Tag: poet

Revenge

by Maja Todorovic, posted in Business in Rhyme, My personal rhyme - from time to time

You can’t see my eyes. You can’t hear my mouth.

I’m just a flat object, a pile of disoriented flesh, swimming, jumping, swirling, curling on the edges, in ribbons before satisfactory landing on your tongue.

The teeth. There is not much for the teeth.

In darkness of your breath, I slide gently but abruptly in the inner side of your neck,

Softly, eagerly dancing in the fire, until the acidic ash hits just the right spot of your brain.

Your heart pounds in rhythms of undecided rain drops, sounds of childhood and winter Sunday nights.

I melt with vigor you’ve never met before.

Sometimes you like to put me in the broth of your mind,

To troth with lust disguised as a longevity tip.

You suck my marrow as you swiftly dust the grease from your fingers.

You pour me in bottles so you can relinquish your bottomless thirst,

a sustenance for you, only you, as

take, take, take

only take bursts from your infertile chest.

The most innocent cloud, the most invisible feather, to bath your insecurity,

Your excuse to execute another moral sin, how much you’ve been keen

To mould me, fold me in isotropic modes of yeast, always ready for you to feast.

Yet I am patient. I can wait for days, ..no, no days.

Months, years or decades to show you my true face.

I sneak quietly, to the chambers of your never-dreaming dream

you don’t know I’m still there. I am a diligent builder, brick by brick, vein by vein, I subdue, construct, bifurcate rivers, over the brim with crimson pools in your head.

Sometimes I sit across the table of your liver. You seem bitter with the hand delt. The amniotic charge has its own charm.


rebellion so sweet and seldomly stopped

It’s so easy for me to grow into you. I’ve never played the victim role.

I am big like a thunderstorm dispatched hot balloon.

And your cheeks are sunken like a sad masquerade threat.

Autophagy is a distant memory of a cannibalistic bribery.

No, revenge is never best served cold.

Your eroded heart, lost in the exhale of super nova lament.

Elevator pitch

by Maja Todorovic, posted in My personal rhyme - from time to time

Darkness. I remember the darkness. Soft, warm, and extremely volatile. Fragile. With the smell of freshly washed underwear. Naked. Without feelings. Just holding curiosity with my small clenched fingers.

Break. I don’t put together. I break. Not to pieces. Not to particles. To invisible and back. To deflated Super Nova. I am wrenched. I am dishonest. Dissociative in the warm darkness. Now with the smell of freshly picked roses. I am invited. I am called out.

Even though I never wanted to begin.

I am pulled. But I am not scared. My scream protects me. Brings me joy. Brings me ecstasy.

I walk barefoot. But I feel tingling under my tongue. Tongue is curled, bent, stretched as it hatches a like hen’s egg into words I finally roll out. In bravery. In mastery. Of the incoming daylight.

I still walk, as coldness envelopes me. There is a sudden nudge. I stand still now. Like a proud trunk of the tree in the cold winter wind. I stand and withhold. I stand, but darkness moves upwards, in the delight of echoing noise coming from beneath. Buttons are lit on my left side. But only number 5 works. I press it gently.

The door opens to a garden by the river. There is a flock of magpies lying around. Mating. My father takes me by the hand to search for dandelions. Their yellow, perching, capricious heads open and close, fast as the minute goes by. I smile.

I blink and coldness envelops me. The nudge is even stronger this time. I crouch to remain still and by accident, I press button 17.

The rhythm of drums seduces me. I move in a trance as wet bodies, reckless limbs, and disjointed intentions rub against my pale and bruised skin. The kisses fly around me. Some I catch and wear instead of lipstick. Some I imprison and they wiggle in my mouth like a drunken moth fantasizing of a broken bulb. Some I lose in the distant gaze of dim lights and beer stains.

As I breathe I am in newly found darkness. I need rest. I need to put my beating heart in retard fast. I lean on a cold wall, but suddenly there is a hand against my neck. To my surprise is gentle, slick, and tracks my arrow bones so tightly. As it founds the way to my pants, parts me with all my will and his experienced skill.

