sixteenth song

late/late at night

when my senses seem

dulled from the daily

deeds

the lights are out.

all the overactive people

fallen into a snooze

young bodies sway in

dance-like moves in their

rave

but I sit alone and seek

your sensual presence

that would lull me into

a wellbeing-climax

bring me close to my

dreams.

the way you sit and

choose your words

that make my body so

heftily aroused

you let me feel your love

on my body’s shape

your face that sweeps

your love into my loins

your lips have become

your receptacles

that take me into you

heating up my stiffened

Cock

along its hardened shaft

you so lovingly devour

slide along in bobbing

moves

like I will slide into you

when we can be alone.

this fellatio you can do

on me tonight

that heat you blow into

me

that turns into sweet

thunder

explosion in your mouth

that’s your soul’s

innermost extension.

paying me this compliment

the largest indeed

a woman in love

provides to her lover

her beloved.

i am dying sweet and sticky

in your tongue’s circling

moves

i press against and push

in excited thrusts against

you

i hold your head and feel your

breasts

pressing me between their

softened mounds

letting me slide all over you

covering your body with

my juices

trails of white/sweet sap

i rubbed so tenderly

into you.

oh sweet suck! my love!

how could I sleep tonight?

i desire you so much

it’s still hurting me

to find you lonesome

i will be soon in you-

and all will be again well

for some time.

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’02/’20.

fifteenth song

in the quiescence of early
morn’
when erotic images are mingling
with my body’s involuntary
moves
that resemble primeval dancing
rituals
when bodies seek
Each other close
you wake me with a touch and
kisses
that rush desires for you
right thru’ my loins
rubbing of bodies and skins
that catch alight
in our semi-conscious minds
we move as we have always
moved
in sliding circular motions
then you guide me into you
i slide and slide and disappear
into your cunt that sucks
my cock
that sucks me into you
and all myself
my heart and soul
my body will dissolve in you
a final rocking and with a
final cry
and when a deepened sigh.

we lie outstretched,
i watch your body’s shape
that lies on its side
your hip that rises against
this early light
like a whale
smooth and soft
i still move into you
wanting to extend this
pleasures I feel
piercing your tender flesh
merged with your warmth
of your inner vulva
i let you caress my throbs and
lance
with these contractions of
your labia that kisses
its swollen head and places
your ring of licks around it
that makes me come
in spurts
that takes my breath away
and claws my fingers into
your arching back
into the softness of your
bobbing thighs
i cry/i cry myself relieved
into the height of your cries
feeling the urge
to be in you forever,
and then die.

zoltanzelan
zjg-poetry’02/’20.

fourteenth song

standing alone

naked in the darkened room

and waiting for you to appear

do you lust with your

suppressed desires to seek me

in my room?

across this tiny courtyard

where we can extend our

minds and bodies

project into this darkened

void ourselves

with candles lit to outline

our shapes and to let the

other half absorb the body

we want to touch

to hug and absorb with our

hands

our burning skins and our

kisses.

we switch on our lights

it is past midnight and we

connect to each other through

our earphones

‘good evening love’ your voice

reaches my ears softly ‘i love you’

‘let me kiss you’ i say and hear

your breathing increase its sound

as I touch you.

‘take your top off love

let me touch your breasts’

‘oh’ is all I hear as you bend

backwards on your bed

let me touch your full ripened

bosom

kissing your nipples I feel your

hands on my crotch

my rising penis.

you are doffing clothes

in this seduction of each other

i go down on you.

you cry out and throw your head

back in a wave of pleasure

your fingers pinching my nipples

make me grow and let my fingers

slide into you

finger-loving your pussy

sing out in lust you will

‘ahhh’ as you feel your climax

burning you

omitting more cries

that turns me on for you

‘i want to slide into you my love’

i hear myself moan and arch

see your eyes gazing at my erect

phallus

your hand touches my bums

let my buttocks ache for

your finger’s sensual massage

i feel my breathing increase

notice your eyes slowly closing

as I move my pelvis against you

and move it back again

my cock diving into your lubrication

this slide that feels like a sweetened

push and pull

bathing in honey and in milk.

there is a burning swelling from inside

as I hear you moan ‘come on love, come!

oh sweet fucking, finish it love!’

‘fuck me anetha, harder!’

you scream, ‘oh sweetest fuck i come!’

then i hear your cry that penetrates

my head/my body/my heart/and my cock

and as I touch my balls I feel this

rising urge to come, to ejaculate

my juices into you

hold still for those moments

when the spasms I feel coming

i enjoy so much

this rushing come to spray into you

and press my penis into your vulva that

grips my cock in its spastic climax –

i come, and i come and feel the spurts

of semen bursting out intermittently

against this window –

you see the runs of milky white

from my body’s juices.

i see your finger in your cunt

and the other one plucking at your

hard pointed nipple.

arching back we come together

in a final cry ‘uhhh…uhhhhh/fucking

sweet anetha

fucking you all over

my very best of fucks

ahh…hhh…hhh’.

then we dim the lights,

we lie on our beds and now as it

is deep night or early morning

it’s a night of lovemaking

across a courtyard through the

windows

in the darkness and in the void

across this ocean,

in a great distance.

