Angsana Tree

O great Muse of sensual

Sacrifices

How have you influenced

My world of art

The way you send me

Subliminal prompts

Every night

Be it dream or wake

In a daze of creative mood

When you provoke me

Like a seductive Circe

Transferring your sinewy

Gyrating moves

In a heated dance into

My own stirring body

That will rove with you

In unison of flesh and

White blood.

Our dream has once

Materialized

Then it crashed down the

Acropolis’ abyss

And it lies below the

Acacia and angsana trees

Since 180 moons –

Courtyard of Herodes Atticus

Theatre.

ATHENS.SNEHTA

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

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FORWARD

ZZ is a poet who lives for

His art and inspired by his

MUSES

Light coloured

Yellow tanned or

Silver haired

Walk in and out of the shells

That unite two heads

In one body

Just like the poet places his

Headphones on

Listening to GENESIS

When his spouse has

Crash-landed on another

Hot spot

On this turbulent earth.

Dark Muse of mine.

Dark Muse

Provoking creative work

Nethertheless.

Knitting a colourful cloth

Of contrasting visions

For the way forward.

FORWARD.DRAWROF

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ZJG-POetry’19.

CONTROL

If you think that

You’ll have all your ducks

In a row

You probably are delusional.

But are we all not delusion prone?

Is not all around us an illusion?

Are we yet fond of positive

Pictures?

And will the daily news media

Not successfully evading

Misinformation?

Better to sit down with a cup

Of green tea and try to clear

Your mind.

Just like you clear all social and

Promo message heaps

On your mobile phone or on

Your laptop.

Start afresh.

Wow. It’s great to have that

Undivided control

Don’t you think?

Use it regularly

Do your own control.

CONTROL.LORTNOC

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ZJG-POetry’19.

POOLS

Last morning‘s fresh air

Loaded with cold humidity

The mind on sweet ambience

Of love.

Whatever surrounds the poet

During this journey thru’ the day:

Looks of women with the

Experienced eyes of desire

In their days of failing

Excitements.

The only compensation:

A rush to the well-stocked

Dessert tray for some

Petite Four’s.

Last fickle male model

Sweating at the Bio-Sauna

With his greedy look for a

Potential prey

Of a handsome body

In the Greek tradition?

Whatever.

Self-assured women like

Meatloaf-mountains

Demand a huge slice of

The sweat-boxes’ spaces.

In the thermal clover-leaf pool

The well-fed bodies lie still

Like Rhino-packs in the

Limpopo puddles.

The poet closes his eyes

His MUSE dances seductively.

POOLS.SLOOP

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ZJG-POetry’19.

Returning MUSE

The first light with

Golden reflections from

The gable walls will wake him

From his embryo-lie’s

Most pleasant skin sensations

Of a dream about love and a

Muse

As promised by Ana

Who lived with him by his

Poetic strophe:

“Love is the Universe

The web its pulsing Vein

That’s where we meet

That’s where our juices

Flow”.

INDEED.

It’s still installed in him

Whenever he rips himself

From the tactile sensual

Dream

Spending the night with

His Muse.

MUSE.ESUM

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.

RADO

Met RADO at Cafe Aida

Ninth district Vienna

Exchanging stories

About unusual circumstances

In our lives.

Touched on bureaucracy

Thinking of Kafka.

Rado gave me a DVD he had

Edited

Burned on a profile of

ZJG – The Writer

ZZ – the Poet

ZG – the Artist thrown in.

The video doc was great

He asked for nothing in

Return

But I offered him a drawing

Of ZG – the Artist

A free composition –

Only freedom left in art.

He accepted.

We drank tea. I took mine

With a slice of lemon.

There’s a subliminal understanding

With immediacy

Between artists.

We shook hands.

‘See what you think of it’.

He pointed to the DVD.

‘OK. I’ll tell you later’.

I said. Cheerio. Servus.

RADO.ODAR

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ZJG-POetry’19.

ISLAND

Since five years

My spouse had her share

Of feeling helpless

Dealing with officialdom

At county offices.

This Tuesday the office

Was closed

Due to a pleasure tour

For the aged

About a hundred people

On a trip to a cultural spot

Compliments of the major.

Guess it would have been

Neither for me

Nor my spouse.

So the next day

Wednesday.

I went to the social offices

Got off on a bad foot with

Mrs T

However.

The bureaucratic business

Done

I apologized for my tested

Impatience

But plainly directed toward

The system

Not the people working there.

My spouse was the diplomat

This time

The rebel still in me.

‘One day you’ll be on an island

In the Med’, she said.

The sole place for you!’

Indeed.

ISLAND.DNALSI

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’19.