FIVE SEASONS

Homage to Women in Europe

 

My babe, how hungry you grab for my breast!

Like Megalosaurus, seizing mammals without sound;

Like Neanderthals, spearing huge beasts to the ground;

I´ll pick fresh flowers, to lay on your chest,

Sing, dance and birth, my earth magic expressed.

 

My child, how happy you jump, skip and run!

Like young sparrows, darting along ripe, golden fields;

Like bold Romans, battling with bright, shiny shields;

My sweat flows sweetly, his seed´s now begun,

My womb swelling, the Republic´s next son.

 

Young man, how ambitious your mind abounds!

Like soaring eagles, searching the lush, earthly floor;

Like Christian Crusades, sending Knights to Persian shores;

My thoughts now hidden, all witches been drowned,

My Sex unforgiven, by Christ´s new Crown.

 

My man, how rich you are with that new gun!

Like tons of mosquitoes, plaguing men to their graves;

Like London´s smart bankers, handling African slaves;

My cheeks grown white, foreign to the harsh sun,

I sit quite polite, my hair in a bun.

 

Old man, how greedy your hands grope my dress!

Like blood-thirsty vultures, pecking to win their prize;

Like wars and stock markets, aiming to boost their size;

I´ll iron the beatings, sweep the distress,

Wash up the anger, thinking, my protest.

 

© 2006 Derek Szteliga

 

 

 

 

 

Along the Forgotten Borders

 

 

Along the forgotten borders,

along Berlin´s lonely streets,

I stop to rest in dark corners,

and to sketch her decay´d heaps.

Just record her? How typical;

And beautify her? So dull;

I lunge, the naked Animal,

into Poetry´s great Hull.

 

Like a light-exposed negative,

the watercolor flows in;

Both wildly and cantankerous,

upon paper without sin.

I brush layers upon layers,

now the progress nudges on;

I push through Order and Chaos,

to savor the painted Song.

 

 

© 2006 Derek Szteliga

 

 

 

Speaking to Our Silence

 

 

I am

blinded, by my Sight:

Born and dead in this Ritual,

to choose between Heaven, or my Light.

 

I am

banished, to the Night:

Pushed, crawling with old Bruises,

to catch fleeting glimpses of Our Height.

 

I am

bound, to Reunite:

Comin´back to pay Hommage,

to honor Evil. God. And love´s might.

 

You are

bored, with this Plight:

Grown tired to make the Fitness,

demanding more pleasure in Respite.

 

We are

chosen, now the Fight:

Struck dumb to think of ev´ry

Thing, and then to suffer, to be Right.

 

 

 

 

 

© 2006 Derek Szteliga