Seamstress

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Poetry / Random
Humanistic woman,
Yet not humane,
Fat with ideas
Bursting off the seams.
 
Can’t keep 
Probing her thoughts
In a world that
Laughs at its own jokes.
 
She tightens her belt
But fragmented sentences
Keep rumbling
Inside her belly.

She can hear them
Revolting in her guts.
 
She is hungry,
She doesn’t even know
How to keep her diet in check,
How to digest all those stewed letters.
 
Fat with ideas
Bursting off the seams. 
She is hungry,
Yet she doesn’t even know
How to concoct
Some random verses.

There is not even rhyme
And even in freestyle
That is a recipe for disaster.
Read fast,
And eat up
Till there are no words
Left in the pantry.

Come over
Lithe seamstress.

Stumble

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Poetry / Random
Wonder woman
With a red nose,
Cannot see
Beyond her wide ears.

Untidy stare
That fixes upon
A yellow mountain.

Her eyes wide open,
Her sticky toes
And those clown shoes
That make her stumble.

Lipstick paints her cheeks
And decorates the room
That she inhabits.

Cry away
To the dark crowd
And cheer up,
Remove the paint.

Wonder woman
with a red nose,
Your eyes wide open
And your sticky toes.
Cry away
To the dark crowd
Remove the shoes
That make you stumble.

Near

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Poetry
Fresh mint leafs
Refreshing my throat,
Yet I keep savouring
Those purple feelings.

And as I sip on this wine
I envisage a time
When I reveal
My meandering thoughts
To an unwanting world.

Spineless fear
That bends out
And sparkles away
In an undeserved manner.

I bow to you,
I levitate,
And all I want
Is to get near.

I just want to sleep.
And to never look back.
I count the golden linings
Above my head
Those ones in the shape
Of crying clouds.

All too near.

Tears

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Poetry
Everyone bowing
To the righteous rule
Of the Ohm goddess,
Who pierces through
Their ears
With her siren song.

There will be blood
But there will be none
From yogis,
The smell
Of imported incense
Already dried away
Their veins.

Restlessness
Is their heroic pastime
Of yonder years.
Yet revolt is in the air.

For they can kill
With their blank stare
And soft fingers
And watery teeth.
Yet they should not
Oppose their tears.
Sediments
Of wonderful fears.
Fears of salty unrest.

Unrest in my heart,
I want to follow them
Down their path
Of salty obedience.
Yet I resist.
All I want
is to fly away,
Melt into the horizon.
I close my eyes,
The imaginary wave
Cradles me
Into sleep.

Revolt is in the air.
They should not
Oppose their fears.
Sediments
Of wonderful tears.
Tears of salty unrest.

Mellow

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Poetry
Silently mellow
Like a mellifluous flower
That stands tall
Facing the silky bushes.

My trainers are too small,
My feet do not want to obey,
And amongst all the shrubbery
A pansy tickles my ankles.

I want to shout,
He wants to cry,
Relieved
That he is no longer
Lost in his deranged speech.

Forever flowery.
Facing the bushes.
Silently mellow.

It wonderfully tickles
like a thorny rose,
and I resist.
My soul finds solace
That a restful place
He finally encountered
During his languid sleep.

Meandering along
He picked an olive tree
the seeds of which he’d planted.
Enjoy the soft caress of your pillow.

Silently mellow
Like a mellifluous flower
That stands tall
Facing the silky bushes.

I stand up,
I flounder
With an unimaginable desire
To wildly burst open
Like a blooming fish.

I can’t scape,
I will jump
Into the nearest puddle.
Bubbles come and go.

Forever flowery.
Silently mellow.
Meandering along
He picked an olive tree
the seeds of which he’d planted.

What the Eyes Can’t See

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Random
A little mouse in the kitchen
Quietly hidden
Behind lower cupboards.
He seems hypnotized
By cooking smells.

He wants to escape
His hiding place,
But a dog lurking around
He senses.

Some breadcrumbs
Fell off while dishing away
A poor man’s toast,
so I leave them there
for the little mouse's tea.

The suave hunter
Now enters the room.
The mouse is scared and silenced,
As he can smell
His early morning death.

Momo is shedding,
The floor is full of hair.
His stomach is rumbling,
The mouse will turn
into woolly snow one day.

I turn a blind eye
And leave the room.
A new chapter is
Waiting for me
By my bedside table.

There are no sounds,
And on the floor
The hair remains unswept.
There are no dry tears either
For what the eyes can’t see.

Lantern

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Poetry
With green and yellow shadows
Your ferocity I admire,
You misbehave
Like a house in ruins.

Yet everyone is there
To pick up your rainbow pieces
When your stride falters.

Peripheral vision 
Does not abound
In your sea of cobblestones.

If only I had a lantern.

You sigh, and that sight
truly pierces
Through my thick skin.

You didn’t even know I had skin,
and when it got dry, 
It blistered
Like your little soul
Of Green and yellow shadows.

If only I had a lantern.

The Olive

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Random
Girl in mousy sunglasses
Arrives on her date.
Unknowingly the guy
Has set up the meetup
In a pretty beer garden
belonging to her favourite
bookshop.

You picked a lovely place.
Did I?
Yes! I come here often.
To buy books.
They cheer me up
On my worst days,
Regardless of genre.

