Blurring shadows on the wiper,
thoughts soaked in raindrops.
Grey experiences
in the spotlight.
At the red light
soaked umbrellas
in puddles.
Neon-bright sale left
our lives.
The ambulance siren
throbbing in your ear.
You would brake, but already
you’re going elsewhere.
In your thoughts
the silence froze.
Your hand grasps
the steering wheel
of the car,
motion picture
became the present.
In my mind
I'm painting you.
You're lying naked.
Rays of the waking sun
are brushing across your skin
and playing a foolish game
on your sanity hairs,
sticking straight up
now as ever,
like blades of grass
on a bloom-kissed meadow.
Angels of light and shadow are
lining your lusty essence,
sending shivers up the spine
of my drawing self,
while my brush is smoothing
your masculinity and your present
on to the paper
in my mind.
The green depth
Walking dusty roads,
in the rubbed folds
of my shoes
I’m looking for someone
who invited me
on the trip.
I admire silently
the green depths
of nature, lurking deep
in the shadows
of the bamboo forest,
and in a smooth sequence
I keep concurring with
the amazing wonders
of my journey
on the narrow paving
of a Shinto sanctum.
Deep silence blankets
the darkness,
and I embrace only
the present on the path
of my thoughts,
in the village of the last samurai,
overwhelmed
by an ancient sensation,
I might have hidden
in myself already
for ages.
Bad news
Sunshine bestrode the
wind, then romped
together with a cat.
In the mask of a rambling shaft
it went on, making its way
through the army of bathers.
Taking off from
the left corner of lens of a glass,
it jumped on the Cyrillic letters
of articles in the newspaper
of a Russian tourist,
and took rest there
as a colour scale, until
caught by the paper folded
with a rapid movement
to the gloomy bottom of a beach-bag
it was confined.
A memory
If we could all
be together now
on this winter day,
wrapped in the
scent of brioche,
with our tears unshed,
the soft touch
of tiny hands
would kiss
the rough texture
of rigid bones.
We would be filled with
the hot, throbbing pulse
of some defiant emotion
that glistens softly
in our dim eyes
on our final hour.
Distress and hope
that something may remain,
a piece of our soul,
and like a tear drop
fall behind the veil of memories.
At the touch of a cold hand
you return to the present,
and a soft prayer sails above,
as the feathers and the scent of brioche
vanish into the mist.
Susanna Peremartoni - currently lives in Budapest, Hungary. She wrote her first poems at the age of 16. At the age of 23 she lived and worked in Germany as a ceramic assistant. Exhibited in Helsinki, Vienna. Her first volume was published in 2016, followed by four more volumes of poetry. In 2018, she was the producer of a jazz poetry CD release. The English version is also known in Vancuover, Canada and Reykjavik, Iceland. She has been published in Hungarian literary journals, Canadian and American online magazines. From September 2020 she will be listed in the USA as a next-generation beat poet. Her own CD was released in February 2021 in memory of Australian poetess Judith Wright. Poems with a didgeridoo accompaniment. She also had photo exhibitions in 2020/2021/2022 in Budapest.
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