Latest Posts by ladygoalie - Page 5

Pozna pomlad

"It’s never too late to be what you might have been.” George Eliot

(moji lepi muzi, tropski ribi in boginji)

Čas tli, 

ko se pogovarjava 

o razvrstitvi pohištva

in kaj morava še postoriti, 

da bova lahko zadihali. 

***

'Rada te imam', rečem

enkrat zjutraj 

na tešče in

drugič zvečer, 

preden grem spat. 

***

Vmes s sosedom

pijeva pivo, 

Staropramen je v Hofru cenejši, 

6 let je že minilo od smrti njegove žene, 

v hiši ima Jezusa in zunaj gori sveča. 

*****

V gozdu je zrastel teloh, 

sadike paradižnikov kukajo iz lončkov. 

Skalne lastavice delajo gnezdo

nad vhodom moje hiše.

*************

Kazalci narave so ključ, 

ki odklepa korenine

in čeprav so jo že odpisali

vzcveti tudi kaka stara češnja

in znova dobi priložnost, 

da se podruži s čebelami 

in nahrani razigrano ptičjo družbo.

************************************

(15. februar, poganski praznik Luperku, zaščitniku ovac pred volkovi, je včasih veljal za novo leto)

John Wayne

(Tone Škerjanc vs. Tanja Matijašević)

Tone:

kaže, da danes ne bo nič

s sprehodom po mestu. tudi

večerni obisk je začel vse

bolj viseti v zraku. hladno postaja

in pečice še ne delajo. v zraku

je polno topolovih semen, ki

kot kakšne brezvoljne ptice

v depresiji, vse zvite

v klobčič, v mraku čemijo

naokrog za spuščenimi roletami

sveta. po dolgem času

sem včeraj spet videl

Johna Wayna, kako lepo ritmično

poskakuje na konju. ves

mlad je bil videti, zagledan sam

vase pod navidez zamaščenim

širokokrajnim klobukom.

ves samozadosten je jezdil

po preriji, plašil ptice

in Indijance. ampak

pustimo počivat te stare

filmske klasike. v zraku so

oblaki, ptice, topoli

in zelo občasno kakšen

avion.

frfotavo nevarni smo

in odsotnega duha.

---------

Tanja:

Obstala je pred kamionom. 

V daljavi je John Wayne

elegantno vihtel svoj obrabljeni laso.

Klobuk s širokimi krajci,

si je potisnil na čelo

in precej neprivlačno,

pljunil čez ramo.

Pred leti je šla z nekim moškim,

skozi prerijo in

vse te pomladi, 

z ožuljeno ritjo

jahala na konju.

Pred lastnim krajem,

je v jasnini neba,

in vonju topolov,

mogoče opazila tudi kak avion.

Ne vrag, le sosed bo mejak

(za Slobotovo rakijo, slanike Prekpalaj Deda in kuharico Rado, ki je poskrbela, da solata v šoli nikol ni bila 'sažvakana' )

****

Turška kava,

italijanska pica,

bosanski čevapi,

indijanski tobak,

naj sosed nam ne bo sovrag.

'V redu smo' si govorijo,

ko zaradi Erfana besnijo:

'Pokvaril bo Kranjsko šolo,

ki slovenske barve kaže,

ko 'naš orel' skoči rekord v Planici.'

Ničkaj bliže resnici,

ki se v ogledalu izrazi,

ker vrag s pogledom oplazi,

vsakega, ki se mimo sprehodi

in hlasta po kleni slovenski podobi.

Intimate detail

(moji čebeli, ki zamuja letala z mano)

BY HEID E. ERDRICH

Late summer, late afternoon, my work

interrupted by bees who claim my tea,

even my pen looks flower-good to them.

I warn a delivery man that my bees,

who all summer have been tame as cows,

now grow frantic, aggressive, difficult to shoo

from the house. I blame the second blooms

come out in hot colors, defiant vibrancy—

unexpected from cottage cosmos, nicotianna,

and bean vine. But those bees know, I’m told

by the interested delivery man, they have only

so many days to go. He sighs at sweetness untasted.

Still warm in the day, we inspect the bees.

This kind stranger knows them in intimate detail.

He can name the ones I think of as shopping ladies.

Their fur coats ruffed up, yellow packages tucked

beneath their wings, so weighted with their finds

they ascend in slow circles, sometimes drop, while

other bees whirl madly, dance the blossoms, ravish

broadly so the whole bed bends and bounces alive.

He asks if I have kids, I say not yet. He has five,

all boys. He calls the honeybees his girls although

he tells me they’re ungendered workers 

who never produce offspring. Some hour drops,

the bees shut off. In the long, cool slant of sun,

spent flowers fold into cups. He asks me if I’ve ever

seen a Solitary Bee where it sleeps. I say I’ve not.

The nearest bud’s a long-throated peach hollyhock.

