I asked my boss what day it was, -puzzled-
his reply hit me
as Euro trip would an American kid,

it’s: ’Pretend to be happy Thursday’.
So I walked around all day smiling.

Probably Nothing

Show me your Oracle your Isis
the source of Promethean vices
The guffawing gladiators of thoughts
made for befuddleing the ”have not’s”

In fidelity to logic, what use to Pluto
de facto would your soul be on Juno?
Allah and Abraham allowed little choice
all their children chime in the same voice.

Silly putty and midieval meandering,
let Africans find Christ through Krishna
a ’christmas gun sale’ and Ja is fighting
Jesus, while Cronos is loose and looting

Hades on a business trip bargaining for souls
with Niké for commercial acting roles
while the tribe of Judah banks on Buddha
for the next Olympian flame.

More manipulating old thoughts
for control of bigger juggernauts
only Amor’s bow is never aimed low if
you are mortal.

Happy End

My happy end is misery, met wine,
Blew right up in my shocked face,
As I told so many times:
’For your eyes are saying otherwise’

A little gangrene pillow I have to
Sleep with, some more rain now
I need it. In the end self helps ed
Was sharing ’your life’ thoughts
While suicide killed the author.
Voters lament, pale and spent.
And space crept in between.
Never wished the bastard
A shared drink with me.
These days are still those days,
Carpeting her well televisioned soul.
How to get over a broken heart in 10
Days? the blogger blindly wrote.
How to re-saddle a minced heart in
10 days? You don’t!

It’ll have to be ecclesiastical effervescence,
Or liquid interference, some glum combination

Of the two.

The only reply was from ’Suicide King’:
„Great piece of poetry!”

Discrimination

Real is not common but Common is real,
so when I see the real I wanna cop a feel
I try to carry the truth banner so evens cops can feel
that I work magic on minds like David Copperfield
I bar prejudice with my honest shield
those who discriminate get lost in a logic field
with forces of love I’ve even seen skinheads healed
that’s why, when I see the real I wanna cop a feel
here we still are playing hide and seek with our hearts
sometimes hoping not to feel
here we live in our alloted parcels
made up of diverse parts,
with thoughts balls and
chains, and being human know the strains of growing pains,
but our differences lie not
within our chromosomes, nor in the geographic density
of our bones, or in our colours or our hues,
but more in the rhythm of our blues
I say we must first discover the contents of our
minds, before we too can become
spiritually in tune, and erudite
and watch souls take to flight
not just cash collecting for better dream sellecting
Let’s celebrate our minds
tonight

Lets talk history not some mystery
u can see
how two fists can be
in perfect symmetry
but I say: fists don’t pose no risk to me
this seems like the gist to me,
of a criminal revolution
with discrimination as the logo
of the confusion

champions of Equality
With a revolutionary army
like Che Guevarra and Trotsky
A revolution of harmony
you say you see

where?

ideas are always right, execution
is always critisized margin of error
is minimized, by the news enterprise
but let’s let tonight initialize,
a greater opening of eyes
talk to me teach me your myths and your methods
shake loose your minds chains and shackles
and change your shacks into tabernacles
you see
i don’t care about voodoo
i’m only interested in what u do

Sometimes
I wish I wish I wish
I could fly like Adam Malysz
soar with the bass and treble of sound
as in my heart loves beats resound
you know I’ll never return to the ground
once I’ve tasted words soaked and drowned in the profound
with all my thoughts still sane and sound, till my
personal variations of self elevation
are drowned

A Nyugalmamhoz

Tépett szárnyakkal
repülnék
tova

én

a pillanat lakosa
elmémet beborítja
a viragos sötétség
mint erdőt a moha

eső
utcán lépked
a
levegővel
dacolva
beszélek

kössünk békét

vitassuk csöndes országunk
hangos baját
bájban, bárokban áztatva
vigyük édes felújított közhelyeinket álmunkba

spiccesen

(vessünk véget a hideg részegségnek
és mardjunk mindig melegen spiccesek)

Now that I’m done

Now that I’m done
talking to the wind
and
opening the doors of the sun
done taking
samples
of random objects
and elements
giving titles to
places in what I call my
mind

Now that I’m done referencing
words and
done
fencing
with my heart
saying
endings
become beginnings
and
things
like that

The sun needs
notme
to open its doors
and let it swallow
the chosen dimensions
and sorrow
taxes on import no more
important make glass
knock on
oaken surfaces
while breezy strides
in
all wistful and tell tale
wrinkles
are whispering

But now that I’m done
with all that
and
the other way around
I concentrate vision
energy
soul
within

and on those broken eyes