EVILA

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Suddenly she fell from the

Lacquered skies

Covered in a laced-up cloud

A feather of a delicate bird

Within the gardens of

Magical flotsam

The poet encountered

Sailing through the veils

Of a sea

Searching for the seventh

Blue

The sunray’s gift of pearls

Beach of silken threads

Gown for the woman’s leap

From the morning’s crest

Her breath of mist

Kisses on your skin

Among smooth rounded

Pebbles’ heap of faces

Your mind has painted

Drops of nectar that fill

The parchment of a birch

With words of love

And for one moment

She’s come alive

Dancing among the fine

Gilded sand corns –

Life’s abundant glitter –

A fine-spun web

Of scissor-cut dreams…

ALIVE.EVILA

 

zoltanzelan

ZJG-Poetry’20.

ORGASM

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The rainy night behind

The push-down weight of

A low atmospheric pressure

System fell down like an

Eiderdown blanket

The poet’s head rested on

His desk for a minute sleep

Perhaps many minutes.

There are now more limits to

One’s willingness of fighting

For a return to a creative

State of being

Commanded by an inner

Stirring for completeness

In mind and soul.

The stirrings of the body’s

Desires for a tactile embrace

Bodies on fire ever be shared

Any other way

Than be absorbed as the

Ejaculation of words on

White unruled pages of the

Poet’s journal poetry?

No wonder

Artist Zoran talks of the

Completion of a successful

Creative work as the artist’s

Most satisfactory climax.

Perhaps.

Well. This artist & poet would

Disagree

As that is an incomplete state

Of emotion

Which will only satisfy the artist

If his Muse will be a part of it.

However and in what form

A build-up of mind/ body/ and

Soul would be leading to the

Completion of a sacred triad

In physio-psychic emotions

The mind will ultimately be

Overpowered with a true and

Genuine orgasm.

ORGASM.MSAGRO

zoltanzelan

ZJG-Poetry’20.

THE SLIP

The poet had taken leave

To slip into his artist friend’s

Intimate role

Feel a genuine independence

From avoiding heavy financing

Pitfalls

Enormous pecuniary obligations

To have to pay for an exhibition

Perhaps a handful of friends

A few gallery-ravens would

Pitch-up at the opening. HM?

But then to find an apparent

Person, an artist, a good man,

As many call themselves to be

Who are indeed hard to find

Perhaps the artist trusted

Referred to by a family member

A friend of a friend

An irate Muse –

The artist had tried in his delicate

Age of advanced time

Fulfilling his journey for the

Dreamland space to hang his

Fabulous works of art –

The dreamlike cavern suited to

His art closed up due to leakage

A human catastrophe –

“Why do you punish me, God of

The arts? Have I not hung your

Image high?” He shouted.

“Has not Poseidon punished Odysseus?

But then this artist hasn’t killed any

Trojans and hasn’t plundered the city’s

Treasury.”

Yet the artist felt the pressure of an

Enormous potential threat of utter

Destruction

Not only for his art

But for all cultural inheritance.

The poet listens to the evolving

News clips, reports, lies and urban

Legends spinning around.

Huysmans/ Wilde/ Proust?

History like literature repeating itself.

The Slip –

Poet – living  as an artist for a while?

zoltanzelan                      

©ZJG-Poetry.

ART will evolve with the poet’s other half.

RED

Took off at first like

A lame duck

But fortunately we still

Have fresh water supply.

Then – greatest one of

Many mornings

The poet’s spouse was in

A good mood

Having absolved her morn’

Jog around green Weidling

Does her a world of good.

The poet raised his arms

And exercised: holding his

Ink pen

At boesner’s art-café

Where he acquired a reasonably

Priced unruled notebook:

Talens from Holland in scarlet

RED.

Thanks to boesner the artist

ZG has a chance to survive

In his world he’d created

Which he opens-up to friends

And interested parties.

Like the young woman who

Was interested in his work

He had just selected decorative

Colourful photo paper for

Passe-partouts to stage an

Artistic presentation.

In the adjoining pub he finds

Hortobagyi palacsinta –

Pancakes a la Hortobagy.

Mhhh.

He can’t resist ordering this

Dish he had tasted last time

As a visiting student to Hungary.

Sixty years ago.

May I tell you? The poet said

It tasted super

Washed down with a glass of

Blaufränkisch-red.

MHH.

RED.DER

zoltanzelan

ZJG-Poetry’20.

Dream Ritual

Ever repeating Sunday

Ritual –

At first wake and stretch

Identities exchange with

One’s Muse

Tangibly – skin to skin

The poet’s fingers waking

From numbness

Slide from his skin to hers

Down her Juno face

Upon her slender neck

Titillating slide and slide

Her warmth will enter

His chest

And his breath

Will become her breath

Upon his own body’s glow

This play of fingers

Turns into a play of lips

Sensually searching tongues

Until his body moves

Between her long embracing

Limbs

Hands entwined in lustful

Rubbing

Soft tongue-twists on red

Rose-buds

Petals open stance for a sweet

Love-route

A poet’s flight of mind –

First Muse’s arching in the

Throes of searing touches

At a lost paradise’s door

Breath-blown aside

Strings of silken gauze.

