In the 239-bus

a ride for holding on

by the seat of one’s pants.

The smell of cabbage soup

kiosk type wrapped food

of rancid body odours.

Hopping along in a rhythmic

Hancock-bounce over grey

cobblestones of a Viennese

road design tradition.

At Holy City’s stop the wale of

the sickened bus spews out

its entire content.

People rush like a shoal of fish

gape-mouthed into the open

past casual news stands

the familiar homeless paper

seller.

The sound of knocking shoes

murmuring conversation

singing of a female refugee

echoes through the access

tunnel connecting to the trains.

Catching the next U4 train to

the city’s core many will rush

Time: Two minutes to take-off.

At last jockeying past the slow

walkers has ended

finding a red seat in traveling

direction of this train

noting down poetic ideas into

the red moleskine notebook.

For a Saturday lunchtime enough

passengers travel

while the poet misses his usual

yoghurt treat from Nica

more so to study new angles

for her portrait

she’d asked for cautiously.

Today’s a solo visit at boesner’s

artist requisite supermarket

where one finds everything

needed to express one’s own art

but let the postman deliver the

yearly comprehensive catalogue

as Mona has encouraged the

artist who lives close to the poet’s

heart.

A fortnight ago she left the party

too early and the artist found

himself as a lost soul drowning

in the red cabernet-sea of loneliness

where he’d lost his conscious to

reality and painted with his soul.

He fell from the heavens of solitude

like a stone –

That’s how Icarus must have felt –

Falling onto a sea made of

tempered glass.

 

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POEtry’16.

PoaBL – TWENTY FOUR

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Interlaced like the threads

The colours and patterns

Are verified by the skills

Of the weaver

Just like love that grew

Like a flower

And had been ripped off

Close to its height of

Flowering

Just tasted its sweetness

Remained to the lovers

And he

Fallen into another trap

Of a honey pot

Like a drunken insect

Into Venus of devouring

Flowers.

But his dream to taste her

Again

When he returned

After a life of adventure

Seemed close

But as closer he sensed

To get to her

The further she drifted

Away.

DRIFT.TFIRD

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

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PoaBL – TWENTY THREE

If you feel great

Wandering within the

Stream of masses

Then amble down the

Capital’s main shopping

Streets.

You will have a sense of

Holiday with all the visitors

Perhaps even think you

Arrived in a different city

Listening to many different

Languages

And as most of the local folk

Have left for their holidays

At the Adriatic Sea

Or will be sun-tanning at their

Summer retreats

The city belongs now to the

Guests.

Even if the capital glows in

Heat

Radiating off the cobbled

Stone

The light surfaces of flagstone

Covered squares and pedestrian

Malls.

People gather at water points

But one misses generously

Spraying fountains

Yet efforts are under way

To restructure and landscape

Rotenturmstrasse

The continuation of the great

Kärntnerstrasse

Into a pedestrian mall

Where fountains will feature.

Meanwhile tourist masses

Still flood the city

In spite of construction work

The dust and heat.

The relief: Italian ice cream

ICE.ECI zoltanzelan.  ZJG-POetry’19.

PoaBL – TWENTY TWO

Finding a flat in Vienna

Which is not overpriced

Is considered among all

Seekers to rent:

A miracle!

The painful search causes

Horrendous frustrations.

People seeking to rent

Surpasses many times

Accommodation offered:

One calls it a renter’s market.

Stage 1: Exhilaration starts

When one is offered some

Reasonable roof over

One’s head

Especially if the room is

Furnished.

Stage 2: Once settled in

The list of complaints will

Cover a whole page.

But bit by bit the priority

Of grievances is discussed

With a difficult landlord.

Stage 3: the poet settles in

And he receives a desk

Fitting onto the kitchenette

Which will be his domain.

His spouse uses the tea table

In the bedsitter annexed to

A leather couch

She was left with

By a friendly neighbour

Who moved out in the cloak

Of night.

Stage 4: the domestic fights

Continue since day one

In the sleepy hamlet of the

Historic County near Vienna

Where famous poets and

Scientists are buried.

The poet’s spouse has finished

With her life in the village W.

And she rather commutes

On a reduced senior ticket

Frequently to the capital.

But as she used to enjoy

The surrounding fields and

Woods before

Jogging daily in the morn’

Who knows what the next

Stage in her life will bring?

STAGES.SEGATS

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

PoaBL – TWENTY ONE

Helping an aged friend

Watching him move more

Closely

His peculiar habits

Manifested thru’ life.

We all have adapted to

Circumstances

Cared for a friend and

His caretakers:

O – for driving errands

N – for intensive care

And organizing her daughter

Vee

Who saved MrT for many

Times

Having to call for instant

Medical help.

So the poet recalls his

Immediate emergency

Action

Calling an ambulance

When his friend was

Stranded during an

Health attack

At Vienna’s central station

And this time it was also

Touch and go                                                                                       

As sudden attacks of one’s

Own health

Are most serious matters.

Reflecting on his own life

The poet muses about his

Near-death experiences

On the long winding road

He was in good luck

Of getting away

Unscathed.

Watching his friend closely.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

PoaBL – TWENTY

The dog teeth of summer

As the famous Greek poet

Noted

Are lined up this week

Like ducks in a row of

A daily sequence

Made the poet aware

Of the lack of fountains

With a fine spray

To cool down pedestrians

Visitors to the city

All in pursuit of a good

Time in the city centre’s

Cultural heritage.

Check out Italy’s fountains

New York’s public cool down

Area

For a great social service.

So

The poet will do his usual

Walk along ‘Vorlaufstrasse’

And fetch a ‘Magnum Classic’

Ice cream on a stick

As a special treat:

When the delicious ice cream

With its chocolate coating

Melts down in the midday

Heat

Just right to eat.

Classic ice cream.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

PoaBL – NINETEEN

Vienna-meetings of

Poet and his spouse

A daily ritual that brings

Together a couple of

Fifty-one years

Thru’ ups and downs

Thru’ ebb and flow

Of physical and mental

Highs and lows.

Since five years of fights

And strain

Living in a bed-sitter.

An instant understanding

Happens

When the poet has been

Offered a night-job

Watching an elderly friend

Who has been recently

A victim of an epileptic

Attack.

From lunchtime onwards

When the couple shares

Coffees and juices

Water and Moroccan mint

Tea

The poet invites his spouse

T a well-seasoned sandwich

At a super shop

Air-conditioned.

They enjoy late lunch on

Barstools

In a pleasant atmosphere.

At the exit they run into

Their friend Pierre

Who has finally received

A finally printed copy of

His book of portraits of

Famous personalities

He had photographed with

Great artistry.

Well done Pierre.

Fashion creator.

Photographer.

He is proud of his work

Showing them a copy

In a nearby café.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

PoaBL – EIGHTEEN

At late morning

His sorting letters completed

As an envisaged task

The poet meets his spouse

At a coffee shop downtown

A short walk away.

In spite of differences

He supports his spouse

With company and shared

Food will taste that much

Better.

People rush past the huge

Shopfronts

Overlooking Rotenturmstraße

Foreigners. Visitors. Tourists

Pass like the salmon swimming

Upstream in Canada

But not stopped here by

Hindrances –

In spite of revamping the

Famous shopping street

Amidst fine dust from digging

And offloading sand and stone

For prepping the sublayers

To take new flagstones –

Well-fed people.

Sexy teens in their short cut

Short jeans.

Bearded fellows.

Head-scarfed women.

Short dresses.

Floor-long dresses.

Miniskirts.

Groups of tourists from the

Far East

Unperturbed by the noisy

And dusty building activities.

WELCOME.EMOCLEW

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.