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



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



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



I seek the sadness in the crowd of seven faces

I’m surprised by so many.

I stand inside this dead house honouring my father.


As a child I prayed every night

I asked God for forgiveness that only I could give

– but how do you forgive fear?


I stand inside this dead house sheltering my heart

colder than the frigid limbs hidden in the coffin

Maybe one day I will forgive

but not today. The dead body will not change it. 

Then I remember.


You are still alive. 


Firstly, I have to leave a note to my sister – I am perfectly fine, I am happy, this little scribble is just something I have been working on for a while and is absolutely not a reflection of my current mood or state of mind.

Ok that’s it, sorry – last time I published something similar I think I got her little worried 🙂

Secondly, I have to say – I’m having so much fun attending this writing class – I’m looking forward to the weekend just to read some of the other poems and meet new people. I have only managed a fraction so far and I am impressed by the talent that is here. Well done you folks!


Writing 201: Fog

Homo (genus) H. partius (species) of Animalia (kingdom)

You make me laugh! Thursday, the new

Friday? Oh, hun that is so last centu

ry. Monday is the new Sund

ay and Tuesday is the

warm up to

the we







r, glass of wine or two


gets you ready for the date

night – Wednesday if you

must ask – love hidden in

a cocktail bar. Thursday’s

when the real fun starts;

office meeting in a pub e

nding in the 80’s bar. Fri

day? Who cares my dear

? Friday doesn’t count.

No one remembers it

anyway!Wake up w

hen the sun goes do

wn greeting Saturd

ay’s night – and

greet it all nigh

t long! There

‘s no other w

ay! Kicked

out of the

club? S

top for
















he game is lost. Or won. In

which case we just go on!


Oh sweetie, Thursday, the new Friday? That is so last century.


This was exhausting! I’m going to bed.

Writing 201: Animal






Past shining within permanent darkness

Astronauts floating in a metal cage

Strong bonds we trust in to hold them.


Trouble spotters glued to their monitors in Houston

Routine day in the office –

Out in the past linking the present.


Utilising theories, hypothesis and knowledge to

Till anti-matter with our curiosity,

Illustrious men and women

Lusting to reach the big bang.


Us, trusting the science.


Space fascinates and terrifies me in equal measures. I admire everyone who has dedicated their lives to studying and exploring the universe and the courage of the individuals who go out there pretty much alone for months, living and working in confined quarters, without real food or gravity. I’d love to visit a space rocket/vessel/ship (because who wouldn’t) but it would have to be safely parked here on this lovely planet.


As for the form – acrostic – I’m not entirely sure if I fit in with this poem or not but I am most certainly playing with the letters. I have taken second, third and fourth letter of the first word in the line and started a new world/line with these three letters, and I did this for all the lines.

Past -> Astronaut

Astronaut -> Strong etc

Only exception being Illustrious -> Lusting where I ignored the double L.


For a more straightforward acrostic poem, let me allow to refer you to one of my older posts – where I didn’t even know that this is a form and it has a name. I can be very ignorant.

Writing 201: Trust



Training, running, getting ready for a race

Learning to keep levelled, steady pace

I ran the forest path

It was made of mud

Foot flopped and I fell, ended up with filthy face



Running inspired limerick. I indeed went for a run in the woods at the weekend but managed to keep my face mud-free. The trainers not so much.

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Writing 201: Journey



Panic! Fear. Save me!

Muscles spasming, lungs like peas.

My first winter swim.



I have been thinking about testing and stretching my poetic muscles for a while now and as if Universe somehow new about these plans of mine, there comes Writing 201: Poetry! So for next couple of weeks or so (as I can’t promise I’ll keep the prescribed schedule), I will be posting my attempts of poems according to the given assignments.

Writing 201: Water