POETRY

POETRY AWARDS
 

The call of childhood is still
The old
Under the self tunes
Nature-s gold
Luxurious crimson beauty
I was looking for
Sorrow
Autumn canvas
Good morning
Symmetry
White lilac love
 

The call of childhood is still

I saw a carefree child
with a velvet teddybear
in hand.
I remembered my beautiful dolls
colourful in lace.
It's funny that I can't hear the call
and don't notice
that there still exist
in my old haunts
glass eyes and stiff
smiles
immovable in transit
an unfulfilled wish
for play.
The days of my childhood are dead
and I am glad and don't cry
only my soul cries quietly
and tightens with pain
because we have grown up
too quickly.

14.09.1972
Also published by
Magazine Tina 1972

The old

To live life
for old age
and calm
in final bliss
behind all that is past
and to stay with this aim
towards which we have lived
to find beauty,
the existence of love.

Also published in the
Collection of poems Poesis,


Karlovac 1980

 

Under the self tunes

Between the skies and the ground,
above a misty surface pond,
with frost the life is bound;
it still does not respond.

Sleepy sweet buds evaporate
hidden future generation powers,
waiting for the right time to explode
in  magic, beautiful springtime flowers.

Old mill wheel motivated with the rapid cold
is collecting few grains between area
of the empty, old, rotten millstone
and miller’s memories to be told.

Time resounds like a chime,
neither any pointer will ever be back.
New season wants to show its own prime:
new and old smells, colors, sounds, with no lack.

First ladybirds soon will spread translucent wings,
butterflies gimped within their cocoons,
spiders will play on their own strings;
nature is under the self tunes.

Nature’s gold

I’d like to ponder about my solitary nature
looking at unique daffodils
and their magic structure.

Scene and sense of unity with nature’s gold,
recollection of loneliness in oneness
where beauty does unfold.

Tranquility in life, in my dream and death,
flowers’ beauty that always was able
to take away my breath.

Nothing’s more important, nothing’s there
with my satisfaction to be compared;
this moment was too rare.

Smell, colors and all of my reaction,
to see again next to the water
this God’s attraction.

Luxurious crimson beauty

Early morning;
dawn, luxurious crimson beauty,
A broad windy laughter warning,
sensitive and wistful response,
sunshine truth, a mystical sconce.
 

I was looking for

This morning I was looking for
your brown gaze
between the poplar-tree branches
just awoken
with the first birds.

A musician Neven Duzevic made a song from this poem,
English and Croatian language.
It will be presented on his next CD. Thank  you Neven.

Autumn canvas

Morning.
Few birds
on their way.

Sweet sound of your violin
diffused over leaves
mesmerized me.

Wood,
like a saucer full of secrets
coloured
with
God’s
paint-brush.
 

Good morning...

Good morning to the sun above my head,
good morning to frozen branch and snow,
to the same old wish and smiles that fled
and to all people still known and unknown.

Good morning to lazy eyes and sleepy faces,
confused without coffee and fading dreams,
with pillow buttons engraved like traces
and morning bones hard, inert like beams.

Good morning to hidden, closed leaves’ buds,
whispering, potential grass under my sight,
to moon and stars and to my fortune floods,
good morning to morning kissed by the night.

Good morning to the new old cost of living
to all empty milk bottles waiting so free,
my silly temper and heart always forgiving,
because each day of life is a great jubilee.

~oOo~

All rights reserved, © Sonja Smolec.
Copying without permission for non-personal use is forbidden.

You can order it from

Barnes&Noble
and many others Internet bookshops

All poems are written between 1969 and 2008

POETRY AWARDS - FOLLOW THE LINK