I will come again

the time will bloom - be still
your lips half open may hide
all words when tokens fall ill
to find me frozen petrified

clasped in sadness of cellar thoughts
I gasped for breath out of those knots
waited too long for something to rise
to break the spell and untie the ties

the hand will open - be mine
the stroke half broken may kill
too fragile and most benign
the heart now silent until

drowned in the mud and dragged ashore
the ground sets silence and sings no more
the words not uttered have no refrain
be still- do not worry- I will come again

When wine again learns to bleed

when wine again learns to bleed
my words in silence spell will swell
like clouds with rain and vicious seed
that nothing denies and nothing can tell

I'll be planted among the grapes so blue
that the sky will see them but never taste
and I will be gifted the most bitter hue
not a single drop will there be to waste

you'll flow with me down the rivers slit
and sing a horizon of a sprinkled soul
rise from the oblivion ocean of misfit
find my cracked half and make me whole

Човјек и пас

Сутоном што пребројава лишће испод мог балкона, на платоима неисписаности у наслијеђе без потписа остављеним погледу мом што не досеже никад и мимо свих архитектура што сам их погледом истим изградила шетају вечерас човјек и пас.
Корак по корак испод кестења, крај клупа од очаја на којима сједе тек Преверове сијени, стазама кроз парк шетају вечерас човјек и пас.
Овај први пребројава трагове покислих птица, тако је много кише, Боже, првише је кише. Пребројава с Мљечног пута сред лишћа накупљене звијезде, под сјечивом Мјесеца лежећ одавно заспалих звијезда. Над њима газ је човјековог неба, он кода као што човјек хода, а њуши као пас.
Овај други слијепо прати трагове свог господара и мисли на птицу што нема ципеле већ само крила и лет с посветом Лајбница од најбољег међу свјетовима из испог отргнут, страницама прелистан у књигама мудраца. Псећи је живот дивљином бити гоњен, а крај ногу господара уморно дахтати.
Низ сребром сиједе пепељасте косе ноћи сипа кроз ход кишом за раст, капљом дојен од поноћне росе обоје зори пију у част, ходају вечерас човјек и пас.

The man and the dog

With the twilight that counts the leaves beneath my balcony, across the plateaus of the unwritten like a legacy without a signature left to my view that can never reach out and beyond all the architectures that I've created in my sight there walk tonight the man and his dog. Step by step beneath the chestnut trees, past the benches of despair being sat by the mere shadows of Prevert, along the paths through the park, there walk tonight the man and his dog.
The former counts the trails of the soaking wet birds, there's so much rain, God, there's too much rain. He counts the trails among the leaves like stars collected off the Milky Way long ago cut off by the blade of the Moon, stars that lie asleep. There's a walk of a human sky beyond them, he walks the way a human walks and he sniffs like a dog.
The latter blindly follows his master's footsteps thinking of the bird that's got no shoes but wings only and the flight with Leibniz's dedication among the best of the worlds as he, the dog, has been thrown out it, leafed through the pages of the world's sages, a dog's life, indeed it is, to be haunted by wilderness and still pant in exhaustion by the master's feet.
Down the silver, grey and ashen hairs of the night it pours through the walk with the rain for the growth, breastfed by the drop of the midnight dew they  both drink rain to the honour of the dawn, there walk tonight the man and his dog.

не дај се одредити

у скуповима смо к'о пчелиње саће
воском запечаћен сертификат
рођени нерођени живљени остављени
с умртлицом на стубу папирни срам

дипломирани с пасошима
печаторесци непремошћених граница
с беџевима страха огребани свјетлом што
-авај ал'не к'о ми- хоће да буде знак

возовно слијежемо проценте на шине
к'о рамена разголићена изгладнијели без сјаја
намотај сиједих око кажипрста
упиремо у лимену ноћ

то је ко је гдје смо ми
не дај се ожиљком одредити

рециклирамо смеће будућности боље
папирне мисли у папирни кош
стаклене ријечи у стакло
од срца правимо компост

дише нас земља плућима неба
једемо пијемо плодимо се чекамо
на репу комета меморке кише
да сперу бол да сперу бол

а тако је као одувати дан
к'о перут с ревера и рећи одлази
брзина је свјетлосна
кад се галаксије отворе к'о ране
поклонити 'не'гвозденим звијездама

