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Moxica… 116 poems




Ode to FRC

I drove along Chaussee Road this morning.

Looked up and saw that our Cultural Fortress had been sacked.

I'm too numb to cry.

So the sky took pity on me and it rained.


a. QUEEN MAB Felix Rian Constatinescu

QUEEN MAB {13 poems}

Felix Rian Constatinescu

August, 2017 –

"O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.

She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes

In shape no bigger than an agate-stone

On the fore-finger of an alderman,

Drawn with a team of little atomies

Athwart men's noses as they lies asleep;

Her wagon-spokes made of long spinners’ legs,

The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,

The traces of the smallest spider's web,

The collars of the moonshine's wat'ry beams,

Her whip of cricket's bone; the lash of film;

Her waggoner a small grey-coated gnat,

Not half so big as a round little worm

Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid:

Her chariot is an empty hazelnut

Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,

Time out o’ mind the fairies’ coachmakers.

And in this state she gallops night by night

Through lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love;

O’er courtiers’ knees, that dream on court'sies straight,

O’er lawyers’ fingers, who straight dream on fees,

O’er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream,

Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,

Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:

Sometime she gallops o’er a courtier's nose,

And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;

And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail

Tickling a parson's nose as a’ lies asleep,

Then dreams, he of another benefice:

Sometime she driveth o’er a soldier's neck,

And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,

Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,

Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon

Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,

And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two

And sleeps again. This is that very Mab

That plaits the manes of horses in the night,

And bakes the elflocks in foul ****tish hairs,

Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes:

This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,

That presses them and learns them first to bear,

Making them women of good carriage:

This is she—"

— Mercutio in Romeo and Juliet, Act I, scene IV


I was born with a crazy Father and Grandmother

Two crazy Brothers and now my sister is ill

Too much sugar - and my Mom was called Crazy

Then I met many crazy people one big nudorama

And highschool was the best alone with three madmen

For thirty years stalked by homosexuals and psychos

So madness management is my lifestyle and what

Can it be done except listen and ask questions?


I went on a pilgrimage today my love

To the indigo temple of your soul & spirit

All Jesus could say was Mary mm that is good

But I was walking in you and breathing ice

I was afraid to pose for a portrait

So my incandescent eyes would show up

So if we have brain who knows to kiss?

Sweet you made me happy & you were miles away.

Lost in Myself

I lost in myself on the path of pleasure

Now I am drunk searching for icons

In this world for the holiness of beauty

O Gods how beautiful you must be –

I am trapped in my head full of seeds

& I think of yesterday & her marble chest

No no please don't kill me with stones

I am in love I am in love I am in love.

Love's Songmix Kiss

Love is a silence songmix like a kiss

But you have to wait more than than fight

So I'll wait for you looking at the sky

With courage and a growing heart

Please love me you said and I did

And the world took life so I wait in the dark

At the writing table alone and sad

Remembering you and counting your icons.

A Brain of Numbers

for Eliza.
She is a brain of numbers always praying

I am not aswell much more a sinner

Tearing up Orthodox or Heretic Bibles

Decade after decade & prophesying Death

But she is gentle as a tell in Persia

Always on her knees always singing

Her hand feeds the land and my heart

But our love is like the Gods - unseen

And if Martyrdom will come our way

We will say to God - Please stay

And if Love will never Be from the tree

Heaven we'll see.

Personal Exodus

To England.

Trees are sad today they cry in lobachevskian lines

Far I will leave them none will take with me

O orchard o forest it is but your death

And the Black roses have not bloomed - how sad!

I will leave my country and go to the shores

And weather will be my friend a strange immigrant

Poet - this is a hope - but more the pain

Of dying and of unrequitted hunger - I will forget.


Mother, I fell in love with a Girl

A very beautiful girl b/ that's not it

A religious girl I haven't felt like this

Since seventeen

Her beauty is brain transmuting in spirit

But I must confess - her eyes make me

Lose myself in God - She is not a woman

But God manifest

Please, Mother, hold me make me not betray you

I have two lovers - forgive me - and She is not

More beautiful than you She is just God

Should I love him?

My mind is religious I am infected and surrender to love

Logic has no avail I broke the chess table how I wish

You were here and let me dream with you Mother

I am Jewish.

Who Are You?

To Thysbe

Who are you my love?

Athena? Artemis? Thysbe?

Tell me your name so I will

Write it in heaven

Is your name a prayer a word

From beyond? Are you the

God of love and true happiness?

Tell me your name

Write it in marble and spirit

I have walked to all the temples

Looking for you and waiting

In silence

Your hands are t hands of a worker

You work until now? are you a brook

A temple a prophet? the god I adore

And pray for.

Crescent Peach

I started eating a velvet peach but I stopped

Feeling as if I eat the Moon like a mythical demon

I put it on the pocket book New Testament

In Mom's library

And this vision gives me thoughts of unloveness

Not love - because only God loves and Mary

I ignore it and think of beautiful things like

Daffodils by WW
I wish this peach to remain forever alive I love it

But I am just a fool and love has worth o Gods

They said Whitman was a loser I say a prophet

Of truth and profits

Dad offered me this peach for me to eat but i stray

And take it as a knick-knack a porcelain bubble

To keep it near and drown in thoughs so give me help

Giveme t peach of love.


