Conversations replay —
the jokes I meant to share,
the sorries I meant to say,
now only ads
looping in my mind.

Your reminders linger,
like Post-its
I never peeled away.

So now I stop:
pulling on the socks you gave,
watching the reels you shared,
returning to the places we went.

Each one a reminder
that we’re no longer friends.

Still, some Post-its stay —
their corners curling,
but I can’t throw them away.

i don't think about you anymore.
except when i become
my own lowest point.
you cross my mind then.
briefly,
grazing the edges
of my reality,
impersonating a friend.

but i don't need you anymore.
so, every time you knock,
trying to sell,
wearing your shiny labels
like a badge,
i'll shut the door in your face
and let the night take you back
to the abyss you crawled out from,
veiled in shame.

i stand in the window
watching blue waters,
aware that the weeks
have been few since
we swam there.

note the change
of morning air, the jacket
taken out and cleaned,
the snap on bare skin,

knowing that the woods
won't warm through day,
and that night, coming early,
will be brittle with star.

i think fire
is a simple answer.
clean the dead brush
stacked and waiting.
kindling for hard
wood fuel.
fire in the belly of our
wood stove
warming the rooms
that we live in.

it's easier
to plan for the winter
now that i've seen
seventy come and go.

i'm softer believing  
that i'm the warmest in
the dark hard hours before
dawn, laying here
listening to you breathe.

I could have gone to the cemetery,
or back to my high school lab,
find him lecturing from a podium,
bony finger raised,
demagogue of the dead.
I could break him down piece by piece,
cram him in a duffle,
a femur jutting the zipper.
Ignore the groan-
Skeletons are
by nature
never satisfied.

Instead I found myself
in the carnival lot,
The dog was long dead,
the sign kept guard.
Rusty rides slouched like tumbleweeds.
Cotton candy in memory-
blue tack crunching my teeth.
Lewd.

Skeletons fixed on poles,
spiked up through pelvis and spine.
Use ****.
Grip shoulders. twist. lift.
When one slid free,
he collapsed into my arms
all bone-light, lovely,
mine at last.

I just brought him home.
Sat at the kitchen table.
Named him Curly.
Zoom howled: WAG’s gone weird!
What’s his name? What’s his name?

His name is Curly,
I said, but I knew
his name was You.

We drink wine by the pool.
He never sips.
Sometimes I pour a second glass for the glint.
Sometimes he tells me Danny Elfman
wants to play his ribs like a xylophone.
Sometimes he sighs,
he hates Oingo Boingo.
I laugh. Obliging.
So do I.

When the wind kicks up
he smells of sugar and rust.
Sometimes he rattles the glassware.
Sometimes he won’t sit still.
Skeletons are
by nature
never satisfied.

Oh, my lord, I thank You.
You gave me a true faith
which have got only few
the price for it You paid.

Some may be sad; I have pleasure
where's god, there's no death.
Some may worry — I am sure
later He'll crown me with a wreath.

In harsh times of sin
he offered us a helping hand
and redeemed us through raisin'
Jesus Christ, our best friend.

And he will raise us too,
I can tell you for sure.
With Him there's nothing we can't do —
his love is impossible to measure.

Думайте о добром, думайте о вечном —
Породивши правду, выберешь судьбу!
Крутятся событья в круге бесконечном...
Душу — нараспашку, сердце я несу.

Улыбаюсь зорям, кланяюсь берёзам,
Неба голубого славлю красоту.
Красные платочки подарю рябинам!
Прославляю Бога, творю доброту.

Каждая минута улетит, как птица,
Журавлиной стаей годы унесут...
Журавли — в тумане, а в руках — синица,
Радости простые за собой зовут.

Милая девица, дай воды напиться...
Светлая улыбка — неба синева!
Годы с коромысла вёдрами повисли —
Не болят сомненья, не болит душа.

Если мысли чисты, если совесть чиста,
Если радость дарит неба глубину —
Жизнь бурлит фонтаном, полна она смысла!
Время золотое с милой я делю.

Думайте о добром, думайте о вечном.
Породивши правду, выберешь судьбу!
Жизнь — всего мгновенье в этом мире млечном...
С верой и надеждой продолжаю путь!

years are funny aren't they?
sometimes they gallop away quickly
dancing and singing into the sunset
other times they dawdle
slowly fading, their bag weighing them down
too heavy with memories to run

this year or year and a half I should say
has never gone slower
a long list of pain
a heavy bag
does slow me down
trapping me in the past
when all I wish for is to run away

a ballet of light
weaves golden threads
across the canvas of night.

the fabric of soul and sky
elusive dancers

wonder    alive at the edge of eternity

unspoken poetry breathed in my sigh
words elusive, alive within

beauty poetry
poetry        breathed in my sigh???

words elusive

a tear that never fell
shimmering in twilight

left me searching
a shadow running from the sun

It’s almost been a year—
a year since I last saw you smile,
since I talked with you,
since I heard your voice,

A year of crying,
a year of trying to understand,
a year of sinking into silence and grief—
a year since you breathed.