As I moan in fervor, the nudge double in amount. 34. The strange new land in front of me. The network of water, out of this place tulips pauses, smelling of early autumn and forgotten spring. Rain pouring flinched in pondering little lakes. I jump over. But I never get it there. The jump. The step. The walk. The run. The fly. The wings. The pace. The padding. It’s so saddening. Never enough.

I crave coldness. Under my nails. Above my eyebrows. In between flickering lights on my left side. I crave going down. The stairs. At my own pace. Without wings and safety nets. I crave zero. Below zero of Russian taigas and Norwegian tundra’s. I crave below the earth, where there is only 1 sun to admire. One basement to wish for.

A Day without Me

by Maja Todorovic, posted in Business in Rhyme, My personal rhyme - from time to time

It was just a day, an ordinary day. I was dressing up, putting on my black winter jacket, when all of sudden I was surrounded by darkness. A throbbing pain came down my neck and I was lost. Gone. But a Day without Me was born. I was eleven when I first heard that song. I remember how much I loved it. It had everything. That emotion. That power. But I never knew that one day, a Day without Me, might turn into Life without Me.

I still don’t know where it is. It’s not that dark but, my left eyesight is damaged. Still. But it’s not still. It has thousdounds of little, white flickering lights that my brain by mistake flashes up in an attempt to understand something. The bright lights are here, in a Day without Me.

Sometimes I swim. Towards lights. Trying to find my anchor, as a tempest storm rages in my head, my ears, my chest, my lungs, my womb. Rages and I spin. I try to swim. My core is still strong. I do every second morning 200 abb pushups. In between Days without Me. And my spirit sings. And says walk. You are a spirit walker. Or swim if you like. And I tell “But I am a spirit daughter. And a walker. In Life without Me, I can be anyone I want!” And he withdraws in confusion.

Darkness over my head I can conquer. I am safe for another 29 years. In the meantime, how can I create A Day with Me? And maybe then, a Life with Me!

The fireworks this very moment interrupted me. Again. My heart pounds. Spirit hides behind my ribcage. Crouch. Doesn’t walk. Doesn’t swim. It swings in the cradle behind the bone-bars, waiting to be born, one Day without Me.

Research at University of Wales: Poets living with a sky – follow up review

by Maja Todorovic, posted in Business in Rhyme, Write, create, innovate!

This research started several months ago, and I use this opportunity to once more express my gratitude to all poets who kindly took their time to participate and answer the questionnaire. Unfortunately, the number of participants wasn’t sufficient for deriving credible results so at the end we needed to go with different focus group. I was really looking forward to examining results, but as it comes with any research in social setting, the outcome can go either way.

I hope you enjoyed these beautiful poems, inspired by sky and that they gave you additional ideas for your own writing.

Maja

 

 

Poet and the sky: Poem by K. Morris

by Maja Todorovic, posted in Business in Rhyme, Write, create, innovate!

Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind (an excerpt)

On seeing the stormy sky
The poet thinks “man must die”.
He sees the young girl bloom
And says “she is destined for the tomb”.
Oh let us gather wild flowers
And not waste our powers
Trapped in ivory towers.
Beware the scholar’s domed head
For we are soon dead.
May our spirit fly

Ere we die
And are lost in endless sky”.

For more beautiful and inspiring poetry visit newauthoronline.com

Poet and the sky: Poem by Charu Sharma

by Maja Todorovic, posted in Business in Rhyme, Write, create, innovate!
THE NIGHT
Sometimes scary,
Sometimes lonely,
Sometimes quiet,
Sometimes filled with,
Voices and noises,
That exhaust,
The impatient mind.
Sometimes hide the pain,
Sometimes highlights,
Low points of the game.
The fairy lights shine bright,
In few buildings,
In our lane.
The stars twinkle in sky,
Everything pauses,
Silence becomes the voice.
Judgement declines,
Creativity heightens,
Many lone hearts,
Comfort themselves,
By saying,
It’s not just them,
Every one is waiting,
For the sunny life.
The neighbor beats his wife,
A teenager in another one,
Watches a romedy film,
Wishing for a rosy life.
And the wife thinks,
Life is nothing,
But just a lie,
And we have to survive,
The night.
The night,
That stretches,
This night,
Next night,
Every night,
Till we breathe,
Our last.
Into a new day,
Into a new life.
For more beautiful poems and stories visit her blog at https://shewrites170.wordpress.com/