Don't let be defined

like honeycomb sets
wax sealed certified
we're born unborn
lived and left
with death certificates
a paper shame
nailed on a post

graduates with passports
seal makers of limits
never over bridged
with badges of fear
scratched by the light that-
alas but not like us-
wants to be the sign

train-like we shrug
percents on the rails
with shoulders naked
emaciated glossless
the ring of grey hairs
around the forefinger
we point into the tin night

it is who is where we are
don't let be defined by your scar

we recycle deposits
of a better future
our paper thoughts
into paper bins
and glass words to glass
compost is produced
by our hearts

we're breathed by Earth
through the lungs of the sky
we eat we drink
reproduce and wait
for the meteor rain
on the tails of the comets
to wash away the pain

when in fact it's so simple
to blow away the day
like dandruff from the lapel
to say 'go away'
the speed is of the light
whenever the galaxies
open up lie wounds
to gift a 'no'
to the iron stars

it is who is where we are
don't let be defined by your scar

You let the Babel be

Oh monsieur je suis enchantée
vous sprachen Deutch mais me jamais
can get you nada al' ko to zna
mindej I say like a Dada
Ah so I flee lie Zobi la moche
jedna za dž...al' tri za groš
na раз na два na три
you let the Babel be

Oh Sir I am enchanted
you speak German but I never do
can get you-nothing- still , who knows
no difference like a Dada- I suppose
ah so I fly lie Zobi the Flee
you sat three for a coin but one for free
count one to two count two to three
you let the Babel be

Author Notes

Haven't done fusion poetry for quite some time, was fun

Letters thunk

gifted to sifted through
food fuel and junk
we feed their ego needs
them belies with money skunk
we sign their trust them deeds
the ink’s petroleum drunk
we lol we lie  line feed
letters thunk letters thunk

ABC

we’re weirdos so  it seems
one stArts from
A
Who stArts from
B
premises leAd to
C
BewAre
DE
F
orest
H
‘omeless
I
they prey on
G
‘old unwritten sky
J
‘Anitor’s comfort on
K
ibbutz plans
L
‘ove
M
‘y dog
N
‘ot his bone
'tis
OP
Art
for you Alone
R
u there
S
T
‘mAte
U
yourself non-creAted
in
W
‘is no dom
of times so
X
pray say
Y
Do u
enjoy no
Z
‘est

we’re weirdos so  it seems
one stArts from
A
Who stArts from
B
premises leAd 2
C

Author Notes

I am worried about the presentation of this poem.

Не бој се

град је као било који други
спреман да те садржи
у телефонском именику
на платном списку
безимених послова
и мјесечним рачунима
за привремено становање

и људи у њему су исти
баш као у претходном граду
тачно онакви какве тражиш
спремни да те прихвате
и спремни да те одбаце
на менталној скали
сопствених потреба

а улице су крвотоци
теби већ познати
даћеш им своје кораке
и поезију града небеског
у сваком суду и ћелији

и неће бити важно
јер све што се збива
збива се иза очију
само се завјесе
дешавају на прозорима

слободно се пресели

Do not be afraid

the city is like any other city
ready to contain you
in its address books
on the pay roll
of nameless jobs
and monthly bills
for temporary residence

and the people in it are the same
just like people in a previous one
exactly the ones you’re looking for
ready to accept you
ready to reject you
on the mental scale
on their own needs

the streets are the blood flows
you have already known
you’ll give them your steps
and the poetry of cities in heaven
in each of its vessels and cells

and it won’t be important
for everything that is going on
is happening behind the eyes
only the curtains
happen on the windows

you can freely move

Maintenant -iv

Maintenant,
je veux toucher une fois seulement
les avions d 'Appolinare
avec les oiseaux lyriques
et cette image non passée
les yeux de Christ
le sang des toutes les mots
tombés dans le ciel

Now-iv

Now,
I want to touch for just one more time
the airplanes of Appolinaire's
with the lyrical birds
and that image that never fades
the eyes of Christ
the blood of all the words
fallen in the sky

Tis sin against creation

no syn for creti energy

too punc for any tuation
cosm-mimetic gives allergy
'tis sin against creation

re cycle litter oi wits for ture
muscle up splinter ha ha hard core
barbic like glitter hits for sure
fu will ture make up some more

fis fus ions neonic and blind
atom a neck guill for otine
mis a print blue plum mind
ex imp pump plode plum dine

no syn for creti energy
too punc for any tuation
cosm-mimetic gives allergy
'tis sin against creation

