Tired Assistence

Sudden wake in spring-morn’ Weidling

A bad turn from one’s bed

To the right side

Swing one’s legs down into one’s

Comfy slippers.

 

No breakfast

Some chamomile tea

Dress quickly with a blurring head

Concentrating on a docu-file

For submission to the local

County office for social assistance

For Vienna and surrounding areas

Disputes arising about outdated

Documents re: current energy costs

One month already matters.

 

But the sole woman present

Is friendly with advise and soon

A compromise is found for a

Promised payment toward

The cost of used energy for

The year ahead.

 

Great help if one is in good luck

To receive the requested docu’s

From the lessor

B has renamed Gerard.

It’ll be a touch and go for the

Last two items at current dates.

 

She wishes us good luck

Offers an all-expenses paid tour

Of senior citizens

To the famous ‘Weinviertel’

(A wine cultivating area in the

Province).

 

Need a cup of coffee B said

My response is to take her to

The Dom-Café.

Even if the poet is in dire need

Of his money he forgot.

He orders and B helps him

As she did so often

In spite of tearing-apart

Arguments that follow.

Still love?

 

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18.

Midnight Hour

The shadows have split into

The night’s hologram

The distinct blue that appears

In a web of thin drawn lines.

 

The artist sips on bourbon and

Iced water while his soul

Asks for a clasp of warmth

As his heat has merged

Entirely with his new creation.

 

A masterpiece of dark and light

That started off from a point

Of nervy lines

A net of nodal interrelations

Spurned from the mind’s

Travelling through space.

 

Art-creation that emerges from

The sea of waves

Just like the reality we see.

What is above is below

Stars or galaxies

Nodal points of existence.

 

Useless cries of anger from

Spouse or the lost and frustrated

To understand life is to sit back

And listen to the sound of

Stillness.

Everything will come to you.

 

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18.

 

Easter Sunday

Watching old Western movies

We forgot about the Chinese

Space bus debris

Falling on our heads.

 

Just when the poet relaxed

With the antics of Hollywood’s

Yesteryear actors when we

Were young.

 

There’s Mrs B’s antics

That’ll put a dagger into

The day’s peaceful ongoing.

 

Stirring thoughts by an

Awakening spring

People start restless behavior

Patterns

Perhaps only on TV news.

 

Some green tea and poetry

Will soothe one’s mind and

Encourage the soul to travel

To a chosen beauty- and

Serenity-isle.

 

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18.

Amazing Mr.T

He lives by the seat of

His pants

Not driving a car any

Longer

He’ll do it by jaywalking

Against time and set

Social structures of

General habit.

 

Living the life where he

Considers himself as

Most important and

Has cultured an aura of

A wise man through his

Life’s experiences.

 

His eyes still flicker sparks

Of utter independence and

Pride of achieving fame

By promoting the artwork

Of his late father.

 

Amazing.

Persistent.

Tenacious in pursuing his

Set marketing goals

He’ll exhaust himself to

Near destruction.

 

He falls.

He gets ill.

But he stands up time and

Again. Again.

 

The poet is taking a cue

From his way of living

Although he often takes off

From his duties as a personal

Guide and assistant to the man

Of the people

Who murmurs into his breath

And is successful with women.

Always.

The amazing Mr.T

Who lives by the seat

Of his pants

Driving against time and

Set conservative social

Structures

Tirelessly promoting his dad’s

‘Art against Oblivion’.

 

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18.

MT

For years I’ve asked myself

What will M now be up to?

What would her progress be?

In real life she had once

Reminded me of her dad.

 

As I had lost contact with her

Over the years

Unfortunately

Art and poetry became

All important for me.

 

One sobering morn’

I’ve stumbled across her name

On the web.

I gazed at her portrait:

She had changed and reminded

Me of her mom.

 

Hazel eyes I once loved

The expressive face of an artist.

Perhaps good looks not

Any longer count

The only thing we still seem

To have In common:

She has returned to her

Nickname I liked and

We love Greek mythology

And the arts.

 

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18.

Dentist

It’s not pleasant to have to

Get-up early Monday morn’

Commencing by bus to Klnbg.

 

However ten to nine am.

The attractive dentist opened

Her praxis and let the poet in.

 

He was in no mood to conduct

A conversation

But talk facts of his broken-out

Tooth from its pink prosthesis.

 

For a two hour’s wait he walked

Past the Stadtplatz shops

Then sat down at Hotel Anker

For a cuppa.

 

He’d draw and reflect upon his

Last five days he’d spent with

Mr.T as a PA

In the pleasant city of Bratislava

Pozsony

Pressburg

Exposed to an icy wintry snap.

 

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18.

Hotel Bratislava – Sunday

On Sunday late morn’

Prof Grey appeared and

Waited in the hotel lobby

Reading a theatre brochure

When Mr.T and the poet

Returned from breakfast.

 

Mr.T was first to greet him

The poet followed and then

At the room Grey worked hard

Taking 200 digital snaps of

A historical photo album from

Mr.T’s life as a child

Whose explanations of who is who

Took another two hours.

 

Mr.T’s bad mood of having

Been cheated out of lunch

Yesterday

Was the reason of being

Fed-up with Prof Grey of having

To leave for an hour and fetch

His daughter from an acting shoot.

 

The poet reminded Mr.T of tolerance

And yet he would not stop his

Criticizing murmur

Including the poet’s remarks.

 

By the time the getting home

Problem had been resolved

By Mrs IRA

Mr.T fell into a banter-mood

With his driver D.

Who did a good job driving back

To Vienna in good time.

 

The poet rested and phoned

His wife B

Who was prepared to wait

At the bus station for him.

 

Then in the warmth of his home

The poet relaxed

And fell into a pleasant slumber

Watching a La Traviata production

From the Met in NYC.

But his fingertips still took a long time

To warm up from being numb

And circulate enough blood.

 

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’18.