Ollie

Ollie walks on azulejos, 
tiles are cutting into toes
five past lives seem but an echo
of the current one he chose
planet full of guns and powder
often deadly, seldom shine
travellers becoming louder,
canned in their precious brine

clay is colorful but hurting
under Ollie’s bare feet
long ago he stopped converting
into everything he did
world of passing decorations, 
neverending future props
based on painful expectations
of events tomorrow drops

Ollie walks on nails and ashes,
neatly shattered porcelain
fragments crack and axis crashes,
washed by fantasy and rain
this is everything but real,
playgrounds being oversize
if he falls from ferris wheel,
time has come to customize 

honeytrip diaries

Vouliagmeni lake has waters as warm as milk
mostly keeps it for gods, the ones who are still within
emerald green and soft, like butter and rum and silk,
down from the mountaintop pours gold like it’s always been

Athens mixes aromas: coffee, tobacco, wood
one they are carving from their icons and souvenirs
up on its seven hills, if you ever understood,
tries to connect you back, encourages you and hears

lions with human hands and horses with human eyes
would you heal us from grief for everything that we’ve lost
are you ready to see the miracles, asks the guide,
shows how imagination has come at a higher cost

Aegina island gives the traveler serpentine
daughter of Zeus watches, deciding if you belong
temples on mountaintops are open, and bottom line:
strongest will ring a bell which has been there all along

Peloponnese is different: the mainland demands its toll
somewhere between the groves of cotton and olive trees
you’ll find a secret cave that always contained it all:
humans and cattle sheds along with the seaside breeze

you only have to climb: go under, inside, above
you only have to wish: discover, explore, create
turning the earth to flowers is ultimate sign of love,
finally reaching this country has always been fate

open

even in the darkest hour 
search for light within
even if you lack the powers, 
even if your skin
itches deep from scars and bruises, 
radiates from heat,
finding reasons not excuses
makes yourself complete

buildings aren’t really haunted – 
people really are
wandering their minds unwanted
opens them ajar
out they come, their ghosts and creatures,
out it comes, their fear
left alone their priests and teachers,
destiny unclear

wander far from metro stations, 
see how life is raw
you don’t need clarifications,
coming for the show
noone’s warned you’re curtain-raiser,
hero of the scene
you’re the sharpener, not razor,
you have always been 

Janet

Janet operates on some fuel – 
there’s a canister on her table
world around her might seem too cruel,
so she’s drinking it to feel stable

colored pink with outlandish flowers – 
Janet painted them to count years
lost in contracts and after-hours
and unsatisfied, it appears

got a linen dress from an island,
it began when she started travels
counting silently every mile, and
watching pathway as it unravels 

sending telegrams like it’s olden,
shortens words as if each one’s pricy
watching sunsets, exclusive, golden,
choosing dinners, exotic, spicy

and believing in strange conclusion:
nothing’s useless on freaking planet
even canister’s vague illusion
is enough to support a Janet 

to each their own

his name was Jahve like the god
of his believing crew
so he was preaching from the mud
things he accepted true
and others trusted, others fell,
and others took him raw
a hobo man without his shell,
with core that they withdraw

don’t pick the trash from pavement, son,
not in this holy town
his grandmom said to anyone
before she taught to run
don’t put your hands behind your back,
‘cause you ain’t got to hide,
and treasure life in every crack,
and help instead of pride

his name was Jahve, so he said
before they tied his hands
between the living and the dead
he’s built a decent fence
too early, Jah, to join the crowd,
stand tall, my son, and still
i’m watching you behind the cloud,
i promised you i will

because of YK

we all are just the little dots
in neverending space
if you have no idea what
are reasons for your race,

just stop, inhale, and think about
the fact that up above
there’s nothing. no disguise, no doubt,
no hate, not even love

the dots are small. we all are small,
the envy small, the greed
the “shaping universe for all”,
the everything we did

so in the end it’s only you
who always asks you why
the sky is technically not blue,
there’s technically no sky.

look at you

well now sweetie look at you
got a million days anew
are you spending one by one
every day until it’s done

do you travel really far,
putting sunsets in a jar,
minding business really small:
knitting universe for all

do you wake up just to bring
heartbeat on a guitar string
lightweight luggage not to claim:
passport, toothbrush, poems, name

well now sweetie look at you
treasure box you’re clinging to
is a beat inside your head.
travel far until you’re
alive

no tuba today

bigband plays jazz, but Noel doesn’t love it
tuba he plays has a sound of director
none of his own, and the worst thing about it – 
noone has properly checked her

eyes on the note stand make Noel disheartened – 
he cannot bear meeting gaze of a listener
he wasn’t born for this whole kindergarten, 
paying his bills like a prisoner

what he was born for is space meditations, 
clarinet operas, avant-garde rhythm
proudly admiring his latest creations, 
aching for musical freedom

after rehearsals there’s family waiting, 
students and chores, and repairs, and litter
only concertos that Noel’s creating
sound pretty gloomy and bitter  

aftermath

as if the number of your lives
is what you’ve got to choose
as if the remedy is prize
at neverending cruise,
as if this world has place for all
of us who’ve lost our path,
who feel both powerful and small,
and done the aftermath

so i’m embracing everything – 
the living and the dead,
the neighbor, trading wedding ring
for love she’s never had,
the grandma, saving memories,
the granddad, losing all,
and us who walk the earth at ease,
before we neatly fall

the envelopes of vinyl tapes
smell like the ancient books
what if we’ve chosen the escapes
just judging by the looks?
there’s mostly nobody to teach
that it’s just fine to quit,
so while it’s still within my reach,
i’ll tell each one i meet

backstage of life

is this the sea singing under my boat
is this the storm hissing under my heart
is this the universe staying afloat,
keeping the worries apart

seem insignificant, people and pain,
beach stones and universe washes away
leaves only those who are simple and plain,
those who are seizing the day

infinite oceans that turn into sand
grow into fossils for heirs to find
treasure and cherish or toss out and bend, 
waters have us to remind

violet fogs over troubled waters rise,
calming the restless and cooling the strife
this is the universe opening eyes,
showing us backstage of life