Was up early –

Leaving behind my poet’s hat

As well my artist’s cap

In my black/white shopping bag.

Yet the poetry book still at hand

Arriving in good time at the AKH

City transport is most efficient

To get around town quickly.

But I guess to arrive in good time

Plays less strains on one’s nerves.

Besides one reaches a mental point

Where one wishes to get all the

Procedures behind one and

Looking forward to have finally

Good vision on both eyes.

Perhaps being in the know that one

Will be subjected to long waiting

Times urges one forward in a

Restless physical mode

Announcing one’s arrival at the

Day clinic’s reception

But then the awkward part of

Waiting starts

Consulting one’s watch:

9:45; 10:30; 11:00; 11:30;

Wondering when I would be

Called up.

One does not anticipate that the

Operation has been cancelled

Staff would have informed one

For sure

Just a lot of patients cared for

One by one.

It’s Prof. S’s day and he’s a

Thorough professional.

Just as B phoned me if I’m done

Already

I’m called up stepping aside to

The toilet

While someone after me in the

Queue is called up.

However I don’t mind to relax

In the preparation room

While my blood pressure also

Dropped.

My operating time is shorter

Than to the patient before me

As Prof. S is done in 25 minutes

Great!

Indeed I’m relieved and feel fine

Looked after by a dedicated nurse

And an hour later by the surgeon

Found to be A1. OK.

Receive a script for three different

Eye drops and then dress again

To hurry to the ’Öffis’ and home.

B already waiting at the bus station

Helping to carry my bag.

Time for relaxation starts again.

My right eye bandaged I will fall

Tired into bed.

Tomorrow the bandage will come

Off and I’m already looking forward

To enjoy my new vision’s experiences.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POretry’18.

Two days absolute peace

And quiet

The body fixed on the

Glass table in the room

Facing ‘Tuchlauben’

The soul on a creative flight

Above Vienna

One night before a cataract

Operation on my right eye.

How much did I neglect

The operation until now.

I had grabbed the opportunity

Of having my hip joints

Put back into working order

Mrs IRA called a depository

Of metal parts:

Mesh across a hernia

Left and right cataracts

Left and right hip joint

Replacements.

The bionic artist is set-up anew

To work without complaints

Of vision deficiency

And the constant arthrosis

Problems that caused pain

In movements

Looking ahead into a good

Future of creative art.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18.

Coke – coke – cocaine

Back and fro in sexual desire

Waves of passion rise

Initial rubs and tugs inflame

The denuded and risky game

Until the fire will be all-consuming

Impossible to douse

Never to extinguish.

The obsession with satisfaction

Will grow and grow

To peak at a gigantic top

The lover’s desires will push

Toward insanity and madness.

Coke – coke – cocaine everywhere

All over heated bodies

And in the deadly game of greed

He’s overloaded her…

When he’s reached his spiraling

Height

She is swept away by a gigantic

Milky tsunami wave

Her body snaps and disappears

Her ballooning mind explodes.

End of a tragic experiment?

NO.

As a doc he was well aware

Pushing his tainted oral desires

Past the point of his lover’s return.

Death.

Coke.ekoC

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18

Thro’ life’s looking glass

Time in Africa had elapsed

With rhythms of ups and downs

In geometrical patterns.

Time will soon come –

The poet heard the tweet

From a white dove –

An Aeolian breeze will

Refresh you.

At times tenderness still recalls

‘Awakening hearts’

Left behind to the sounds

Of a melancholic bard.

To the Great Wheel of Heavens

A life’s story of any human

Is a sand corn in the

Namib Desert.

From the skies

Glistening like black diamonds

A wet cabaret of words

Like rain is falling.

More than a generation ago

A freshman captain of art

Set out to exotic lands

Sailing the Seven Seas.

Stranded at the sanctuary

Of Poseidon’s temple

His old life’s skin rests

Now in Arcadian soil.

The power of vivid

Apollonian thoughts

The beauty of great

Goddesses

Leads an eternal life

All on its own.

Love’s ultimate powers

Will always remain

The spirit’s reviving fount

Of youth.

SPIRIT.TIRISP

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18.

Impossible to spend a quiet morn’

At the shared bedsitter

Of a poet and his fashionista pal

Partnered for a stormy 49 years

The ups and downs of eventful

Lives.

There’s tragedy in B’s life

There’s constant drama in ways

Of staying together:

Economies and friendship are

Steering in an overdrive

A marriage that never had been

Called as one – she stated

And her spouse the artist had

To cope with promising her Mom

Never to leave this marriage.

The escape to the bus offers relief

And the tram ride to the AKH –

Vienna’s general hospital –

Is on good time.

The so called ‘Öffis’ are efficient.

The AKH – a city within a city

With many groups of out-patients

Visitors and white coated doctors

And nurses

Mill along Hospital Street

To the lift banks for the designated

Departments.

The eye-clinic for out-patients

Marked blue

Is located on level eight.

It’s 10:00 and reception confirms

One’s arrival.

The waiting game has started.

At 11:00 one accepts an hour’s time

Spent sitting on plastic shell chairs

Reading the papers.

At 12:00 one becomes restless having

Read even details of the news and

One’s spouse adds more weight to

A stressful wait

Amazed that one is not yet ready

And operated.

