Poem 29 (a deal-breaker)

We, the women, have gathered
We’ve looked at your behaviour closely
All our lives we thought you were
Who and what, you, the man, was stronger
One who had us in your arms
What kept us in “our place”
We never thought it was not a big deal
Anything you asked us to perform for you
You mocked us, got us pregnant
For purpose, you enslaved us
Made us do it despite our pain
Our blood was spilled in vain
Always yours, our name
We changed the locks one day
You came, took us from behind
Made us pray to gods we hated
We wept on your altar, we prayed
We died sooner, but not sooner than you
We killed you and you didn’t notice
You lived, your alter ego lived through us
Our love was stronger
Louder than a crying baby
Nagging, always bold in her destructive beauty

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Poem 28

It’s a wall that leaks, a sticky wall, a rainbow wall
It hits me with a sound, momentary noise, loud and profound
Could a wall be the passion I fail to transform into a living creature?
The sound takes my strength and goes away, a leash left swaying in my hand
The man was not a man, he was once a soul, once a soldier
Someone dear who made clear how different we were
The man is still not a man, he tends to be afraid, of me, more than me
He goes away, I let him go, it doesn’t matter anymore
For every day he’d choose to stay I pay double, and I lose my way

Poem 27

“I’m gonna look for you, you will be alive”
Under the ruins of our past life
I played the game, I was shady, the enemy
I was looking for peace, but found restlessness
No one celebrates my absence from here
No one thinks or asks questions after midnight
A really nicely dressed man came my way
He started, he watched intently, from distance
I used to chase away this kind but now
I have my eyes on him, glowing with a premonition
What he brings is more uncertainty
His wristwatch showed the exact time
When his perfume made the air frantic
I can’t breathe around him, I can’t live!
His light happiness is one that grieves me
It’s too dense, quite an effort not to think
“I had to be the one under the ruins”

Poem 26 (what if he knew that I still…)

I have overrun more mountains than you could cover with ice
I have curved more streets than you could straighten out
Then the forests, you made visible, one day, this green of yours
Faded, faced the terror of losing territory, the land holds mind’s
Belongings, other women, long legs and necks, someone said
I have heard tirades, behind eyes, beyond the drunken floor I felt
With my hands, that have touched more bodies, attempting to escape
I’ve seen the summit, the redemption resides in revealing who I was, who I am

The girl

Years, you had years with her
The one I don’t resemble so
I do not know how the years
Shaped in you those contemptuous
Quaint looking, pale blue universes
I know we’ve met before, your need
Of me was shouting from your eyes
I took fright, don’t look at me, please
Accept and don’t be mad, my girl
I’m not your mother and I’m not better
I gave you a glimpse of my best
Not every day, I’m one like the waves
I came to our place, the day after
Knowing you wouldn’t come, I came
Waiting, just looking at the waves
And the sun, your eyes are still
Radiating from those waves and this sun
You’ve gone to a place I will never visit
We’ve had our day, the dark gets bitter
Not mine, stay the girl whose hand
I once held, whose eyes I once feared

Poem 25

So quiet, this time it’s for real
I wouldn’t burn my carpet
We bargained and sealed the deal
We had it all, I’m still holding the thread
I wish I could see it in flames
This excitement took my bread
I’m so poor, I have to sell it for nothing
Don’t ask what I’m selling, it’s not my shrine
Your temple is vast and it’s lost in the light
Of a candle, layer after layer malleable
Prints, where we sold our gray-haired youth
One night I stood in the heart of our home
Not seeing, hearing or smelling your presence
It was this eerie wreith of a compelling daemon
Every other night I remembered my pride
And the oven, the bread, my need of air
I’m coping with this until the next crack of
A ready to eat, so nicely baked long bread

