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Moja Jutra

Moja jutra su jutra
Jutra moga sutra
Tu svićem tu zanoćim
Ponoćno dišem
Tešku tminu raznosim
Zvijezdama je brišem

Moja jutra su jutra
Jutra moga sutra
Tu svjetlošću puta
Hranim sive gladi
Stojim nesvrgnuta
Gdje riječ mi se gradi

Moja su jutra
Jutra moga sutra
Bjelinomispisuju
Noći tihe magle
Plavim ispisuju
Što ruke su takle

Teret jedne strasti
U osvitu pjene
Jutrom ću potkrasti
Sopstvene zjene
Da svako bijelo prividom gine
Zlatom se optoči i suncem sine
U znak moga jutra
U jutro moga sutra

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Finding Oneself......... [EXTREMELY LONG; Growing Up; Relationships; Humor

Part One

When Bri was 13 and in grade 8,
he noticed classmates beginning to date.
At school (other) boys got their way with the girls with a kiss.
But Bri didn't have the urge; he thought 'what's this? '
He decided he should give it a try,
but each time he tried, the girl would cry.
Not only would she cry; she would run away and hide.
Bri felt between himself and the other boys a great divide.

Back home after school he'd seclude himself in his room and cry.
Through his mind was repeated the question 'why? ' 'Why DO they cry? Why? '

Bri was a straight A+ student with no flubs.
He played football but (except for 'Cooking') he joined not clubs.

After a few months Bri gave up (on girls) . He had NO close friends to set him right;
his parents should have known the problem, but they weren't bright.

In high school he took AP courses, and took 3 courses at a nearby college.
He ignored girls and sports and concentrated on gaining knowledge.

He got a full scholarship to Harvard, but his advisor looked at him funny.
By age 26 he had his PhD in psychology and started making money.
But he still asked 'why? '
It still bothered him and at times he'd cry.

Then waking up one day from a dream, Bri suddenly asked himself 'were they shy?
And if so, why with ME and not the other boys? Why DID they cry? '
The answer could be that his brain and looks were superior.
Were those girls only uncomfortable with boys that were inferior (to him) ?
If that really was the answer, he could now save face,
and could pursue women with HIS high level of brains, looks, and grace.
(But WAS it the answer? He was still not SURE why they did cry.)
For now he would work hard, avoid girls, and try to keep his eyes dry.
In two more years would be a second high school reunion. Thoughts of attending gave Bri a fright. (He'd skipped the first,5 year, reunion.)
But by going this time he might find out if his answer to his 'why? ' was right.

PART TWO

For two more years he waited anxiously for invitation he was dreading.
At times he'd awaken at night from a 'reunion dream', profusely sweating.
Finally it arrived in mail; it would be in June, before it got TOO warm.
He kept his calendar free for the whole month, doubting, at work, he could perform.
He got out the yearbooks his Mom had bought, and he studied each girl's name.
Would he have the nerve to ask them 'why? ' ….OR would he be too scared and lame?

He lived on sedatives for a week. He picked his favorite tie, and a light grey business suit.
Would he find out if the girls had just been shy, or would they give him 'the boot'?

[...] Read more

poem by Bri Edwards
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The night of mine (Nafaka)

like a pale cracking shadow of the Moon, my night
like a thought of an infinity below a starlit arch, my night
like a murmur of distant lonely silences, my night
like a breathing dying out under the pillow of pain, my night
like an evening star trown into a well, my night
like an abyss of heigths being silenced by the bottom, my night
like shivering of hours at the edge of the knife, my night
like windy wings in unspreadness, my night
like a whisper cut off from the quivering lips, my night
like fingers weaving the webs of the reveiled, my night
like a dawn of darkness, my night

kao blijedilo iskricave sjenke Mjeseca
noc moja
kao misao beskraja pod zvjezdanim svodom
noc moja
kao vreva dalekih usamljenih tisina
noc moja
ko minulo disanje pod jastukom od bola
noc moja
kao vecernja zvijezda spustena u bunare
noc moja
kao sunovrat u visine sto ih cuti dno
noc moja
kao treperenje sati na ostrici noza
noc moja
kao klepet leprsavih krila u nesklopljenosti
noc moja
kao sapat otkinut sa uzdrhtalih usana
noc moja
kao prsti koji pletu mreze razotkrivenosti
noc moja
kao svitanje tmine
noc moja

