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and when i decided to return home, get on the midnight cannonball, as i was approaching the town station, the more i was thinking, the more annoying got the buzz in my head, picturing my mother and her long run lover, the sky pilot, who am i, Reverend Joness, with an s, the prolonged sound intended to be a sort of mockery, i am your Father, Yes, Sir, the truth is i am but an Angelina, don’t know who my dad is, two years on the road. the station is nearby, i grab my bindlestiff and on i go, but bulls are roaming around, so i turn left and then left again, no chance of getting a seat on the accommodation car tonight, since i left the station, and i kept turning to the left, it’s a common human behavior, as if no other directions existed and no other exits, no north, south, east or west, I’d probably sleep again in the bone orchard, considering to flip tomorrow if i’m lucky enough on the hills, where trains are slower, and as i was planning my moves next day, the home return, i felt my stomach grumbling, making more noise than the buzz in the head, i’d give my life for a steamy stew and golden potatoes, if only there was a soup bowl close, i can barely feel my feet, and i need to rest.
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Postat in Photography | Tagged apa, balta, broaste, Crisul Repede, fish, frog, pestisori, water, weeds | No Comments »
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Louis was my first cat,
i’ve had him since five,
little tiger hunting butterflies and grasshoppers,
blue-eyed and gray fur and a friendly mood most of the time,
or so it’s said to mean holding the tail up,
he loved to sleep beside me and to purr.
for thirteen years we had done
uncounted expeditions,
first to the garden, down the street,
the candy store, Miss Hamilton’s great garden
with flowers and bowls of milk and cherries
and prunes and old dog Henry,
then further on, the forest on the hills,
the green park at the margin of the town.
we were inseparable for long years,
until one day, i was in town to meet a friend,
at home, my other friend
closed his blue eyes forever.
the sky was cloudy. it rained.
as i was smiling, without clue - it’s as they say -
for the loss of a friend
you lose something and gain something else
instead.
.
(by me)
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‘tare se mai insala cel care crede ca e usor sa pronunti un nume, in dragoste, pentru prima oara” . when will dreams come true? when will we live them? when will i fall asleep with my cheek on your cheek and your face covered with my hair
***
Life lesson
up on the hill, caressing the back of a cat,
behind a carriage waiting and two restless studs
one white one gray, covered with multicolored beads,
his cheeks caressed by winds -
this is my kingdom, son, he spoke,
his long thin fingers entangled with the fur,
one day it will be yours;
the child looked at the valley,
then to his father’s side,
his prolonged head, his thin stature,
his womanly chest - covered in gold.
and spoke no word, just blinked, and for the first time
had a glimpse of whom he was.
A king
.
(by me)
Postat in Photography, Poezie | Tagged cetate, history, Oradea, ruins, stairs, trepte | No Comments »
i love/i’d take with me
“
you
camera
book(s)
music
animals/pets
flowers
a notebook to write upon
nature
my brother
———–
i hate
“
distance
lies
wars
ignorance
lack of enthusiasm
violence
lack of free time
platitude
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