Hunting for the flirt
in endless nights
your real soul hides
Hunting for the flirt
light prompt of passion
bandaged secret hurt
no need for compassion
ocean of meaningless words
pulls you down to the abyss
only time can heal the shreds
made by destruction of evanescent bliss
I was not impeccable
neither were you
that’s what I miss, inexpressible
I wish you loved only me
I wish you did not screw
The light, by Martin Kuchta
Light on the wall
In my white room,
Seems a lot like all
That is a pleasure to me.
Light on the wall,
Is a hope and dope, actually,
It’s short and tall,
Hypnotising you continuously.
It shines like a white shadow
In a room which is darkened by white,
And time doesn’t play much of a role,
I realize that this illusion rules my life,
Clears it, spits on it, clears it again,
Crushes it and strokes it lovely,
Same as live itself. Such a shame.
Not knowing what or who is to blame
That my life is stuck
In the vicious circle of love without feelings
And the light on the wall
… is in my white room.
Coffee, by Martin Kuchta
The feeling in the morning
when you feel coffee in your blood,
it starts when water is boiling
and you water that mud.
Smell of freshly poured black gold,
the steam that comes from the cup,
the moment you want to hold,
and want everyone to shut up.
Morning coffee is not just a ritual,
it’s a reason why we awake,
you are a proud coffee drinker – habitual,
since waking up is not a piece of cake.
Desire, by Martin Kuchta
The flood of emotions,
is said to be deadly,
like waves on the oceans
change into tsunami.
Life is a sad desire,
desire for food, drink, love,
desire is a wild fire,
a strong hearth shove.
And the ocean…
the ocean is never still…
Butterfly, by Martin Kuchta
Sitting and watching,
where, I asked myself,
that even a butterfly on a blank wall,
did not know which course he should fly,
just sitting and watching,
so we were watching together and I thought how to catch him,
hold him in my hand without holding his life,
let him fly through all these years
of my meadow life,
let him land and …
He waved his wings, gracefully,
I wanted to tell him
that he can’t change the world with a flap of his wings
but he believed in his …
The world is beautiful but in whose lap do you need to find it?
Saxophone, by Ladislav Novotný
My dear old friend
Relaxing in your case
I still recall the moment
I brought you home
Do you remember?
The touch of mother-of-pearl
Your body shining all around
My fingers slightly trembling
Eager to make the first sound
Can you remember?
Stages and crowded ballrooms
Cities and country towns
Even those smoke-filled beer joints
Streets full of passers-by
Can’t you remember?
Waiting for drumstick signals
Which make us fly
Girls in their flowing gowns
Who wave us goodbye
You must remember!
Long journeys, coffee in the morning
Bittersweet taste in the mouth
Pairs of green bottles dancing
All that stuff we’re crazy about
You will remember!
Confession (a message on the fridge), by Ladislav Novotný
Everything’s been eaten
Hope not to be beaten
For my wicked deed
Listen up, take heed
Vanished like a dream
Even that sweet jelly
Jumped into my belly
Five tins of sardines
Sausages, baked beans
Died between my teeth
That’s still not complete
My old friend Jack Perkins
Ate a jar of gherkins
And to make things clear
We drank all the beer
My dear, please be quiet
I will change my diet
But now I’m to hop
To the nearest shop
“Oh please don’t stop my train again”, by Tatiana Savchenko
My train is fast and fast it goes
From motherland to other lands.
Do I regret? Yes. Maybe. No.
Oh please don’t stop my train again.
Who stopped your train? I can’t remember.
It was a day or maybe night
When someone else for us decided
That killing people is no crime.
What do I run from? Life in fear,
Life with no future, life in pain.
What will I gain? I am still not sure
But please don’t stop my train again.
Who will I meet there? People… judges
To judge if I am skilled enough,
To judge my culture and traditions,
To judge if I can wear a scarf.
What is my life? A train on a road.
A train on a road with no end.
Once it was stopped. My only prayer:
Oh please don’t stop my train again…
Summer Midnight Poem, by Marie Šimáková
Catching the light in the fire
and inspiration which runs
away and high and higher
I’ve been the bullets without guns
Where have you been, my muse, my fuel
Never leave me! Never do!
Could see much water and no pool
Nowhere to dive in summer blue
But you’re back! You’re there, right there!
Brought back the life of rhyming air
I missed you, muse
… I desperately did…!
EARLY MORNING, by Adam Zeisek
First beams of early morning sun
The fiery giant slowly rising and
Turning from reddish orange to yellow
Its beams lighting diamonds
Drops of dew glittering in the grass
The green canvas sprinkled with
Tiny yellow suns of dandelions
Ears filled with heavenly melody
All the birds singing their lungs out
Crisp morning air filling my lungs
A bit chilly yet so fresh
Breathing in, breathing out
The rhythm of life going in cycle
At peace with the Creator