Stories

Wondering with the Moon

POSTED IN contemporary poetry, Stories, Summer July 24, 2018

luna

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wondering with the Moon

Flaming glowing moon, sleeplessness moon,
Overbearing, foolishness, in the heart of June
Mercilessly you torment my eyelids to falter,
I am hit by your ray like a boat by water.

Shining in the Time’s eyes amused in delight,
you watch us from cradle until we depart.
Scared by you, the shy cranes so astounded and shady
they thought you a tender. They thought you a Lady.

You yelled at the Night while the timid stars
Were hiding in heaven their tears and scars.
Overdone, your praisings bored you with no wit,
worn-out the Word’s meaning fell in infinite.

Do you seak new flattery? New worship to earn?
Try and search on Google, time to be modern!
You will thus create a new identity
To match perfectly with your new eternity.

Dead are the lunatics who in the days of yore
at a corner of a street loved you to a roar.
By a wicked spirit in a rush consumed
They distorted your face as cheap poster doomed.

No longer a mystery, genuine , unique
You are now cloned by a world virtual and freak
Using grotesque make up, awful Photoshop
they defiled your pure Light, they disgraced your hope.

Someone in this phony, ephemeral life
knows that your forgiveness will be like a knife.
Humans of these decades are a tad rough – hewn
They screamed at you last night: “take a selfie, Moon!”

Maria Magdalena Biela

Time in a frame

POSTED IN contemporary poetry, Stories November 12, 2017

piano

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Time in a frame

 

 

She’s tall, dark-haired, with sparkling eyes,
her fingers swift and sure,
bent over piano she cries,
her white neck’s long and pure.

She’s twenty two or twenty three,
and to the angels talking
she needs not notes for melody,
she plays as if sleepwalking.

The photo speaks volumes of her
and of that time in amber.
She is with child, her music slur
her wings, her joy, her cumber.

She died in child birth, Christmas Eve.
Her daughter is my mother.
She gave us all a life to grieve.
A woman like no other.

In this photo she’ll always be
forever young and pregnant.
She knows not that from her to me
Time will be framed incessant.

This photo is a last image
Of my grandmother’s life.
She always will be that age,
mother to be and wife.
I play her piano these days.
I look like her, been told.
She is in silence, I’m in maze
She is young, I am old.

I kiss her photo, black and white
I smile: how odd and funny,
when time she stopped she had the sight:
I’m older than my grannie!

 

 

Maria Magdalena Biela

Lost

POSTED IN contemporary poetry, Stories November 12, 2017

negru

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lost

 

 

Lost pride
last seen
the teachers’ lounge.
In ‘99
somewhere
South-east of Europe.
It was vintage
bruised
brutalized
persona
non
grata
yet it was mine.
I travelled since
searching for it
in vane.
Who may find it
please
return it
to grave nr.5
the Mountain Ash tree
facing the heaven.
Reward:
three bloody tears
and my story.

 

 

Bielka

Sanna Vehviläinen

POSTED IN Stories October 11, 2017

Sanna Vehviläinen

The definition of PERFECTION! I have never been so overwhelmed by a moment that I was lucky enough to witness, and lucky enough to capture her image next to mine…

58

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maria Magdalena Biela

 

A child’s prayer

POSTED IN contemporary poetry, Stories September 11, 2017

fetita

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A child’s prayer

Please, let me live, give me a chance

of life on Earth to have a glance,

Let me grow roots and let me shine

on this blue planet in decline.

 

 

When I was born into this Light

you all blessed me with great delight,

you all were filled with greedy thoughts:

“Our child will have money loads”!

 

 

You ripped this planet with blind eyes

you cut its trees, darkened its skies,

you killed the life to which you’re bound

searching for money all around.

 

Mothers and fathers please, redeem!

Listen to your children scream!

Life is a gift to receive once.

Do not destroy fragile balance!

 

I need not money to sleep tight,

to have fresh air and starry night,

serene to listen to birds’ song,

to feel that here I do belong!

 

 

Please let me live, let me grow old!

Stop searching for leprechaun’s gold!

Stop your greed, your badness, lust,

for me to have in Future trust.

 

 

For me to see the moon, the sun,

with birds and flowers to have fun,

for me to see a heaven blue,

to grow old kind, and good, and true.

 

 

Protect me from your evil deeds!

Stop lying! You don’t know my needs.

Do you want me to show you how?

For me, please, save the Planet now!

 

 

Maria Magdalena Biela

Happy Birthday, my Father!

POSTED IN contemporary poetry, Stories July 14, 2017

Happy Birthday, my Father!

tata_text

Si de Florii

POSTED IN Stories April 7, 2017

Milena_Johny

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Si de Florii

Si de Florii
te-astept sa fii
si sa atingi
cu mine Cerul…

Te-astept sa vii
cu frunze vii
al fericirii
mesagrul.

De-ai sa ma minti
ma jur pe sfinti
te vand pe
30 arginti

te las sa fii
cu ochi pustii
in ziua sfanta
de Florii.

Bielka

The carrier

POSTED IN Stories April 1, 2017

5

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The carrier

 

Yesterday
I caught a nasty
Spring happiness.
I’m not sure how.
Someone
must have smiled
straight into my soul.
I felt suddenly hot and cold,
warm and fuzzy,
I saw rainbows
on a rainy day,
I sang for no reason
and smiled to unknown people
on the street.
It seems to be
highly contagious
and to have a very short
incubation period.
Unaware
I kissed my love
and I’ve contaminated him
for he came home
dancing in the rain
filling my arms
with all the white lilacs
stolen from the city.
He might have been
weaker than I
for he started
to write poems,
to tell me “I love you”
every second hour,
to praise my food
(I’m not so much of a cook),
to find me interesting.
It is terrible!
My  happiness
triggered in him
a chain reaction
and strange side effects.
Could it be genetic
I wonder?
I shudder to think about
my children,
my grandchildren,
my great grandchildren
exposed to happiness
simply because
I was the carrier.

 

Vintage print

Si…

POSTED IN contemporary poetry, Stories January 17, 2017

Magda_birth

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Si…

…cad zapezile-ostenite,
si-n mine urla lupi natangi,
adulmecand poteci gresite.
Te-astept pe tine sa-i alungi.

… fug de oameni printre oameni,
si-n inima-mi omatu-i greu,
si sunt un nimeni printre nimeni,
te cat pe tine, omul meu.

…vantul suduie napraznic,
si limba lui nu-i limba mea,
la moartea dorului fac praznic.
Te-astept sa plangi cu fulgi de nea.

…iar ma nasc in asta lume,
o anonima inutila,
si n-am capitol, nici volume.
Doar tu, prefata mea subtila.

Vintage print

Tonight

POSTED IN Stories January 1, 2017

glass

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tonight

Tonight I’ll drink, I’ll drink tonight
to the New Year, to the new “might”,
to those who crushed my dreams and flight,
to all my hopes that suffered blight.

I raise the glass to the New Year,
for the new harvesting I cheer,
for what I’ve seen and for the seer,
for everything that I hold dear.

I’ll drink to dead and to alive,
to those who smile and those who strive,
to those who waste life to contrive,
to those who every day survive.

I’ll drink to clouds and to the light,
to all the stars in human plight,
all shining silent, shining bright,
so far away from our sight.

Tonight I’ll drink a poisonous drink,
I’ll give myself the time to think
before I die, perhaps a blink.
I’ll give my pen a glass of ink.

 

 

 

Vintage print

 

Loading