Добра земљо

Твоје вријеме дан исписан свемиром
Милениjуми расути по земљи твој ум
Као пјесма писана над похабаним папиром
Бесано патиш не одајеш ни шум

Good Earth

Your time is written in a universe day
Millenniums scattered across the mind ground
Like a poem written on a torn piece of paper
You sleepless suffer you give away no sound

Day 21 facing the key

Dear Ben,

I gather by the consistency of your reply
that you're feeling much better
which should be No 1 on the list of
21st April priorities
Btw thank you for your gratitude
I listened to some music recently
like thank you for hearing me
by Sinead in every way the bold
le cantatrice chauve is formidable
thought I could cry for days

I sincerely hope your wife is okay
and that any continent she happens to be
at the moment of my writing
can contain her fragility and her feather like soul
may she rise as beautiful as when she's asleep
so that both of you can move on and away
from vampire points that chose
all continents alike to bite the soil
and sign a different contract with the milk teeth
of Celan's black dawns I try avoiding these days
just to see what happens

I completely agree with you that colours
are no bad thing at all
and I hope the red gives no sour strawberry feel
the yellow warmly brushes your skin
and the leaf brown can stroke your tired hair
my ever green leaved brother please bloom

Rise

flash like driven

unsaid unforeseen
forgotten and forgiven
always in between

waters remember
all the nights that fell
down onto the faces of the Earth
who could tell on how many
or where
the Moon with hundred phases
spilling the songs of dawns

rise

flash like driven
unsaid unforeseen
forgotten and forgiven
always in between

Смијала сам се у боје дјечаче

Смијала сам се у боје дјечаче
тражећи свој Понто Раилте
на замршеним каналима Венеције
мокра од неба изнад
крхког као муранско плаво стакло
стала на стоти мост
танка злаћана фигура на сунцу

I was laughing into the colours boy

I was laughing into the colours boy
looking for my Ponto Rialte
among the intricate channels of Venice
soaked in humid sky above
as fragile as Murano blue glass
I stood at a hundred bridge
a slim golden figure in the sun

We will write those poems

'Those poems I will not write
I will not write those poems.'
(Terence George Craddock)

so much unsaid
and of all the things said
so much unheard

we're a scratch on the wall
an atom of the possible
a speck of light dancing
at the tip of an iceberg

do you think it's cold

we're a brush stroke
universe unpainted
the silence of the paper dream
a flickering screen

do you think we see

we're an ocean bed
our water sleeps
a whale stoned in silence
a tsunami breath

do you think
do you really think
we can swim like that

'these poems I will not write
I will not write these poems'

still
I think you already know

all thoughts pulse through the vibrant sky
sounds echo silence and each word fades out
all words are gathered in an ocean light

where one can
finally
eventually

see no evil hear no evil think no evil feel no evil be no evil

can you hear
how rhythmic resonate restless
rising to an epiphany point

for when we come to all the ends
bathed by love
we'll ask no questions

and all poems will be written
we will write all those poems

Author Notes

Dedicated to Terence George Craddock

У трећи час

у час први
пала је тишина
к'о звук ножа кроз ваздух
муњевито у ријечи све

један млaдић
висок блијед и тих
љубављу одречен
сишао је у долину

пребирао по травкама
прстима пијанисте тражећи
најтиши тон

једна птица са срцем искљуцаног пјесника
ријечју испрана
на сунцу сушена
чекала је његов глас
да устане у трeћи час

At hour third

the silence fell
like the sound of a knife
through the air
a lightning into all the words
at hour first

a young man
tall pale and quiet
by his love denied
came down into the valley

he touched the glass
with his pianists fingers
looking for the most silent tone
at hour second

a bird with a heart of a plucked poet
was rinsed in words
left to dry in the sun
waiting for his voice
at hour third to rise

Буди

буди кап кад извору радује се вода
дах када ријеч ти учи да хода
лат када крхко пријањаш коријењем
за тло за кап и ријечју к'о знамењем

буди загрљај кад рука од муње гине
слап свјетла из ока кад све чулом мине
звук рађања кад посљедњи звук  се кида
мелем што погледом сваку рану вида

буди трептај љубљем врховима времена
бљесак што тка боје цијелим сливом
биљка што памти светост сјемена
да каже 'буди'к'о радост свем живом

