The ‘Stub’n in Liesingtal


If you come along the winding

Stadtwanderweg 6 toward

‘Wiener Hütte’

It’s better to carry on a short

While longer

Toward the pretty ‘Liesingtal’

Some call ‘lieblich’ – lovely

Just like good wine

Sitting gently on your palate

Here at the Stub’n its Murauer

An excellent beer and favourite

Of mine.

The sun came out on the terrace

Of the inn

It’s high time to dry my walking

Garb (the Nike dries pretty fast).

What a peaceful quaint place

Along the WSTWW 6!

Well done folks for a god kitchen

And perfectly chilled draft.

The modest poet had eaten his

Mazo arosto-sandwich earlier

And enjoys now a big draft of


On the sun filled terrace.





Tenderness (MR)

He is not worried about

An exhibition of his art

Not about the selling

In the jungle of commerce

His sole worries are centered

Around being in the one

Holy artistic groove

Of drawing and painting

His Innerness

Spilling out all emotional

Sadness to his bygone Muse

Teaming up with his spouse

Who suffers from a nagging

State of nerves

Besides fighting for plain


Yet she cares about promoting

The poet’s art: ZG-ART.

Now then he’s not in a mood

For tenderness on her request

But he feels sorry for her

Has he not used it all up in 

His Art-explorations:

Mystical Realism?



At Ströck’s

Being early for a meeting

Have a peek into Ströck at


Espresso macchiato and

A seat in the Souterrain’s

Light wood paneled space

Wooden laid floor veneer

Well-bearable and seldom

Filled to capacity.

The casual poet’s haunt

Elderly women chit-chat

Mixed with a lively discourse

By two business friends.

A child’s high voice explores

The world around to her Mom

Otherwise reasonably quaint

The patina of humming will

Dissolve quite quickly

Once the patrons have

Munched their cakes and

Downed their coffees or


Meanwhile it’s pleasant to

Communicate with my Muse

And remember her lively ways.

Time to conclude some of

These thoughts

Thanking A for another

Beautiful morning.





Without substance

No alcohol or drugs

To reach the state of


You have to be blessed

As an artist

Loved by your Muses

And recognized as a talent

By your friends.

Perhaps my spouse will

Understand my work

At least some of it

Besides she suggested

That I paint in the nude.


This form of connection

With my Muse

Who stated she’ll stay

In contact albeit her descent

Into the ‘Great Void’ –

This’ll be a Classical story

Of unusual love…

My skin has been sensitized

Thru’ my work

My mental connection to her.

Holistic Art Process (HAP)





Nobody I know here in Klnbg

Practices magic or sorcery

The only magic I know

Streams from the fingers and

Skillful hands of Lena

Who practices massage.

She’ll knead you like dough

Stroke you gently in between

A master masseuse first class.

My appointment difficult

To be arranged

Cancelled due to a heavy cold

That had befallen me since


And since then I did not feel

To return

Having taken up Nordic Walking

In the nearby Viennese Woods.

Besides I wish to get fit before

I’m due for surgery on the 17th

This month.

Meanwhile my spouse will

Promote my art

Looking for a friendly place

That exhibits independent artists.

B intends to find that out.

She’s tenacious

Yet I’m afraid I have to loosen

Her tight grip on matters

In the end

Although I’m glad and thankful

To have more quality time

For my art development of

Mixed media

That’ll suit my expression of

Mythical Realism

To coin the style before anybody

Else will find another term for it.

I sense that I’m on the best way

To enter my artistic groove.


zoltanzelan        ZJG-POetry’19.

April Fool

With one foot on his

Creative cloud

The bank clerk could not

Find the poet’s account


He mumbled

Life’s complicated he


Feeling like a fool

Having mislead his

Electronic card.

His mind on art and on

A new venture

He has been invited


But he’s not yet sure


He has to write his own

Book first…

The poet said to Mrs IRA

To whom fellow E had

Ran back to

As the poet backed out

From E’s tight clutches

But mostly women and

Effeminate men throw

Such blistering tantrums

The poet mused…

A non-initiated writer still

There’s lots of work to be

Done by the lad himself.

Why don’t you illustrate

Your poetry book yourself?

The inner voice of reason


I will. The poet said and

Thought to do just but

Challenged by the uninitiated

Writer with the woolen cap.

I will do that with my ballad:

King of Ice.




Interrupted night’s sleep

At 4:30 am

Supposed to be 5:30.


Light sleep.

Alarm that shocks a dream

With a fall into the crack

Of dawn.

Just now the Muses danced

All night

At times gentle fingers

Chafed my skin

The web of yearning’s sorrow

Spun a leathery carpet

For sailing about the dormant


To the spaces where the artist

Had been

Acknowledged with his mystic

Realism he’d created

Afraid the circle of his life

Rushes toward a closure.