Poem: Past keeps the engine burning

today is not the day to put your face up on the wall

but to wish goodnight to the green clouds

while your past keeps the engine burning

falling through space, weightless deeds

moon can easily hide her face, as a guilty thief never can

conversation flew onward, and you listened, but it was you

who was talking; as you are pulled through the same old problems

same old lessons, never learned

I don't want to take your steps and call them my own

what you learn in school is not a quarter of what you learn in life

everything we create, we put on race tracks

in the image of winning, essence is lost

glass breaks, leaving windows like chewed shoes

your hand won't find happiness, reaching out like that

fate holds everything, yet her seeds blossom into nothing

even the strongest get to taste the fall

this scene needs a little more colour, and there is time

search the depths of every lake and sea

there is always that extra step, which one takes after failure,

by which one's life will be richer, appreciated.

* 

The feeling of the song "Eye of the storm" by Lovett was the initial reason for writing this poem, back in spring of 2011.

Poem: Age fools us

owl is howling into the deep of the night
date is changed within one second
I'm sitting on the bottom of your closet
your clothes hanging like dead bodies
while you lay naked on the sofa, asleep
the hot air plays tricks with the mind

I can barely remember how I felt turning twenty-two
                ---- my favourite number
spent it with strangers who were too eager to become friends
and you'd like to believe the fun will last
but it's no better than those birthday parties I had as a kid,
                when nobody showed up
feeling uncomfortable in clothes they made me wear
now I can't recapture the meaning a cake had

god is like a girl picking daisies
playing "love me, love me not" with our lives
we like to believe we change
but there are things we can't shake off
never being courageous enough to trust myself
                  with responsibility on my hands
always feeling like a first time playing the game
awkwardness in my mouth and my fingers
forgive me for always doubting, never trusting the words
and you use the sweetest one's which calm me down like a spell
I'll take you for a walk if you can listen to my silent thoughts

age carries prejudice into which we are fooled to believe
as if years shape all of us in the same way
as if we gain respect by mere number of our age
as if it really matters how old our flesh is
age fools us in a way and leaves no room for closeness
but I just want to sit beside you as you paint

*

And it's six years ago... Can't believe it's been so long. This morning the same images came into my head and I remembered this poem. It's included in my first poetry collection - Colours of the sea. How the feelings trick me, there's no timetable for them. I do keep my promises, and I will write another collection, I am working on it. But it seems it was yesterday when I published the first one. Comparing older poems with the newer ones seems like I've changed their "feeling" a bit. It wasn't intentional, it wasn't because I thought that the style wasn't good enough.. it's just.. the heart found new things, but it never outgrows the past..that's why I feel so nostalgic today.

Poem: Glass heart

I knocked gently on your glass heart

- the rhythm echoed somewhere in the distance

making small cracks from the inside

we knew then we were walking on fragile ground;

my breath steamed up the glass and I left my fingerprints on it

- so you would know where I came here from

clocks keep on ticking selfishly

while we struggle to find time just for the two of us

in between minutes we have to give to grow old

we become too weak to reply to the echoes

we leave behind in each other – and we collide

in the middle of the story

I give you time to fill the blank pages

in my half-written notebook

and let my fingertips paint in yours

           while breath unites us...

*

Poem: Bird funeral

last candle flame is writing its tragedy in the wind

as the piano keys are gathering sorrow

it takes just a few notes for your heart to evoke memories

torn open by memorable valentine days'

the night has a way of making our wounds bleed

it's the notes which connect the wires of our minds

and our songs are just poetry books never read

it's the answers you wouldn't pick

-- life takes its toll on everyone

it's the poison we hide in flowers

-- feel alone in the land that grounds us

it's the laugh that only lonesome people share

-- fake happiness is still the worst kindness

we hide our pearls of wisdom in the privacy of the heart

time calls you mad when you're old

forgets your past and questions your tomorrows'

does it take death to teach you living?

what do you regret not teaching your sons and daughters?

it takes just a few notes for you to question

if you showed enough love for you to peacefully part

and from the ashes, alongside smoke, it's your image

                                               that keeps on arising

*

Note on the side: There have been a few times that I actually buried a bird. I've found them around the house, all looked very peaceful, especially this one in the photo. And I like birds too much to leave them for some vulture to find them. And I also read that birds hold "funerals" for dead, here's the link.

Poem: Remember a touch

I remember

how my skin found new depths of itself

under those caressing notes he played

and with what ease it seemed,

like he's been doing this for years

unravelling peoples skins,

pilling off their shells and armour

digging holes under the roots of tall trees

speaking in soothing tones; as if it's the voice

which can break another heart; when in fact

it's the words which escape our mouths

with no thunder, no lighting

yet they cut through flesh without leaving behind

bleeding wounds; I forgot,

forgot the words to which I'm an author

but I carry yours inside me - sadness surrounds them

for the truth once was; we took steps in the same

direction, yet the paths were our own

we stuck together through any kind of weather

and still remembered we once stood alone

in the wonderment of childhood

only now do we realize the magic we used to experience

have we escaped it and why would we want to?

has the present taught us to run away?

with half bent knees building a future

making endeavours to follow conformity in our paths

oh, I do remember a touch

which caught me and brought me back here

and the choices I make will never be the same again

*

I'm not good at what I'd call "intentional writing", where you have a few starting point and instructions to follow, but here and there I try some new things. This poem is a contribution to Poetry United prompt - I remember. It's the fastest I ever wrote a poem, I think. Does it show?