Be

be the drop when the water rejoices at its springs
the breath when the word learns to walk unspoken
the root driven petal when it lightly clings
to the soil and drop the word and its token

an embrace when the hand thunder stricken dies
stream of light in sight when sense no longer feels
the sound of birth when the last circle unties
the balm made of sight that each hurt can heal

kissed by time edges would you be that quiver
the flash in colours living would you be their weaver
the memory of seeds a holy life in a plant
say 'be' so that joy the whole life can chant

Wake up my friend

shake off the titles and names
let them gather dust on the bookshelves

there's a little life in your chest
that the titles and names cannot read
it wants to live

sometimes all you need is a little strength
just a little effort and will to see
heaven cannot be without you

that the flower rejoices at you
even when you carelessly tread on it
that a water drop is an offering
hiding the secret of your lips
that it wants to flow into clear springs
to tell you there

therefore
kill that little death in your chest
and do it the right way

Пробуди се пријатељу

отрсеси са себе наслове имена
нек скупљају прашину
на полицама за књиге

постоји један мали живот
ту у твојим грудима
што нслови га имена
прочитатаи не могу
он хоће да живи

понекад треба само мало снаге
само мало напора и воље
да се види
да рај не може постојати без тебе

да цвијет ти се радује
и онда када га несмотрено згазиш
да кап воде нуди
тајну твојих усана
и да са њих у изворе чисте
хоће да потече
и тебе тамо да каже

зато
убиј малу смрт у својим грудима
учини то како треба

Осмјех

осмјех је мјесто на ком се анђели и људи срећу на пола пута

Опрости

разодјени нам кожу месо и кости
чистом нас душом небу узнеси
и све нам од тијела молим те опрости

Благи Бoже, твоје руке...

шта је то изгризло твоје руке
шта је то орало дланове људске
од земље црно под ноктима
хоће ли загребати страх

ал'ништа
све је у реду

све твоје косом
у снопове времена везано
било је тамо да сазна границе

одувај трен са дланова
нађи неког за загрљај)

Good God, your hands...

what has bitten your hands
what's been plowed on those human palms
and the black soil under your nails
is it going to scratch the fear

but it's nothing
everything is all right

all things tied by your hair
into the spikes of time
were there to learn the limits

blow away the moment from your hands
and find someone to embrace

Мачка бр 13

( покушавам да напишем
ону црну број 13
са бијелом у крилу
бројеви ријечи излазе
да плешу на типкама

шапе ће ми дотаћи
канџе ће загребати
сујевјерне површи
мачје маске пасти

питање се подићи
какав је то април
што га данас имам
какво ј то 13
што већ сутра гине)

I am trying to write a cat

...black one Number 13
with the white one in my lap
words and numbers seep
to start the dance of keys

my paws will slightly touch
my claws will lightly scratch
superstitious surfaces
feline masks will fall

a question will arise
what kind of April
do I have today
what kind of 13
tomorrow will die

I am fire, thank you very much.

silked down path through the fingers
obliterating the curves of the desert
when flames thought flames
never thought of the roots
or the tongues when they licked
the sand dinas and sucked all
oasis down the dust lines into
the rhyming pattern of clouds swelling
below the sun thought sun
never thought of the spectrum
or servitude of colours beatiful and
painful when they licked the rainbow's heart
utterly unuttered bitten by the sparks
the sounds of which were crippled in
supergods dwelling their olympuses beyond
the time of extinction the limits of
definitions and destinations all was said
unheard and still so hard unstoppable light
bathing in the gratitude of the boiling pots
of heart and the heat of the desert
their mind was ambivalent bi-polar too
sagacious to bring the calls of water into
at least one side of the coin forged in this light
do you want this light
if you do you should know
all the fireflies you metaphorically abused
in the name of poetry
will screen scream your name
and say i am fire thank you very much

он ватру пали на ријечи

и ћутње ледом кује
да сутра му проси боје
и водом му љубљено плива
од ријечи кад зову усне твоје
од ријечи ма какве било које

он срцем окива сутон
и врелу птицу мори
да летом му свијеће гине
и смрћу спусти бреме
од ријечи кад зову усне твоје
до ријечи ма какве било које)