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Dreamt of in a thought (Nafaka)

we are all made of words
fragile sewing
we are all made of stars
shiny sewing
we are all made of stone
solid endlessly
we are all made
of a grass leave
seen by the matter
we are all made of breath
endlessly breathing
we are all made of waiting
dreamt of in a thought
dreamt of in a thought
dreamt of in a thought

od rijeci smo svi
sasiveni krhko
od zvijezda smo svi
sjajem obrubjeni
od kamena smo svi
cvrstinom u nedogled
od travke smo svi
sagledani u tvar
od daha smo svi
disanjem u nedogled
od cekanja smo svi
mislju odsanjani
mislju odsanjani
mislju odsanjani

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The dawn sways the birds/Zora njise ptice

The birds of flight, my love
The dawn bathes the faces
The faces of love, my love
The dawn sways the seas
The seas of infinity, my love
The dwan moves the bodies
The bodies of breathing, my love

The dawn sways the mornings
The mornings of wake, my love
This is why you never sleep
The restless of dreams, my love
Sealed within my kiss
Signed within my heart

Zora njiše ptice
Ptice od leta, ljubavi moja
Zora mije lica
Lica od ljubavi, ljubavi moja
Zora njiše mora
Mora od beskraja, ljubavi moja
Zora kreć e tijela
Tijela od disanja, ljubavi moja

Zora njiše jutra
Jutra od buđ enja, ljubavi moja
Ti zato ne spiš
Nemirom od sna, ljubavi moja
Poljupcem mojim zapeč ać en
I u srcu zapisan

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Biko

September '77
Port elizabeth - sonnenschein
In sechs-eins-neun endlich ruhe
Nur ein stuhl ging aus dem leim
Oh biko, biko, because biko
Oh biko, biko, because biko
Yihla moja, yihla moja
- er ist tot
Du loescht gerade noch eine kerze
Doch nicht ein grosses feuer
Springt die flamme einaml ueber
Treibt der wind sie immer hoeher
Oh biko, biko, because biko
Oh biko, biko, because biko
Yihla moja, yihla moja
- er ist tot
Die lange nacht ist viel zu heiss
Ich traeum nur noch in rot
Die welt da draussen ist schwarz-weiss
Nur eine farbe tot
Oh biko, biko, because biko
Oh biko, biko, because biko
Yihla moja, yihla moja
- er ist tot
Und alle, alle seh'n euch jetzt
Seh'n euch jetzt seh'n euch jetzt
Sie sind da

song performed by Peter Gabriel
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Misty Hidden Of Mine/Moje Magleno Skriveno

In the daybreak song
Will take the forests into an embrace

My never hoped for
Heartbeat cut off the heart
Will spill the walls into a midnight sound

Mine within the chains treasure in my hands
Will toll cursed from the towers
Sadly the song of awakening
Into the deafness

Mine into nothing flooded water
A current beginning into an endless
Will cut the seams and sew
A new array for the soul's nakedness

Mine on my palm colourful lonely butterfly
Moving the wings like eaves in the tempest
Maddened by the possibility of flight

My never enough overcome dawn
In an empty bad
Where I am enfolded up to the point of no recognition

Mine sharpened pencils
Regularly waiting for the words
Will be broken halved in them

Mine from fatigue cracked mirror
That each morning I feed with a smile
Twinkling yearning for the truth

Mine long time ago lost waiting
On the benches below the trees
Despair chained
Prever quoted ages of circles
On my skins
Digging the death memory

Mine after forty days black nails uncut
digging the memory of death

Mine encircled in the dewdrops of crying eyelashes
Which silently I close
With the soul limited sight

Mine sealed lips
Quivering of love
To you I will surrender God

[...] Read more

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Od Cežnje Nabrekla Dahom Ukleta

Sopstvenu sjenku gazim
Sašivenom haljom od hiljade ljeta
Zmijom ugrižena zemljama gazim

