame .

Aceeasi primavara doar intr-o alta ordine.

Daca si-ar desclesta zambetul 

Si ne-ar arata macar o data coltii 

Lucind intr-un ranjet perfect 

Toate florile de soare ar rasari si creste indata

In toate directile. 

[smashedbridges]

,,Cat e ceasul la tine-n suflet? sau timpul lui ne” de Livia Stoica. Impresii ale ultimelor poeme citite.

Mi-a placut intratat cartea incat am decis sa ca ar fi un gest frumos sa scriu cateva lucruri despre ea si despre experienta lecturii.

Am avut impresia ca am petrecut o noapte lunga si apasatoare intre paginile unei carti, cum se intampla des in zona urbana, ingropat in turnurile de beton, care iti intinde la maxim colturile mintii catre timpul si spatiul “ceva”-ului.

Mi-a placut cartea ca un tot, ca o simpla scena in care amintiri vin si pleaca, lasand in urma, mai departe, contemplarea imaginarului. Ceea ce te cucereste cu adevarat este spatiul-poveste modest si criptic cu toate fantomele ei si dimensiunea psihedelica insotita de o ilustrare aparte a timpului. 

Unul dintre motivele principale ale cartii, obsesia negatiei, care in limba romana este cu adevarat o provocare atat logica cat si emotionala, m-a captat prin transpunerea sa in monologuri lungi paralele cu alte intelesuri si realitati. 

Ca o concluzie si inchiere, vreau sa precizez ca aceasta este prima data cand fac o descriere/comentariu cu privire la un volum de poezii. Mi-a facut placere sa citesc aceasta carte si este cu siguranta o recomandare. 

O capodopera care te va face sa reflectezi inauntrul tau chiar daca nu ai avut timpul sau inspiratia necesara sa o faci pe cont propriu. 

Multumesc pentru timpul accordat! :) 

,, What is the time in your soul? or the time of not” by Livia Stoica. Impressions on the last poems I’ve been reading.

I liked it so much that I decided that it would be a fine gesture to write a couple of things about the book and experiencing it.  

While reading it I had the feeling I had spent a burdensome long night between the pages of a book, just as it so often happens in the urban area, burried under the concrete towers, that could stretch the corners of your mind to the max back to the time and space of the common “something”.

I liked the book as a whole, as a simple stage where memories come and go, leaving behind, furthermore, the state of contemplation and Imaginarium. What I really think wins one over is the modest and cryptic space with all the ghosts and it’s psychedelic dimension along with the special illustration of time. 

One of the main motifs in the book, obsessing with negation, which in the Romanian language is a true challenge, logically as much as emotionally, captivated me by its transposition into long monologues parallel with other meanings and views of reality. 

As a conclusion and end, I want to mention that this is the first time I made a descriptive comment on a Poetry Volume. I enjoyed reading this book and it surely goes as a recommendation.

A masterpiece that will make you gain insight within yourself even if you didn’t have the time or inspiration to do it on your own. 

Thank you for your time! :)

[smashedbridges]

To the one that had mercy upon all the letters I never wrote:

You’re the most beautiful thing I know after all. 

I’ve been missing you so much. I’ve been waiting so long I forgot my words. I feel like a bug trapped in mud. My wings are weak and covered in timeless times of ‘trying’. One day I’ll change again the language I write in. Coming close to you infected my nature with new occasional habits. Coming close to me probably almost left you speechless, only sounds of footsteps charging the silence just like my quiet wings that got stuck. And I feel there is so much fight inside our chest it seals our lips tight in the madness of exploding.

I wish I was a little more delicate. I think you deserve so much and so much better than all the mud I’m spreading around with my inconsistent flight. I am afraid I might be like you, I think I love you so much though I would never lose the chance of looking at the moon with the same feeling as yours, wherever I’d be.. Just like I did when I was a kid, and from so much desire it seemed I don’t need anything anymore.

I’ve lost my way, on my way to you and I wished I could wrap myself in your feeling of care for just one time. It’s something I would die and care to live for.

It hurts so much because they changed me, and they changed everything about the only love that saved me. I’ll forever be missing your pretty face… and that voice I’ll wait for always to hear it speaking to me.

While I was away, some of us got torn. Some could only live through days hoping for no more mistakes and all they’ve ever had was music. You know what that is like. I wish I could remember. I wish I always did the right thing. And most of all I wished I treated us better. I wish we didn’t need all this pain. It’s in our lives and everywhere around us. A single step and another mine can explode.

My mind is very thin. It won’t die thinking of you though. I’ll never forget you I guess and all your pretty faces… 

I am so sorry.  It’s amazing how sorry I feel for I almost don’t even know what to put first any longer. I wish my head was clearer and I wish the smooth stagnant atmosphere of delight you seem to share to me.

Tell me how to look in the mirror. I love you and I have buried myself in things over my head. I need to see life again, I need to know where I belong, where you belong. 

Thank you so much for existing. I wish I had never disappointed you. I wish this all would be the same old path and secret that made roads to each other shorter.

 I wish I could talk with you forever. I wish I was the same sweet girl you said ‘yes’ to begin with. You see, we grew older and the hell is empty, all the demons are here, as they say… I hope you’re still my favorite and that my choices did not betray you, I hope my mind it’s just messed up, not broken. 

I forget my last line over this. 

Melancholia crawling.

[smashedbridges]

“Sometimes I come up with an idea and than look for a specific location and model based on that idea,” Anita told Bored Panda. “Sometimes I find something or someone beautiful and bring it to art. Sometimes I cooperate with different creative people”

“I always say – inspiration comes to an inspired person. An artist should always try to find beauty and unusual things in everyday usual life. And to achieve that you need to give your brain food and information”

[smashedbridges]

In her latest series, Russ Land — a Slavic name for Russia — she’s diving into the past, deep into the magical world of pre-Christian Russian fairy tales and folklore. Exploring ancient pagan archetypes, femininity and magic, Uldus’ modern take on traditional tales provides a visual way into the complexity of Russian identity. She shares the stories behind the images.

[smashedbridges]

[smashedbridges]

If I never see you again

If I would be to never see you again…I assume a part of me wonders itself, still, strongly believing in redemption behind your eyes. So many days, so many faces, so many places. Love, we could have, as well, made them all. Because we´re just honest convicts of own scared wounds in hands and feet. We are some of the ones still walking. We´re trying to make our way through, without the touch of “tainted” and “insanity”, because it is a great thing to know where you belong and how far you can jump, it´s a special thing to be able to recognise and embrace the face you see in the mirror.

I know what you´re thinking.  Let´s push the conversation a little bit aside. Did you miss me? I missed your voice, you know what I mean… I have been cursed with being addicted to a certain type of weakness…if you still know what I mean. Now, you are here, with me. Be in my soul. Be my trust. Bite it numb and not painful.

Don´t forget me.

I miss your dialogue. These places made my words very small.

I miss your unrelated shelter. …

And especially I miss all the things we would have been capable of together. The lucidity of that perfect consciousness. We were sanctified but you could not save me. If not you, than nobody else would´ve, anyway.

I remember you as you remember me, and I want to tell you… I can nearly reach out from underneath these dusty bricks to tell you this.

Ouh, by the way, and one more thing. I want to kill my future. I cannot imagine myself escaping it again.

I hope you´re fine…I hope you´re happy...

[smashedbridges]