He cradles it in his palm, holds it up so I spy

the intimacy of the sleeping bee. Little life safe in a petal,

little girl, your few furious buzzings as you stir

stay with me all winter, remind me of my work undone. #bees #berlin #poemoftheday #poetry #lovely #stayawake #creative #tumblrpoetry #poetplatform #poeticme

When great trees fall

When great trees fall,

rocks on distant hills shudder,

lions hunker down

in tall grasses,

and even elephants

lumber after safety.

When great trees fall

in forests,

small things recoil into silence,

their senses

eroded beyond fear.

When great souls die,

the air around us becomes

light, rare, sterile.

We breathe, briefly.

Our eyes, briefly,

see with

a hurtful clarity.

Our memory, suddenly sharpened,

examines,

gnaws on kind words

unsaid,

promised walks

never taken.

Great souls die and

our reality, bound to

them, takes leave of us.

Our souls,

dependent upon their

nurture,

now shrink, wizened.

Our minds, formed

and informed by their

radiance,

fall away.

We are not so much maddened

as reduced to the unutterable ignorance

of dark, cold

caves.

And when great souls die,

after a period peace blooms,

slowly and always

irregularly. Spaces fill

with a kind of

soothing electric vibration.

Our senses, restored, never

to be the same, whisper to us.

They existed. They existed.

We can be. Be and be

better. For they existed.

-Maya Angelou,

(for she truly was a magnificent tree)

True form.

#catbuddha #wayoflife

Alda Merini 🌌

from Aphorisms

TRANSLATED BY DOUGLAS BASFORD

Psychoanalysis

always looks for the egg

in a basket

that has been lost.

* * *

I sample sin as if it were

the beginning of well-being.

* * *

I don't like Paradise

as they probably don't have obsessions there.

* * *

If God absolves me

he always does so

for insufficient

evidence.

* * *

Everyone is a friend of his own pathology.

* * *

When I raise a toast to madness,

I toast myself asweel.

* * *

There are nights that don't

ever happen.

February by Margaret Atwood

Winter. Time to eat fat and watch hockey. In the pewter mornings, the cat, a black fur sausage with yellow Houdini eyes, jumps up on the bed and tries to get onto my head. It’s his way of telling whether or not I’m dead. If I’m not, he wants to be scratched; if I am He’ll think of something. He settles on my chest, breathing his breath of burped-up meat and musty sofas, purring like a washboard. Some other tomcat, not yet a capon, has been spraying our front door, declaring war. It’s all about sex and territory, which are what will finish us off in the long run. Some cat owners around here should snip a few testicles. If we wise hominids were sensible, we’d do that too, or eat our young, like sharks. But it’s love that does us in. Over and over again, He shoots, he scores! and famine crouches in the bedsheets, ambushing the pulsing eiderdown, and the windchill factor hits thirty below, and pollution pours out of our chimneys to keep us warm. February, month of despair, with a skewered heart in the centre. I think dire thoughts, and lust for French fries with a splash of vinegar. Cat, enough of your greedy whining and your small pink bumhole. Off my face! You’re the life principle, more or less, so get going on a little optimism around here. Get rid of death. Celebrate increase. Make it be spring.

Ne. (Za otroke gre)

(za Mavrice)

Ne premorem več potrpljenja do staršev, 

ki usmerjajo otroke

v svoje vizije, želje, potrebe

in bližje družbenim idealom.

 🤔

Ko želijo prehoditi vse poti pred njimi

jih suvajo, odrivajo, čustveno kastrirajo. 

💔

'Stran od strahu in žalosti!',

vpijejo,

da otroci več ne čutijo nog

in zemlje pod stopali,

in jim glave postajajo podobne plastični igrački,

ki so jo dobili v McDonalds happy meal paketu.

🍿

Vile so se že zdavnaj poskrile,

zabetonirane so pod nakupovalne centre, 

v paket enanadan so strpane češnje,

ki so zrasle na domačem vrtu,

na drevesu,

najlepšem plezalu otroštva,

ki so ga požagali

da bi iz njega naredili jahalnega konjička

zaradi katerega je ravnotežje otrok ves čas na preizkušnji. 

🧙🏼‍♀️🧚‍♂️

Težko ga je ohraniti,

zato imajo že tisoče bušk

in posušenih solz, 

saj ne smejo jokati,

lahko pa ližejo sladoled, 

Hello Kitty ali Smrkec, 

samo da so tiho,

medtem ko starši odsotno bulijo v mobilnike.

📲

Igrišča so strpana med kafiče,

kjer glasen 'Ne!'

odmeva od sten blokov.

☕

NE.

Ne premorem več potrpljenja

do ljudi,

ki so pozabili okus snega na svojih jezikih

in se ne spomnijo več kaj pomeni biti otrok.

❄️❄️❄️☃️

Working class love. ⚒️💓

Working class love

(for Mišon, the greatest artist I know)

When you are working class, 

you don't get to have

original thoughts:

you are suppose to oil the machine, 

that makes them. 

