The Painting

Sunset red met yellow in the skies,
the view turned orange in painter’s eyes.
He changed the brush to see what flies;
through burning red and the purest white
pink butterfly flew in the night.
He acquainted green with ocean blue,
painted turquoise bird and another one too.
With yellow and blue he changed the scene;
dressed in green, the woman by the shore
stood like a queen.
The sea wind touched her hair but didn’t harass;
around her feet the painter added some grass,
with tiny amount black in ruby red
he mixed up a mass,
in her hand he placed a vine red glass.
She was leaning to the stone;
between blue and red he found the tone,
then put a violet rose on her ankle bone.
Hours later he felt such a delight,
painted moon bridge in her sight
and kept colouring through the night.
But tired painter lost his track,
put all the colours together
and the painting became black.

The Voyager

It has travelled for ages,
broke human made cages,
performed on different stages,
wiped off and wrote new pages.

Being sometimes manly, sometimes so foolish,
travelling from the surface to the deepest fantasies.
Being sometimes feminine, sometimes so girlish,
raising to the surface with colourful memories.
Making visible world shrink and vanish,
with closed eyes showing you new galaxies.
Having powers that no army can extinguish,
healing every man from all human injuries.
So selfish, master of talking sense and rubbish,
having skills for hiding from any scientific analysis.
Filled with anguish, loaded with shivering cherish,
leading you on a colourful path to the sparking borealis.
It can refinish, show an unseen world on a silver dish,
tell that and speak this, leading you to the heavenly bliss.
It is a fetish, making you want more,
to be the only wish, the only thing you miss –
there are such powers in a moisture kiss.

The Indifference

It was so hot and beautiful outside,
though I heard how Mother Nature cried.
This is the place that no one can divide.
But some think so, while putting ration aside,
and rape her delicate beauty with such a pride.
Taste her gentle green and feel a peaceful ride.
Listen to her voice to have a winding glide.
Feel her smooth touch to see the highest tide.
Have you ever even tried?
Hah, no chance to make understanding worldwide!
...and the last person on Earth wrote, the last guide:
They lied.
The truth they denied.
By their indifference she died.

Impossibly Easy

It is impossible to walk with only one leg,
but to find a balance in life; it is as easy
as to rebuild a broken egg.

With sense, winding distress is impossible
to explain, but to find inner peace; it is as
easy as to count all the drops of the rain.

It is impossible to find shelter from longing’s
changing gales, but to understand inner pain; it
is as easy as to put the wind on the scales.

Against loneliness, it is nearly impossible to
fight, but to understand why universe exists;
it is as easy as to walk faster than light.

It is impossible to escape from burning memories,
but to learn alphabets within an hour in Chinese;
it is as easy as to save all plants and trees.

With deceased thoughts it is impossible to be
creatively clever, but to come back from the dead;
it is as easy as living forever.

It is impossible to keep mind still, but to run
away; it is as easy as sliding down on uphill.

In concrete way it is impossible to re-experience
the most beautiful scene, but to get an answer on
“why?” it is as easy as to create a time machine.

It is impossible to find everlasting happiness, but
to understand sadness; it is as easy as for a mute
to shout yes.

With a cracked heart it’s nearly impossible to find
meaning for life again, but to face a missing part;
it is as easy as breathing without oxygen.

A Diamond

Some are not even a sudden flash.
He was a diamond among the mass.
Finding a cord they burn into ash.
He had melodies from every class.
They assume and they always crash.
He adored and he knew how to brass.
By making emptiness,
they create vanishing cash.
By creating timeless,
he knew that life’s a gas.

The Palace

An eyeful moment is the trigger.
From the seed of scent is growing bigger.
Enchanting words forms an invisible figure.
Touches will liberate a burning heart digger.
With kisses it will conquer,
growing stronger,
all the way into the passion monger.
With graceful moves demands to get closer,
having skills to be the most alluring poser,
requiring a heart on the altar of disclosure.
Feeling undisguised leisure,
bathing in foaming pleasure,
sliding in time out of measure,
swimming in colours without pressure,
but the palace of love is like a well hidden treasure.

Only One

If you haven’t heard the chime,
you have read the wrong rhyme,
or yet it hasn’t been your time,
but with only one lucky chance,
you may feel the heat of a real romance.
To let it grow, to advance,
all the way into insaneness dance.
To receive it with an unseen glance,
love is an eyeful moment in a blinding trance.

Outnumbered

World is a trash bin with a greedy leader.
The indifference is a vanity’s laughing dealer.
Planet Earth, a suffering toy, for how much longer?
Have a lovely day, enjoy, while lunacy gets stronger.
Outnumbered Earth man can destroy – never conquer!

The Elements

Nose remembers the scent,
     eyes every movement.
Sometimes unheard,
     ears remember every word.
Gentle is much,
     skin remembers every touch.
Never out of fashion,
     lips remember moisture passion.
Without alignment,
     mind remembers every moment.
The elements take two,
     I remember every second with you.

Success

An unmoving and oily duck says:
“No matter what, everything is for human success.”

Man couldn’t care less, on her birth giver he
tramples without wisdom and awareness.
To find mess, just look around to
behold irresistible blindness.
Which press? The giant one in the rainforest,
since the man is after material richness.
Into hazy stress, a greedy man has lost
the meaning of a part time laziness.
A numb yes, mankind keep sinking
deeper into dumbness.
To add “bless”, is it the way that supersedes
overwhelming sadness?
What a bad guess, for human mind is
filled with ever-growing madness.

The Melodies

An incomplete tune kept inside an empty hoard,
roaming through times, waiting to be restored.
Wandering among blind minds, inside deaf ears,
just to be ignored, carrying sad melodies,
lying often alone in the ward, until one day
from the heights wafted the whisper of the most
beautiful chord.

