Tag Archives: writing


If right hand is unfit for the mouse
it can be the left.
The mouse is made ready for this adjustment.

Both right and left fingers play well
on the keyboard
and the mind over the screen.

Thoughts can still be converted into words
and words into a poem.
A plastered hand is no constrain.

But the real problem is somewhere else
and my poem is not finished.


Writing is my destiny

Says Google
21,700 results in 0.24 seconds
for “writing is my destiny”
and I am sure it will increase.

I will be one of 21,701.
You maybe already there
or appear next to me.

Asking again
“reading is my destiny”
only 0005 results in 0.50 seconds.

You need not be upset.
Readers are not writers
So Google fails to locate.

To My Readers

Read my poems
if you should, read
for no reason known
or merely understood.

Or, I’ll wait
for someone else
for months
years or decades.

Maybe for centuries
to come
to find me alive
in my words.

Life of a poet
is better wasted writing
than waiting
for someone else
who writes.


The pen which can sleep for a year

The pen decided to sleep
at least for a year
and except for once
when it woke up for a cry
the pen enjoyed
a painless time.

Let the gift of freedom
even not to write
anything at all
be fully enjoyed
(even) by the pen
unless it feels otherwise.



My poems are not poems
and I am not a poet
never I was and never will be.

Let me think
think and reassure
reassure and believe

this was just, just
one more example how I did
waste my time.

And if I can do this
nothing happens but
management of life is learned.


The taste of grapes

Since I’ve visited your face
a poem is due to be written
for last three days.

The terror of grapes sour
invaded my mind.I felt
I’m not allowed
to speak my truth
for truth has become ugly.

Permitted I would admit
ugly has become my mind.
Traces of happiness are flying
but I’m not trying to catch
or kill them any.


a scarecrow

Need not be afraid,
the owner of this garden
where poetry blooms
is just a scarecrow.


senryu~ scared

pen is scared
opening her mouth
poems are nudes


When did I drink a drop of poetic mead?

Hold your breathe
as you read my words
and your reading is
never completed
if you forget to travel with me
step by step, or maybe
one step ahead
and two steps behind
or even round and round
through the paths of
Prose and Poetic Edda
of Norse poetry.

Know the skalds.
Meet with me
the God of Poetry
of Norse mythology
Bragi,a poet with a harp
and meet his wife,Iðunn
goddess associated with apples
and the granter of
eternal youthfulness,

Such an amazing story
of forgotten time,told!
Know the story
what Bragi says
about the origin
of the poetic mead
from the blood of wisest Kvasir.

Kvasir, who was born
out of saliva of two groups of God
Æsir and Vanir,
and how Odin obtained this mead
which is another story, Bragi tells.

But before that you have to know
about Æsir-Vanir War.
You have to know about two dwarves
Fjalar and Galar who killed Kvasir
to create this mead of poetry
by mixing his blood with honey.

This story of poetic mead
has Gilling, the giant and his wife
and his son Suttungr
who stored the mead hidden
in a place called Hnitbjörg, a mountain
and Gunnlöd,his daughter
who guarded the mead all alone.
Bölverk who was Odin in disguise
met Suttunsgr’s brother Bagui
and cospires stealing poetic mead.
Later, the share of poetic mead stolen
was given by Odin to the gods
and to the men gifted in poetry.

But when did I drink
even a drop of poetic mead?
When did I ever chase it for?
Then why this pain for penning?


in a zoo

Caged in a zoo
my poems, my poems
all I have to show.