I am a Nightingale who sings locked in your palace

Like in a blessed cage of velvet bars I pray here

And wait for Wentai to come in my arms I pray

Your soul is a bird

I wait in the dark alone and in love I do not need the world

Except its songs and stories if I had to walk a thousand

Miles I would if I had to die but you are here and alive

Where are you?

Looking in the Spring

It's dawn and I sit by the waterless spring thinking of God

And looking in it I wait for the water to fall

The spring is the sunrise window in Mom's room

I am pensive
There's nothing left in the brook except stained-glass

Stones like genii of the earth with funny faces

I abide there looking at the marble pebbles and the enlightened mouth

By the icon I pray.

The Organ

A boy older than me had a Casio organ from America

I liked it I wanted it for me and seeing it I began to think

Of it to want an organ for myself I even went with Dad

To a dealer and tried three

I always believed the schoolboys at Baptist churches

Don t know to play it I was Orthodox and praying

But organs attracted me platonically I wanted one

And I almost had a computer.

Nectarine. A Tragedy

A fruit half peach half apple a genetic discovery

Does the apple regret the gentleness of the peach?

O Gods do nectarines grow in trees or not? O Spirit

You say more peach...

b. Love Declaration # 2017

LOVE DECLARATION {fiefteen poems}

Felix Rian Constantinescu


The Baby

She is the baby beautiful as a bee

Tired in September and free

I love her but She doesn’t love me

She is in Love

She is the baby beautiful as a bee

Tired in September and free

I love her but She doesn’t love me

She is in Love.

Sappho s Confession

My forehead is filled with dew

I wipe it but it grows right back

Love not pleasure I think pleasure

Is for rats and mercurys

I try to get close to you and speak

To your lips to say that I wait

That I Love that I stay but will you hear?

Please kiss me and let me.

Love Declaration

You are the hidden love

Hidden inside me – beaten

Rejected and cherished

You are the hidden me

The others are not you

Not transgressions though

Why do you come to me

What do you want?

So I will go

And tell your name to the heavens

I will speak your name

To the world

You came

To the brook of my heart

Here you wait me

For millennia.


Jesus died for the world

Mary died for a kiss

Theologians are perplexed

& I pray to go up

Luther couldn’t explain this

I am the sinning virtuous

If sin is a kiss
Please please please come to me.


I met a kid looking at the sun

At the borderline of a hospital

And I think now is love for the rich?

The poor love the most

I saw two people at the edge of a road

And I think do they know love?

Why don’t they teach it

To the poor and cinderellas?

A Boy Christened Cinderella

Mother loved him very much

She was the only one

She wished to give him her love

So he would find love

But world is made of diners

And no food and collective loneliness

The Prince is away on a hunt

And Cinderella is just dying.

Cinderella at the Hospital

I saw a girl at a hospital I went to

I must confess She is my number two

The first is a blind singer somewhere

So what could I tell you?

The worth of a woman is not in the work

In the brain or faith but in love

And beauty – so Cinderella waits

For a healthy boy to come to his senses.

I Am Just A Girl Asking For Help

So I am bad Sorine

I gave you my love but you are on your high horses

Society has no courage

And you are not my friend anymore

I don t expect excuses and I know I had a brother

I just wish to live my normal life with my big normal brain

So I am writing a letter


Even the genii kill themselves so Mr. Trump

This is the gospel you want?

I don’t know I don’t know why idiots

Can’t listen to a girl?

God is far way out but I’m here

Alone under the lamp-post

George and Kramer visit me

And the Sorrow.

On Eating A Piece Of Bread

A good man gave me a white bread

Two days ago and I still eat at it

Alone in my room by the rhythmic icon

I hold it in my hand and think

Something like a kiss or the communion

The bread becomes my gray brain

But who is this bread what field of rain?

What bird of wheat died for me?

New York

In my youth I dreamt of going to New York

To me it seemed as the coolest city

W the NBC, books and Tribeca music & movies

I thought New York should be my destination

But I am a suburban boy with no true faith

Far in the deep so I never really went to US

I have a friend there someone who cared

For me so I’m here now and think of NY.

Love Came To Me Like A Beggar

Love come to me like a beggar

And took my hand humbly

Walking in the dust She said

Love is the greatest of All

Love is no thief is just a girl

Crying because of Destiny

Yea if Love’s real then we

All wasted our life for not knowing.

Mary’s Family

Daddy is far away and Mary is working

She sends a letter each day

There’s lots of work at the factory

And the kids are unborn

She met a soldier who wants peace

And She’s gonna give it to him

She gets ready for Christmas

And waits for somebody to turn off the light.

A Girl

I had a girl for ten years from my village

We were like peaches and pie the 2 of us

But She had a husband and an annoying

Younger sister so it was a clean Romantic

Affair I have no regrets I tried to live right

She even confessed her love to my Mother

In bed with her & then She died & before that

I looked at her & thought how beautiful She is.

I Stay With The Bread In My Bed

I stay with the bread in my bead

I know this way bugs will come

But I cant help it I wish to consecrate

My body with prayers and love

So I will become good as bread

To be ate and be cherished

Like this place is a church

For the desperate and beggars.