Left eyebrow arched.

Do you like reading?
Of course - I love it.
Don’t you?

Right eyebrow arched.

Well, yes. Who doesn’t?
I prefer sport though.
Oh, I love to exercise too,
I go swimming often.
Well, I tend to enjoy
activities
far more social
Than that. 

We are a bit dry over here.

Would you care for some wine?
I would. Dry if they have it,
Thanks so much.
I will see what I can do.

This is a real winner. 

I brought some olives too.
Great, I love olives.
He takes one,
Proceeds to eat
His way around the pit,
without taking his eyes
Off her.

That lovely, Mediterranean-skinned olive

So what else do you like?
Cinema?
Travelling?
Well. Yes, I guess. Who doesn’t.
Sure, who doesn't.

We are still a bit dry over here.

The girl cannot help
But perceive a tiny yawn
Coming out
Of his beautifully contoured
Italian mouth.
Such muscle spasm
Faithfully reflects
The way she is feeling
About the date
At that very moment.

They are kindred spirits after all. 

Suddenly, he abruptly
Spits out the chewed up olive.
Apologetically, he says:
I love garlic...
Just not tonight.
I see.
Do you happen to have
Some food intolerance?
Well, erm, no.
So what's happening tonight?

Arched eyebrows (now the whole set).

Our date? 
Oh, of course. 
She stares at the olive
For a long time.
The virgin olive, 
The one that still hasn’t
Been spat out
Due to garlic interference.

She puts on
Her mousy sunglasses
And gets up,
Ready to go.
The self-assured,
Semi-seductive stare
Now falters.
I am off to buy some books.
I hope you enjoy
The rest of the olives.
They were so yummy.

The wine was not dry enough though.

He takes the phone
Off his back pocket.
Opens up the app,
And swipes right
On the next picture
That captures
His olive imagination.

They are kindred spirits after all.

Summer Be Gone

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Poetry
 Close your eyes
I am here, by your side.
I want to see
the withering hibiscus.
Once more.

It yearns for water,
Yet you are condemning it
To an early death.

Switch off the lights,
Until Momo comes along
With his languid stride.

Forever imbuing the room
Of tranquil wisdom.

Self-induced ostracism
To some it appears,
But I call it instead
The calm purity
Of solo living.

Close your eyes,
I am here, by your side.

Let light be gone.

Forever imbuing the room
Of tranquil wisdom.

I do not want to see
The withering hibiscus
Any more.

Just close your eyes.
And let summer be gone.

If only they were butterflies

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Random

This is the life. The life of an online dating aficionado. If only I could go back in time, how many connections and conversations I could have started. How many winks and smiles and drinks to drain the ennui away. And I am getting old and people around me are slowly languishing. All I am thinking about is virtually fucking my next date before my Faceapp wrinkles start taking control of my real face.

My hormones want more but my nostrils sniff the pheromones away. All the better for it. 

Let’s navigate together through a sea of ones and zeros. Let’s make away with our sweat and cherry-picking fingertips.

You couldn’t kill a fly, let alone unzip my flies. Take care, love, yeah? With this, adieu! And forever bless you. 

Here I am again, playing the online dating game. As if I hadn’t had enough with the advice from my beloved Selfie Girl Down Under

So here I am again, swiping left and swiping right, and all I can hear is the cheer of my fingers tapping away at the keyboard.

The sheer madness of banal understanding.

Fly #14

Victor, 36 years old, 3 km away.

I like reading, photography and taking my dog for walks. 

Series junkie.

Boring.

Average height. 

Promising intro.

“Hi, Victor! Boring and average height! I love it.

What series are you watching these days?”

“Hi, Nina! Lately, I have been watching “Easy”, it is about sexuality in the thirty to fifty age range. Well, not too bad, not too many episodes. 

And yeah, I am indeed boring. Whenever I can I just sit there doing nothing. Quite understated these days. But I can’t get enough of it. Guilty as charged.

As for my height – I described it as average but I should have said quite short, as I am roughly 1’70. This has been traumatising me for months. Thing is, it never bothered me before.

Anyway, my height has never deprived me of getting to places.

That’s enough from me. How is it going?”

“Well as they say. Good things come in small packages.

I quite liked Easy, even though I only watched the very first season (there are three of them?)

A while back I went into a series frenzy and I just needed some detox. Lately, I am coming back to it, slowly, sensibly, with the fragile moderation of an ex-addict. The most recent one I’ve watched is Fleabag. Simply brilliant stuff. 

Series aside, I do this and that. And right now, trying to see this heatwave through, as I believe you must be too, 3 km away from me as you are. Wanna join forces? There should be a swimming pool nearby”. 

So here I am again, swiping left and swiping right, and all I can hear is the cheer of my fingers tapping away at the keyboard. 

The sheer madness of banal understanding.

“Toc-Toc. You there?”

Let’s navigate together through a sea of ones and zeros. Let’s make away with our sweat and cherry-picking fingertips.

“Hey, are you sure you didn’t take your doing nothing too far?”

Online dating radio silence.

This is the life. The life of an online dating aficionado. If only I could go back in time, how many connections and conversations I could have deleted.

Fly specimen #14, Time of Death, 10 pm, CET. August 2nd.

If only they were butterflies.