I tu sam sasvim gdje još me ima
Gdje rijeci mi još blagoslov mole
S krajickom proljeca u snu smrtnih zima
Zraci me misli griju i još vole

U vatri gašena na lomaci slutnji
Da rijecju još je obrecena nada
U stisku neba u dnu svih slutnji
Gdje bezdano liže plamen mog pada

Od cežnje nabrekla dahom ukletim
Svom miru za jedan plamen sam bliže
Tu sam da dišem još malo da letim
Jer rijec me vatre na oltar diže

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Na dan kada naucimo kako ulice dobijaju imena

I zaronimo u geometriju oštrih slijepih uglova
Što žive svoje živote izmedu dva sna
Milimetri snage mogu se istopiti
U mapama i stazama
Muzejima na raskršcu
U semaforima što bespomocno trepcu
Kad želje bilborduju staze do pakla
U slike obmane grube zabave za posjetioce što kažu
Mi smo sad fini pristojni ljudi
Više ne gledamo kako mecka igra
Probadana žaracem
Jer smo saznali bol njenog makabra
Ali ipak smo stavili rukavice
Otišli do njenog Zoo vrta
Tražeci da nam da intervju
Iako nikad ni rijec nije rekla

Na dan kada naucimo kako ulice dobijaju imena
Ispisuje se jedan aforizam bola
Što hrani se na kraju redova
I stiska adresu remek djelo
On pulsira 'mjesta molim mjesta da pokucam
Bez imena mrtva ste ulica
Došao sam da zaplacem kraj zvona na vratima
Što zvoni spram putujeceg prodavca snova
Što došao je samo da pozdravi majku
Jer danas ne prodaje ništa
Cak ni Boga za mjesecni prihod
Nijedan recept za srecniji život
Danas je došao da pita spavace sobe na spratu
O malom djecaku što mokrio je u krevet
I skrivao svoje košmare pod dušek
I matrici dizajniranoj što živi u kutiji za igracke
Medu jednonogim olovnim vojnicima
Kraj lutke djevojcice sa šibicama
Obešcašcene pod Božicnom jelkom'

Na dan kada naucimo kako ulice dobijaju imena
Vozovi stanu zanijemili na šinama
Slijepi se putnici iskrcavaju peroni pucaju
Trgovi se crvene od paradajz revolucija
Što flertuju sa metaforama krvi
Bare podojene majkom hrabrošcu
Isparavaju u sušama južnih zraka
I vracaju se sa rodama što ne radaju djecu

Na dan kada naucimo kako ulice dobijaju imena
Zidovi stružu svoju farbu suzno tražeci
Boju necijih ociju u svakoj zidanost da udave
I apokalipticno kripticni grafiti

[...] Read more

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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For this is the way life always begins/Jer tako uvijek pocinje zivot

The night I took away your blues
To spill it behind you as a sign of good luck
You said- your iris- your iris quivering
It stole a dropp right from a well
To kiss place it on my lower lip
The tip of you fingers
To lightly touch the upper one
To draw them both within a smile
You said- there are teeth behind
Whose bite times ago foretold a mark on your neck
And there's a tongue fear snake
Stumbling upon drunken deceptions
Taking off its sagacity skins incurably
I asked- is love a sickness
Insufficiently recorded in medical documents of slow death
And is your name the fountain of health
The word inexhaustible that the sky said is allowed to drink
And should be drunk three times a day
And on the seventh take some rest from water
You said-yes love is a sickness still
Naively overcome under alchemists' gowns
But our names are the food of health
Bread basic the sky said is to be eaten
The meals of the morn noon and eve each day
And on the seventh the crumbs of unrest
Oversleep in each morsel
For this is how each life begins