The Dove Comes For Love

for Kina Grannis

The Dove comes for love

I don’t know her name and

She‘s hungry so what will I do

Willi open the window and

Put my bread before her

Or not? She didn’t come now

The Dove is afraid too scared

T eat b I m make my confession.

He Kissed Me

I saved Louis Armstrong today

He was working and I went up to him

And he kissed me wow I feel

Very sinful I saw that giving myself

To him would mean something

To him anyway I think he’s

A beautiful human being and

Dinner w great I hope t see h again.

The Spring

I have a spring in my room

I don't drink from it but others do

I don't like the water but I am sensible

To others feelings and they are thirsty

But sometimes I get mad I think

Of closing the spring with concrete somehow

But it would be wrong to kill a spring

So I just lie in bed and despair.

Mountain Flower

She is a mountain flower

With eyes transparent water

And mouth of red petals

My second my Nagasaki

So I’m gonna hand here

A little bit! She just thought

Of Love and this is the reason

A lovethinker building temples.


Look man the peach is almost dead

Is the sky magenta or lead?

I would ask what you would do

If someone says they love you?

But here on the bank of the dam

There are olives Uncle Sam

I would pray please come and say

You will work my trees today.

The Dark Girl

My Mother was daylight like Rihanna

But She s the dark girl hiding in the night

A computer in love and I m going crazy

I m so sad today and I don t think I can cope

People are indifferent and world is a spiderweb

We are all sick and especially myself so I m gonna

Sleep She hides in a computer I hate my life

And want to die to go in a place computer free.

c. Moxica


Flowers must be cared for

Cultivated and loved and watered

They must be touched and kissed

Must be kept in sun and rain and night

Flowers of all colours must be loved

Cherished put above all things in the world

Loved until craziness plucked like hearts

Of unicorns and sirens and kept in dark.

My First Hobby

My first hobby is in killing spiders

I don t hate them though I just

Am afraid of them like really afraid

And I think of their psychology

I believe in an earlier life I was a

Spider so you may say I love my own

I kill them not with a broom or book

But I kiss them passionately & t die.

He Kissed Me!

I saved Louis Armstrong today

He was working and I went up to him

And he kissed me wow I feel

Very sinful I saw that giving myself

To him would mean something

To him anyway I think he's

A beautiful human being and

Dinner w great I hope to see h again.

On Eating A Piece Of Bread

A good man gave me a white bread

Two days ago and I still eat at it

Alone in my room by the rythmic icon

I hold it in my hand and think

Something like a kiss or the communion

The bread becomes my gray brain

But who is this bread what field of rain?

What bird of wheat died for me?

d. Health Issues. Poems

Felix Rian Constantinescu

To a Friend

Ye, Conqueror, sweet friend of youth

And death - forbid me for betraying

In life's passion but please do not

Forsake your friend for fail in see

Who are you I will not say though known

You are to anyman from sea to see &

At my rebel pace I welcome in my bosom

The mind the wit the beauty & love's wisdom

A lamer I am I cannot sing like the Moonfish

And skylarks in t/ sea but you are my friend

Ignored dismissed forgoten drove away

With blows and prophetic anger but please -

Be my friend now and forever if I should

Say your name but 'tis my silent prayer

Make me your prayer nightly and of light

When men afraid of light be you mine - my friend.

To My Mom Who Was a Teacher

for Frieda

The Earth is tired

He has to get up early

And work or kill

The Earth is tired

Mother is tired

She has to teach

Or break her breasts

Mother is tired

The night is tired

She has to shut up

Or fly into the skies

The night is tired

I am tired

I must write

Or die

I am tired.

for Miriam Makeba

My Mother could never

Really sing - but she did

My Father could never

Publish - but he wrote

I had not any friends

But I lied in wait

My brother could not

Open himself - but he loved

My kid brother was always

Ununderstood - lost not hope

My sister lived alone

All her life - but she tried happiness

So Mother song dad's poems

My friends' ignorance brothers' heart

And hope my sister's happiness

And you - are what I am.

The Informer

Never thought of himself as a bad man

Said his prayers every night in those times

But was afraid - yes not bad but afraid

Of the killing machine driving around

In Dacias - so he spoke to be liked

Not to be frowned upon - not to be

Inefficient -- not to be trusted - a

Candidate to exclusion - yes that

Was it - when every man drinks blood

You must do it - socially - to be accepted

At the Red Ball - to live your silent life

Oh, Romania land of the vampyres

So today when we think that we're freed

What is to be done with our parents?

Should Hamlet kill Polonius and Everybody

What should we do - let's all think about it.



















Me - something like Bruce Springsteen

A symbol - a madman though - obsessed

By bullying and pedophilia - poet laureate

Nonetheless - I represend a message - a

Meaning - something to be deciphered

In long centuries and unbearable solitude

Every man a loner - this could be the reason

And spirit and the crown are friends - truth

Killed with kindness - a neverending pain

Like the brain of Ludwig van Beethoven

A sad man - an Arelquine and Colombine

Sitting grave at the other end of the phone

You could say I made it - but really what are

Words without acts - forever loneliness

Could be until better drugs - And now at this

Blessed hour I have one request - love me.