From the first moment the maiden chord filled the
tune’s body, and turned it from sadness into a
madness rhapsody. They intertwined tight together
and gave birth to an unheard melody.

With the power of a mellow saxophone they kept
sliding high, with the force of a snare drum
travelling through a storm’s eye, lying still,
listening to the bagpipe’s cry, and violin’s sigh.
Verse in verse they pranced in the sky, laughed
around the stars, which were flowing near by.

In the middle of brilliance, the maiden chord
changed her prance into an unexpected nuance.
The tune got mad, then awfully sad and lost its
balance, felt crushing dissonance, without knowing
why the maiden chord stopped the dance.

By knowing since that all melodies sounded wrong,
the tune still asked the chord to dance along. But
nothing helped; the tune kept limping on, feeling
weak then strong but only for short moments, not for
long and the composer of time ended an incomplete song.

Silence.

The Road

Gluttony is the answer, I bet.
…will be a generation whose food we ate.
It is brilliant, fantastic!
...fill the nature with glass and plastic.
Don’t worry, the future isn’t blurry.
...we are eager to destroy, with such a hurry.
Feel the freedom, none is in chains!
...and who has these unused brains?
Man’s basic virtue is to adore.
...the goal is to create a new war.
The purpose is peace, to create everlasting kingdom.
....and the winner stands on the most destructive bomb.
Faster and faster, run to see a colourful blaster.
...we are on a blind man’s road to a complete disaster.

Fools Kingdom

By following every order, every advice,
keeps you wandering in a desert with sandy eyes.
Only for a fool it is a surprise
that it is not a rebellious to think otherwise.

Perpetual-Motion Machine

Commercial man is a mental thief,
for material richness is not the goal to achieve.
There are four ways to conceive from the seed of
grief, the beam of happiness, the sigh of anger,
the sprout of relief or the breath of peeve.
From four tiny thoughts to weave, something grand
but modest to perceive, something colourful for
generations to leave, something, from where the
unstoppable worlds can heave. If there were no
poets, it would be easy to believe that nothing
can release more energy than receive.

Nothing

Good morning, Star!
Have you enjoyed so far?

It’s in you, the thing I blindly adore.
It’s in me, my everlasting, insane war.
You’re naked in my mind, standing on my stormy shore.
Your sad and delightful, tsunami bangs at my paper door.
If I ever meet you, with hugs and kisses I will décor.
Ask and I’ll carry you to the top floor.
Ask and I’ll write you a poem you haven’t seen before.
Ask with your eyes and I’ll explore.
Ask with your body to feel soft caressing and kisses galore.
You are the one to do little things for,
since nothing but a woman inspires a poet’s heart more.

Desperate

To give us space, is that why many species die away?
How many years from now, when no trees, no swaying hey?
Nonsense above because mankind is the one to stay.
Less than ten thousand years ago all this was built,
or perhaps someone lied?
They lived millions of years ago - to pollute later –
is that why dinosaurs died?
To make it worldwide, let’s take a holiday flight,
and fill the sky with carbon dioxide.
Humanity is measured by the God of guns.
No help from praying nuns, madness is marching by tons.
Only few know where it runs, by trying to save the Queen,
there wander a tiny army of the desperate ones.

Enclosed Mind

That, who hasn’t looked back on his
own movements, has never gained
personal improvements.

The White Lady

Among colourful paintings on the wall,
day after day there she stands.
The white lady in a hall keeps reaching
out her empty hands.
She’s fumbling tall at an invisible being,
receiving supernatural demands.
Or perhaps she’s not the one to fall,
but the one who commands?

Tempting

I have held your fair-boned hand;
     I felt soft guidance to an unseen land.
I have kissed your moisture lips;
     They sold tickets for the burning red trips.
I have kissed your fascinating mind;
     There was a rambling forest behind.
I have looked through your shiny screen;
     An unreal being inside you exiled the Queen.
I have looked into your planets;
     They guard well hidden, hazel couplets.
I have caressed your riot hair;
     With my fingers they had a long, dark affair.
I have caressed your freckled face;
     There was a soft path to a velvet embrace.
I have listened to your silent singing;
     It has echoes from the fairies ringing.
I have listened to your tempting voice;
     It sounds blue with a tinge of a turquoise.
I have listened to your alluring laughter;
     You’re the one my poems are constantly after.

The End

No philosophical wit but brawn – in an acid rain.
Indifference with empty yawn – rationality has lost again.
No resting on a green lawn – the precious have been slain.
Nowhere a floating swan – vanity is swimming in champagne.
The final line has been drawn – me, myself and I is the main.
On the last human dawn – Mother Nature feels no pain.
When everything is gone – not even questions remain.

The Mask

It doesn’t matter is one’s life
loose in a giant cask,
or stuffed in to a tiny flask.
Though sometimes it is a task,
but you’ll never have to ask,
to see behind someone’s mask.

The Nooks

It may be tight by the fear of curse,
or filled with light, revealing universe.
It may contain one grey alley,
or creative rain in fertile valley.
It may include steady rider,
or an unpleasant mood of an outsider.
There may be a constant feast by miniature people,
or a place to see a distant beast on a close steeple.
One may travel there without borders,
the other one swell in a square by taking orders.
There may work an undisguised talent
or a bored clerk, who never went,
after something excellent.
It may shyly hide important things,
or highly glide, listening how freedom sings.
There may ring laughter with no reason,
or a logical swing after thoughtful season.
It may be defending, being sensible,
or it may free the ending, freeing horrible,
but till we make them divisible,
the nooks of mysterious mind stay invisible.