There's A Sunset That's Made Only For The Glass Hour
some sundials that dropp silent secs of time
no shade in between standing too close to the past
it blooms like flowers never seen by eyes
it whispers like rains your hands have never touched
there's just a hint of the dusk in an unheard breaking
of window panes that stood closed for too long
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Tis a highly descriptive task
to write your lips as they bite the glass
rims standing even and the drink it's been
made of sweet and bitter
rivers lakes and oceans
spilling drops of blue
to dwell on your eyelashes
eyes closed quiver fear
to stand on the fingertips
and to read the lines
broken palms of hands
geometry divinity
grasped in human kind
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The Trees Know The Heart Of The Breeze
When gently touched in hugs of air
The sounds know the voice of the call
Addressed in a silent whisper of ease
Of relief deliverance from life in despair
Of irreplaceable love for each for all
This is why they sway in cradles of morns
This wind soothing cries of so many lips
Loved by the life that high above adorns
Open hands and light on the fingertips
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Unheard
you can hear but a millionth part
of what the edges are silent about
no matter how many ears you lend
to the sound of rains
or the wind that I could never spell
or the waves I was crashed in
or a thunder that once spoke to me
about the lightening beauty encoded
in the palm of a human hand
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Go out, it is cold.
If you don’t remember how I used to kiss you
Take a look at the willows by the road
Whispering behind your steps
Unheard awakening with the hands by you
The touches made hand printed into your oblivion
Take a look at the waves breaking
A name rock chiseled on the threshold of love
And at the foam that used to kiss your feet
Take a look at the door opening
That thirsty for your steps stood waiting for so long
And at the doormat that so often you stepped on
There are the traces of my warmth underneath
A welcome that I am saving from you
Go out, it is cold.
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Baby Blue You've Got You
All the guests are gone
Silence on the glass brims
Their laughter will fade out
Their footsteps will be swallowed
By clear night sky
You can close the door
There they are no more
You can say ‘That’s it.’
They won’t care a bit.
All whispers are taken
Silence on the glass brims
Growing into dark
When the lights turn off
Window panes stand broken
You can close them down
They will give no sound
You’ll say ‘It’s ok.’
Try sleep for the day.
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Our stars have trodden all the milk paths
our stars have trodden all the milk paths
spilled like dust for the souls to split
heaven and earth and the hell in stones cast
learn every single pebble in its aftermaths
murmuring through the galaxy that fails
at first whispers stricken by the lip crack - its holes
breathing stardust sucked in the mouth - its halls
mastering the silence and all its ways
still there we stood
still there we could
talk to the trees and survive uncut
by the grass swords wet with a dropp of dew
shivering an early blood
in a nightly touch handful of the blue
they rained they crashed they touched the soil
chained in the castles talking through the walls
settled in our bodies spirit sealed forgiven
the first day of silence the first evil word
just begging for some more time to be given
a silent prayer heavenward heard
to hold a star in the first of its falls
now we wait and wait and weigh the day
when the sky parchment silently unrolls
to gather above all the silent cries
to gather the dust and its silent calls
so that we can
that we can again
talk to the trees and still be uncut
by the grass swords wet in a dropp of dew
shivering an early blood
in a nightly touch handful of the blue
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Good night a family
Burn the shadows down the road
‘cause the the road is pretty much the same
As those shadows that would be burnt
Homeless whispers with tears falling down
I comfort hope this really sad sorrow sad eyes
Will close down in a dream
Butterflies hanging down the hair made of gold
Golden autumn grounds of streets that wind
My finger rings of crackling flames
Good night a family
Sleep thee well my dear …
‘What was really going on was a hide? In your dreams? Good night.’
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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If I could see through the rains
To find a thunder heart that beats
My veins away away apart
Oh yes it would be so easy to die
Too easy to die to fall
Melt in the pools of a wet trace touch
If I could see through the rains
I believe I'd find there both life and death
In a single dropp link that unchains
My eyes my hands my breath
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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When eyes torn closed
When eyes torn closed what eyes had seen
There was no whisper in the silent net
Sealed deep below in places of spleen
Eyes torn closed what hands had set
Some sights have died died of the threat
That sights too many words have spelled
Some sights have drowned in a single fret
That they for too long in this world have dwelled
They were made of tears wind wept storms and sighs
They were made of colours blue cut through the skies
They were made of trees uprooted as to sing
The remnants of the earth of not a single thing
That heaven ward could sorrow crowns upbring
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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What Made The Breathing So Soft And So Silent-Ono Što Je Uč İ nilo Disanje Tako Mekanim İ Tako Tihim
when the pillows choked a feather made dream
was the sound of the wells mute to the light of day
their water still dripping right through my hands
not a single dropp could contain the thought
ono što je uč inilo disanje tako mekanim i tako tihim
kad su jastuci ugušili paperjasti san
bješe zvuk bunara nijemih za svjetlost dana
njihova mi voda još teč e kroz šake
nijedna kap nije mogla da uhvati misao
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Look at the hands striking the clock
You time has emerged
A young dawn like grass of midnight
Blood born in veins through the poppy pain
Will bloom like the roses in your garden
Those roses for which you know
Are hearts transplanted of a moment choked
They open up to you in a smile
They leaf alike call your hands into the growth
And you by the window
You who hasn’t lost the hearts as yes
You cry into the night
With the time cracking from behind a built in panes
Towards you
Why
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Accord
Accord
Step splintered walk through the sun
Who drew those feet like two lonely leaves
That never heard for each other
By a rootless tree
Who blew the wind
Into the sight of those
Black ashen eyes spreading over
The water that rests in a Sunday morn
Who tied that hair
And with which hands
Which fingers dragged
The ties into naught.