One noći kad sam ti uzela plavetnilo
Da ga ko vodu za sreću za tobom prospem
Reče-tvoja zjena-tvoja zjena treperava
Kap iz bunara ukrala je
Na donu usnu poljpcem da je stavi
Gornju lagano ovori
Vrhom prstiju obje u osmjeh iscrta
Reče- iza su mi zubi
Kojima ujed jednom davno
Obreče trag na tvome vratu
I jezik što strahom zmijom zapliće obmane pijane
I košuljice mudrosti skida neizlječivo
Pitah- da li je ljubav bolest uvijek nedovoljno zapisana
U medicinskim spisima laganog umiranja
I ime tvoje jeli zdijenac zdavlja
Nepresušna riječ što nebo reče da pitka je
Da piti je treba tri puta na dan
A sedmog se od vode odmoriti
Reče- da ljubav je bolest
Još uvijek naivno preboljevana
Pod ogrtačima alhemičara
A imena naša hrana su zdravlja

[...] Read more

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Where I have ceased/Tamo gdje sam stala

Where I have ceased the morning will move on
I'll recognise the down by the drops of rain
I want to watch the sun as if it were the first time
I want to watch the sky as if it were the last

Where I have ceased the waters will move away
The thought of a dropp will be burnt in endlessness
There will remain a misty memery dewed
Of drinking to the bottom

Where I ceased the life will move on
The roads will be remembered from the fountain prime
I'll write the paths in hundeds of ways
At the bottom of my own eyes

Tamo gdje sam stala nastavice jutro
Po kišnim kapima prepoznacu svitanje
Hocu da gledam sunce kao da je prvi put
Hocu da gledam nebo kao da je posljednji

Tamo gdje sam stala ugasice se voda
Spržice se misao kapi u beskraju
Ostace maglovito zorom orošeno sjecanje
Na ispijanje do dna

Tamo gdje sam stala nastavice život
Sa iskonskog vrela pamtice se putevi
Na sto nacina ispisacu staze
Na dnu sopstvenih ociju

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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When you turn the other page of a cheek/Kad okreces drugu stranicu obraza

When you turn the other page of a cheek
A slap of morn written abyss down your neck
A glove that you lift right from the floor
To throw it into the face of the tree swallowers
That keep growing faster than the boughs
Up to the sky lid in the cauldron of each word
Does it ever come to your mind
What it is there that bursts out in a dream

Do you then think of streets those winding snakes
With their tongue dipped into the poison paths
The buses that turn questionless to a wheel
Insanity spinning both Alladin and the lamp
A sign post in the dark

Do you then think of the houses windows and doors
And heart beats facing the gate of the entrance
As if it was the first time to come into a human
Not knowing whether the host was inside

Do you then think those thoughts from the threshold of pain
Making way to earth mother dust and death
To rest all your thoughts at the end of the road
When the earth bursts out and leaves you with no breath

Kad okreceš drugu stranicu obraza
šamar jutra ispisan brazdama do vrata
rukavicu koju podižeš sa poda
i bacaš u lice gutacima drveca
što rastu brže od granja
do poklopca neba u kotlu svake rijeci
pomisliš li nekad šta puca u snu

misliš li tad na ulice krivudave zmije
s jezikom umocenim u otrov puta
autobuse pretocene u tocak bez pitanja
što bezumno okrece Aladina i lampu
putokaz u mraku

misliš li tad na kuce prozore i vrata
na lupanje srca pred kapijom na ulaz
kao da prvi put ulaziš u covjeka
a ne znaš da li je domacin unutra

misliš li misli sa praga bola
što put krce zemlji majci od praha

[...] Read more

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Vatra I Sutra

u šaci strepnje istine gore
suza vremena u njoj tiho gine
s kapija uskih razum i stid zbore
u naručju tihom da se lako vine

vatra i sutra riječ i vrijeme
i umrlog konja tihi sap
mraz i jutra plameno sjeme
i promrzlog dodira kap

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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A Letter To Doctor Ingelo, then With My Lord Whitlock, Ambassador From The Protector To The Queen Of Sweden

