Pilferer of Thorns – Iulia Halatz

 

There comes a day

when gaiety

and ruling stars

are not enough…

Yet I plunge into

the satisfaction of

hologram happiness.

 

I am slave no more

to my self-deprecation

I am slave no more

to the pilgrimage of water

and the tiny gem of a moon

witness to

all my erroneous choices…

 

My skin is scaly

and cold

I do not fit

this shifting sands world

I believe in landslides…

 

A half mermaid

and half tree goddess

can lead

a turbulent sun-ridden dominion

to the end

of want and pain.

 

We are prisoners

to promiscuous light

and innocent dark

enlivened by fair-featured

butterflies caught in

a smock of diffuse glint…

They loved the light

and died.

 

The core of the day

envisions what

lies above

the acme of temerity:

undiscovered

undeciphered

unfathomable

festering

Glee…

I keep it under

layers of boiling

lava

and grope for it

with bare hands.

 

With burned fingers

and asbestos hearts

We receive response

from the insouciant night:

the indigo skies glimmered

with stars

and the trees and grasses

slaving

for the summer wind.

 

“Writing is an Iron Tale, must be tough and sincere to the core of human perception of pain as valor. I am the grumpy T-Rex who started writing out of pain, not because of a polished world. Writing out of love is painless and herbivore. As we sometimes taste blood, ours or others’. Nevertheless, some words are so expensive that we are better left with them unspoken or write them with the ink of a Ghost…” She is a teacher, small entrepreneur and cyclist.

If I cut a word in two… Iulia Halatz

I wouldn’t have lusted

for your limbs

softened with

iron syllables.

I wouldn’t have lusted

for your shiny dark eyes

like the sea

lit by two moons…

We could wake up

to what we were…

You

breathing the air of

another planet…

basking in an estranged sun…

When winds

herald the evening

the stirs are in the

dunes

and the communal

place of storms.

I

braved a lackless sea

for naught

My kisses tell you

of another small

and drifting planet

where water

falls from the sky

and blows away

the ink of dusky clouds.

The sands tug

at my feet

and quarrel like ghosts

dervishing

blindly in the whirlwinds….

There is a hole

in the world

where you stood

brazenly stealing

the burnishing silver

of two Moons.

Yet you continue

to hurtle constellations at me.

You fumbled for Orion

and you stumbled

as I inhabit

my spell-forged star

to enhance

blandly

the clear lights of greener planets.

Oh, how I miss my autumn roses!

They carry the pungent smell

of sea and decay

to your world of

liquid sands

and honey torpors.

My finitude and fragility

are yours

The heart you melted

drips down with

dews of late

that put the sands

forever in my soul.

I have a sieve

that sifts

grains from dusts.

They heat and burn

my skin

like thousand cerulean touches

that freed me

from the toils

of lingering moons.

I will love you

for a hundred years of Blue

and for the handsomest years

of Grey and sand Yellow

that will follow.

 


“Writing is an Iron Tale, must be tough and sincere to the core of human perception of pain as valor. I am the grumpy T-Rex who started writing out of pain, not because of a polished world. Writing out of love is painless and herbivore. As we sometimes taste blood, ours or others’. Nevertheless, some words are so expensive that we are better left with them unspoken or write them with the ink of a Ghost…” She is a teacher, small entrepreneur and cyclist.

Stargiver – Iulia Halatz

The stars that glisten

on October skies

are green

like water lamps.

 

I am plotting

a story for you…

Letters are meant

to be sent swirling

my brokenness cripples

my words.

I am silhouetted

letters can’t mix

I need another alphabet.

My alphabet of you

is made of syllables:

Sky

Why

Lie

Shy…

 

Do not despise

my syllabary

You have a tale

boiling in my chest…..

 

Once there was an olden boy

His heart grew on thistles

and faint grass

He followed the North Star

like moss

in the duplicated garden.

He told of journeys

in the heart of wind

and memorabilia

of small disasters…

 

Sparks of thysen

light my waterways

like glowworms

paths of fairies.

In dreams your glint

is stumped

bedeviled

by pink trees and cardboard flowers.

 

This is not your duplicated garden

it is my cardboard dominion.

There are rooms

For every room there is a wish

to grant.

The stars room gives

a Tomorrow

that you can touch.

The moon room gives

a Yesterday

no longer under

wraps and clothes

of Spring.

 

I am a crumpled picture

in a secret drawer

barred behind the sunset

creasing more

each dawn…

 

My picture captures

the beyond

of blossoms

and shy rains

of dew…

 

I am mine

continuously drawing light

on shady souls

smiling

forlorn

and glorious

In my stargiving…


“Writing is an Iron Tale, must be tough and sincere to the core of human perception of pain as valor. I am the grumpy T-Rex who started writing out of pain, not because of a polished world. Writing out of love is painless and herbivore. As we sometimes taste blood, ours or others’. Nevertheless, some words are so expensive that we are better left with them unspoken or write them with the ink of a Ghost…” She is a teacher, small entrepreneur and cyclist.

Melt- Iulia Halatz

I have shared

land and sky

with you.

I have tasted

blood and honey.

My witch-oil turned

to dragon-fire

at your touch…

 

Soft fingers laid asleep

until your turmoil

woke them

for so long….

 

It feels like getting drunk

on old reddish wine

long softened

during times of

War

Equanimity

and

Comets.

What shall I pour in your glass?

Molten flowers

Golden ink

Lucid light

Unicorn mirth…

 

I dig your veins

for gold.

I find pure

bitter-sweet

amber nuggets.

 

I fear any story

whose ink

my words

can’t drink…

Yet I drip in yours

ever since.

 

When your arms call

and your lips

read all my feral kisses

How can there be no heaven?


“Writing is an Iron Tale, must be tough and sincere to the core of human perception of pain as valor. I am the grumpy T-Rex who started writing out of pain, not because of a polished world. Writing out of love is painless and herbivore. As we sometimes taste blood, ours or others’. Nevertheless, some words are so expensive that we are better left with them unspoken or write them with the ink of a Ghost…” She is a teacher, small entrepreneur and cyclist.

Venusberg – Iulia Halatz

She walks slowly
like music
She feels gently
like water caressing
the stone it pierces
in the long haul of time…
The cleavage of a rose
tells all about her beauty.

Fine alabaster lies
In the heart of her skin.
Sweet fruits alive
in the deep velvet
of a green swirl
are dappled with her insurmountable scent.

She catches the tendrils of care
sent by your star
She buries them
in trenches
in her armature of love.
Your breath is
mortgaged to her smile…

Burnished sunsets
chant
the moment
She steps
in the shade of the evening:
“Can you dance on water with I?”

—————————————————————————–

“Writing is an Iron Tale, must be tough and sincere to the core of human perception of pain as valor. I am the grumpy T-Rex who started writing out of pain, not because of a polished world. Writing out of love is painless and herbivore. As we sometimes taste blood, ours or others’. Nevertheless, some words are so expensive that we are better left with them unspoken or write them with the ink of a Ghost…” She is a teacher, small entrepreneur and cyclist.