Accord
Like an accord of the distant music
Spreading horizons into merging hues
Splitting earth sky border
Who forgot
This thin line thinning even more
Up to the point of not ever being recognized
But still somehow breaking the heart
Once in accord
Reconciled?
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Untold Snowing
Saying good bye
The autumn disappears slowly
Obeying to the rule of nature
Even though the accidental fall of snow
For some birds and trees
Couldn't realize the moment
During the night that changed the day
Painting white color on trees and fields
Silent birds hastily find the unusual
While the children plays in joy
Throughout the day standing still
With beauty of snow rains gently
Opened the window to have a look
A mistral blow pervaded back
Closed the eyes to come to the past
Looking the change that happens fast
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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So Close
Tears still lie
So close
So close
Even as the years go
Just underneath the surface
Silent goodbyes
So close
So close
To breaking down
You were here just a moment ago
Tiny little memories
So close
So close
The laughter and love
But still I want you here
Then thin glass is breaking
So close
So close
A silent, glittering tear
poem by Autumn Winds
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All Those Things Solely Defined
Concave convex prisms slips of mind
Easily forgotten shadowed slowly creeping
Sometimes in a tear sometimes in a smile
Prerequisite vague visage coloured
Sprinkling window panes
Of eyes both closed and open
Things navelled in the centre of the womb
Boiling in passion rendered into a word
The call themselves unwritten poems
Writing a lightening upon a palm
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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He comes
He comes in the morning
With the eyes that tell me I love them
With the eyes glimmering in a beautiful mind
And he's always silent and I just want to hug him
He comes he leaves
He comes at noon
When all work stops and everyone is at the table
When everyone is together and he only is alone
And he says nothing and I just want to kiss him
He comes he leaves
He comes at twilight
In his hands carrying the burdens of a gifted day
With the hands calming down each touch
He's always silent and I just want to say something
He comes he leaves
He comes at midnight
When in each dream everyone's the same cradle
When everyone's asleep and he's swaying them
And he says nothing and I just want him to stay
He comes he leaves
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The poetess, the moon...and the woods Pt1
A tear traced a path on her cheek in the moonlight
As her lips brushed the brow of her sleeping child
She stood still for a moment, with eyes closed tightly
Corners of lips pulled up… in a winsome smile
Strode heavily to the open window
stared out into the woods, soft lit by the moon
Then with a sigh pulled down the window
And quietly tiptoed out of the room
Glanced in at her husband, long asleep in their bed
And in her mind gave him a kiss on the top of his head
Then sat at her desk and finished her poem
Sat back and reviewed it… one last time
It was about her life… and about her home
And about the glow of the woods in the moonshine
She nodded her head… as if in agreement
With the words that she had carefully, composed
Her finger touched “enter” with determined intent
Then her whole body slumped in repose
From the corners of her eyes, she saw the moon rise
Oe’r the woods from out of her window
A teardropp fell softly to her desk as she stood
And walked through the door for the very last time
She looked up at the moon and then strode into the woods
She had posted her last poem…her very last rhyme
poem by David Whalen
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Coming close
to the sound made of light
almost soundless steps stair by stair
eavesdropping
the crackling of the staircase
glued to the buzzing in my own ears
is that you
coming close to the window silently breaking
to the opening of the eyelids into the night
with the taste of the word 'never' on the tip of my tongue
a shadow swallowed in each word
is that you
coming close always to the outbreak
sewed within a bird mad enough to fly
coming close always with the hope
painful enough to remember a dream
is that you
is that you
thus whispered the night
is that you
thus cried the streets
is that you
thus thundered the mountain
is that you
thus were silent the galaxies
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Antagonism vs epigonism
It's more interesting to watch two strong spirits in antagonism that a multitude of them in epigonism.
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Joy
Joy needs no reason at all, sorrow looks for one?
Radosti ne treba razlog, tuga ga traži?
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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