You get through the same pattern

day by day, 

knowing it has to be completed, 

from beginning until the end

and you need to get creative, 

to squeeze in some fun, 

for stuff and people you really love. 

Laser tag

Oprosti,

če te primerjam z bivšo,

ko ti govorim, da si boljša od nje,

ker nisi le to.

Gre za to,

da me božaš

po delih,

ki jih prej nisem niti opazila,

ali pa sem jih namerno potiskala

pod preprogo sramu

in se zdrznem,

ko jo vržeš skozi okno

in rečeš,

da je odveč

(in da sem lepa oseba) ,

"Tanja, a greva na laserje?".

Tnx for the light. #feminism

Watch out witches, so many 'doctors' wandering around. #lesbianwitches #lword #hell #spermforpowers #doctor #donator #witchcraft #sisterhood #babyofgoddess #halfgod #divinebeauty #witchesinlove

Boticelli: Primavera.

Flora in Favna

(volkcu)

Kot sinsemilla sem, 

želim si tvoj pelod, 

ker le tako nadaljuje se vrsta, 

božanske zveri, 

ki je v meni, 

prekrita z rdečim lisičjim kožuhom. 

Zagrizem te v stegna, 

ne znam pač drugače, 

kot oddajat svoj vonj, 

in iskat žival, 

ki si jo skrila, 

med boke 

ali pa v pikico, 

ki se guga v nasmehu,

tvojih skodranih ustnic, 

ko te božam po delih, 

ki jih ti ne opaziš, 

v svoji volčji podobi. 

Antarktika

Si hotla bit Betmen,

da bi dobila pingvina.

Napisala si Dedku Mrazu

da želiš 'met pingvina.

Zakaj bi hotla Betmena,

če ga hoče pingvin?

Ti si dobla pingvina,

ti piše ful rim.

Jest sm tvoj Pingvin,

se okol tebe vrtim,

kot da si moj dom,

moja Antakrtika.

Loki 🧙🏼‍♀️🐧

A beautiful women painted by the worlds greatest living artist

Auuuuuu!!!! #wolf #volkec #backtotherooths #rooths #lovely #furr #mmmmm #lego #letgo #zen #shewolf #fox #grizgrizgriz #happypenguin #excited #wolfmate #koreninice

Božič 2018

(za C.)

Včasih ti kaka kokoš pobegne,

praviš,

ko drgneš mojo kuhinjo,

po tem ko si posortirala

vso hrano v kozarčke.

Meni se zdiš čudovita,

čeprav ne smem reči,

da te obožujem,

ko me povabiš na večerjo

k svoji mami

in ganjeno obsedim,

tudi,

ko namestiš mojo dlan

med svoje roke,

da ne čutim več tesnobe,

ki je bivala v mojih prsih

vsako leto,

ko so ljudje krasili božična drevesca.

Morska deklica

Polizawa bom sled soli,

s tojh bokov,

k me spomne na čipke,

tiste starinske,

za ohcet.

Sprememba

Grizljala si presto.

Obdalajala te je Atonska svetloba,

ko si v njej našla maslo.

Zamišljala sem si

kako bi naju upodobili

na oltarski plošči:

mene s klobaso v naročju

tebe s presto v rokah.

Brez otrok,

in pojma,

da bova zamudili letalo.

Bees are cool... 🐝

Bee! I'm expecting you!

Was saying Yesterday

To Somebody you know

That you were due —

The Frogs got Home last Week —

Are settled, and at work —

Birds, mostly back —

The Clover warm and thick —

You'll get my Letter by

The seventeenth; Reply

Or better, be with me —

Yours, Fly.

... and worth missing flight for. (even if Fly-ing is in your nature. )

(E. Dickinson to Sussie, me to Corinne)

Things I do.

34 Sick

I can help myself?

live action lion king spoiler alert

Sorry I haven’t been posting guys, got a lot on my plate. Also! Reminder that while TPG will continue to update on Tumblr for the time being, people leaving can find me also on Twitter, Tapastic, Webtoons, Instagram and Facebook! Click the links!

She might have the most beautiful chin and collar bone, but she has nothing on your hips and cheekbones, fish. Nothing. (You know nothing Jon Snow. - I know some things.) #fish #buča #beauty #muse #whenihaveskill #timing #lokibutcupido #love

This is what I mean when I say I like winters. #winteriscoming #volcjazima #joinme #wolfingaround #be #zen #memoments #lovely #catbuddha #cats #warm #cosy

Here we are. #wolf #nature #naked #truth #love #wildnature #truenature #heritage #roots #eatme #loveme #wolf #volčjazima

Korenine

(za C.)

Pobožala si me,

po moji hrapavi strukturi:

ni te odvrnila.

Šla si dlje,

(preko gnusa)

potrpežljivo tipala,

da bi ugotovila,

če sem res tista,

ki seže tako globoko,

da trka na nebo tvojega sveta,

Perzefona.