It is Better to Be Good
It is better to be good - you

Don't get into troubles and

In time become a revered

Man or Woman - a pious

But more than that - it is

An access for the better

A way to Christian light

A way of not hurting people

People say that every

Bad man is not pleased

This may be true - I think

A way to happiness

I not believe in happines

But I believe in goodness

The pained and maimed

Good - hoping, loving.


I am an honest poet

What I remembered

Star Wars, Star Trek

Was the Federation

You see - Celts &

Germans - and war

Is it really worth it?

This you must answer

This islands are like

Husband and wife

Together since the

Separation of Mu

Could it be my man

An United States

Of the Celtic Islands?

Like in t/ times of bear?

I Want to Be Your Jose Marti

I want to be your Jose Marti

Tu unify the land - to speak

To people - the move the

Banker's heart towards the

Beggar - and the Beggar's

Aswell - to be someone

In my community - to pray

With the lightwaves -

To kill your brain with love

To burn your heart with

My words - to find a common

Idiom - to communicate

Kindness and selflessness

To prove that the Queen

Is willing to be a subject
To save the lost and found.


I c a n picture Jesus - he was a poor boy

From a poor family - and nobody loved

Him - except his Mother - he had to work

Hard with his frail Child hands and help

His Father used to say Jesus will you come

Help me? - And he ran from the back of the

House - to do his chores - and he was really

A l o n e - like Michael in his glory - there

Was really no time for too much school

And thought - he resembles more Saint

Francis than Saint Augustine - Martin

Luther and Martin Luther King than the

Great one - so at nineteen when I returned

He left home - forever - a Rabbi rockstar? -

Joseph grunted at work - Mary thought

And then came the Downfall & Resurrection.


For Vlad

I hope I been a good Father to you

Now I must go and I don't know but

I look at you and what fine man you

Have become - I mean you won't

Hold my death against me - the dead

Are my friends - and I think of old

Things - I try to remember my birth

But anyway now it's your time -

I am going now so that you and your

Children can come after me - to a

Better world - which is this no other

Your life is very hard God knows it

I - pray - that you will find not peace

But battle - you must be your own

Hitler and your own USSR - son

Daughter - you are great - so begin.


Thoughts of Michael the Brave.

Loves at the distance do work? - I

Discovered a well of poetry - a deep

Fellowship - Maybe I'm a betrayer

But I didn't want to be - I am true

Blue - but here - like the Gypsy of

Nălați that put the Union Jack above

His door - and English poetry est my

Patrie - I may be on another star - but

Poems are not conditioned by space

And I believe in you and you in me

So here - here - it is England and

Eire - here in the tomb of my Celtic

Mother and my German Father - please

Do not forsake me - the lowly book I am

And bury me nest to Wilde and his Swallow -

Tell me you'll come & take my head.


Everything I owe to them - women - life and

Blood and Poetry and English words - oh

Dear when I was a kidd - thinking in Romanian

But nevertheless each sunset found my eyes

English is not a language is the sillogisms of

The mind - a feminine logic - in which you don’t

Have to love and laugh and leave - but pensively

Remain in riddles and all the mind's fallacies -

I began with Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton

on 7th grade - talking about insane Fathers &

Abortions - and fell in love you might say - with

The English poet - but not love but commentary

If Hell's real poets maybe the ones elluding it

By thinking and by writing and by fearing everything

Now I m old but never will I forget the day when with

Trembling hands I opened that Penguin Book and read.


For President Vladimir Putin,

on 9th of May, 2017.

So in the 50s people suffered

Poets are beautiful

Jewish martyrdom?

Sylvia's kids

The woman Jesus

The aborted little girl

Rest in peace lover

Overcomed disaster

Life is beautiful man







A quoi bon avoir quitter Coasta Boacii?

Emil Cioran

I look back on the track of my life

At the freedom years - when I was

Young - like the dying Atreyu - oh

My friends - away in the library

Of dreams - then everything was

Pure - without compromise with

Myself - another age of innocence

Dead with Wet Wet Wet - now a vet

Insane - a prayer & a sinner - I can't

Go back - to the other universe inside

Me - ah, lost forever - like a godly

Dream - but maybe in Death or

Alzheimer I will find myself - until

Then - I slay myself like Saint

Felix - and speak unconscious

Words - for the lonely and damned.


It's a sin.

Be glad satans - God wants to kill my unborn son

And he will do it - if this is his wish - to kill a man

Make him and snuff him out because - he is God

So what - will I do? - really? - but isn't that death

Itself? - my son - my son should die today - and not

Resurrect - I feel betrayed - lost - angry - mistreated

Maybe I should die - maybe I should - and let the Jew

God - that I will kill his son - but I am a man - I'm better

Than him - you - God - are a soul of ancient - cruel

And high - the father of Semites and Assyrians - you

Only you are God - but never show up at the meeting

A lover and a killer - an infanticide - name me what please

But you are wrong - not I - you are he beast - the Holy

Spirit Dragon - and in the end - when we ll all dead be

You will live - remembering us all - in your miserable

Ecstasy - so kill him - and kill me - and dare call us to you.


for Steve

I watch Baptists and wonder - are they really

Better? - saved - like for instance a song?