Poem 24: How I embraced solitude 

It’s heavy on your chest, after two weeks or less
You craved it, yet you dreaded this hand’s caress
Following the expectations, it left serene taste that still persists
For my juices, began flowing, would drain me if it stops
Glory now and then, it was a quicksand not a test
For this body took too many, in candle burn found rest
Long, long hair, long as every sigh this place has sucked in
Let no stranger here, only those who had no key but tried their best
I slept the whole time, my dream was a slow growth
I wished for it but left, I left with shifted heart, for love
The sweet fruit came in my solitude, when my loneliness transgressed
Not a life, I missed another chance, there is the wall still
One side, one step, I stumble and I catch at what I have
Rising on the wall, I stand and chant “It’s all normal, it seems, it was not an Event”

Poem 23

War is an agreement
He quits understanding
She makes waves collide
Once again with the city
Umbrellas- used as torches
Canals- mirror war’s fears
Typewriters- writing ciphers
Covering walls and the ground
As the city archs flash wry smiles
Eyeing this lover, on his way to kill
Every promise, muttered
Over her olive skin

Hell melts in her bosom
There’s the red light
They both evanesce into
Life, which they cursed… Thrice

Late at night 

Tonight (it’s after midnight here… damn, it’s 3 am again) I don’t feel like working on the poems that I was writing these days, it takes time before they are ready and most of them involve feelings, I need to immerse myself in that feeling from where the poem comes, which is exhausting… and I feel relieved… every time I finish a poem. Then I know I can take a break for a few days, I’ll be empty, I’m always both empty and full after I finally finish the hard job. It reminds me of giving birth actually. There is no way I’m going to be writing about child rearing or to be another writing mom, because I’m writing poetry and not about reusable diapers (if you have any idea how I should wash those, please tell me!!!), and because I’m Irina (yes, I’m someone’s mom but for the rest of the world I’m a milf… haha, no, I mean Irina) and I’m not obsessing over motherhood, it happens anyway, it brings joy, that’s it.
I finally realized why I get extremely anxious sometimes (and why I sucked at chemistry). Anxiety is my inner bell which is reminding me that I have to write, now. I didn’t recognize that noisy alarm before, I wrote but the wrong things, mostly to the wrong people. Now I know how to find peace, I’ll just write and let what’s choking me out.
Oh, if you’re wondering about my chemistry failure- the chemistry classes always started at 6.50 am when I was at school (looong time ago) I still don’t know whose brilliant idea was that, to make teenagers study a very serious matter so early in the morning?! I’ve always needed 3-4 hours to be completely awake and functioning. If you need me for something, call me after 12 pm, OK?
Most of the time I didn’t even go to the damn chemistry classes! Impossible! Torture!
As I wrote in my About section, my ultimate goal as a writer is to write the most beautiful poem (as narcissistic as it may sound) and it’s not necessary for that poem to be seen as beautiful, good or even as a poem by the readers. I only write for one reader, anyway. Each of my poems was meant to be seen by one person, this one person varies and isn’t always the same.
It always strikes me to find out that other people read them. I can’t read my poems after I press the “publish” button, yet I love them, yet I’m too critical and I know that most of them needed a lot more work. Also, if I cared for my muse to see the poem, I would’ve sent it to them and would not have bothered you, who are reading this post right now (and if you weren’t lucky- my blog before…).
I’ll never be that super productive writer who posts 3 poems per day and they are all good. I might have periods when I write a poem or two each day but some of those poems don’t have life in them (my own feeling) or they end up being dismembered, meaning I took a few worthy lines and sewed them to another poem and that made it complete. I’m not sure, because I’m not really unbiased but I suspect that all of the things I write have the same damn subject and I maybe repeat the same thoughts in different words. That being said, I know I need a more active life and something happening to me, only to me, from time to time (any mother’s issues).
I’m happy, really happy and very peaceful tonight. I was getting anxious and I could see sentences, clear thoughts (I hope) instead of lines and rhymes (I don’t care about rhymes).

I miss you, Irish guy. 

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