The 239 Bus Ride Poems – Into a pleasant morn’

Into a pleasant morn’

the techy-guy brings

a new box for better

TV reception

but our TV fails entirely.

No way to receive receptions

whatever might happen.

B is up in arms

not being consulted

for a new TV –

Not true – she only forgot.

She’ll accept nothing

not even my effort

to buy a new TV

as she will not pay for it.

She’ll boxed herself off

reality and wishes to run

her own life only on her

own terms.

I do not stop her

but she acts confused

murmurs continually

her anger

while she cleans the floors.

The moment we are distant

she’s able to communicate.

I’m not accepted as her

as her living-in mate

after 47 years any longer

but there’s no way she’ll

be ever able to live in her

own flat

unless she’ll find a new mate.

I doubt that.

For now: Living under one roof

kills both our creativity

besides the ongoing traffic.

The car repair shop nearby

will kill her peace.

I’ll be impossible for her

creating new fashion jewelry.

Welcome Duke for your great

Jazz through headphones

offloaded from YouTube.


zoltanzelan  ©ZJG-POetry’17

The 239 Bus Ride Poems 20170522

And so it continues

day for pallid day

the familiar route

by bus 239 bus to town

its hot tyres grind

deep paths into the

map of memories.

There’s no peace in sight

of spouse’s wars

yet the artist lives by

hope for a quiet life

in midst the Same Sea

the Same Island.

His mind a constellation

of geometrical shapes

lit up in colours.

Artist and Poet:

Their boat of creation

free floating

the blue horizon melts

flawlessly into the

Same Blue Sea.

The House of Books

emerges as a white dot

on top of the hill.

The poet has notated

his book of poems:

Twenty one days and One.

For the artist

to take his cue for his

series of paintings of love.

The longing for a space

to work in silence


like a child in the mother’s


realizing love and pain

that chases man and beast





The Green Journal Poetry – Luggage

We’ll take less with us

this time – Mr T says –

Do you believe this?

It’ll be a fool who does.

As good as trips away

from home once were

breaking the monotony

of a 40 year old married life –

Spouse B the one who lived

in a virtual world thru’

medication –

It seems that it’s her now

who craves for relaxing trips

as she thinks of these

disbelieving that they are

working trips

with stressful content

day for day –

Her inner anger for having

landed poor is culminating

in continued outbursts

blaming me.

She forgets my efforts

to land us social support

minimal it might be

but still affords a roof above

our heads.

While life passes by

I’m glad to be part of Mr T’s


blessed with help of Nica

the elfin gallery attendant

most efficient secretary.






The Green Journal Poetry – Bratislover 3

Glad waking to a gentle light

filtered through the blinds.

One more try to sink back

into a sentimental dream.

She dresses quietly

while my senses wake

facing yet another morn’.

Prepare my notes:

Green Journal Poetry.

Mr T’s tasks I have to

memorize for him.

Preparing breakfast

when Mrs I.R. calls:

Will I be prepared to travel

with Mr T to Bratislava today?

Well yes it’s part of my

survival traits.

B still complains

I do not live with her

but for T and laptop.

Yes I have work to do:


paint and conceptualize

new ideas for – ART –






Krag Maga

This symbol I like –

Your heart is black and white

it’s ying and yang my dear

you’ll need to think about

the balance of body and soul.

Classical theme for centuries

a famous piece of music


while I sit at Brunnenpark –

Fountain park’s cubicle of

all around glass.

traffic zipping past

either you are poisoned

or gassed.

Yesterday’s chem-trails have

forced up the clouds

nightly thunderstorms

but to escape diesel and

petrol fume

is rather impossible.

Thanks god for lush extensive

greens and trees.

Buy golden roses

surprise Nica

who surprised me with

a bottle of wine and one

fridge magnet from Porec


Mrs surprised I’m at

the A/F.

Well this time I needed

a prolonged rest

after our action filled trip

to Bratislava.

After tomorrow.

Yet another busy time

in T’s beloved city.






Main Station Vienna

A catastrophe!

Mr T utters

then takes to the stairs

and disappears

while I shouted after him

taking the escalators

waiting then five minutes

before departure time.

Phoning him he’s excited:

Where are you?

At the escalator

waiting for you.

I’m already in the train.

I’m amazed.

So I hurry up to the 11C


It’s a short train – damned –

Mr T is peeking out the door

keeping it open for me.

The ramped inside passage

plays sillybuggers with

the luggage on wheels

as it rolls about back and


Mr T swears never to go

by train again

but took to the stairs and

didn’t follow me to the

lift or escalator:

T’s classical disappearance


He was worried though

as I let him sweat a bit.

For now I’M reading the

booklet on Bratislava

Mr T gave me. Telos.




The 239 Bus Ride Poems – 20170524

Her words like pebbles

she throws at me

standing in judgement

about my infidelity

she’s still sore about

for seventeen years.

Like Ana used to muse

being seventeen years

married to her hubby

art restorer and boatman.

My own spouse didn’t even

say hello

as I bade her good-bye

in stubborn dedication

of having missed out

on life

in profession and love

why blaming it on hubby?

Frustration could be

chased off by a smile.

Anger takes one never


leads to self-mutilation.

The friendly woman from

Split signals me for the

bus’s arrival

I didn’t see staying behind


for a cloudburst to clear.

Good-bye Vienna for

three days.

Wish though we were

travelling to the sea.

The Med Sea.