Plain Jane
was full of grace
face of mild will
displaced
Dear Jane
the child
abandoned
the enlightened me
to the perverse
Sweet Jane
the legend
the fiend
attracted to attraction
to be woefully
     willfully
     deceived
Complacent Jane
do thy bidding
to pure Jane
     of joy
     begetting.

Innocent naked vision,
Cradled in my shadow's fold;
Sheltered from this burning world,
A fragile spark, a sacred soul

You are mine, sweet thing
Mine for now, in dream and prayer
But soon enough the day will come
When reality rips you from my care

And what waits for you, out there?
Salted earth and rivers of fire?
Gentle lips with teeth beneath?
Cruelty dressed in kind attire?

I am complicit, yet I swear:
I never meant to curse you so
Child unborn, it's just not fair,
I cry every night; I hope you know

See, God's mistake was birthing Adam,
Cursing him with endless fear;
Clothing him in skin and sorrow:
But never ever, not for you, my dear

No. You are mine forever, always
And not for this cruel world to find;
I won't let its evil hurt you
You are safer in my mind

In another universe,
they sway hand in hand.
Dancing on moon dust,
In a silver dreamland.
Stars hum their blessing,
the Earth fades from view,
two souls in forever,
where love feels brand new.
No gravity binds them, no ending, no soon just endless soft laughter, dancing on the moon.

An angel

said

boo.

So i lied
and kissed him
on the mouth

He never came back.

Have been created as an ATM of men's desire.
Don't let hackers take advantage,
Treat with care and gently.
3/10/2025

Take heed though sycophant society evil in labor good at work brews more than all talk no voice

Detached from the old
once more, into the fold.
Embrace the Self—Human
Being—Where “I” is a Man.
Sporadic emotions burst
forth, with sensation and thirst.
In the cold light of day,
realise—This is all just play!

i am bad
for wishing you'd message me
because
you're probably
talking to her.
i've told you before
i'll go
but somehow i come back
i'll go now,
properly
unless

Every day
An overwhelming desire
Pushes me to
End it all right there
But every day
I’m dragged back
To the one reason I continue to live.

Αναχώρηση

Κι εγώ που γράφω αυτές τις γραμμές
είναι που έχω φύγει από καιρό
για το ανοίκειο.
Πώς το σημείωμα αυτό βρέθηκε τυχαία
και το έφερε ο άνεμος σε σας...
Το ξέρω:
αφήνουμε σημάδια
κι αυτά θα μας οδηγήσουν με ασφάλεια
στον λαβύρινθο της άλλης ζωής.

Μόνο που φοβάμαι
πως τα σημάδια δεν είναι για την άλλη ζωή
μα για τούτη εδώ —
την απαράμιλλη πίκρα.

Κι αναζητούμε, τάχα,
μια ευτυχία
φτιαγμένη στα μέτρα μας,
μα προσποιούμαστε
πως τη ζητάμε.

Ο Καθρέφτης

Ξέρω τι θα μείνει από μένα:
φαγωμένες φωτογραφίες
και μερικοί στίχοι —
όχι εκείνοι που θα ήθελα.

Συνηθίζω στην ιδέα
πως δεν υπάρχω,
πως μια άλλη ύπαρξη,
μια γυναίκα
που προσπαθώ να εξοικειωθώ μαζί της,
με βοηθά να τελειώσω
κάτι δικό μου, ημιτελές.

Είμαι τυχερή που ανακάλυψα αυτήν τη φίλη:
τον εαυτό μου κομματιασμένο —
σάμπως ευτυχισμένο,
ικανοποιημένο,
κουρασμένο,
μεταμορφωμένο,
παραλλαγμέ­νο,
συρρικνωμένο,
εκτονωμένο,
ψαλιδισμένο,
εναρμονισμένο —
με μόνο εφόδιο μια διάχυτη συγκίνηση
να διαπερνά τους ιστούς του σώματος.

Θα θυμάμαι όσα με μάγεψαν,
όσα με έσπρωξαν παραπέρα,
και πάνω απ’ όλα
τη μέθη της δημιουργίας,
το ξέχασμα του χρόνου,
την απόλυτη αφοσίωση.

Επιστροφή

Μην με ξυπνάτε.
Αντέχω τον πόνο —
εξασκούμαι χρόνια σε αυτό.
Δεν αντέχω την αυτοθυσία,
μα και αυτήν την παλεύω.