Are they pure or painted gray? - this is my

Dilemma - and no one can answer this one

Their sermons are lofty and ministers holy

Their brain - the Baptist brain is a memo

For the Bible - but is the Bible enough? - or

Are they - lying? - this is the second question

No one dared answer - so we live thinking of

Future holocausts - with our eyes on fire - and

Wait - or live -- you might say is an error of doctrine

Nothing more - the new man - the jesusman

Maybe they put family beyond God - maybe they

Are the modern Manicheans - but what a perfect

Heresy - yes I watch Baptists - and makebelieve

In ther lies - taboo stronger t/ t/ gospel - & no psys.


For Mohandas

I - am an outcast - of all my peoples

But to my - dearest - I will speak

On my twine legs today - no vision

Comes before me - no grace - but

In damned - no, human - logic - if

Logic is to be cherished - there was a

Man long ago - in Galilee - named by

John from New Town - well enough

About him - I dare say he is the Father

Of Grace - but is he really? - you can't

Be a king and then just become an

Emperor - no - you should subject yourself

To slavery - your own - or other's - and so

Live - you cannot live your life in peace

Can you? - now maybe it's time to exit

With a song - the song of the other - other.


Human sacrifice was not a particularly common occurrence among the

Germanic peoples, being resorted to in exceptional situations arising

from crises of an environmental (crop failure, drought, famine) or

social (war) nature, often thought to derive at least in part from the

failure of the king to establish and/or maintain prosperity and peace

(árs ok friðar) in the lands entrusted to him.46 In later Scandinavian

practice, human sacrifice appears to have become more institutionalised,

and was repeated as part of a larger sacrifice on a periodic basis

(according to Adam of Bremen every nine years).47 - Wikipedia.

In the holy cave the birdman stands on a tall stone

He speaks to the people gathered like grains of

Wheat or salt afer the dew of night - the Children

Are asleep - the man speaks like Ginsberg - mad

His helpers informed him of the war in the West

And the rebellions in the South and East - what

Must be done? - who is guilty? - who is to blame?

Punishment is needed - brotherly exclusion - words

Need to cut and pierce - as phalic nails - the bad

Brothers must be killed in spirit - and crushed

To beg - friendship - or die - in the cold of the world

God come down and be fire in my hand and be!

We - the people - live - we - the faithful - pure

We - the saved sinners -- mansacrifices must be made

Now - and at every sermon - the torture of the good

With words and emotions - Death - banish the imposters!

THOUGHTS ON A SERMON. A Christian Tragedy

Hey, Liberty... You don't respect me.

At the Old People Church I heard an illustration

From The Golden Age - about a girl rebelled

Against her family - a convert in the seventies

Threatened by her Mother and Father with

Exile forever and no money - so She goes on

And did it - She got baptized - and the Christian

Tragedy happened - Baptists got her a place

In Deva and kept her in Pedagogic and College

As I remember now She's faraway in America - well

If I'd ben Security captain - you can imagine how

Many parents the Baptists threathened then - I

Would have c a l l e d that pastor s boy to Securitate

Highschool, then Securitate College and sent

Him after studies to work with the Chinese in China

Wouldn't that had been just? - the poor simple girl

Breaking the heart of her Mother - for a stupid whim

And I'm talking to you - what about - what about - you?

Is this the Christian way - young lady - we know I

Don't need to say more - wouldn't have been better

To pray in silence - and then Pedagogic, and then

College, and then America - but with your parents

- and yes - and then heaven! - and I tell you today

And yesterday my friend - what good is well without

Your Mother - America without Mother - heaven

Without your Mother's tears - of your damned

sinful cursed left Mother - what value is in your

Reverends who never were the friends of the

People - like me and you were before the Dream

Maybe you are not in America - but - you are not

In heaven either - you are not in heaven either

You are not in heaven either - you are not in

Heaven either - you are on the Limb of tragedy.


Schyzophrenic - with half a brain immersed in history

My Mother and brothers and Father - my friends -

Dead now - and the jazz of my young years - with

Nora on my mind - or Diane - the future does not

Exist - is not r e a l - past is what we got - men and

Machines - our eyes are recording cameras - of

Good and bad - and our brains erasing heads - o

Linda - you will be on top just fifty years - and then

Kaputt - yes history was my major - English just

An appendix - a talent - like the tongue - what are

You gonna do? - six feet under - dead or awake

Hitting your head on the coffin - and all your kingly

Books - dead like yourself - where is Sylvia Plath

now? - Anne Sexton? - if I would be eternal - you'd

Live in my memory - but I will die before my time

Because I am Bifrons - t/ god of t/ past & pain years.


When my Mother died I didn't let them bury her

Until she began smelling - I hoped - and didn't

Want them to put her in the tomb alive - like

In the days of the Pharaos - and I sometimes

Think - how a man - alive for maybe fifty-sixty

Years - in one instant begins decomposing -

I do not understand - what keeps our meat

Together? - for me is not dying that bothers

Me - but the tomb scene - with worms and

earth-rats - and everything - and those bones

My bones - that will become - my face you know?