Quid facis Arctoi charissime transfuga coeli,
Ingele, proh sero cognite, rapte cito?
Num satis Hybernum defendis pellibus Astrum,
Qui modo tam mollis nec bene firmus eras?
Quae Gentes Hominum, quae sit Natura Locorum,
Sint Homines, potius dic ibi sintre Loca?
Num gravis horrisono Polus obruit omnia lapsu,
Jungitur & praeceps Mundas utraque nive?
An melius canis horrescit Campus Aristis,
Amuius Agricolis & redit Orbe labor?
Incolit, ut fertur, saevam Gens mitior Oram,
Pace vigil, Bello strenua, justa Foro.
Quin ibi sunt Urbes, atque alta Palatia Regum,
Musarumque domus, & sua Templa Deo.
Nam regit Imperio populum Christina ferocem,
Et dare jura potest regia Virgo viris.
Utque trahit rigidum Magnes Aquilone Metallum,
Gandet eam Soboles ferrea sponte sequii.
Dic quantum liceat fallaci credere Famae,
Invida num taceat plura, sonet ve loquax.
At, si vera fides, Mundi melioris ab ortu,
Saecula Christinae nulla tulere parem.
Ipsa licet redeat (nostri decus orbis) Eliza,
Qualis nostra tamen quantaque Eliza fuit.
Vidimus Effigiem, mistasque Coloribus Umbras:
Sic quoque Sceptripotens, sic quoque visa Dea.
Augustam decorant (raro concordia) frontem
Majestas & Amor, Forma Pudorque simul.
Ingens Virgineo spirat Gustavus in ore:
Agnoscas animos, fulmineumque Patrem.
Nulla suo nituit tam lucida Stella sub Axe;
Non Ea quae meruit Crimine Nympha Polum.
Ah quoties pavidum demisit conscia Lumen,
Utque suae timuit Parrhasis Ora Deae!
Et, simulet falsa ni Pictor imagine Vultus,
Delia tam similis nec fuit ipsa sibi.
Ni quod inornati Triviae sint forte Capilli,
Sollicita sed buic distribuantur Acu.
Scilicet ut nemo est illa reverentior aequi;
Haud ipsas igitur fert sine Lege Comas.
Gloria sylvarum pariter communis utrique
Est, & perpetuae Virginitatis Honos.
Sic quoque Nympharum supereminet Agmina collo,
Fertque Choros Cynthi per Juga, per Nives.
Haud aliter pariles Ciliorum contrahit Arcus
Acribus ast Oculis tela subesse putes.
Luminibus dubites an straverit illa Sagittis
Quae foret exuviis ardua colla Feram.
Alcides humeros coopertus pelle Nemaea
Haud ita labentis sustulit Orbis Onus.

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Marvell
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Gonna Build A Mountain

1: Im gonna build a mountain, from a little hill.
Im gonna build a mountain, least I hope I will.
Im gonna build a mountain, Im gonna build it high.
I dont know how Im gonna do it, only know Im gonna try.
2: Im gonna build a daydream, from a little hope.
Im gonna push the daydream, up that mountain slope.
Im gonna build a daydream, woah, Im gonna see it through.
Gonna build a mountain and a daydream,
Gonna make em both come true.
3: Im gonna build a heaven, as a will someday,
And the lord sends ga-bri-el to take me away.
Woah, I wanna fine young son, to take my place.
Ill leave my son in my heaven on earth with the good lords grace.
4: Im gonna build a mountain, from a little hill.
Im gonna build a mountain, least I hope I will.
Im gonna build a mountain, yeah, gonna see it through.
Gonna build a mountain and a daydream,
Gonna make em both come true.
5: Im gonna build a daydream, from a little hope.
Im gonna push the daydream, up that mountain slope.
Im gonna build a daydream, woah, Im gonna see it through,
Gonna build a mountain and a daydream,
Gonna make em both come true.
6: I wanna build a heaven, as a will someday,
And the lord sends ga-bri-el to take me away.
I wanna fine young son, to take my place.
Ill leave my son in my heaven on earth, with the good lords grace.
I wanna fine young son, yeah, to take my place.
Ill leave my son in my heaven on earth, with the good lords grace.
Yea-eah.

song performed by Monkees
Added by Lucian Velea
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Silly; Old Age; Marriage: Who Put The Vacuum Cleaner Away?

I biked to Radio Road yesterday while my wife vacuumed house.
When I got back she was at computer, .....quiet as a mouse.
I did a little chore or two outside before starting late day routine.
I read to my wife as she fixed the evening meal. I'm sure the house was clean.

