I sit at the window facing
Wipplinger Street
The tobacco man cleans
His shop windows –
Air pollution.
A woman rushes past
With a knowing smile.
Rendezvous?
On the nearby pavement
A pretty brunette talks to
A silver-haired man
Young people pass: earphones
And knapsacks.
The pretty brunette smokes
Already another cigarette
Expressive eyes
Southern looks.
A dog-walking woman
Shops are cleaned out
Change of ownership.
Mrs Ira is late this morn’.
Pietrowski’s delivery bike
A Fiaker caleche passes
In great hurry
Busses passing silently
Battery operated
The lorries and trucks do
Not yet.
Where is Mrs Ira?
Great to have Anker coffee
And cake shop here.
Ah! My phone. I have to go.

zoltanzelan
ZJG-POetry’18.

For four years and more
I commute from ‘Weidling’
To the ‘Stephansplatz’
But also chose ‘Schottenring’
Station for walking up the
‘Tiefer Graben’ and upstairs
To the top of Art Noveau’s
‘Hohe Brücke’
A pretty view from below
All gilded and green
Symmetrically fine designed
Enriched with integrated
Details.
Wipplinger Street –
Home of Mr T and Mrs Ira
Grandiose ‘Gründerzeit’ style
Apartment
Vienna at its best
Famous tarts and cream
Reflected in daydreaming
Facades.
Cleaning out a period of
One’s life
Stripping art artifacts
Books mag’s documents
Letters cutlery and crockery
A giant task
Step by step with the active
Mind of Mrs Ira and the
Poet’s
The Serbian crew
The blessings of the weather
God and a wake up tot of
Clear clean Polish Vodka
Prost.
Prost.tsorP

zoltanzelan
ZJG-POetry’18.

Split up are the beds
Split up are the lives
It’s hard to draw a line
Along common ownership
A precise half in everything.

Split up are eating habits
Split the way we live both
Our lives
Togetherness due to
Economizing
Walking a tightrope of our
Present existence.

But the shaking legs
Have gained some strength
All is not yet lost.
Will Eros’ well aimed arrow
Strike?
Induce a change of game?
Game.emaG

zoltanzelan
ZJG-POetry’18.

We met with renewed hope
And great desires
Nurtured the fires of love
To fuse our hearts.
The great love we lived
One I wanted intensified
To the point beyond the
Average.
We did. We both did.
For years we drove the
Arrows of love and deceit
Deeper into our flesh
Thorns of sweetness and
Great pain.
As soon as love feels great
It’s already doomed
Gliding towards the drama
Of an end
And already you search
For a new one.
For there is in the stove of
Passion
Although still cooled down
Yet a chance
To be stirred up to a new
Glow
Or so she’d promised.
But even if love at an
Advanced age is something
Out of the ordinary
It may happen once again.
LateLove.evoLetaL

zoltanzelan
ZJG-POetry’18.

In spite of a sunny friendly
Nature
The poet senses joy and
Pain in other people
Vibrations of their mind
He experiences first hand
From his own spouse.

He mistook enthusiasm
For helping Mrs Ira
As reborn strength from
His body and will inline
His fitness gathered from
Four-hourly walks
Through woods and fields
During a hot summer
Assisted him well.

The sharp bite of autumn’s
Fresh air
Has brought about the
So called ‘Sniffing season’
With sticky red eyes to boot.

Besides –
Bad communication
With one’s spouse
Puts a death knell to
The tired-out body.
Flop. Blop.
Into the desk chair
And write the poem.
The mind still vibrates.
MIND.DNIM

zoltanzelan
ZJG-POetry’18.