[ he lights his fire on words ]

he lights his fire on words
his silence is forged by ice
his future will beg for colours
water sealed it will swim
from words to your lips of call
to a word to just any at all

he chains his twilight with heart
tortures the heated bird
lets it die in its candle flight
lower its burden in death
from words to you lips of call
to a word to just any at all

бијела ватра

напрслина плама
што са ледом пуца
под прстима пече
и учи да пише
прољећна чекања
за дане зимске
громадне мисли
с леденог бријега
титанске су олупине
океанске воље)

The White Fire

the crack in the flame
breaking with ice
burning the fingers
learning how to write
spring anticipations
for the winter day
the chunks of thoughts
right from the iceberg
are titanic salvages
of an ocean will

Like water untasted and a treasure wasted

I reached the spot where children were laughing
Echoed  and shared wondrous screams of joy
Paradise in one single drop from their hands
I  begged dandelion dust blown from their lips
For the flight that never asks where it should go


And then I saw people so old crying
Bitten by the snakes rattling like death toy
Saw the wound so deep that understands
The toll sound of salvages and the sunken ships
And there was nothing else to know

I stood there for long forlorn stood between
Like a song unheard and the growth unseen

The madmen in white and the coats in black

codes and points
proverbially distributed
to the madmen in white and the coats in black
the point of each needle played a mental chess
through the eyes pulled through to the point of stretching
the sound into infinity of an eye and the starting line
of the digitalized knowledge
dropped down from the madmen in white and the coats in black
whose  pockets tore off into an innocent smiley
at the edge of an emoticon icon codes and points
throughout a crying world with the hope lacking the box
with the boxes lacking instructions
with the instructions lacking the users
the madmen in white and the coats in black
they planted the boots by the road
at the place where an ancient oak tree used to stand
with a newly grown moon beyond
they let the steps grow out them in the echo of things matted
before the game clearly defining tabulae rasae
distinguishing between the madmen in white and the coats in black
on the first session of a discrete genesis
they said that would be the world
and you would be its reverberation
its echo its century
and in sperm banks perverted
through being in birth
an unwritten cheque


kodovi i bodovi
proverbijalno dodijeljeni
ludacima u bijelom i mantilima u crnom
vrh svake igle igrao je mentalni šah
kroz ušice provučen do rastegljivanja
zvuka u nedogled oka do startne linije
digitalizovanog poznanja
stvaro od dugmeta poispadalih
sa ludaka u bijelom i mantila u crnom
džepovi su se rasparali u nevini smajli
na granici emotikona ikona kodova i bodova
rasplakanim svijetom i nadom bez kutija
i kutijama bez uputstva uputstva bez korisnika
ludaka u bijelom mantila u crnom

posadili su čizme kraj puta tamo gdje nekad
stajao je stari hrast a iznad njega stasao mjesec mlad
da iz njih porastu koraci u odjeku stari matiranih
prije početka igre jasno definisane tabulae rasae
odijelile su ludake u bijelom od mantila u crnom
i na prvoj sjednici diskretnog genezisa
rekli su ovo će biti svijet
a ti tog svijeta odjek
i njegov odjek i njegov vijek i njegov
u bankama sperme pervertiran radjanjem neispisan
posljednji ček

Здраво пјесници од сваког срца

(

К'о шваље што крпе нитима ноћи
кад дан заборави да сване
тако вас поздрављам, здраво!

Вама са срцем што задивљено дрхти
и вама што ријечју пламти
вама са срцем сломљеним
и вама са срцем осмјехом, здраво!

К'о војник без оружја као на стражи
кад сутон исцртава хоризонте
тако вас поздрављам, здраво!

Вама са срцем таштим
и вама са срцем стидљивим
вама што срце вам прашта
са всрцем вољеним заборављеним, здраво!

К'о капљу душе на небеском длану
у бездушно доба нијемо и глуво
тако вас поздрављам, здраво!)

Hello, you poets of all the hearts

Like sewers mending with the threads of night
when the day has forgotten to dawn
thus I salute you, hello!

To you with the heart in adoration quivering
and to you with the one burning with words
to you with heart broken
and to you with the smiling heart, hello!

Like a soldier weaponless at all sentinels
when the twilight draws the horizons
thus I salute you, hello!

To you with the heart vain
and to you with the heart shy
to you by heart forgiven
with the heart loved and forgotten, hello!

Like a drop of the soul on heavenly hand
at times so mute and deaf
thus I salute you, hello!

