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I’m running
behind me only the dust remains
and the pathways wherethrough the spiders wandered their prey
since I was born
I’m looking only forward
never backwards
I sweep away with a spittle
in shadow
a gene mutation
until you manage to write about me
solely one word
you’ll have already been dead
sometimes I have a déjà-vu
but I keep on going
I’m a stray cur
on a mountain of bones
you are I
© Marius Surleac
Still life
through dice the six-shooter gleams at the burnt end
of the bullet
at the other end, like in a comet tale,
blood spheres
within angles the meat pieces quench
on the alleys: first step from kids’ run,
screams in a thousandth second,
leaves stopped at a few centimetres from ground
birds with the spread wings, a shadow
getting closer to the
knees
the lady in white put aside
her strings
© Marius Surleac
No Word in Silence … just Light?
Howl of despair in the oasis of thoughts
had crushed my ideas tho’ wound that’s still, hurts
My will, thy, inspire the soul that was found
and asking for mercies from sky to the ground
The roses whose thorns invaded the flesh
and blood that enclosed vibrations in ash,
got me far beyond the stones and the trees,
far beyond the seas and glass from my knees
I step very quickly to hide from my tracks,
to find my self new – nor memory lacks,
nor wind shall not blow to my ear his wings,
nor moon shall not wear theatre’s ol’ strings
Just me in the silence to dig for myself,
to find an ol’ stone carved speechless with Help…
For the Word and the Light will open the Eye!
© Marius Surleac
Experimentalism
I had to taste the ink to find out
if those words were true or not
I had to chew the paper
to understand what the ground would feel like
My bones were broken by the burden
like a sphere with skyscrapers of stone,
with emotions like boiling water
and hearts’ words like quakes
When I lifted my knees from the peat bog
of judgments,
I knew I was lost in the chaos of night
from the past
My neuronal creek was filled with beasts
with three heads, each one with snakes upon
My desires were their wings with photon feathers
tinted in red and green and blue
Every inch of my skin was stabbed
with light spears
Within my white bloody wounds,
electrons flee
From one point the growth of the Universe
taught me all these
© Marius Surleac
Do you?
do you think I’ll keep my mouth shut when you let me no possibilities to express my nasty personality?
when I look beyond my shoulder I see only darkness and bleeding wounds on the dried hearts, within the mummified body
do you think I’ll manage to climb the mountain that took birth in your eyes just to break down a record for high moral values?
where the tears are just turbulent rivers that cross the entire shape of your soul and are lost on the theatre’s scene
do you think I went outside my mind on the rainy day, to climb on the top of the sky just to bring you a few stars that burned my cracked palms?
– no, I had no light in my house and my ears heard that boogie man died when touching one
do you think that the nights killed by pleasures will be the same as the days when I’ll get pissed of?
I light a cigar, open the bottle of jack, take a pencil, give birth to memories and then hang them on the walls of my unconsciousness
***
then a thunder, a noise, a glamour voice punched my bunch of neurons:
“will you marry me?”
© Marius Surleac
Walpurgis Night – Walpurgisnacht, Valborgsmässoafton, Vapunaatto, Volbriöö
One flake has died last night, the second one appears;
I see across my sight, just loss of winter … dear
Under my feet the soil burned and water flew;
my heart was hit by dreadful drops some time she knew
The trees upon my head sent poisoned twigs and warm
their flesh, which rapidly killed the coldest fear
Wolves that roar in darkness will quake entire nature,
though ghosts got stir in night by dancing witches’ venture
The dead embrace the living, bonfires are prepared –
through veins, the dark is bleeding and all the souls are scared
Straight to the hill I follow the grass tied up surreal,
which humps the tracks that swallow our souls which cannot deal
Just there, beneath the stronghold, we all have reached with thousands;
and smoke unfold the secret moon in our barely hands
The pagan rites discovered the ecstasy, the fly
of good has broadened across the universe away
Runes retrieved by Odin will sent us in dimensions
of time and space, within some infinite vibrations
The Brocken Mountain sleeps, inside his spectre shadows
of mystic gods were moved in caves, by foggy meadows
The day when Adolf’s death brought fear, he prepared
from dimness world the demons … strongly felt unfair
We have met together and all started to sing
about Walpurga Saint, about the wind of spring
The youngest will collect the greeneries and branches,
to make the fire hit into the sky in stances
The thousands masks and witches will follow straight the whispers,
that fell down wild in pieces from cosmic widespread triggers
The lavish table’s food, the silver cups; the mind away
that mixes – white wine with music … I felt inside today
They all spent blissful hours, and drank, and sang, and pray,
and jumped in ancient towers, ‘cause feelings won’t betray
But dawn in haste appears and perfect night will hide
her ropes inside our tears, that died perhaps in pride
The elder trees got flowers and breeze their scent has spread,
I pass above the birth of spring … leaving straight ahead!!!
© Marius Surleac
Raskolnikov without the murder excuse – schism
the genius imagines the ordinary cross/ that lies upon the/ people he tormented in actions –/ just theories for a good cause
he sleeps on a couch using old clothes/ Law isn’t blind but fake in depression
reminiscences of the body sank on the floor/ in blood with no pale – just face of a guy/ sadistically emerged in laughs that/ are the jury for a mind painted with guilt,/ hidden in pursue
schismatic throws his pain in the consciousness/ of a fainting character, discovered in apathy…
without the excuse for the slaughter/ that protects the second body, sent on the same floor
both reached the mind-prison …
© Marius Surleac
Bourbon Street
Only the noise of my steps,
falling in the mist of the night,
shy under the petals of the Universe
Moon is the female hunting
the lions in a desert of peace
Fingers stealing the notes from a song
found in the dark of Bourbon Street
The pale light above my see-through back
shines the heart beating, in the blood of the sound,
born from a rose and a guitar
I dance with the stars, I sing with the wind,
I step where the track follows
the instinct;
I jump to the moon in a vibration of
my own body, drawn in the smoke
from the sand of my feet –
for her smooth face poisoning my sight
will cry a tear of passion to swallow
…while there’s Moon over Bourbon Street!!!
© Marius Surleac
I awake – in the memory of Django Reinhardt
getting wild behaviour to its happy roots
no-body can resist to this merry-go-round
virus
“amour” is the only word remained in his dictionary
the only drink accepted in his clans like a shard
of life sparkling greater than the sun itself
ashy
moustache hides a strange confidence when
lifted from the always-filled glass
with potion called
manouche
in the eyes of Lewis he caresses
the immortal chords
© Marius Surleac
Photo’s source: http://www.pianoguitar.co.uk/django.htm
The Blue Monk – in the memory of Thelonious Sphere Monk
the monk softly touches a dusty piano
no chords around but all in one
he’s a sort of big brother
with Charlie “the bird”
the rhythm shakes our heads dramatically fast
and he hits with the wooden-like foot
the frightened floor
the hip manner shows a heart pumping the jazz
instead of the viscous blood
up to the hat
bebop is home again
but now it wears a hard rusty coat
© Marius Surleac
Photo’s source: www.collectionscanada.gc.ca
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