And is useless to talk about heaven yet -

Soon enough - I will die - and nobody will write

Here anymore - but I want to die - becoming

Earth - soothes me - earth - wet or just dust

And flowers - yeah I wanna be earth & flowers.


There is only one escape from solitude

Loneliness - angst - I have a cat which

Always felt alone and asked me to

Comfort her - Now She has three little

Ones - and She doesn t bother me

Anymore - and not only that - She is

Happy - just to sit there with her Children

Cuddled in her - yes my cat escaped

From solitude - but what will I do - will

I take her kids away - and make her

Alone again - and sadder - man

Interferes too much in everyone’s

Life - I don’t want to be that man - so

I m puzzled of my choices - I don’t

Wan t to kill happiness - do you - really? -I

Am so sad too now to t/ point of happiness.


Today on my way to the bookstore I asked

Father to buy me a dark green jacket -

Resembling to the kinky jacket wore by

Guevara in his picture - it was made in

France - with a zipper - I took it to wear

On rain at the embankment walks - and

To remember that I have to survive &

Because it was a rough version of

Taylor Hillridge's own green jacket - just

Walking out the second-hand boutique

And three Gypsy young men started

Mocking me - and my shirt - and the beer

I might or might not drink - then - after

Leaving the bookstore for the car in the

Park - on t/ street a woman - an ordinary

Woman - looked at me passing & coughing.


My constant socializing is at the hospital

So I began to see people less attractive

Or cool - I see their withered faces and

Cattle behaviour - because a serious

Disease does not make you innocent -

Some are fighting to keep the line in

Order - others to get ahead - there is

Something of a gas chamber in this

Survivalism - the doctors are either

Compassionate or preocuppied - and

Nurses too - the most I seen are satisfied

Of just being healthy and having an easy

Job - they do their work anyway - and many

Pacients just stop coming - what is there

More to say - in the waiting hall I watch

Out the window and read poems & faces.










I do not understand this Woman - She is

Beyond genius - like an apostle - what a

Girl man - she was not a missionary -

So why living there? - She did not work

For the Government - but was just a Man

Living there - in the Chinese poor country

She started life as a legend and became

One - and what a name - presbyterian

Ministers loving The Scarlet Letter - and the

Divorce - yet not a sinner - so what was

This Pearl? - a writer - writers are very

Different - and aesthetically weird - her

Tragedy - was that China betrayed her - Mao

The new Confucius had no place for her

In the new China - so she left - and lost herself

And more tragically - lost sa patrie - forever

Maybe the secret for Pearl S. Buck's passion

Were the Chinese themselves - peasants

And women - her l o v e - She had a way of not

Looking at Asians weird - woman Hemingway?


Always writing - never amount to nothing

Like in the old times - Homer playing his

Blues before the shanty Sodom - nobody

Minding about the old blind loon - and his

Epopee - a classic poet - no books - no

Prizes - no friends - no taverns - just a

Computer and his head - uncriticised

Uneulogied - uninspiring - a dead man

For everybody - isolated in his country

House - Nobody minding to reach him

Manolescu - the Church - or the artists

A - loser - yet he writes: obsessionate

Yet he is read - but in secret - no one

Saying to him: good stuff - no one

Clenching his upward fist for him

Just a crazy writer & flowers tardive.


for Emi, Ciste, Tinel and the Baptist Church.

Nobody visits now the tower - and distant relatives

Want to take it and sell it - the tower was made for

The poet - at his request - but as I said no one

Visits the old and the mad - everybody has a better

Life - The church is numbering - Christians and

Money - the crazed poet is no use to any elder

And a shame for the community - with his

Scandalous Childhood and infamous adolescence

Sermons given on the once loved streets name

Him as bereft by God - abandoned by God - and

Maybe he is - seems so nevertheless - Scardanelli

Is in his tower house thinking of posterity - all still

Left - friends & Church brothers are too filthy ****

Rich - poetry is the only friend left - to hear his

Thoughts - and answer him - so he writes - like

Zekaraiah - and in the endless night only God worthy.


The holyman waits in church for the sheep

To come - he will tell them important deep

Words - about humbleness and power

He waits in a gentle contrite mannerism

The holyman fell in _love_ with a friend -

Wants to help him - his help _is_ needed

Has trouble at home for it - but it doesn't

Matter - he will do it - damn it - and help

The holyman holds his acoustic guitar

And sings with grace about the values

Of the poor and Christian hobos - he

Is a spirit - not an artist - & gospel is blue

The holyman works for his meat - like

No one does - with his feeble strength

And he's thankful - for bread in Inferno

His name Sisyphus? - no much worse

Seems every holyman a Musketeer

Like those Tom & Jerry mice - friends

For a season or two - and then comes

Harvest and the bum road separate

And the church comes silent - and the

Friend comes silent - and the guitar

Comes silent - and the poet comes

Silent - & every holyman dreamchaser.


It is not an irrational thought to believe

At a moment or another you're watched

Surveilled - I was mad today for my

Condition of sexually abused victim &

Children hospital regular visitor - and spoke

On the phone about it - when - when I

Finally arrived in the hospital a pacient

Came and said he has a discomfort on

His leg that reaches his organ - and everything

For Hyperpyron and Cry Freedom - Romania

Is not the good country - instead rat behaviour

Rules in it - and the security and policemen

Have a way of mocking dissidents and deliquents

Alike - well I will not rebel - I will not curse with

The wrath of God - I will just say that Mr. Liviu

Dragnea is the biggest rat of them all - rest follow.