What waves from the window

the hand-here we touched
the other side
we thought-streets
these are blood circling lies
too hot for a city
the eye-here with breath-
always the same one
we asked - the bridges
these are transition deceptions
there's too much walk
and so few steps
the lip- thus it said
the night never heard you
only the water flew
to give the drowned some aid

Шта с прозора маше

-рука- ту смо такли

другу страну

мислили - улице-

то су лажи крвотока

сувише врелог за град

око-ту само дахом

што увијек исти је

питали-мостови-

то су обмане преласка

премало је хода

а толико корака

усна - тако је рекла

није те чула ноћ

само је вода текла

дављенику у помоћ

Today you will just let me be alone

tomorrow I will learn about the colours
breath marked shades transitions of light
earth taken tolls paid in paling skins
water touched horizons brimming in the floods
and all waves swelling at the tip of hope
today you will just let me paint

tomorrow I will learn about the words
chiseled in stones rolling down the lines
like speech taken calls of unspoken lips
time eaten ends breath beaten parts
all fires burning at forgotten hearths
today you will just let me be silent

tomorrow I will learn about the houses
about the meaning of windows and doors
families inside eating daily bread
the thresholds tense in silent awaiting
with all the worlds coming closer to their steps
today you will just let me be alone

Author Notes

six minutes after midnight

© Miroslava Odalovic.

When a beggar's hat is sold

I saw the wheels turning
the fortunes and beggars with hats
stuck to the ground and coins - with
the seed of emperors' loins - it
both won and lost the bets

when fires turn to freezing cold
whose ever  face is burning
on whatever side of gold
it'll be what hell is earning
when a beggar's hat is sold

© Miroslava Odalovic.

Ћорскокаку мој

ја знам твоје лице
твоје лице носи огреботину свјетла

рамена ти клесана у птици
руке су моје на њима

усне ти не отвара ништа
остајем неизговорена

стопала ти печат путем љубљена
трагом сам ти погинула

улицо моја слијепа
кућо са шест стихова

капијо моја забрављена
ћорсокаку мој

The dead end of mine

I know your your face
your face is wearing a scratch of light

your shoulders are chiseled in a bird
my hands are laid on them

nothing can open your lips
there I stay unuttered

your feet are road sealed and kissed
I've been killed within their trail

you-the blind street of mine
the house with six verses

you-my locked gate
the dead end of mine

Paint me no more

you've got your blue and I've got mine
all colours mutely stand between
the tip of your brush and images divine
as your fingertips soft and unseen

start to paint me with strokes of light pure
I know you've come to take me away
you've come to give me a butterfly cure
so I will be lived for yet another day

you asked me if I would ever know the name
of what awaits behind the closing door
I said no knowledge had ever been the same
I said just that and 'paint me no more'

