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Seccond prize winner at
ARTELLA'S POETRY GARDENS OF FAME
for May/June, 2007
Silver bells
I am sending you
a box made of rainbow's light
shaped after my heart
and inside you will find dried freesia flowers,
a barefoot gypsy girl
with silver bells around her ankles,
a piece of silk cloth, of flowery design
(to dress her, or maybe not),
a pebble from the crystal pond
and one blade of grass from its shore.
A tambourine for merry music,
and my voice to sing to you.
My palms to feed you honey and wine,
fresh baked bread and pieces of cheese,
one apple and two oranges.
Red lipstick to write a poem for you on the cloud,
my kiss scenting of mint,
butterflies to build you a waterfall of love,
a garden full of pansies and lilacs,
violets and wild strawberries,
necklaces of dew
and a dove with her soft amorous coo.
And a lock of my hair,
tied with our dreams.
The
Creative Writer
Leaky gray stone bite
I saw it on the shore
washed
and kissed by the silvery
illuminated clouds,
fed with salt,
silent
and always hungry for much more...
Like an open mouth, it was
a leak, on its surface,
and water dripped out -
Cold night, soup of life.
My feet hurt with its bite,
blood, absorbed and gone
deep, cold pierced surface,
with water elusive whisper
and wind’s high, laughing scream.
Then I add just one
lonesome, unfaithful tear.
Nothing was there in the night,
people had gone
but I wasn't alone.
Ocean was mine
I had my own scare,
I had my own leaky gray stone.
With calm dawn and lights
it becomes
a book of time.
Finalist 2006-2007
9th.
International
Poetry Competition
4.
place at Preditors&Editors pool - 2007
-
category Poem
5.
place at Preditors&Editors pool - 2007 -
category Poet
Evaporating buds tint soft spring’s light
while lilac waits, and then explodes in style
effusing colors hidden in the white.
I, in the garden, happy is my smile,
inhaling nature’s scents and its sensation
touching my true love’s petals so fragile.
A breeze’s lullaby and soft vibration
is dandling flowers which on branches huddle
and gently kisses wreaths into creation.
Then sudden memories... I need to cuddle...
beneath the lilac’s bush with shadows meeting,
I melt in your embrace, my flesh a puddle,
My pain profound, my lungs a life defeating,
my heart is lonesome, longing, softly beating.
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isti naslov.
Više podataka možete naći
ovdje.
Finalist
2007-2008
10th International Poetry Competition
©dmDesign 2004
- 2005 - 2006 - 2007
A
diary page
Window.
Wooden wings
keeping the grey sky
framed within square patches of wet glass.
Evening.
The silence following the rain
brings me the smell of salt
and whispering sea voices
with a first star's light.
Eyes.
At the edge of view
I saw you sitting,
then your feet moving on the red carpet.
With you
I rolled under the blanket.
Finalist 2008
11th.
International
Poetry Competition
Wild plum
When the mind drifts
to trace
the wild plum blossom’s scent
and thoughts ramble
between wild
never severed branches
I come
with the sweet springtime air
to set on your palm
white petals
and promised kisses
with the sweetness
of ripe indigo fruit.
First prize winner
ARTELLA'S POETRY GARDENS OF FAME
for July/August, 2008
Golden grape-vine
Gold grapes trapped within your mouth,
sweet smells of childhood summer
on your fingers.
The narrow place between market benches.
Scents in the air...
With eyes closed I can see
spots of sweat on your t-shirt,
in the basket
onions between spices
tied with white strings,
five tomatoes, garlic, dill,
parsley and thyme...
carrots, only two.
In the pot, chicken soup.
Two of us
connected like Lady and the Tramp
with
the
same
soft
noodle
before our lips
touch.
Just a dream...
Depression hard, dense and hot
like dark summer clouds
entered the windows
in the middle of the afternoon.
Between my fingers mashed potatoes,
my revenge on innocent vegetables.
I miss you.
Feelings like the sacred oil on water,
never fading never ending always growing,
like grape-clusters on the golden grape-vine
at the entrance to my sanctuary.
Finalist
2008 - 2009
The
12.th International Poetry Competition
Poppies are red
in the night too
The child in me still lives
the magic of it,
my green, barefoot dancing walk
red spirals and circles,
ballerina style
alongside the poppy fields.
Hush...
don't touch
the soft trembling petals,
let them bud,
breathe,
blush
their springtime red
inside the ripening autumn,
let them drink the dusk,
the sun
into their velvet hearts
and dance with me
because
poppies are red in the night too.
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