There's a war going on - a war for the

Garbage dumps - food - pigs represent

Tradition - and their enemy - just in like

The Nobel awarded Book of Nils - the rat

Rats have no power of their own - only

In big clans and large armies - they eat

Everything - red blood and black ****

They eat each other - with venom brains

The pigs are humaner - they have a master

They have a shepherd - they hold dear

These values - and food and **** and urine

But they are gentle - and always smile with

Their blue eyes and blonde hair - but in this war

Man decides - to kill the poisoned rats - to

Crush them under foot - because after all

Only pigs are food - and man's second best friend.


for Rafael

At birth in Nineteen Eighty Two

I received a pair of gold heart

Ear-rings with a dark green-blue

Stone in them - and all my life

I looked at them - thinking I

Should have been a girl - my

Mother kept - and my Father -

For me in a round cilinder

Of efervescent pink menthos -

As I said from time to time

I took them and looked at them

Until one time - when I took the

Ear-rings and put them above

My brother's bed - he was

In the foster Army - and when

He left I cleaned the entire

Room but did not found the

Ear-rings gifted from Tel-Aviv

Or Askelon - they were the ear

-rings replacing the ones took

At the Romanian border by the

Soldier at her alya - bought at

First arrival in Israel and then

Given me as birth luck - instead

I found on the shelf above the

Bed where my brother slept

For twenty years and those army

Months - only his artillery Xs

And I think - my birth ear-rings

Were not stolen by my kid

Brother, the wise-guy, not asked

By my sister, not sold by Daddy

But took by my old brother - my

Best friend, for maybe some bottles

Of vodka with his friends - my

Friends - and now I'm luck free

And I think - if I trust him - he will

Take all my possessions - my

Books - my house - my land

Me itself - for a drink with friends.



Florin Iaru

12 mai la 01:14 ·
Altă dată, nebunii erau (vai nouă!) bătaia de joc a comunității.

Acum, ajung să aibă păreri și adepți.

Florin Iaru Problema e că sînt liberi.

Îmi placeVezi mai multe reacţii · 1 · 12 mai la 01:19

Florin Iaru, Facebook Account

I write in English because I seek clean

Logical thinking - Latin could be also

Good - and the first thing I want to ask

You - you said you never heard before

Of Richard Wurmbrand - but have you

Known - of Vasile Paraschiv - and the

Likes of him? - you know it is easy to send

People to prisons for decades or for life

But at what price - the moral degradation

Of a people - of yourself - and that woman

Is right - you in your stalinism say: the problem

'S that We are let free - and She asks - for

What should We be locked up: opinion

Delict? - you, the Communists - I tell you

Have done some great things the past

Century - and - still - you don't repent

Do you see the photo that I posted - poet

Vasile Voiculescu? - I never read him much

Yet - but he's a brother - true: for God

And for unhypocrisy we died & lived abused

Do you understand - that the Psychiatrical

Gulag - never really truly ended in Romania

Now we're trying to arrive to this bridge

Now composition should ask an insult

But I will only say that you are wrong -

And Che Guevara died for nothing

For a dream - and we died and were

Imprisoned for nothing & only faith kept us.


People say he's a Giant but he

Don't see that - he's just a man

On as mountain - holding the

Gate to the horses - and he sobs

Almost always - nobody befriends

A Giant - no one l o v e s him

There is no Wilpu in his story

Nobody comes to his Păltiniș

To learn h i s wisdom - and he dies

Barren - nobody desires pure truth

Not mixed with money fortune &

Power - only Night sits beside him

The Night also is a Giant - as sad as

Him - yea - some people are meant

To be hard - and - maybe - God is

A Giant too- sitting by himself - up.


I sit alone - like a fox in the desert

The sun is red and the sky blood

And I think that there are years

Since I don't really trully mean

Nothing - for my Father - and my

Family - my friends - my churches

My girl speaks to me in Algebra

And nobody is decent to me -

Until that day of absolute decency

My answer is this: nobody - don't

Call - don't bother with me - with

The bug that I am - until soon

Ago you squashed me again and

Again - and crushed me - now you

Preach me the Earth is not for F

Maybe it isn't - but truth or bust.


I don't see the purpose in living - the beauty

In it - death since always seems the sole

Redemption - more than that - I do not

Have a reason to live - so I - wait -

The day - not my entombment - I am not

Theatrical - but for the second when

I will be beyond - wherever - just away

From all this losers - I do not see a

Meaning in my life - one could say

Poetry - but I'm a poete maudit - poems

Are pain for me and nothing more - no

One ever cared for my poetry but

Ever since the beginning I have been

Stoned for my poetry and poems - so

**** the world - I don't care - why help

If help is not really needed - cherished?

Really - only God keeps me from suicide

But know that one day I will die -and

Dead - I will win - so Death is a friend

T/ only friend I got - so count your money.