The Bridge

I came to tell you

The bridge had been demolished

The one with the beggars breathing at the edge of poetry

Built from the stony stars to shine above the water

Underneath which the shadows of suicidal Judas are being drowned

In thoughts humid nad heavy

Sinking the ships on the Danube

On the docks between two joints

And three offers for an unslept night

Insomnias are being cured by nightmares

It’s a shock therapy of a city breathing out

Ignat said and Sarah added

Life plays dirty especially on the bridges

When the shards are looking for a path to glass

With her words Sasha has made a window

(that’s how he mourns the bridge) he says

The best panes are made of shards

He will make a house out of the stones

For the streetwalkers who grew out of the residential habits

And he wonders whether the stones from the bridge

Will be recognized in the stones of the house

Will the stones know the bridge was just a break over the water

That its arches were a rare disease of the firmament

Will it remember the steps the cunning sound of silence

The bridge tolls blindly paid

With a wish that there is another side

And that on the other side there are forests and fields

The roads across them leading to the very edge of the universe

Where there is nothing more to cross

Where you can because you no longer have a homeland

Sit on the very and and dip your feet into an abyss

Sit and starve until you’ve grown the wings

Or until something far stronger than you are

Has put again some flesh on your bones

I came to tell you the brdige had been demolished

Because we did not love

The fog will fall on some other cities

To cover the ugliness and shame

We will make it again out of mud

Most

Došao sam da ti kažem

Srušen je onaj most pod kojim leže godine

Sa prosjacima što dišu na rubu poezije

Od kamen zvijezda građen da nad vodom sija

Pod kojim se sjene Juda samoubilačkih jop uvijek dave

U mislima memljivim teškim

Što potapaju brodove na Dunavu

Na pristaništima izmeđi dva džointa

I tri ponude za neprospavanu noć

Liječe se nesanice novim košmarima

To je šok terapija grada na izdisaju

Rekao je Ignjat a Sara dodala

Život igra prljavo pogotovo na srušenim mostovima

Kad srča među kamenjem traži put do stakla

Od njenih riječi Saša je napravio jedan prozor

(on tako žali za mostom) kaže

Najbolja su okna od srče

Od kamenja će napraviti  kuću

Za ulične šetače odvikle od stanovanja

I pita se hoće li se kamenje sa mosta

Prepoznati u kamenju na kući

Hoće li znati da bio je prelom preko vode

I da su mu lukovi bili rijetka bolest nebeskog svoda

Hoće li pamtiti korake lukavi bat tišine

Mostarine što plaćaju se naslijepo

Sa željom da postoji druga strana

I da na drugoj strani postoje šume i polja

Putevi kroz njih što vode do same ivice kosmosa

Gdje više ništa ne možeš da pređeš

Gjde možeš jer zavičaja više nemaš

Na samu ivicu da sjedneš i umočiš stope u ponor

Da sjediš i gladuješ dok ti ne porastu krila

Ili dok ti nešto mnogo snažnije od tebe

Ponovo ne stavi meso na kosti

Došao sam da ti kažem srušen je most

Jer nismo voljeli

I magla će pasti na neke druge gradove

Da pokrije ruglo i stid

Od blata ćemo most opet praviti

If books could take a shelfie

if books could take a shelfie
and post it on their blogs
(this is where my kitten pet comes onto stage
occupying the page I am writing on
and chasing the pencil
so here I go again)
if books could take a shelfie
and post it on their wall
with titles trimmed with read more or less
with biogs clipped and pages skipped
(obviously overrhyming is taking its toll here)
anyways
if books could take a shelfie
hard covered sellotaped
or in paper backache disguise
with empty pages to mock
an eager reader or shock
a highly curious critic
content deprived short sleeved enclitic
to facebook his selfie post it on the wall
a new cover to change or discover

To learn the aftermath

there I sat
I ate the clouds
the silence fell
I broke the fast
on lips half eaten
I-tainted by doubt
could no longer tell
my breath from dust

and still I could sing
and still I could bring
the closure to my path
to learn the aftermath

© Miroslava Odalovic. 

A sacred 'yes'

it's the word that sings

it's the song that shivers
it's the heart that brings
with each word a quiver

a kiss at my lips
a 'love you' that slips

into night's silk warm
another word to spell
a whisper to form
for body curves to tell

what lips will bless
in a sacred 'yes'

Wait not for the time that never comes

vulture's sorrow's for the vulture heart
to fill passion stricken mouthful of dust
in silence signs when spirit's at slumber
in rain soaked wings and words so clasped

speak not of unspoken mark not the unmarked
through the crack of lips when the door's ajar
wait not for the time that never comes
the time to leave is always right now

Drunken dawns

drunken dawns to drunken hearts
the drink's too deep it'll swallow eves
the sun ray's shattered we'll fall apart
we take what's given but nothing receives
the drop of twilight at a too sharp tongue
by silence absorbed in our heart unsung

April it is

the brim of the cup when life spills over
a cupful of vine a cupful of joy
feels passion full feels passion filled
by spheres excited by potion thrilled

the edges of dawn when sun rays wave
the golden goodbye to the darkness spot
feel passion full at the bottom of the pit
April it is by an Aries thunder hit
April it is - April...that' it

Before the midnight toll

The place it was where the fountains bled – you said

And each drop of blood was on a glass – a whimper

Painfully hidden beneath the eaves of fear – who cared

The nights did not – they turned silence into a whisper

The words transfigured their inner bodies – you dared

To spell the name of their hands already dead

Write the name of their eyes so that they could close

Spill the ink of their heart into the fountains

The souls could be summoned their breath could be felt

As no one had the faith to move any mountains

Their squatted at the foot – down there they knelt

Opening the prayer book of birds-that’s what they chose

To shape the name of their wings –each word frozen in flight

To name the soul that sings with each sound to smite

Ashes within ashes and the dust that dares the dust

Before the midnight toll echo when all words are clasped