Μη μου πείτε όμως τη λέξη τέλος —
με δακρύζει αυτή η λέξη.
Δεν φοβάμαι, όχι,
μα να κρατώ μια επιστολή
σταλμένη από άνθρωπο…

Κάτι θέλω να σας πω,
μα δεν μου βγαίνει καθαρό.
Πάω προς τα πίσω λοιπόν,
εκεί απ’ όπου ξεκίνησα —
σε μια μήτρα
μέχρι να βρεθώ ξανά
στη ροή της ηδονής.

Τόση εξάρτηση δεν αντέχεται.

Το δικό μου ταξίδι θα άρχιζε αλλιώς:
χωρίς πρόσωπο,
χωρίς γραμμές σώματος —
μια ύλη από ανθρώπινα κατάλοιπα.

Όμως είμαι εδώ τώρα.
Χάνω σιγά σιγά
ό,τι μου χάρισε η φύση.
Παρακολουθώ την απώλεια
και τη συντροφεύω
με συρτά βήματα,
χορού πυρρίχιου.

Δεν γυρνώ προς την ιστορία.
Δεν γυρνώ προς την επιστήμη.
Δεν γυρνώ προς τους ήρωες.
Δεν γυρνώ προς την εξουσία.
Δεν γυρνώ σε παντοδυναμίες.

Εγώ —
ο κομματιασμένος, στενολύπητος εαυτός.

  Η Τελετή

Κομμάτια του κορμιού μου εξέχουν
από τον τύμβο της Αθηνάς.
Ίσως φταίει που ξέχασα
την Αρκτεία τελετή —
με τα σφιχτά τα βήματα γύρω από τη λεκάνη,
ή τον χορό του θανάτου
με μόνη κίνηση
την έκφραση του προσώπου
σε αναρώτηση.

Εμμέλεια με φώναζαν
από κοντά και μακριά,
κι εμμελώς, με ύβρη
ξεπληρώνω τις χαρές μου —
με αγνωσία,
με αμνησία.


20025  μαρια κασσιανή  σκουλαρίκου  πανούτσου
© All rights reserved  ΣΕ  ΕΞΕΛΙΞΗ

I would rather live in the shadow of us,
than live in the daylight without you.

We never learn
Until it's too late
Until the price
Has been paid

We fill the jails
And lock the doors
While the problem
....Is ignored

Bribes are paid
Pulling the strings
Insuring consequences
That they bring

And the objectives
Of political platforms
Belong to Lobbyist
And citizens are ignored

And the poor
Are the victims of justice
A commodity of sorts
In corporate decisions

You say I'm childish
For freely professing
All the words that are
Etched on my heart

As if I had any
Other choice but to
Be buried by them

One moment you're alive
The next you're not
You never know
When you're reaching the end of your line

It could be moments away
Closer every second
Death reaching her cracked hand
To cut the string
That defines your very existence

We never know when we will die

You are beautiful;
Your T-shirt says "religion":
Everything makes sense.

When I read
poems from the past,
I barely understand them.

I try, yes—
but they are minds
from another time.

It takes time
to connect with them.

Then I imagine myself:
will they, in the future,
read the poems I write to you
and understand
anything at all?

She no longer soars
Agony in every stroke
She beats broken wings

who doesn’t like eating out
it beats cooking
and there’s no washing up

I skip, across a streaming, upon random~laid
flat and comfortable flat flagstone stepping stones,
from poet to poet, color to color, poem to poem,
Auden to Whitman, Schuyler to
myself, a dingaling notion, an errant word,
the here to there, all randoms, yet,
oval chain linked all,
a question posed, an answer unknown,
a reference to an old Italian myth,
and there, and here, a body,
comes to rest,
& also,
comes to rest…

<>

led not by the nose, but the single fingered
tip that guides across a landscape patterned
painting, lost but never a loser, each implants,
each imbibes, and the H&H^ alternatively
rumbles, pounds, vibrato burns erratically,
and the difference between a life in love,
and a life in poetry,
is not a line dividing,
but a path combining,
and the only sign
upon the road,
is never a reddened "stop!"

always just a soft lavender, so tender, inquiring,
requiring, deep thoughts and reckless abandonment,
the only guide inspired when ecstatic adrift in
a season, a sea, any one of nature's designed
unlimited
schemata's of vista creations,
      is this, simply stated:


What?
<>

postscript

6:27 Sabbath Sep 27
nyc
after a sunrise glorious, where
the windows eastern facing
make an irresistible irrational
pattern of golden yellow reflecting,
mirrors, and
after reading much,
and so I too, reflect, vista, vista,
what do you see, I see…What?

after reading a poem by James Schuyler,
entitled (yes, we are)
"What"^^

I miss my friend
He came to the end
He was good at one
Liners and silly phrases,
Now in the ground he’s
Pushing up daises.
I miss my friend
He was full of life
But then look on the bright side
Im now with his wife.
Always a good ending
From a sad story
Life for me
is hunky dory.
Hey **.