Just as one intends to visit the

Nearest toilet

But is afraid to miss the call-up

A blue dressed nurse appears

And calls out one’s name.

She agrees that one has a quick

Pee and as soon as one is back

To the outpatient’s department

To undress and slip into a wide

Hospital shirt fitting xxx-large

People – some present.

Seated in the preparation area

One is well cared for by a nurse

Who is composed

Gentle

Attentive

Administering eye drops

A few times.

Time goes on. The clock shows

13:00. Relaxation time’s

All important.

A few minutes later a tall man

All geared up for the op-room

Guides one to the nearby

Operating room.

Hello there – Prof. S. greets

And soon one is adjusted on

The sophisticated green clad

Table and hooked on for

Measuring blood pressure.

On comes the             cover over the

Head and a clamp for the eye

And in short time the bright

Light one has to look into

Is fluctuating and variations

Of a game as in a looking glass

Appear

A waterfall cooling and washing

Invites to dive into a pond.

Prof. S. works efficiently and

With a long experience to his

Expertise and one feels in safe

Hands.

Amazed how quickly the

Operation had been finished

One is speedily taken back

To the recovery room

Where a few patients already

Rest and relax with a drink.

Sitting back on a linen clad chair

The friendly polish nurse attends

With eye drops

Serves a sandwich and a cappuccino

One dozes off having a release

From the long wait and the feeling

That the procedure had been a

Good success.

The patient next to me lauds the

Hospital and the surgeon

He is served a sandwich and also

A cappuccino.

We talk about our experiences

And his enthusiasm makes the

Nurses smile.

Finally a post-operative check-up

By the professore

All’s in good order and time to

Change and go home.

It’s 15:00. The long wait is already

Overwritten by the good feeling

Of having survived the day

Albeit with a bandaged eye one

Has to move carefully.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18.

It would be great

If the drama of life

Would stop at the stage

Of a mature life

When one feels that enough

Is enough.

But the dramatic play

Follows one lifelong.

It’s damned annoying

When a bickering spouse

Shoots poisoned arrows

Into a beautiful morn’.

A positive attitude is the

Best antidote

Like a determined will

Overcomes strenuous

Writing efforts

On a shaky 239-bus ride

To the City of Saints.

Creativity surmounts

The drama of talent.

Drama.amarD

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18.

During another restless night

The topless Muse from

Porto Rafti-beach

Stirred his desires

Caressed his body

For a sweet and quaint

Birthday joy.

Late morning he still desired

His chosen Muse

A second time.

Morning sun’s warmth

Flooded the Red Tower room

The poet had a critical look

At his nude

Depicted in his notebook.

How come he could not find

His way back to his spouse

Who shied him away

Misunderstanding his state of

Joie du vivre – jokes and

More clowning?

Like two opposing cultures

The long time married couple

Clashes again and again

As if fate had some different

Plan cut-out for the two

Hot heads

Immersed in art and fashion

Poet against fashionista.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18.

Sunday’s shouting match

Of a warring couple

Poet and fashionista

The swollen Weidling brook

Took toward the Danube.

Usually –

Threats fell like heavy rain

And soaked the poet’s garb

Ridiculed by the fashionista

Spouse

Who thought life might

Turn-out more amenable

To her at an advanced age

Than to her artistic spouse.

The more she hammers him

With pedantic matters

The more she loses him

But he knows she’ll never

Leave him

Having saved her life

All he would care for

Is for more respect.

In Vienna the poet is given

A wide bed at the Red Tower

Licking his wounds from

A domestic fight

Getting him back to life.

Her spiked mental boot

Hurts more than

Physical pain

He follows up with an

Expression in his art.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18.

So far a quiet morn’

She’s awake early on

But respects the poet’s sleep.

Hopefully she’ll avoid getting

Angry at the poet’s replies

If she queries words and themes

She’s interested in.

Her way of life is set out:

She watches documentaries

And biographies

The poet has not much interest

In her selection and this

At times annoys her.

You should live with me

She states

As if the poet’s sudden phase

Of creativity would bother her

As if she’d like to involve him

Into discussions

When she wishes to score.

The poet ignores heated

Impromptu vents of

Giving way to anger

She’s pent-up.

He rather listens to Bill Evans’

Piano as stimulating background

While he composes another

Journal entry.

Evans.snavE

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18.

The station at the City of Saints

An intermediate stop

A watering hole for travelers

Refreshing spot for sushi lovers

Beer drinkers

Burger eaters.

Or just for taking a seat at a bench

Waiting for a bus connection

If one missed a better planning

For subway arrivals

Watching the girls in tights

Passing by

People from all over this globe

Who feel at home here

Looked after by the state for

Finding a foothold

Except for expats

Who suffered badly when they

Returned.

Not favoured any longer

But also taken for a ride

Except in time when they

Began drawing on social

Help

Especially at medical services.

Viki says it’s a helluva good

Country to live in

And Mrs IRA lauds the Viennese

Water

Derived from mountain springs.

The poet loves the museums

Auras of quaint elegance

In habits and of classical buildings

But he feels a lack of preparedness

By the cultural institutions

To promote artists

Aside the mainstream dictations

Of the ruling class.

STOPOVER.REVOPOTS

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18.