Monday Poetry: Blue-Blue, Cold-Cold Sky

Look at the blue-blue, cold-cold sky,

It wouldn't pretend, wouldn't fake it, wouldn't lie,

If it wasn't so, clouds would rather be slow,

But there are no clouds at all.

If there was at least something, it would be a different day,

Different time limits, different universe, different dogs to pray,

There may not be cigarettes, thou might be absent too,

What can I possibly forget in such place without you?

There could be some fun, immortality, few new games to play,

As a tourist I'd try, but I'm not sure I'd stay,

Who made it up? What is this place where you can't even die?

I don't know, I think I'll go for 'Blue-Blue, Cold-Cold Sky'! 

To my dearest man-boy M.

P.S Just in case, there is no mistake with the dogs.

Spontaneous Tuesday Poetry: The FB Wall Sodomy

The information you spread is pretty boring my dear.

Are you trying to hurt me or simply to jeer?

For those who asleep or those who are warring

Every fucking day, every fucking morning.

The information you share was digested awhile,

It can't shock any more, cannot touch or make smile.

It just brings irritation or some kind of a bile

And it sounds like - No way! What a clever fucking style!

The treasures you've found, about art, past and youth,

About power of nature or night sky on the roof

Doesn't attract and tastes like a spoof

Because all of it, simply leftovers in truth.

To be dumb like a stone and as mole to be blind,

How does it feel? What it is like? 

To catch tiny reflections of another man's mind,

Does it make you feel proud of your glorious kind?

Saturday Poetry (late friday)

 

White Dwarf

 We are all here temporary

 And a cup of yours is for a matter of time

 Until you break it

 And all of this imperfect

 And the bones easily break

 Just like a cup

 Indestructible - perfect

Parasitical array

Nefarious reproduction

In the pursuit of lasting

False observation

 

Both past and future

(The second will also not prolong forever)

From order to disorder

Unconscionably, relentlessly

Stop - the red dot.

There must be something endless

Some kind of the abstract

Fantastic and elastic

For a happy ending, At least

Perhaps this little" something"

Somewhere inside the depths?

Inside of that what easily

What easily can break

Perhaps it’s sugar, milk, or honey pot

Or lemon, or that bloody sweetener

Although the fluid is too hot

Too hot to make it infinite

Your something’s immaterial

It’s independent, blatantly existing,

Beyond the words and stroking

The answer infantile and dreamily unacceptable, misplaced.

 

Why do you want to last so long?

Why do you give a shit what happens after all?

Just drink from the cup of yours,

With pleasure, surely slurping

Until it breaks apart, until it’s gone, while it is full, while it is yours.

 

 

(Azlanova indeed)