A bench opposite Zanoni’s

At the first time meetings

Are relaxed by regulations

Serves as a meeting point

For the poet and his pal P.I.

Haute couture meastro.

With the pandemic in retreat

The artist being in his person’s

Carapace

Hopes to realize his first

Viennese exhibition.

Alas! The circumstances of

Financing the fete –

Only possible by a friend’s

Discount on reasonable fees

Unfortunately for all involved

The pandemic Covid 19

Has dealt bad cards for the

Hard trying artist

Only his other part –

The poet has described his

Sufferings

He had to surmount

But life had toughened him up

To such an extent

He’ll work extra hard to earn

The cash needed for his

Hopefull exhibition of ZG

His other half

His balanced half cares about

Having earned him already

Some dividends.

Waiting for his collocutor

Human warmth and hard-nosed

Business-woman

In one carapace

Like the gentle poet and the

Inventive artist –

TWO IN ONE –

An interesting friendship

Evolving.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’20.

Along the Kierling brook

Contributing tot he Danube

A queue of people lines

The narrow passage

To doc L’s surgery

The orthopedic surgeon

Who injects the juice

That helps the poet’s finger

Finger numbness

Due to CTS –

As the neurologist confirms

The darned acronym.

Lucky for a great sunny

Spring day

The waiting outside is quite

Pleasant

As strict controls of dustance

Keeping are adhered to

Fighting Covid 19.

The brooks murmur soothes

The heated minds

But the poet enjoys rather

Heat than a Nordic cold.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’20.

Where Vivenot lane starts

And where once good friends

Met for a daily walk

Stretching legs and venting

Heated minds

Exchanging smiles

Where it all began…

The poet writes

As seven years will move

Towards the marker of

MUSE I

The ninth letter oft he

Alphabet

Will perhaps give the

Message –

Beethoven’s Ninth

Mahler’s fear

The poet’s fate with the

Appearance of a lust-drop?

If this would be his next

Adventure

The new Muse as

Love’s companion

To be the poet’s other half

On these –

The last laps of his creative

But fading of physical life?

VIVA IRA.ARI AVIV

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’20.

An empty bus 400

Traveling a ghosting life

Not a virtual story

But it feels like one.

The April sun coaxes people

From their cave-like existence

Into the open

To start-up a worthwhile life

Again.

Ice cream shops hand your

Numbered order from one

Main access door.

You wash your hands and

Keep your distance to any

Person

Shake no hands.

The artist is lucky

He may commute daily

To his present task

Copying a self-portrait

In Van Gogh-style

For his host and benefactor

Muse and collocutor

Who reads his poetry and

Novels –

Wide-awake capricorn

In this home from an

Estranged home –

Among an octogenarian

Family set-up.

The husband researches

The history of his rich past

The spouse reads about

Love and happiness

And the poet’s memoires

About his sentimental

Education

The artist/ son/ lover-in-spe

Company and talking partner

Copies of grandpa’s selfportrait

Accompanied by his innermost

Coincidental music.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’20.

Sometimes entering her sacred retreat

The artist thinks about seducing her

Yet opportunity knocks with a hidden

Code

And while art takes preference

The body’s preparations for love

Blend into the copy of A/F the great

Artist

Who survived the Holocaust’s end.

Thanks to Dolfy the artist

ZG’s art has evolved further

Until he’ll scratch together fees for

A superb exposure of his own art

To the Viennese public

After productive six years and one

And this destructive devil of

Covid19

That still abuses towns and

Countries of Europe and the

Whole world.

Perhaps the God of Art will favour

The artist ZG and give him back

A bit of appreciation

He didn’t get in seven years…

What’ll be the code?

CODE.EDOC

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’20.

When you’re born

You have no idea about

Your journey

Cut-out for you

Neither how long you’ll be

On this winding road

Through valleys and mountains

Deserts and ravines

Nor how long you’ve chased

Fata-morganas

Until at one summer this spark

Of a glowworm lights-up

A short moment’s paradise

That shows itself like a

Floating garden in the skies.

In love all’s floating  and like

A feather I rose…

But then all climaxed moments

Faded

I fell like a stone

Until your hands caught me then

Seven years later

I lived to tell the story

And still I wonder about the last

Phase of my life…

When you’ve counted

Eighty summers

You’ll be the scribe who is kept

By his Muse alive.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’20.

Are you perhaps a Person with uneasyness

someone with a tired Body and a tested mind?

Try some Nordic Walking on your own and

detect the surrounding land and field.

Write down your experiences and share it

with your Friends.

I’m lucky, I have good Friends. One, two, or

if very lucky, you may count Three

most importantly for a Poet if one of them

happens to be your Muse.

Muse.esuM

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’20.

When you’re born

You have no idea about

Your journey

Cut-out for you

Neither how long you’ll be

On this winding road

Through valleys and mountains

Deserts and ravines

Nor how long you’ve chased

Fata-morganas

Until at one summer this spark

Of a glowworm lights-up

A short moment’s paradise

That shows itself like a

Floating garden in the skies.

In love all’s floating  and like

A feather I rose…

But then all climaxed moments

Faded

I fell like a stone

Until your hands caught me then

Seven years later

I lived to tell the story

And still I wonder about the last

Phase of my life…

When you’ve counted

Eighty summers

You’ll be the scribe who is kept

By his Muse alive.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’20.

Sliding into a waking morn‘

With a tactile presence of

An intimate dream

When the body’s stretch feels

Pulled into pleasure’s

Breaking point –

A voice whispered love-words

With your warm whiff

Across my lips

Your hands that open my

Zipped top

And arouse my chest’s

Pointed nipples

Down to my hips

Build desire in my cock –

And I wake happy to this

Embrace of love’s waft

That exposes my hardness

And watch my cranium pulse

Toward your lips

The point of a pearl’s glistening

On my reddened meatus –

A delicate drop of pleasure

Before a prepared come-

A well built-up come

To be verified with a woman

Of note

Someone special within her

Complex nature

The artist had a spiritual

Calling with –

Two years in a steady  growing

Friendship

The souls were wound together 

By probing desires

A to and fro

Of the long testing of love

Until – on the poet’s birthday

The pleasure-pearl present

For his Muse. Muse

Signalled time-up fort the

Great coming.

Coming together.

Coming.gnimoC

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’20.

‚How do you do Pierre?‘

‚Well, I sit on the terrace

In the outside Chilai

No waiter

No people

It’s depressing…‘

‚OK-I’ll come and meet you

But you pay the penalties…‘

He laughs as he had suggested

The same to me –

OK. It’s great to laugh with

A friend

In times of crass isolation.

The city’s closed up 95%

Our favourite cafes are in

Quarantine-mode

Save for one spot at the cafe’s

Forecourt- breaking the law…

For Pierre it meant to celebrate

My birthday is important.

WOW!

Dry sparkling wine and some

Delicious biscuits with it.

Thanks ny friend, I’m touched!

For a present he hands me a

White PI-envelope with

A PI-designed foulard!

What colours…my favourites…

Immediately it’ll rest around

My neck! Featherlight silk

For the gods of design…

We change seats to face the

Sunrays a light.grey dust-cloud

Still allows to pass through.

Then again bck into the

Empty roads

Passed deserted shops

But at Billa Corso still a chance

To buy some groceries.

Ciao! Salu Pierre!

Thanks fort he great day!

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’20.