Balta Alba

The offish C of yesterday
Raised the wanton O of today-
Laced combination of modernism and ancientry-
A joint venture of human whispers
Silenced like the dying plankton
By the saint lake that holds the birth and the mashing rights
Of our transient joy.

The silence is everywhere;
Since fish don’t need to mimic, nor practice its ways
In a world where telepathy feels jelly and cold,
Where the silver rain that washes out the arched bridge above
Is devoid of meanings...

A plain of sand is our hut,
The order of magnitude of its room
Depicting an ocean with round, wide corners,
Where dissolved feelings flood every window,
Pure like hermetical crystals unable to murmur or shout like lovers,
Sheltered by the water surface which mirrors the upper life
Where the blue air kills...

- to Mr. Teodor I A
26.02.2013

as a response to:

"I Like to Live With Hermits" -- by Nicholas Samaras

Let me practice silence with you.

You have an extra room in your hut
and a wooden balcony overlooking a ravine of moonlight.

I can sleep in this bare corner, on the floor-planks
with a blanket and a stone for a pillow.

We can work on our separate projects in each other’s shadow.

Let us develop telepathy, and I will hand you pepper for your soup
without looking up.
We could chant together only in Vespers, and separate
afterward into the gloom.

Let me sit on this rickety balcony, while silver rain falls, the blue air
gone wispy with another century.

Let me live in this corner and you won’t notice me.

Let me be the ghost with eyes, tonsured with the wordless.

Let me practice stillness with you.

Neither of us here.

Ecranul

Aveam in proiect sa scriu cate o poezie
Pentru fiecare unghi in care, indirect, ma privesti
Din tablourile fara de cuvant
Ajunse in camera mea
Prin ecranul nesters de ani de neglijenta sociala.

Nu stiu daca pana acum am trait intr-o boala
Sau daca boala e de fapt acest sentiment meschin
Pentru naframa de culori ce a fost crosetata
Din bucati de lumina scapate de o ursitoare
Pe fruntea ta, in prima dimineata.

Nu stiu daca, la modul clasic, imi pasa de tine,
Daca as vrea sa iti adulmec animalic singuratatea,
Sau daca prefer sa stau aici, depanandu-mi nedumerirea,
Lipita cu tampla de tablourile tale
Care ma poarta cu ele in mai multe lumi decat
Am putea impreuna vizita vreodata.

-d-lui Teodor I A
10.02.2013

Clownul Autocreditat

Pseudocreat
Pictand de dupa umbra
O agresivitate sumbra
Cu par lung si mat...

...Prins in universul lui impaunat cu dare de sange
Ca lumina dulce, captiva in nori aramii
Si mainile-nclestate in sulfet
Ca intr-un cos cu mere aurii,
Ratacit intr-un costum bicolor,
Rece si crud de-ametitor
Ca iarba pe care-acum o tin, cu capul, in maini...
Cu iz de muguri de par smuls de dor sau la betie

El se preface ca nu e,
Ce e-altceva,
Ca nu stie...

-d-lui Teodor I A
18.01.2013

The only true Light

Close your eyes and sip;
The analgesic will release the angel again…
Rooftops wave their concrete slabs at your will
Indefinite time flies away one by one its traces of real…
Chemical thrill…
…Deceitful harp
Modulating in a silent plasticine cup
The inexistent contour of your most beloved man…

A bastille with arched windows and valets now rests in your palms
Holding the sooth obsession behind the bars of your arms
Dark eely eyebrows and royal vacillating face features
Get sunken in the whirlpool of your ill natures
Your mind slips with the flow
Beating in the blood, in the spider net of the ancestral Arrow…

Your definition is gone; unstrung, you’re just standing alone
Fighting love with love, pieces of you, all in one…
Iconic symbols hijacking the placid path of your way
Burn kaleidoscopically in your iris array…
…Sweet state of dreamy void… passive stray…

Inflamed viaducts of the heart ecstatically donate their white
In the wine stream that stealthily vaporized one more night…
Delusive alcoholic line of sight…
Psychotic delight…
Which senses should be blamed because you lie with the only true light
Filling the vacuum with self-induced emotional art?…

-to Finn Vine
-30 September 2006-