Life in Art

The bed of dreams

Carries your body in free flight

Your Muses like butterflies

Are chafing your skin

To heavenly delights.

Seventy-nine years since you have

Woken to your first cry’s delight

Or pains of growing up

Emerging from your mother’s

Protective womb.

Celebrations were tainted by

The start of WWII

The sword of Damocles that

Hung above everybody’s head.

Your father missing in Russia

Mom in black clothes for ten years

Suffering from uncertainty for

His return.

Birthday thoughts:

First loves for Pizzy.

Chain of Muses.

Art & Love.

Joey’s and Athens.

Vienna and Budapest.

Prague and Venice.

A life’s traveling in the labyrinth

You’ve designed for your

Start with a supporting spouse.

Life in Art.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

Fight for Survival

On a sunny Tuesday mor’n

She spoke to me as if was

Already awake

Listening to her in may half-sleep

As I did not react immediately

And she raised her voice

I suddenly sensed her pain

She must suffer added to her

Tooth extraction the day before

She had brought up her supper

During the night

And again her body reacted most

Violently against a pump-spray

Medication against renewed

High blood pressure

She vomited again.

I called the local doc but he was

Already on leave.

The dental surgeon’s assistant

Proposed the local hospital.

‘I need a calming down injection’

B shouted at the evasive woman

And as soon as I’ve ended a call

For emergency assistance

B repeated the same demand

To the ambulance men:

‘Calm down calm down’ one of

The medic’s said impatiently

‘We are here to help but cannot

Assist with injections

Only doctors can do that!’

They contacted her dental surgeon

Who was instantly prepared to

Assist B with immediate help

Against pain and hammering

Headaches…

Finally we arrived at the dental

Offices and B was attended to.

In the past life’s up and down

There had been numerous

Situation like this one

But then she was younger and

She had more resilience.

With physical resilience fading

Also time had eroded tenacity

To carry on with life.

I thought of her medical doctor

Outstanding in handling her.

She feels so vulnerable

Fear has grabbed her soul.

This is B’s most tenacious fight

For survival.

Survival.lavivruS

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

Toothaches

Toothaches are heartaches

A saying goes

Coined as a phrase in France:

‘Maux de dent – maux d’amour’.

Indeed there are congruent

Heartaches as well with wild

Toothaches in one’s life

We all have our share of it.

B. talented in fashion design

Completed Haute Couture pieces

Successfully

And also a course in modelling

Could not thru’ a chain of dire

Misfortunes

Perform well in any of these

Categories.

However.

Now after half a century of

Looking back to this life

As a spouse to her

As an artist

A poet

Who expresses his sorrow

In his drawings and paintings.

However.

Next on my To-do-list are

Detailed studies of insects

Fused to themes of fantasy

Perhaps participate on some

Artistic edition?

Such high-flying ideas make

It worthwhile.

A series of drawings with

A new personal style

While studying the subjects

Inside and out:

Like a fearsome extremely

Poisonous spider.

SPIDER.REDIPS

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

The ‘Stub’n in Liesingtal

Well

If you come along the winding

Stadtwanderweg 6 toward

‘Wiener Hütte’

It’s better to carry on a short

While longer

Toward the pretty ‘Liesingtal’

Some call ‘lieblich’ – lovely

Just like good wine

Sitting gently on your palate

Here at the Stub’n its Murauer

An excellent beer and favourite

Of mine.

The sun came out on the terrace

Of the inn

It’s high time to dry my walking

Garb (the Nike dries pretty fast).

What a peaceful quaint place

Along the WSTWW 6!

Well done folks for a god kitchen

And perfectly chilled draft.

The modest poet had eaten his

Mazo arosto-sandwich earlier

And enjoys now a big draft of

Murauer

On the sun filled terrace.

PROST.TSORP

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

Tenderness (MR)

He is not worried about

An exhibition of his art

Not about the selling

In the jungle of commerce

His sole worries are centered

Around being in the one

Holy artistic groove

Of drawing and painting

His Innerness

Spilling out all emotional

Sadness to his bygone Muse

Teaming up with his spouse

Who suffers from a nagging

State of nerves

Besides fighting for plain

Survival

Yet she cares about promoting

The poet’s art: ZG-ART.

