K to O_haiku

I'm in, I eat kale
Hipster healthy bio freak
We all gonna die
Yellow, reds and browns
Path rustling under my steps
Last leaf falling down
Monkey see, monkey
do. Lead by an example.
We are animals.
Dancing northern lights
Crisp wind reddening my cheeks
Soul frozen in awe
Proud and majestic
Sublime colours, shapes and scents
Orchids on display 

Your gifts / Čo si mi dala

Author: Pavel Bunčák

I sang a song for you:
Flower gives out its scent, withers.
I taught you how to get old
sensibly and stealthily,
how to reminisce 
without memories,
how ghosts grow up 
and sweet sighs 
turn into wrinkles.  
Zaspieval som ti pieseň:
Kvet rozvonia sa, zvädne.
Učil som ťa, ako sa starne
múdro a nebadane,
ako sa spomína,
keď nemáš na čo,
ako vyrastajú prízraky
a zo sladkých vzdychov
vrásky.

F to J_haiku

Harvest of ripe wheat
Endless golden long grass fields
Bread to feed the men
Mountain of garbage
Prominent and stinky sign
Welcome to our town
Horse showing his teeth
Eyes asking for an apple
in my pocket. Neigh.
Dry ice solid gas
Global warming is coming
Icebergs are melting  
Juniper berries
Bitter and sharp on my tongue 
My head is spinning

Bridge / Most

Author: Juraj Andričík

We lived our lives
like river banks.
Each a hair further apart
by every step
leading to the sea.

You were afraid
that one day
you won't see as far as my shore.

I reasoned with you:
where the banks touch
river runs dry.

You have built a bridge.
Tak sme svoj život žili 
ako brehy rieky.
Tie na každom kroku
o vlások širšie
idú do mora.

Bála si sa,
že jedného dňa
na môj breh nedovidíš.

Prevrával som ťa:
kde sa brehy stretnú,
rieka vysychá.

Postavila si most.

A to E_haiku

Leaves beating my face 
Ashes broken by the wind
Tree cemetery
Foam covered pebbles 
Tangled seaweed on the shore
Our beach paradise
Purr, meow, hiss, snarl, growl
Nigh time wanders and dead gifts
Does the cat love me?
Behind concrete walls
Atlantis under water  
Dam hiding secrets  
Reflection of sound
No need for eyes in the dark
They just use echos

Peanuts are a Deal breaker

I love how you lock my eyes when we talk

I love when you laugh with me

I love your fingers tickling my spine

I love how you pull me closer and breath in the scent of my hair

I love the way you kiss my neck

I love your sculptured muscles

I love how your beard scratches my cheeks

I love to wake up next to you and watch you still sleeping

I love when you make me coffee and then drink half of it and I can taste it in your kiss

I love when you cook dinner and we never quite manage to sit down and eat it

I love your notes around my place

I love the marks you leave on my flat

I love the marks you leave on me

I love you

But peanuts are a deal breaker

Landscape

 

Theoretical Laboratory

Brilliant or pathetic? Neither? Both?

Humans, just figures in headlights and rear-view mirrors:

targets, possessions, poisons.

Trading familiarity for quantity,

no purpose, no own route,

no added aroma. 

Weighed down, heavy and hard as metal.

 

Design the new cycle –

Job? Serve, embrace, listen.

___

This is what I call fun! Although I ended up with a rather dystopian poem.

I would love to do this in the proper cut-words-our-of-newspapars way but I don’t have any at hand. Instead I used a book (no scissors were called into action). I bought this book about three years ago and is still pristine as the day it came home with me. It is called ‘Periodic Tales: The Curious Lives of the Elements‘ by Hugh Aldersay-Williams. And I have no idea why I haven’t read it yet. I don’t have an explanation.

 

 

 

Writing 201: Landscape

Drawer

 

I dream about you at night – 

about your secrets and treasures and lies 

I spy on you, I plan. 

 

The day I touched you,

caressed you, probed you the very first time –

the overwhelming desire to posses you  

has consumed my mind.

You act as nothing happened, unmoved 

hiding behind walls and locks.

Your silence mocking my efforts –

no squeak, no creak, not even whine

to my desperate break-in tries. 

My knees are chaffed, my fingers bleed

Oh how I wish to know where is your key. 

 

––––

Phew…I was really struggling with this one.

 

Writing 201: Drawer

Fingers

 

The earth is soft, dark and damp

ants clim over my mountainous fingers 

I feel a bite – I’m trespassing. 

I brush the soil, gently first,

but I can’t resist the urge.

My fist intrudes the cradle of life –

cold, kissed by the morning dew,

dirt hides behind my fingernails.

I dig deeper but the earth is fighting back

my fingers sting and burn and

I can’t stand the pain anymore.

I withdraw. 

My hand is red and black, the hand

that disturbs the earth. 

Earth is fighting back.

___

I was very torn whether or not to include a comment on this poem or not. Especially because instead of talking about the environmental crisis we are in and which I’ve tried to express in my poem – I actually wanted to mention fingers as tools for communication. I did a writing course few year back and there was a girl (whose name I don’t remember and it is driving me absolutely crazy) who was and I guess still is a puppeteer. She also was and I hope still is an amazingly talented poet. I loved her poems. I will never forget a line she wrote ‘my hand is a naked puppet’ and it was the first thing that popped in my head when I read the assignment for today. I’m sure you know someone who ‘talks with their hands’, use them to emphasise emotion and when you are in different country and don’t speak the language – how many times have you used the pointing technique? Fingers have their own voice – whether it is the official sign language or one that we use without even realising.

Writing: Fingers