Inappropriate

Never did I know this will happen:
inappropriate courtship of my feelings.

Announced it happens and
it doesn’t recognize
day or hour.

No age  and no place
exists in a love play.

With rushing wave and
crushed to ground
I drink possibility from
your salty lips before
I enter inviting sweetness.

Darkness envelopes me
in sudden expectations
and skin awakens with memory
of buried wanting.

Your eyes still haunt me,
apparition in every corner.
And I hurry back to my old life
before impossible turns me into dust.

Maja S. Todorovic


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Nimble

Here you are.
In between my thoughts,
juggling like an acrobat,
on a thin wire.

In between my thoughts,
hiding like a bat in the dark
corners of my mind.

In between my thoughts,
white dove
knocking on my window
carrying a message of love.

In between my thoughts,
I try not to think of you,
but you’ve become nimble.

Note: This poem was originally published here, in Redwolf Journal. Strangely enough, I accidentally discovered that my poem was published, since editors never notified me on the acceptance of my submission. With time I totally forgot about it and this is a good reminder for everyone – always make inquires about your submission process or application – as you might get positively surprised 🙂


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Poem by Maja S. Todorovic

My new poem ‘Life journey of an apple’ has been published in Oddball Magazine. I hope you’ll enjoy humorous take on my obsession with fruit. And definitely check out some other beautiful poems there. 🙂

 

Life journey of an apple

An apple knows it all:

“I’m succulent and deceiving,
run, run before everything turns
rage in Eden!”

“I’m attractive and mouth-dreaming
come, come the beauty in you,
calls into me – screaming!”

“Gravity is your friend or foe”,
I whispered in the Newton’s ear,
when I bounced off his head,
on my way down to roll in leafy
autumn bed.

“Have me one a day, keeps
the doctor away.”

But now as it sleeps calmly
a part of still decor,
my eyes cheer: “go for it!”
and taste buds rejoice:
“yummy in my tummy!”

 

 

Maja S. Todorovic is an educator and writer from Belgrade, currently living in the sunny Hague. After finishing her PhD in Organizational Sciences and years of academic work, she switched her scientific pen for more creative expressions. Business in Rhyme is her creative corner where she blogs about…

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A minute of

Cannot name that color: looks like wet white, an ivory with shadow or grayish that we used to call ‘pigeon dirty’. Painting of a horse head in ochre tonalities suited very well, especially with engine strokes so beautifully placed above the horse’s mane. Dark wooden frame bounds like it borders something very important. But the head was turned sideways, it listened carefully but didn’t have the guts to look around. Even the picture! Next to it, a playful aquarelle of Bruges, centered around innocent afternoon and lazy clouds. Water pretends to be still, but cannot hide the reflection of reddish bricks, red like cheeks of girl on the first date. This one stood tall, a painting bought as a remembrance of one hopeful day. In the next corner, 45 degrees further hanged a tapestry, old and out-worn, last twitch of the hand that wants to forget tradition and robust lines of family roots. And there was our floor lamp, high and dignified crown of an early spring tulip. This fragile light-keeper claps its metal cold hands in the curled handshake – even it’s lifeless and heavy body  prays for a minute of contempt, minute of sound and minute of everything else we didn’t manage to achieve in the empty room of our lives.

Maja S. Todorovic


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Lighthouse

Is made of tears,
No bricks, no wals
you spin, haunting
your own fear

and recklessly try to climb
But day retreats, cowardly, in guilt,
Quilted with shy stars and mourning moon.

And I say, restore and watch
How streets glitter instead
Like fireflies caught in the rain.

Distant, but intense,
Those closer are warmer.
Snow rolls in between breasts
Of this curvy city,
Snow dry and crumpling like fine
wheat flour.

Feel the moment with your palm
As enters your nostrils, pinches and itches
Rub  it with your index finger.

I am a slug and I leave trails
For those lost among vowels
Sincerely meant but never fulfilled.

It’s not a broken promise, just
A miss, mismatch of right colors and
Puzzled shapes.

You’ll grow your own tale
When night falls
A tale you’ll trim with each coming dawn
And sew yourself in the mouth of the world.

Maja S. Todorovic


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Albatross

Grey marble dissipates in the sky,
With stoned shadows, astoundingly monolithic
Stack of matches pretends to be a bridge
One that will burn itself, in time, in song.

My neck is giraffic periscope thriving to the sky
In a minute an eyeball, in a second a curled hedgehog
Leaning like a head on the door.

So close to me, you are so close to me.

Whisper you can’t catch, it only comes to the privileged.
Soft, yearning and albatross of wind stuck in my hair
Thinner than paper cut but red and burning just as
Blood skirting of its edges.

My name searches for meaning among other women
Who knew of their existence
Probability was lost in the variety of choices,
Misled by a reckless afternoon.

As I drink this butterfly offered to me so many times
I won’t choke. A siren of lust is not forgotten, just postponed
For better….something. In stillness, question becomes
always northerly oriented moss

With wet dreams and I sneeze and sneeze
Like a puppy  accidentally inhaling ground pepper.

Sometimes I pray for numbness, the numbness of darkness.
With soft whisper, today maybe blue, cobalt blue like
eggplant sky above me.

Blue is cold, but promising just as this winter,
Where leaves become ice drones and roots
beg for new cracks in soil.

In the mouth of tomorrow shaky and sweet like pudding
while swimming in acidic uncertainty
I’ll play with distance and squeeze the nearness so inviting.
Until it drops – drop by drop in a rainy puddle:
Until I bleed again.

Maja S. Todorovic


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Poetic inspiration: Forever slaved by a good book

reading_book

I never manage to escape a good book,

as I’m often lost in the labyrinth of its

captivating pages.

Maja S. Todorovic


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Poetic inspiration: Instead of loneliness choose poetry

poetry_friend

I’ve never met real loneliness.

I have a friend that never leaves me.

It’s always there for me.

A friend I call

Poetry.

Maja S. Todorovic


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Poetic inspiration: Did you know…

brave_poet

Every poet is brave-

it takes courage to

undress your soul,

dig deep, to the darkest and

scariest parts of yourself and

let them shine through your poems.

Maja S. Todorovic


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