poems

Conversation

I do not talk
I am just saying words
Whilst keeping my eyes on the passage in front of us
So you can hear and stop.

Let me hold the pistol this time, I laugh,
You, confess how beautiful the town is in the dark,
Be still and silent and dance around me.

Although I am not born yet
I can listen to your breath underground
Where the soil, moving up and down with a big sigh,
Brings you up in the world.

I am closer and closer,
My neck, stretched, to have a proper look at you
Asleep on the grass.
‘We are two quiet songs’ I think,
One, vertical, blue,
The other, small white seed.

And just as my stare wakes you up I know I will
Remember this precise moment of my existence and
When, at last, I will hand over the keys,
My head will turn to catch the final glimpse of your flesh.

But just for now, this night opened two separate roads ahead.
The one for you, learning to walk,
Another for me, barely moving.

mcsrd

Drawing: Maria Butunoi

The Fragility of a Glass Statue in Front of an Angry Hammer

Behind the screen, I was putting my clothes back on
Thinking what the verdict would be in the white room
(I had been silently waiting my turn
Enjoying somehow the inevitable loss).
But then you dropped the pen,
And looked at the clean x-ray.

I took a chair and moved it back in the middle of the room.
As I sat down, my fingers just briefly touched your face.

I vaguely remember the conversation we had
But I know we said good bye
As I looked back, you waved,
Your left hand folding a notebook.

Since that day, I had been looking the word tenderness up
Just to see if you were right:
The fragility of a glass statue in front of an angry hammer.

Poverty as a matter of contrast

Poverty has no definition. Not in any sociological sense. Once you face the human bones and the malnourished, any aesthetic value disappears. And with the one in agony, your own agony takes shape. The sourly tears are not for others’ pain but for your own disillusion and failure. For all the answers you hoped to get, and did not. Nothing sublime, genuine about the human nature, once the spirit is dead.
Poverty is always a matter of contrast. As the hungry has no sense of fullness when there is no water, no food to share. The poor are never unhappy. I am unhappy in the poor’s place as they can make the difference between the world’s emptiness and my dry throat. No freedom exists in poverty and no real understanding of the truth.
Once the poor are full, they do have time for questions.

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Change and Permanence / Pamphlet 15

The first pamphlet of our Stroud Writers Group is done, printed and ready to be launched, with the financial assistance of Stroud Arts Festival. The featured authors are Rick Vick, Adam Horovitz, Sian Breeze, Judy Newman, Tim Wilson, Paul Kelly, Maria Butunoi, Alex Breeze, Eley Furrell, Jessica Wynne, Diana Humphrey and Daryl Carpenter.
Cover image Fortunes of War, Paul Thornycroft.

Pamphlet 15is a collection of fresh poetry, short stories and flash fiction, ready to come your way. If you would like a copy, email me at mariabutunoi@yahoo.co.uk.

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Poetry Cards

A set of hand-printed poetry cards, with poems from ‘Violent songs’ sequence.

Drawings: © Lorraine Robbins.

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Cards available from 8th December, in Greenwich, London, Stroud and Gloucester.

White No Sugar

Steps touch stone. Early morning
death wakes me up to get ready.
Gentle fingers. Perfect teeth.

The desert looks the same, I think,

and swallow a full cup of cement.