Sometimes when she vacuums, I find the vacuum left in my way.
Then, if she's finished, I help..... by putting it in its place. Hey!
Yesterday I found no vacuum left about. My wife is getting better.
The progress of my feet (through our house) no vacuum cord did fetter.

So it was a minor shock to me what my wife said this morning.
[ It wasn't a world-shaking statement, but I had no real warning.]
She said 'thank you for putting vacuum cleaner away.' Something like that at least.
It was nothing I expected to hear from her....at our late morning feast.

[Our conversation then went something like this; I will paraphrase.]

He: 'no I didn't put it away sweetheart. Are you in a daze? '
She: 'no I'm not in a daze my dear. I'd not store it that way.'
He: 'wife, I'm not kidding you. If I'd done it I would say.'
She: 'I don't put it under the seat that way. I'd have left it neater.'
He: 'I'll challenge you to a senility test.' [I think that I could beat her.]
She: 'I'm really worried about you Bri. Who will care for you? '
Don't you remember putting it away? Please Bri, tell me true.
He: I'm telling you the truth dear wife. Why would I lie to you? '
Ok, sometimes I'm forgetful, but at times you are too.'
She: I did not put it away. I would not leave the lace on the seat askew.'
He: 'I love you dear wife. Maybe I did do it....., but I think you did....I do.'

poem by Bri Edwards
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That's not it-To nije to

Excuse me sir
You look like someone I've met before
And I am sure it is like that
I'm sure everyone has met everyone before
In what's called preceding lives
Do you believe in that sir
I mean those karmas
Moving along cyclic zodiacs
Made of illiterate stars
Sounds quite familiar to me
A life through trials and errors
I think sir
When I outstretch the palm of my hand
(Do not worry you don't have to give me any
Of your monthly revenue
I am not that kind of a beggar)
When I outstretch the palm of my hand
And look at those divinely entangled lines
So cryptic
That are supposed to determine my fate
I think there's got to be some mistake there
That they are not there to determine me
But to tell me that this palm belongs to me only
That I am just like you sir
A creature born once a creature divine
Unrepeatable and free
For most when I outstretch the palm of my hand
To see my own geometry of the universe
Or to turn it into a fist
To strike the face of Fortune
Then I think sir
For sure we've all met before
In the faces of Adam and Eve
Hitting their foreheads against the ground
Once they vaguely hinted the Heaven is perhaps
Nothing but a wholeness of a soul in unity with its Creator
And Hell the lack of the same thing
Yes I am sure we've met before
In the face of Christ crucified on the cross
That redeemed us through his blood
For a dream in which an Idiot
Will not have to find a compartment
In which he would, with a roomful of thoughts
In his head just like me right now,
He would not have to repeat
That's not it that's not it until he cannot
Thinking perhaps about those marbles of lifeful life
Whose glimmer fades away once they break out on the surface
To dry in the fire of their own eyes
Thinking that's not it that's not it

[...] Read more

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Acapulco Goldie

She was dancin' when I seen her, in a Mexican cantina
In a neighborhood they call 'La Zona Roja'.
She had a child's smile, but she told me in a while
It would take a lot of gold to get to know her.

Acapulco Goldie, donde did you go.
You said you'd always hold me
But you run away with me Acapulco Gold.

I knew there's no one cuter, then she said she was a puta.
I said, 'What does puta mean?' And she told me...oh no...
Then we went to meet a dealer, we smoke and drink tequila.
Then the lights went out and I guess that's when she rolled me.

Just like Acapulco Goldie, por que did you go.
You said you'd always hold me.
But you vamos away with me Acapulco Gold.
Ya ya, you run away with me Acapulco Gold.

