THREES

Not the best of Fridays

With cold winds and a weak

Sun

Whose strength has been

Blown away somewhere South.

She’s in no good mood

Disliking her sneeze

Battling with a fever

That eats her up.

The poet feels like a gentle

Poodle

Doused with a bucket

Of icy water.

Yet he brings good humour

To a scene of her Armageddon

That recurs more often

During the birth of spring.

Yet the poet will still let

His flow of words bubble

From his soul

Like an awakening spring

And flood his notebook

And cool his physical wounds.

Most good things come in threes

But so do the bad ones too.

THREES.SEERHT

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

BOOK

What is it why I write?

Is it all our striving to leave behind

Something for future generations?

Is it then – as I have no kids –

The longing to be discovered

As a true artist

Who left behind creations of:

Poetry

Stories

Memoirs

And a new way of addressing

A novel?

Well

Indeed

Besides adventure stories

Thrillers

And memoires

I’ll push on to challenge thoughts

Of contemporaries

That the traditional book is deceased.

Once already it had been stated:

Poetry is dead!

And I challenged it by writing more

And so do my colleagues

And fellow artists.

Long live the BOOK

Long live the art of writing.

BOOK.KOOB

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

Somebody

Don’t be intoxicated

By the day of the week

In hearsay

Like Monday is blue

It all depends on you

Not the message from

The herd of men.

People claim anything

You should listen to

Yourself

And sit down for a while

Reflect your innerness.

Think of life as your

Greatest gift

You have to look after

Every day from anew.

Nobody has to tell you

How you should live

Your life.

It’s a great day to look

Forward

To share the fruit of

Your talents

With somebody.

SOMEBODY.YDOBEMOS

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

Check Up 2

Get up early.

Prepare.

Bus to H/S and ÖBB train

To KOR. Korneuburg.

Slow walk from the station

To the LKH-KOR. The hospital.

Registration.

Coffee and ‘Apfelstrudel’.

Just as I finished – my call –

Room 8. Ambulant patients.

Dr S. smiles albeit she’s

Flat out busy.

Next the clamps from my

Knee wound removed.

I count 21.

Mü-Gu a descendant of

A family with a poet does

A sterling job.

Next to the x-ray dept.

Cabin 5.

Two quick snaps and back

Again to room 8

Where Dr S. notates my next

Appointment June fourth.

She is not happy that my

Physiotherapy only starts in

Two weeks’ time.

But then it’s out of our hands.

Yet I assure her I’ll come

To terms with my recovery

Step by step and week by week

Playing the motor rail’s

Movement machine.

Yep.

Polar winds outside the hospital

Have cooled down the air

Considerably.

I phoned the landlord to keep

A bit of heating going

He’d switched off suddenly

During the night.

As sorry I feel about my spouse’s

Situation

I’m not able to do more about it

Than to support her as good as

Possible

Within my own physical restraints.

Takes recovery time to become

A fully fledged walker again.

A pub on the way.

I need some hot soup before

I face the polar air again.

Another morning at the LKH-KOR-

Hospital.

KOR.ROK

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

Verbal Violence

The poet woke from his world

Of creation

To the heavy murmuring of

His spouse

Who performs lately in constant

Monologues

About her fate late in life

She calls undeserved.

Indeed the poet agrees

But little he can do other

Than support her toward

Her expenses

Battle with rising inflation

Having fallen on hard times.

The poet still describes his

Reflections

His spouse considers useless

But then he takes her antics

With a generous pinch of

Salt.

Yet verbal anger

Has driven his spouse

To subscribe mentally

To violence

Enjoying movies about

Al Capone.

Her behaviour escalates

Toward a serious split

Also in reality

She stated on many occasions.

And what about tomorrow?

Verbal violence to spiral?

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

Good News

Usually the saying goes:

No news is good news.

Well.

In the poet’s case that’s

Not relevant

As news is all around him

On the world stage of

Everyday life.

At times too many phone calls

Chase the poet

And thus he becomes irritated:

Friends he still accepts

But adverts and sales clerks –

NO WAY!

In the stillness of cellular phones

And without the turbulent doing

Of kids

He may at least finish his latest

Stories about walking the periphery

Of Vienna’s fields and woods.

Good News.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

SORBETS

Saving sanity by just taking off

To the historical city of KLNBG

For short

Dealing with a cell phone issue.

Listen

The poet addresses the repair man

Mobile phones are not designed

For keeps.

Ask Samsung

The sturdy man from handy.com

Says.

It looks like the software had

Expired on me.

Possibly he murmurs.

Now then while junior has another

Try downloading my precious

Photographs

I’ll have time to spend at Leonardelli’s

For a Sorbets-cuppa with prosecco.

Mhh.

Need a fine treat after yesterday’s

Disastrous meeting at a realty office.

Behaving dyslexic and to cope with

A wound-up spouse

Irate.

Self-centred.

Impossible to get a word of reason

Into her monologue.

OK.

Today the sun fights dark clouds

But a positive hub prevails

With senses again back to balanced

Living.

Yet the poet always travels between

Layers of consciousness.

SORBET.TEBROS

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.