I - believed in man -

But no man worthy

Except dad I think

Everyman a loser

Emmanuel comes

Eminem - the Stranger

Florin Salam - the

Pilgrim all alone

Mikee excuses himself

Desperately - & the

Faithful are creeps

Money is everything

I'm sorry - I lost time

In the Church - my

Time & innocent heart

- I can't take back.


Love or Death - yea - this is the issue

Of the Church - society -and of us - yes

I - differently to most people - have a

Soul - on which I act - and which I try

To keep intact - I cannot prostitute myself

But know my love - that on this lost way

I will die - and only you will be to blame

When dead I ll be and lost forever for

The people of the saved - and know that

I - can - die - so - if I'm no good & unworthy

Unclean - demonic - whatever - slowly I

Will go - it is your choice - between - not

Jesus - but Money and - Felix - so yea

Go ahead and tell me what your flaws

Are - but even if I'm dead I pray - I - pray

That you - Man/ Woman will cherish the

Next Albatross you'll meet - because what

Is in man - except his will to give up -

Except one time - you Heaven - are cool

But it's just this people - of uncircumcised.


On Earth there are nexuses of poetry

and Argentina is One of them.

I don't wanna remake the Future

Sound of London - or the Spirit

of Praga - or St. Louis - or whatever

I just want to say that - on the

Otherside - there's a kingdom

And a city - full with sensucht

People that walk in the night

Begging for words - like me

A city of poets - and generals

Good and bad in one legendary

Latinamerican Tel-Aviv - hungry

For books - like the world for sex

Or food - haunting people on the

Streets - or alone and blind in

Small rooms - still - writing in

T/ quiet mind - what's wrong w/ them?


You should have bombed Hitler - then, not my pregnant Grannie.

„Caracteristica cea mai iritantă a clasei noastre politice este

suficienţa. Te miri ce ingineraş mediocru, ce activistă răscoaptă, cu

aere de mătuşică grijulie, ce jurist semidoct se pronunţă, întrebaţi sau

nu, pe orice temă, cu o siguranţă de sine paranoiacă. Ţanţoşi,

obraznici, guralivi, agresivi, prost crescuţi, „angajaţi” partinic pînă

la desfigurare, ei apar des, dacă nu zilnic, mai ales la posturi de

televiziune bine plătite şi bine plătitoare, ca nişte corifei ai

înţelepciunii, ai patriotismului, ai adevărului absolut. Ei ştiu! N-au

dubii, ezitări, întrebări. Au doar răspunsuri. Sunt providenţiali! Şi

dacă îi contrazici, te iau tare. Şterg cu tine pe jos, fac mişto, te

învaţă **** e cu patria, cu trădătorii, cu sorosistii, cu inteligenţa.

Nu contează că arată a plutonieri reciclaţi, a „fete bune” miloase (mai

ales cu cîinii şi cu oamenii străzii), a gospodine cînd nevricoase, cînd

duioase, a caftangii ideologici. Se simt bine în pielea lor, în

afacerile lor, în conturile şi în vilele lor cochete. Prin inflaţia

discursului, mulţi dintre ei sunt deja vedete.” Andrei Pleșu

GI family - no medals - no help - no compassion

We go way up in World War Two in Bucharest

Nobody ever cared - we pain, you freedom

Everyday a WW2 - and we American victims

BTW - once in his military service dad threw

His rifle and effects to the ground for a

Bad gas-mask - I don't know but I believe

The army - every army should be glad

For not taking me in - we did and do our

Own army - and the only chance for

Peace we got - is the cemetery - I

Did not come here to blame peoples

I wrote books - long hard thick books

& no one is interested - not the public -

Not the state - no the Churches - not

The Army - not God's Army: - war victims

But America - I am not mad - because of

Bruce Springsteen - and Walt Whitman

And Emily Dickinson - I'm not mad - I'm

Not mad - not mad - not mad - I'm not mad.


for poet and writer Ruxandra Cesereanu.

Prison ends - but life after prison only in death

And the fear of friends - I know - angels under

The beast - we vere: victims - like every true

Christian - and only in death we found Freedom

Still human in rats society - rejected by the common

Man - and it s useless to look for reasons - Man's

Psyche is dark mad - so reptilians will get up of the

Swamps of the countries again and again - and viciously

Kill - the right to deposess - of worth and life - of time

Communism was the newest excuse for Csarism to

Run amok on the planet - the power of drunkards

And idiots - a titanomachie contemporary - with pure

Heroes and insane Nabukudusurrulurs - what's more

To say - we were victims - the men and women and

Children Romania wishes forget - like every criminal

Impossible dream - forever - forever our blood on you.


Never trustworthy - ah, Latin curse - always

Choosing red wine instead of pure water

We - the traitors and dogs of the world

Pray - in our law and language - for good

In our damned hearts - the souls of the

Killers that we are - of God and mankind

We - not the Romans no - but the lost-

Breeds - the Dacians in Armani suits

Always going for silver - always speaking

Treachery - always drunk - always with

Our knife on the table - we pray - for a

Better self - for a day of trustworthfulness

Between us and the world - between us

And God - if there is any for us - a God

Pierced by tradition and our cruelty and

Ignorance on every mountain stone & cent.