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’02/’20.

friday

thanks for the sun

to brighten up the day

with warmth

never mind the daily quarrels

we all might fall prey to

contradictions of not listening

enough to neighbours

teachers and also parents

at times

“later in life you’ll see it for

yourself” mom used to say

but young and rebellious

blood overruled any advice

warning or prediction

given to us thru’ experiences

by the elderly.

the poet dreams and dives

into a sea of shared romance

a world of tolerant reactions

to all his observations

a tranquil pond of love –

thanks to all friends who will

assemble to less fanfare

not to forceful cleverness

or conducive falsifications

are we what we eat?

though we are defined by

by our friends –

the poet ends his stanzas

where the artist has

already been.

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.

broken

in the middle of a night

in weidling

when the night is clear

of chemtrails

even in the poet’s room

of 2,7 x 4,4 metres

you’ll sense the local air

the memory blanks off

like scales fall from eyes

and all don ffp2-masks

yet/ if you wish to stay

creatively motivated

take my seven year file

of production/ the artist

said to his shadow

there – in all the past

seven years

you’ll find no faces

without a mask/

in the early morn’ of the

new day

the poet’s laptop Len –

lost its –ovo.

unhinged it had a self-

inflicted rest

so then leave it until

the shops will open/ so?

when?

meanwhile a plaster for

the broken limb

and gentle handling

carry on with what you

have

for an artist’s living.

broken.nekorb

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20

dustup

the poet prefers working

late night

and rise later at morn’s

refreshed once seven hours

of time passed

energies thru’ any kind of love

bursting into the stack of words

assembled during the night

so – there couldn’t be any pain

at all snapping at his heels

that plague the muse

that plague the spouse

and if she asks for cups of fresh

brewed coffee italian style

that’ll mask sudden spiking

pains and senseless suffering

she’ll wake the spouse

goes crabbing thru ’the house

however thunder and lightning

dreams

will resurface on the artist’s

canvas

who avoids further dustups

with muse and spouse

paints shadow images of his

soul

that aesthetes fashion as

great new art –

thus/great canvases are

regularly born.

dustup.putsud

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.

in the circle

in the circle of my fingers

the throb of your heart –

on the tips of your breasts

a sleek dolphin that i ride

slipping on love’s perspiring

tangled fingers become

the phallus

as folds of thighs

extend your vulva

and take me in: flesh and bone

circle of love’s up and down

libido’s to and fro

overextended

thru’ 300 tete-a-tete’s

with my pulse beating weak

as if i was mortally wounded

by black lances

on the southern hemisphere

shifting breasts of a mountain

in its initial storm of grinding

i’m falling into the abyss

of an odyssey’s last lap

of dire existence

in the circle of love’s expressions

when my mind assembles

shards of a shattered eros

however hard i try and fail –

lust is a ring of iron

made of wood.

indeed.

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.

present

the poet creates ongoing

this huge ship

of an uncertain future

he weaves a whole tapestry

of colourful weaving

includes clever little word

inventions

and finds himself

perched on a münchhausen’s

cannonball

a high-speed flight

near stratospheres of fancy

at all times new adventures

lure

reach a highlight floating

with his favourite muse

thru’ the spring air of athens

where he lived literally

to the meaning of eleftheria

as an artist

as a friend of the arts

tasting it like a delicious dish

to the end/near detriment

of his tested soul

something never anticipated

nor expected.

still to avoid the bone-man’s

hand

he’ll pull back from a jump

at lover’s rock

in high-age less adventurous

saved by the bell

and a helping hand

on to the raft of survivors

that drifts slowly eastwards

with enough space left for

good friends

as Charon has left for lethe

and the poet treasures

the golden obulus

he’s receiving

one still has to buy bread

and some wine

at the next anchoring post

present.tneserp

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.

locked-up free

as a child the wide

fields

his romping grounds

freedom tasted as sweet

as succulent wild clover

wind in the hair

stroking of an early

romantic sweetheart.

locked up for homework

with one eye outside in

nature still

with one leg itching

to be away

find a new trail thru’ the

high grass

to still one’s thirst at the

mossy spring

woods – permanence in

great friendship

sit below one’s fav birch.

as a young man

Imprisoned in serious garb

tiny rooms for a high fee

riding on a bike with

a soulmate

take Simchi out into the

woods

pet below dense leaves

grow in budding love.

as a plan maker design

build and coordinate

complex techno-workshops

for airplanes

life in the fast lane –

an amazing feat

until changes come bouncing

like high balls in sport.

adapt or die for any changes

are most painful

but for the spirit: it still roams free

among the wild flowers of

karpathos-isle

in spirit and mind forever

free.eerf

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.

waking

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he woke early at 5 am

what was it all about?

overnight snow affecting

his dreams?

his muse sending messages?

whatever.

he looked at his mail

did not wish to sneak back

into bed again.

so – he admired her latest

creations

all about distance –

never meeting planets

on different orbits

passing exploratory missions

avoiding collision at times.

he liked her paintings

scissor cuts

drawings

precious web of emotions

depicted

falling like snowflakes

from ice-blue skies.

as he paused he thought

about love and eros

pain and anguish

sleepless nights

drinking hemp-tea

cooling down his innermost

emotional world

flaring up at times

like fermented drink’s foam

overflowing one’s cup.

the cup of wishes that hadn’t

passed his lips yet.

waking.gnikaw

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.