Phantasrealismus

Quatrain 9 – fado

Posted in Poetry by phantasrealismus on December 17, 2009

your lips will steal my naked words
when skin to skin our bodies waste
a drop of blood carried by swords
like cross to death we had to taste

© Marius Surleac

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Quatrain 8 – with eyes wide closed

Posted in Poetry by phantasrealismus on October 28, 2009

no leaf today, no white limb broke
when smell of shelves like firewood
grew up a man within a stroke
from heart away to backbones’ hood

© Marius Surleac

Hume or mone

Posted in Poetry by phantasrealismus on October 15, 2009

Jack, help me
bring me a spade, an anchor
and ropes

a pollen geyser will erupt
from this flower

kick my ass
until I won’t remain outwardly

fingers try to touch her
outlining words

rejected at first
contact

now accepted

gallantly through lips
effused

© Marius Surleac

Butter-fly fairies of August

Posted in Poetry by phantasrealismus on August 29, 2009

Jack is the hobbit that doesn’t give a shit
that his dirty fangs are filtering the air
the levitation buried in ecstasy is important
when laughing, faced backwards,
sun dies for a fucking second though in that
moment of singularity
the opossum faces stop walking and concentrate
their no-shaped words on my skinny potbelly

on the constantly repaired pavements,
some red other blue,
slags offer him the already used flowers
kisses smelling like hormones
and jigsaws melt in his bitumen mind

for a freaking moment I felt
a déjà-vu

sun gave us a blowjob

© Marius Surleac

Jack the slaughter

Posted in Poetry by phantasrealismus on June 27, 2009

on a big red plain jack walks in a circle
searching his sight onto the ground
he carries an axe in his right hand,
with the shiny blade showing his sneer

in the left hand he wears a pair of golden wings

from the top of the feathers blood is pouring
in the glasses beneath his feet

suddenly, a curtain of laughs from the vanity box –
women and men, eating gently from the big trough,
built him a statue…

***

jack on the plain – pats with black leather gloves
the roots of a wing carefully planted in soil

***

wind took away those orange leaves
that hid jack’s bones

jack!…
the slaughter is home

© Marius Surleac

Projection

Posted in Poetry by phantasrealismus on June 25, 2009

the red half of jack’s eye
stares at me as to a murderer
for watching quietly like a voyeur
at the nothingness behind

***

jack … wake up you fucking old shit
your beard grew twice in a second
don’t ask me for apologies

look at you drunkard, I will bring you a mirror
to find yourself in the middle of this mess
that stinks like an expired fish tin

***

on the floor dust conquers “beyond good and evil”
a hardly distinguishable handwriting:

“and if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee”

© Marius Surleac

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Peractio

Posted in Poetry by phantasrealismus on June 11, 2009

rest your wounds in my shelter
tomorrow when I’ll have to die
you shall give me a kiss

Thy word’s powerfulness
stroke within my core
I’m trembling
my fingers – the proof

shall rest now
it’s the last night

***

Thee Father my soul
I offer

© Marius Surleac

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Obituary – signs’ perpetuation

Posted in Poetry by phantasrealismus on March 26, 2009

I watch from the window how your bloody tears glide
above the sky
I taste from your wine like a hungry one to let myself carried by remembrances
that I tailor like a mantle to protect me in the winter
you left the rooks nearby – old temper’s comrades
they take care of me during the nights when I fall in the claws
of the rabid wind
I keep a close watch on how you leave
on how you chip in thousands of nubilous pieces that won’t come back
but later after me
this year the white threads appear in time burnt envelopes –
omen for the news that you’ll bring
as grizzled as before
the streets cry and conceal from the dead colours
that spread over the world
the park where I catch sight of you in your entire splendour
has grew blind after day
the shadows haul my feet unto night

***

my eye screams the pain
the tears flow
blue

now there’s silence everywhere

© Marius Surleac

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How to Explain Paintings to a Dead Hare

Posted in Poetry by phantasrealismus on March 10, 2009

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There is one dead guy
keeping in his arms a dead hare;
both are sitting quietly in front of the audition
Beyond them there’s a black and white
gloomy environment with canvases
The rabbit sleeps inside of a dull daze
dreaming about a chap with a dead fellow –
this is the art for the bio-ethics,
strangely emerged
The skin on his face hits the ground
as the rain plummet hits the desert…
His shirt is stained by a black blood
from the introvert hare –
those who make photos are throwing
their eyes beneath the photo cameras
The guy has escaped from the gulag of rabbits
and freezes his sensations
in front of the blitzkrieg light;
pushing an animal in service of art
looks reckless and mean…
This audition is watched by
reckless and mean silhouettes
passing by

Both, the chap and the hare,
are lifeless in a motionless photo…

____________

The poem is inspired from the photo with the same title:  © Joseph Beuys photo, 26 November 1965

© Marius Surleac

Pestis vetus

Posted in Poetry by phantasrealismus on March 4, 2009

hell is beyond the grey blocks –

the desert where no human skeletons

resisted to erosion, but became part of


the screams represent the only voice

of those suffering souls

that moan when the sun rises


this morning is different

no more whispers before the attacks

nor guns spitting fiery ashes


just the awaiting under the frightening

feeling of justice in each unconquered mind

rules the tormented hordes


***


I make my way through the minuscule magnets –

those tiny mechanisms fly away


tomorrow I won’t be the same


© Marius Surleac


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