Category: Poetry

Barley fields…

There will be times, when mothers shall kill their children, for breakfast, with long statements about short shelf-life dairy products, aged in old casks soaked of cheap bourbon… My mother did just that one selfish morning, with wings wide open of bats long dried under suns never known unto the sons of men… My father, … Continue reading Barley fields…

Ribbons, blue…

So many times, the roads to downtown nowhere collide at each and every corner, with blue, ribbon-like rivers of solitude; statements of facts about state of the art, lost or found pieces of a hard won peace of mindless thought lives.   Ta-ra-ra-bum-tara, ta-ra-ra bum-tara…   Marching bands of nonsense, we are. Each and every … Continue reading Ribbons, blue…

Genesis…

Stay with me, little angel, closer to thought. Careless reminder of deep patterns of asphalt, grey, laid at each street’s corner, forgotten by traffic lights and wardens. No one sells tires anymore… Only horseshoes, either too small or too narrow for the inhuman centipede called life. Every night, wildlings of old crawl into cobwebbed wombs … Continue reading Genesis…

Desperado…

At odd wars with every grain of sand, relentlessly screwing its way from in between the colourless longitude underneath my tired eyelid, through the haunted solitude of my tormenting visions, dreams long due... I've lost all my brothers, and all my sisters to kitchen tongs and other rusty, surgical contraptions, courtesy of hellbound asteroids from … Continue reading Desperado…

The night before…

Emanuelle, called her last known dog. A small, franchise variety of shepherd dogs... Her toes were frozen outside ill famed taverns, where lurking memories of former gentlemen, mingled with odd smells of quick fortunes, and lads, pinching unseen butts of unfinished, cheap cigarettes... "Who are you?" And it sounded weird from a dog she thought … Continue reading The night before…

Of smaller seagulls…

                            Another, smaller seagull paced across the wooden ashes of yet another sunset... No waters followed, feathers scarce, like unrepentant memories... Again, alive it seamed, so selfish, screaming for a nest-shape... Au revoir ma chère, à bientôt, my lover of way too … Continue reading Of smaller seagulls…

​‘It’s a slippery slope from yoga to Satan’ – Irish priest

You have been warned...!? Beware, ye yogies and Potter readers...!? Any thoughts...? http://rt.com/uk/234443-priest-yoga-satan-danger/ «A Catholic priest in Northern Ireland cautioned against practicing yoga and receiving Indian head massages, saying that those who take such risks with their “spiritual health” are opening themselves up to “Satan and the Fallen Angels.” Father Roland Colhoun warned that those … Continue reading ​‘It’s a slippery slope from yoga to Satan’ – Irish priest