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Anonymous despair/Anonimni ocaj

'why are you looking for a charisma within yourself, stuffed bird
the possiblity of enlightment divides you endlessly
from craving a mission
the smell of earth concentrated circles of stupidity and ignorance
like rings
the further I don not understand
it looks to me like a dead sentinel' (Johny Shtulich)

bare in each star
that sharpens the knives of fear down the silver
to pour down into emptiness the keys without an opening
always somehow into wrong keyholes

an anonymous despair staggers behind the fragrance of deer
freedom is a horrible thing when you've got nowhere to go with it- isn't it

you'd rather exchange it for a cigarette smoke
bitter rakia from the spring of each drink
or her hands that now embrace the air

now what- when there's no charisma that could feed you
when all the idols burned lie in the ashes of lies
when you know that the birds stuffed with the news of the end of the winter
cannot fly because of the eye frozen at the bottom of a trophy

now where -as you elbow your way and push through the sentences of a story
in which you did not want to be a narrator anyways
not even a side character-through the word needle ears
searching for a new hero that will not be yourself

'zašto tražiš harizmu u sebi punjena ptico
mogucnost prosvjecenosti razdvaja te do u beskraj
od žudnje za misijom
miris zemlje koncentricni krugovi gluposti i neznanja
kao prtenje
ono dalje ne razumijem
cini mi se da je mrtva straža' (Džoni Štulic)

ogoljen u svakom zvijezdi
što oštri noževe straha niz srebro
da sipa u prazno kljuceve bez otvaranja
uvijek nekako u pogrešne brave

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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And that the thought was just another day/I da je misao bila još samo jedan dan

And that the thought was just another day
No one has said as yet
An unsaid one that cracks with the boughs
Still being dawned for a day to be
I knew for
The outbreak slippery among the fingers
Pours down the beads of sunbeams through the clouds
No one has said as yet
The sides of the world folded on a sheet of paper
An origami of unspreadedness
Unwritten hours sealed in emptiness
On the first geometry class where we will learn
We're perhaps a square with headless points
Marked ABCD
In an alphabet of beheaded words
No one has said as yet no one has dared
The distant counting of Euclid's vows
Xenon's accounts and Pythagoras' secrets
Hung around the neck of a bird
That due to gold of knowledge cannot fly
No one has shaped as yet
A mathematical axiom at the top part of an operational table
Edged by formulae algorhithms
By which Reason the mother of order
Protectively hides the chaos of the possible
We'll be silent about the tents
Under which we've hidden security particles
Precious dust of knowledge in the urn light we'll store
We'll be silent about the warm blankets of thoughts
Covering dreams in an early morning
The marbles of small deceptions the spherical many colouring
We could be stolen them all
And to stand like nothing facing the loveless world
Only Love can do
Who we've never been enough

I da je misao bila još samo jedan dan
Niko rekao nije
Nedorečen što s granjem puca
A za riječ osvanut znala sam jer
Svanuće klizavo medj prstima
Brojanice sunčevih zraka kroz oblake sipa
Niko nije rekao
Na listu papira presavijene stranice svijta
Origami neotklopljenosti
Neispisivanjem sati zapečaćen u prazno
Na prvom času geometrije gdje saznaćemo
Da možda smo samo naučen kvadrat obezglavljenih tjemena

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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It's all right/U redu je

Empty glass sandy girl
5 milligrams of brain on the rims
Drunk up to the last of the drops
Vacuum cleaned tubed
You played poet corner freaks
And the paling Moon perceived
Living ground fair fair
Fairground ride a ride
To hurt is not to feel

All by yourself
It's all right
The man behind the back
Is the memory of an in front
He taps your shoulder
He touches you closely
Too closely to run run run

With no bones to chew
Through the rains
The dogs are barking the title
Of this civil morality play
En garde
Touchee untouched
Get it out of your mind
Get rid of the songs
Get rid of the beat
The distuned abused muzak
In the heart of a shopping mall
Pervasively sick humming along

It's all right
The tradename behind your back
Is just a memory of an in front
And in particular whoever ever
Knew what's before the eyes
Paid ears to frantic calls
In no place to crawl like a human baby
Tasting the dust floor with a tiny finger
Dipped into an unknown full of wonder and trust
Lost when old grown
To the knowledge of good and evil
Through thick and thin
Goodness and sin

It's all right-move on
Just don't think and drive
Might be killed by too many traffic lights
Predominantly rainbow stuck

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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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