S1
Our Earth is amazing!
It’s a privilege to belong to this planet and,
unnecessary to schedule activities for elsewhere but best,
to prepare platforms to welcome everybody instead,
so, they don’t have to visit secretly.
The only platform we ought to eradicate is the pedestal of arrogance of some
claiming they are the chosen ones.
[OuMuaMua Earth excursions – Dec.7/19]
S2
When fear took over
love dissipated in the forest
where I too, like a deer, ran for cover.
You hanged yourself on the first tree you found
cause you got tired looking around the bush.
The deer. The Love. The forest.
Lost for a tree.
High up on your dead tree I can now see the game the fear won.
The man expected to love the most, I feared the most.
S3
The clouds speak a language I used to sense like a memory.
Like a memory I wanted to keep it for as long as I could hear.
Perhaps it’s your voice haunted by these barbarians
who only speak a poor breath in a miserable shape.
Come and speak your miracle Mother,
bring your sky that
speaks it all in light and scent of substance.
[Mother – April.12/11]
S4
God if it is to be let it be homemade
crafted with your hands out of Sun and clay.
Let it be spherical therefore fair.
Make it docile, playful and illuminous from
the green virtues of Chlorophyll and
the passions of Haemoglobin.
Let it be transparent like water.
God if it was to be make it just like an “all yours good morning”
instead of mixed media blended with blood and oil for cash.
[Homemade God – Nov.24/11]
S5
Doors opening:
A man is squeezed in and overflows from a seat too tight for him, on the train.
He has reached the maximum attainable homeostasis’ thresholds.
He is about to explode; belly first.
Some bits will land on the moon where decomposition does not occur.
The extra-terrestrials will think we are made of flesh and guts
but not enough of brains.
All that fat
and sugars
mixed with preservatives and colourants will
give them an impression of
a sweet,
colourful and
well preserved civilization.
Doors closing. Stop missed.
[ Bites and Pieces – March.01/12]
S6
Winters burn Springs and Summers at the fire place.
A Muse rises from the flames.
The winds spread ashes.
Autumns pour waters.
Ashes settle, soaked and knitted in a net of alternatives.
Plants trust insects with their pollen.
Birds trust feathers for flight.
The Muse washes her hair singing:
“Wisdom floats at the surface of waters but those unable to read more than one alphabet, sink.
When read in bones, mud and ashes, human history feels unique but
when fabricated in a blood-to-oil process
it becomes an embarrassment, an insult to humans’ glorious origins.
Wisdom does not float at the surface of oils but those unable to read more than one alphabet, sink”.
[Deciduous Muse – March.05/12].
S7
Glass windows painted with dust.
The light reflected in dirty shredded shadows.
Walls emulsified in frustrated civilians’ anger.
The other night a train got rid of three of them.
The sound of the railway provokes intellect.
Countless cigarette buds scattered on the pavements
a treasure for the homeless emanating lethal scents.
At the underground the mortals are willingly buried alive
Minding the gap all the way to resurrect at a next station.
[Waterloo Unlondon – July.06/18]
S8
So much of people goes out to this city,
it makes her illuminate.
So much light pours out of people’s hearts, minds and hands
so amply it even overflows from the buildings on the river,
migrating elsewhere.
A beam of light caught by my eyes was consumed in my head in spiral thunderstorms and soulful hurricanes that left me in darkness just after they ceased.
Darkness that lasts forever; an incredibly long forever, that bursts in explosions as it can’t hide that this city owns me.
Hello city with the flowing river and yet, questionable if it flows on light or the light of people flows on its surface. A very relative surface.
[Inter alia – Feb.26/13]
S9
The wagon is packed, all seats occupied.
Imprisoned dust disperses it then precipitates on skin, hair, eyelashes and so on.
Details.
The doors open.
Steps on the concrete sound like wooden water.
The dust migrates.
The immigrants returned home.
The natives dust off their hands.
[Dust Metastasis – April.09/18]
S10
Is an empty stomach more active
than poverty feasting on the remnants of a delicious intellect
nurtured by a full fat brain ?
[Poverty wins again – April.18/14]
S11
Defeated by the day, child
the night crashes your orbit
and doesn’t resurrect you to a man.
Wandering across dusk and dawn
only to resurface in a pool of blood that hasn’t dried out yet
even though, so many years have passed since
dad raped mother.
[Light cover– May19/14]
S12
Countless messages sealed in as many bottles of alcohol and cans of soft drinks.
He passes them on to countless eponymous customers.
Never has he read a label or an expiry date.
With a colourful plastic spade he was used to digging the sand
he is now trying to bury that child in an old man’s body
without a friend to help him.
[Millionaire – Jan.09/14]
S13
Good morning Mother!
Can you see the Earth is still spinning?
She swings us day and night from East to West they say
but always keeps us dipped in starlight day or night
keeping us bound to all that hurts existence.
Do you remember telling me:
“what an empty pocket would have you do”?
Good morning Mother!
But have you seen that our neighbourhood
has smashed like a pomegranate
and its seeds, like neighbourhood kids, have scattered everywhere?
Good night Mother,
by the morning fresh pomegranates will be suckling on the branches.
Good night Mother,
for so long you have been leaving but never got older.
[Mothers– Feb.02/14]
MelAlmyos.poetry 