The tired sun drowns

Its sorrows

Wine-red beads of

Drunken tears

Pearls of love upon

The Nereids

Sunken treasures from

The deep

Beams of love’s secret

Thoughts

Reflect in a myriad of

Intricate patterns

And souls commute every

Night to Poseidon’s

Translucent illuminated

Concert hall

Dancing singing festive

Floats

Diverge and fuse again

To open and to close

Turn loose

Tighten their lyre strings

Into sets of magical chain light

Lanterns play               

Across the Med’s expansive

Blue

And a drowned soul’s tarantella

Performs

Until the break of dawn.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

Goodby for now

Two-roomed apartment

Recluse of a poet and womb

For an artist at heart

Pleasant and inspirational

Filled with the silent aura

Of a supportive Muse

Tender to the sensible heart

And healing touches for the

Wounds of verbal abuse

By the hurt of a spouse

Who had been mistreated

In parts of her topsy-turvy

Life

A supportive hanger-on

To her spouse at times

Who’d be fighting all his life

For being an acknowledged

Artist.

But only another artist could

Understand this artist’s issues

And his striving for

Self-realization.

SELF.FLES

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

In this present age of consuming

Like the last days of living have

Arrived

People travel to follow adverts:

The most visited sites on our

Blue planet –

Coliseum/Louvre/Vatican Museum/

Statue of Liberty/Eiffel Tower/

As presented on the Internet.

In the same breath

I noticed the value of art.

While shot-up in monetary terms

It diminishes in value

Even to a duct-taped banana.

A perfect depiction that it has been

Stranded

On a remote island of

Loneliness.

Be it Cattelan in Art Basel

Or KAWS’ Donnelly in Melbourne’s

National Gallery of Victoria

Hit the nail on its head with:

‘Companionship in the Age of

Loneliness’.

Cheers to all observers.

Art lives.

Life’s Art.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

On the last days

At year’s end

The poet looks back

Summarizes life during 2019:

Starting in January

To have his right knee joint

Replaced

With steel and porcelain

A rehab in Baden

Meet new compatriots

Work hard to exercise the

Operated knee

Get better and help Mr T.

Finalize writing ‘The King of Ice’

Publish and order copies of the

New book.

Mrs Ira appears as the poet’s

New Muse

With many projects of creative

Writing

Perhaps the kick start of

Drawing a new cycle in love.

Looking forward to a New Year

2020 ahead.

Ahead.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

On the second day of X-mas

The poet came across

A Classical music performance:

Jaqueline du Pre and Daniel

Barenboim

Directing the London

Symphony Orchestra

What a treat!

Reminding the poet of times

In Southern Africa

Within a wide group of friends

In discussions about life and

Family ties

The philosophy of getting ahead

In one’s personal development.

On the second day of X-mas

Life has presented itself with

Problems

One had never thought will

Be important to one’s later

Life

While dwelling in the sun of

The Southern African continent

As for some the sun is all

Important

For others born in the ascent

Of the sun

It’s very important

Like food to stay sweet

For others like one’s spouse

It’s the milk

On which life’s dependent on.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

Some call it Boxing Day

And others: Second X-mas Day

The poet calls it ‘A Day of Hearts’

While he converses with his Muse

Who wears the hat of a ready and

Able collocutor.

And while he exchanges

Life’s stories with her

He had not felt so colloquial

For some time

Meaning the flow of chemistry

And energy

Between them

Just so wonderful.

My Big C.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

Wednesday morn‘ so quaint

Waking from a dream of lovely

Faces

Dancing figurines in exquisite

Colours

Nutcracker with contemp

Costumes and lovely gear

Tchaikovsky’s music forever

Waltzes the poet out of bed

Coffee and panettone

Tea and nuts with coconut

Yoghurt

Oats and honey –

Treat for all dancing spirits

‘Up the wall and on the ceiling’

How wonderful to dream.

Let go of verbal feud

Observe minutes of world wide

Truce.

The Arts as mediator between

All people

Enhancing of the peaceful

Life’s harmonious triad:

Body Mind and Soul.

Away from noisy crowds

With tin-drum chatter and

Opinionated minds

Structured by the dictations

Of the Ruthless

The dark horses against the

White of Light.

Wednesday morn’.

X-mas Day.

DREAM.MAERD

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

The shops are filled with

Customers

The air saturated with smells

Of food

Spices

And cinnamon cookies

Shopping for the lunch

Close-up

Preparations country-wide

European-wide

Worldwide for many

At least where Western

Values and tradition will

Still be celebrated.

Dogs and kids

The elderly persons

Families.

The poet’s spouse in a

Pensive mood

The poet- always felt

Lonesome

But never lonely

It’s part of writer’s make-up

Even sitting in midst of

Chatter at Castelletto’s Café

Sounds of numerous languages

Peace and joy to all.

December 24.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

On a wonderful Sunday morn’

When B+Z are waking peacefully

Listening to Mariss Jansons

In Tokyo. Japan.

‘Music was always giving me hope

To carry on living’. Said B.

‘The healer that soothed the

Roughed-up cockles of my heart

And the inspiration for my

Soulful being

In this roughage of a rough world!’

‘I know.

And I’m glad you’ve recovered

From the nightmares of losing

Our life’s savings and all the

Cultural collections

In our musical DVD’s and

All our ART

Clothes and memorabilia

My treasured collections for

My memoir writing’. Z added.

He sat down after a common

Breakfast

Listening to the fine swinging

Music of Oscar Peterson

While he composed the new

Printing block for his next novel:

‘Zora’s Mistake’.

‘Thanks for the powers above

That rule the Universe.

To let us have our talents to

Use’. Z said.

‘For you are interested in

Classical Music and Opera

And I –

Who is creative with writing

And Fine Arts

On a wonderful Sunday morn’

When Body and Soul relate

In harmony in each of us

To each other.

Amen.nemA

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

His mind-flights stir in him

Enhanced by the absence of his Muse

A series of lines and imaginary shapes

He hastens to place on a sheet of paper

Into his black & silver journal

While he sits back and recalls the

Lovemaking of last night.

In a breathless wrangle with his dark

Angel or Muse or the love she’d

Created in his last poetic legend.

His mouth open. Dry. Gasping.

His hands fastening on the body of

His beloved in a sea of a warm and

Pleasurable spring.

Waking to a strange noise

Lying across in the wide bed

A neck-roll between his thighs

Just like a body…

He’d check his bed and the cushions

Spread around

But the sleeping partner gone.

Incredible.

How a full moon would beam down

His imaginary dream of love

He’d probably watched on arte

Erotic scenes of a French movie

What else?

Has predictions of his Muse come

True?

She’d promised to keep him going

Declaring him a poet of love

In a Café’s first floor at Mitrepoleos

Athens

Twenty-one years ago.

It seems all not real now.

But also not all born in his

Imagination.

UNREAL.LAERNU

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.