My net-demise :)

I’ll throw away my high heels
And buy oilskins instead.
I’ll sail away and you will feel
As if I were Net-dead.

But underneath my oilskins
My spirit will arise.
I’ll merge with sails and blue fins
And smile at Net-demise.

As I’m setting sail mid of May I’d like to announce my Net demise for the following couple of months.

I have no idea whether I’ll find any time for writing or whether I’ll have the Internet access.

If I do find some time and my tablet doesn’t get too dizzy (it’s not a tough one :)) I’ll let you know.

Conversations in my head

With this poem I’d like to close the last month chapter and try to move on.

Was unimpressed by zombies
Not threatened by vampires
Do not believe in Zen beings
And think: the soul expires.

But recently things happened
That everyone can dread:
The ghosts of dear parents
Conversing in my head.

I’ll be back in two weeks, hopefully: sunny and funny.

Unkindness of ravens

I was feeding two ravens with my sandwiches in the forest when my cellphone rang to give me a message about the events that haunted me last month. Hence the verse. But it’s not about that.

Unkindness of ravens disturbs me no more
I have understood the essential law:
You smile, they don’t touch you, you laugh, they ignore.
You look at the feathers and try to adore.

I tried to take a picture of them but it’s of a cellphone quality:

It snows (translation)

As I’m still not in the mood for funny poems I’m posting my old rather free translation of a poem by Ivan Franko (August 27 [O.S. August 15] 1856 – May 28 [O.S. May 15] 1916)

It snows so quietly, so slowly,
So endlessly, without an aim.
I wish I guessed the reason, only
The aim is hidden in this game.

Cool snowflakes fall in different patterns.
Are they the messengers of fate?
I didn’t understand that matters
And when I do, it’ll be too late.

Snow falls on our souls and sorrows
It chills and buries shallow spirits.
We give no more, bit only borrow –
We borrow joy, but we don’t feel it.

The snow falls quiet and so slow –
Young, avid spirit disappears.
And what remains: a tiny glow
Of former heat and former fears.

The poem was put to music as a recital, but it’s still for grabs if anybody decides to compose a ballad.

Silver trees :)

Today the trees were silver
With branches glazed with rime.
My head is grey with wisdom
But no-one looks at my…
With crystallized ideas
White-silver covered my head.
Though some of wrong emotions
Have been already shed.

Snowshoeing between silver trees :)

The Blue Sun

The Sun was blue today
It gloomily glared
And frowned and peered through the fog. –
So said a poet.
But in fact the Sun was stared at,
The poet’s goggles blue,
She skied and thought about her blog.


Now, my funny poem, where are you? Not so easy to fulfill my own promises with that November rain outside. But let’s try :)

I do belong to Digerati
Though not particularly young:
I still have friends, I still host parties
And have a naughty, cheeky tongue.

I hope my friend Rosa

will sing “The Autumn is Painting” from the previous post

– that is when somebody writes the music:)

Coffee maker :)

Coffee maker, coffee maker,
Let us see what you can make me.
Can you make a cappuccino?
With white froth and maraschino?
Can you make it real fast?
See, I’m giving you a glass.
You’re silent, coffee maker,
You afraid that I might break you?
– No, but I’ve just made a list.
So go shopping, dear Ms.

Some of you might remember this one:

Computer abstinence

I think I’ll exercise
some self-prescribed computer abstinence.
You’ll sure recognize
My absence as a subsequence.

I’ll be back in a couple of weeks when I turn around :

Katarina sang my lyrics with some mistakes but otherwise very nicely.