Graduation event poem and 3 others

The Miners of Chernobyl Although they say that coal is but a diamond in the making, I know it's just a myth. And still, hail all those darkest souls who do the break through because it's easy shining if you're bright but purest are those who shine without ever knowing light. This Piece I wanted this piece to awaken your spirits, to be a fucking revelation. To leave you silent like a forest in the winter - heavy with purity and wisdom. I wanted you to think: “Damn, I should really start recycling!” Or something as important. But the truth is that this piece was born amid cooking and potty training, born right on the dirty floor somewhere next to the cat vomit that our handsome vet treated and that cost us half our holiday in Greece. This piece was born in haste like village women used to birth in the fields, impatient to go back to their spades. … And now I'm holding my piece in my arms - imperfect, small and wrinkled. But still, a piece of me. I am looking at it straight into its eyes that don't see me and wonder: “Will you grow up to change the world? You know what? Screw expectations! I'll love you as you are!” And I don't care if you love it. It is mine and it is perfect. But, please, recycle.

out the carnivores of my mother's womb sharpened their wisdom long before i was born i need to smell their bright tracks back and call myself out of my mother's womb * * * the pear fell away from its motherly branches wild seed of a fruitful era to come obsession toolbox i quit my nostrils delegate my underwear to the chimney-sweeper shed my eyelashes click the belly button to undress yet another underwater costume unfit exhale self-sacrifice is an outdated myth too long too used to hang on the dots of someone else's unfinished sentence * * * swift lizards running amok through the folds of the night foam through the horizontal frame of a borrowed sea gaze remind me: i have the map i need to follow the aftertaste of short explosions in the eyelids of long-departed ships body wit a blindfolded captain blames the unreliable ship that could bear just the treasures that are kept from its sight this dream keeps repeating and when the trousers of day unzip their messy cocktails i remember - my body’s the vessel i’m trying to blame

Spaces of Love 1 Equipped with a space suit (Imagined immunity) I dive into vast airy planets of yours. We meet, fingers crossed, Spiral vectors untwined, Your chronicles getting entangled with mine. Projecting our nebulous Days turned to lore, Our act of creation For all to observe, imitate and restore. (Oh, well, with some honestly tiny exception, A passionate splurge I would never divulge.) It’s dawdling sometimes But it’s probably worth it - I'll make you immortal, You got close enough. A last silent witness Recording existence. Voidwalker Exploring The Spaces Of Love. 2 Remove all your carpets Before you invite me. I got used to falling On cold and hard floors. I'm not good at cleaning, I'm not good at sailing Through murky mixed signals And other mixed things. I got good at flying Those spaceships of yellow Through last nights deleted, Though black holes (hearts) to home. (You removed all safety nets, your defenses, your secrets, the space between our lips, so why don't you remove your fucking carpets, how about that?) Remove all your carpets Before you invite me. I got used to falling On cold and hard floors. Can't get so much worse, Can't hurt so much more, I've fallen For you After all. 3 A memory, A fleeting moment, A clingy pestering creature Crawled from the ocean so long ago. So, let’s rehash The same old story, Let’s pull again The same old tail. (Did it always have a tail?) So, let’s rewash The same old tale (It still loves salty water, apparently) Till the coasts of left and right hemispheres Get washed away… 4 All poets are liars. All lovers are addicts. And lips, tongues and teeth - They are all precious coins. For buying some freedom, Connections, confessions, For getting a fix... And for an overdose. 5 This expedition was not fruitless. We found something that allows us To tamper with existing laws, To twist, distort and to transform And still remain alive and whole. It’s poetry - The only way To get away With anything. 6 I’m stuck and I’m drained, and I’m chocked with frustration. My head’s cycle setting is permanent press. My brain getting squeezed by a hopeless intention - Producing six poems in only four days. Those empty white pages, they mockingly track me. I’m stumbling in deadlines and dragging through dread. Those muses no longer can find me attractive And words are refusing to join me in bed. I can’t recognize lines popped up with endeavor - They look and they sound not like me at all. I let them run free, all those cords must be severed, I’d likely do my worst and gladly be done. *** Whatever it is, dear destiny, bring it, But make me inspired and make me complete. My fingers are striking an end and beginning, I frame and present all this meaningless s*** :D :D :D #rantover