AUTUMN

It’s all a scam

POSTED IN AUTUMN, contemporary poetry October 1, 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s all a scam

 

Here, I’ve said it!
All the “first”
are wishful thinking.
The first smile?
Maybe colics, gas.
The first word?
Who’s to say?
What if I’ve said it
all by myself
without any witness?
The first love?
Every boy I’ve kissed
even a girl
was my first love
The first kiss?
Hooya!
A messy, unsanitary
exchange of saliva
teeth clacking together
gnawing on each others mouth
bitten tongue by mistake
aware of all noises
eyes wide open
yep, that’s worth remembering.
The first sexual encounter?
I’ve been a virgin
way more times than
I care to admit.
First orgasm?
Define it.
To sum up:
“the first” is a folks’ tale
something people tell
each other
to keep going on
living.
What really counts
is your “last”:
word, smile, tear,
love, sex encounter, orgasm.
The last time of all.


Maria Magdalena Biela

Leoaica tânără, iubirea / Love, young lioness

POSTED IN AUTUMN, translated Romanian-English May 14, 2021

 

 

 

 

 

 

Leoaica tânără, iubirea / Love, young lioness

Leoaica tânără, iubirea
mi-ai sărit în faţă.
Mă pândise-n încordare
mai demult.
Colţii albi mi i-a înfipt în faţă,
m-a muşcat leoaica, azi, de faţă.

Şi deodata-n jurul meu, natura
se făcu un cerc, de-a-dura,
când mai larg, când mai aproape,
ca o strângere de ape.
Şi privirea-n sus ţişni,
curcubeu tăiat în două,
şi auzul o-ntâlni
tocmai lângă ciocârlii.

Mi-am dus mâna la sprânceană,
la tâmplă şi la bărbie,
dar mâna nu le mai ştie.
Şi alunecă-n neştire
pe-un deşert în strălucire,
peste care trece-alene
o leoaică arămie
cu mişcările viclene,
încă-o vreme,
şi-ncă-o vreme…


Nichita Stanescu

———————————

Love, young lioness

Love, a young lioness
jumped into my face.
She’d been stalking me with strain
for a while.
Her white fangs stuck into my face ,
The lioness bit today, my face.

And suddenly the nature, around me,
made a circle tumbling free
sometimes wider, nearer,
like a gathering of water.
And the glance upwards burst sight,
like a rainbow sliced in two,
and the hearing met it tight
right near the skylarks’ view.

I put my hand on my eyebrow,
on my temple, chin and fore
but the hand knows them no more.
And it glides haphazardly
on a shining desert glee,
over which with lazy moves
walks an auburn lioness
with her cunning motions loose,
Love, a young lioness
jumped into my face.
She’d been stalking me with strain
for a while.
Her white fangs stuck into my face ,
The lioness bit today, my face.

And suddenly the nature, around me,
made a circle tumbling free
sometimes wider, nearer,
like a gathering of water.
And the glance upwards burst sight,
like a rainbow sliced in two,
and the hearing met it tight
right near the skylarks’ view.

I put my hand on my eyebrow,
on my temple, chin and fore
but the hand knows them no more.
And it glides haphazardly
on a shining desert glee,
over which with lazy moves
walks an auburn lioness
with her cunning motions loose,
for a time,
and one more time…


Translated by Maria Magdalena Biela

Invention

POSTED IN AUTUMN October 12, 2018

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Invention

 

In nature nothing is lost, everything is transformed, or in other words, an economical man does like that: from the washing maching one creates a winepress! The invention should be patented! Vivat the Romanian brain 🙂!!!

 

Romania

The scent of a birthday

POSTED IN AUTUMN, September September 19, 2018

JAN

 

 

 

 

The scent of a birthday

 

I want to see you.

Know your voice.

Recognize you when you
first come ’round the corner.

Sense your scent when I come
into a room you’ve just left.

Know the lift of your heel,
the glide of your foot.

Become familiar with the way
you purse your lips
then let them part,
just the slightest bit,
when I lean in to your space
and kiss you.

I want to know the joy
of how you whisper
“more”

Mawlana Jalal-al-Din Rumi

Birthday in November

POSTED IN AUTUMN November 10, 2017

Happy Birthday, Mother!

Mama

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bielka

NOVEMBER

POSTED IN AUTUMN November 1, 2017

M

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No

No sun—no moon!
No morn—no noon—
No dawn—
No sky—no earthly view—
No distance looking blue—
No road—no street—no “t’other side the way”—
No end to any Row—
No indications where the Crescents go—
No top to any steeple—
No recognitions of familiar people—
No courtesies for showing ‘em—
No knowing ‘em!
No traveling at all—no locomotion,
No inkling of the way—no notion—
“No go”—by land or ocean—
No mail—no post—
No news from any foreign coast—
No park—no ring—no afternoon gentility—
No company—no nobility—
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member—
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,
November!

Thomas Hood

Fiery October

POSTED IN AUTUMN October 20, 2017

Friends , trees and smiles

Photo 23-09-2017, 14.19.42Photo 23-09-2017, 14.27.37

Photo 23-09-2017, 14.05.34

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bielka

 

October Birthday

POSTED IN AUTUMN October 8, 2017

 

Happy Birthday!!!

sea

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Friends

October’s fire

POSTED IN AUTUMN October 7, 2017

copac

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh Who Is That Young Sinner

Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrists?
And what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists?
And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air?
Oh they’re taking him to prison for the colour of his hair.

‘Tis a shame to human nature, such a head of hair as his;
In the good old time ’twas hanging for the colour that it is;
Though hanging isn’t bad enough and flaying would be fair
For the nameless and abominable colour of his hair.

Oh a deal of pains he’s taken and a pretty price he’s paid
To hide his poll or dye it of a mentionable shade;
But they’ve pulled the beggar’s hat off for the world to see and stare,
And they’re haling him to justice for the colour of his hair.

Now ’tis oakum for his fingers and the treadmill for his feet
And the quarry-gang on Portland in the cold and in the heat,
And between his spells of labour in the time he has to spare
He can curse the God that made him for the colour of his hair.
A.E. Housman

Happy Birthday, my Darling!

POSTED IN AUTUMN September 19, 2017

Happy Birthday to You!

 

JAZU

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo 19-09-2017, 17.22.14

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

LIVE LONG AND PROSPER!

 

Bielka

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