The long ascend to the

Sacred temple on the deep

Innermost of soft cries:

The burn. The fall. The dive.

Relief.feileR

zoltanzelan

ZJG-Poetry’20.

SENSUAL

The poet’s anticipation

Just to see her again

Stirs in his body pleasant

Reactions –

Poet & Muse

Artist & Model

Writer & collocutor

Indeed!

It’s obvious since a long time

That he’ll seek intimacy

Even if she’s delaying this

Consenting tete-a-tete

Heightening his desire

As she had shown him at

Times

Her own height-advanced

Expectations

With her teats

Firming through her fine

Cashmere top where she

Closes subconsciously her

V-cut his eyes slip into

Touching each other eye

To eye and heart to heart

Whereby the poet explored

His own body’s sensual

Glow of reactions

A soul to soul telepathy of

Liking each other

With discreet body language

Their time arrived like a

Ripened juicy pear to share

In mutual enjoyment

Sensual pleasure at an age

Where stimulating talk will

Lead to free flight.

SENSUAL.LAUSNES

zoltanzelan

ZJG-Poetry’20.

RUSH

And while B and I have

Settled down to a peaceful

Talk

PI’s phone call wakes me up

To the world

We are plugged into

Living it

During duress of a pandemic

Adhering to rules

Set-up by the state.

“Come now”, he says

“We have to talk to the man

Whose premises we intended

To use for a presentation

Of the artist’s work.

We’ll need to know where

We’ll go from here toward

A hopeful future.”

“OK. I have to dress,” I reply.

“But I’ll be there in time.”

I murmur…will have to take

The next darned bus…and

To my spouse “help me to

Get dressed.”

“You still have to wash,” she

Says

“Well yes, the French way…”

I respond splashing my face

With warm water.

Just in time to the close-by

Bus stop.

Thanks for small favours of

Our domicile. At times the

‘Öffis’ work just great.

Traveling time to the city has

Been cut down by fifteen

Minutes flat

With a few passengers per

Coach – all masked.

MASK.KSAM

zoltanzelan

ZJG-Poetry’20.

Worthwhile

Health is fortunately with a positively orientated and integrated system here in Austria for all those who also care.

zoltanzelan

An effort the poet made

At the tender age of eighty

When fate administered him

An additional stepping stone

With a carpal T-syndrome

For a dire hindrance to his

Creation of art

But fixed up through good luck

Before his fingers cannot hold

Pen or brush any longer

Before he is condemned to

A life without sensations in

His fingertips

Before he cannot feel the

Nearby softness of his Muse

Reshape the contours of her

Lips

Re-sculpt her bodylines

Stroke the locks of her hair.

And while his fantasy takes

His hand and guides him to

The erotic land of ARIZO

He established with his Muse

Rejoicing being saved from

Physical oblivion

By the surgical skills of the

Successful Dr Leg.

An effort he made

An effort the poet made

It’s definitely worthwhile.

Worthwhile.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-Poetry’20

View original post

Worthwhile

An effort the poet made

At the tender age of eighty

When fate administered him

An additional stepping stone

With a carpal T-syndrome

For a dire hindrance to his

Creation of art

But fixed up through good luck

Before his fingers cannot hold

Pen or brush any longer

Before he is condemned to

A life without sensations in

His fingertips

Before he cannot feel the

Nearby softness of his Muse

Reshape the contours of her

Lips

Re-sculpt her bodylines

Stroke the locks of her hair.

And while his fantasy takes

His hand and guides him to

The erotic land of ARIZO

He established with his Muse

Rejoicing being saved from

Physical oblivion

By the surgical skills of the

Successful Dr Leg.

An effort he made

An effort the poet made

It’s definitely worthwhile.

Worthwhile.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-Poetry’20

Wepos & Teapot

The bus 400 is empty

Saturday morn‘

The driver directs a confused

Woman to find the door’s

Access button

‚You have to press it‘

He says, opening the door.

‚I was searching for it‘ the

Woman replies.

The poet hast o find the

Wepos cleanerfor the

Wood-laminated floor

Traveling to Kagran for it.

B wishes that he should buy

All remaining bottles, due to

Gross shortages in the near

Future.

The poet thinks that five

Bottles should last them

For a whole year.

What about my teapot?

The poet muses as he

Endevours on another

Journey to the end of the

South-eastern suburbia.

B said why to travel so far

Just for a teapot.

I also wish to save about

Ten bucks on that offer

Just like traveling to hornbach

And get the wepos cleane

But save the delivery costs!

VIVA ÖFFIS.

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’20.