Now then he’s not in a mood

For tenderness on her request

But he feels sorry for her

Has he not used it all up in 

His Art-explorations:

Mystical Realism?

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

At Ströck’s

Being early for a meeting

Have a peek into Ströck at

Stephansplatz:

Espresso macchiato and

A seat in the Souterrain’s

Light wood paneled space

Wooden laid floor veneer

Well-bearable and seldom

Filled to capacity.

The casual poet’s haunt

Elderly women chit-chat

Mixed with a lively discourse

By two business friends.

A child’s high voice explores

The world around to her Mom

Otherwise reasonably quaint

The patina of humming will

Dissolve quite quickly

Once the patrons have

Munched their cakes and

Downed their coffees or

Whatever.

Meanwhile it’s pleasant to

Communicate with my Muse

And remember her lively ways.

Time to conclude some of

These thoughts

Thanking A for another

Beautiful morning.

QUAINT.TNIAUQ

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

GROOVE 2 – HAP

Without substance

No alcohol or drugs

To reach the state of

GROOVE

You have to be blessed

As an artist

Loved by your Muses

And recognized as a talent

By your friends.

Perhaps my spouse will

Understand my work

At least some of it

Besides she suggested

That I paint in the nude.

Amazing.

This form of connection

With my Muse

Who stated she’ll stay

In contact albeit her descent

Into the ‘Great Void’ –

This’ll be a Classical story

Of unusual love…

My skin has been sensitized

Thru’ my work

My mental connection to her.

Holistic Art Process (HAP)

HAP.PAH

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

GROOVE 1

Nobody I know here in Klnbg

Practices magic or sorcery

The only magic I know

Streams from the fingers and

Skillful hands of Lena

Who practices massage.

She’ll knead you like dough

Stroke you gently in between

A master masseuse first class.

My appointment difficult

To be arranged

Cancelled due to a heavy cold

That had befallen me since

February

And since then I did not feel

To return

Having taken up Nordic Walking

In the nearby Viennese Woods.

Besides I wish to get fit before

I’m due for surgery on the 17th

This month.

Meanwhile my spouse will

Promote my art

Looking for a friendly place

That exhibits independent artists.

B intends to find that out.

She’s tenacious

Yet I’m afraid I have to loosen

Her tight grip on matters

In the end

Although I’m glad and thankful

To have more quality time

For my art development of

Mixed media

That’ll suit my expression of

Mythical Realism

To coin the style before anybody

Else will find another term for it.

I sense that I’m on the best way

To enter my artistic groove.

GROOVE.EVOORG

zoltanzelan        ZJG-POetry’19.

April Fool

With one foot on his

Creative cloud

The bank clerk could not

Find the poet’s account

Impossible

He mumbled

Life’s complicated he

Mused

Feeling like a fool

Having mislead his

Electronic card.

His mind on art and on

A new venture

He has been invited

Partaking

But he’s not yet sure

About.

He has to write his own

Book first…

The poet said to Mrs IRA

To whom fellow E had

Ran back to

As the poet backed out

From E’s tight clutches

But mostly women and

Effeminate men throw

Such blistering tantrums

The poet mused…

A non-initiated writer still

There’s lots of work to be

Done by the lad himself.

Why don’t you illustrate

Your poetry book yourself?

The inner voice of reason

Hollered.

I will. The poet said and

Thought to do just but

Challenged by the uninitiated

Writer with the woolen cap.

I will do that with my ballad:

King of Ice.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

CLOSURE

Interrupted night’s sleep

At 4:30 am

Supposed to be 5:30.

Summertime.

Light sleep.

Alarm that shocks a dream

With a fall into the crack

Of dawn.

Just now the Muses danced

All night

At times gentle fingers

Chafed my skin

The web of yearning’s sorrow

Spun a leathery carpet

For sailing about the dormant

City

To the spaces where the artist

Had been

Acknowledged with his mystic

Realism he’d created

Afraid the circle of his life

Rushes toward a closure.

CLOSURE.ERUSOLC

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.