from the door you throw your sword
your shield and your tram ticket
then your coat with droopy shoulders
like two barriers of a delayed train
today you lost a battle
with yourself
your
he was grabbing my hand
often
dragging me at warp speed through
universe
my hair was getting caught
in the corners of
unknown stars
(there are new planets
with dinosaurs and lava
out
this is my latest poem
and as the poem goes
it reaches out, it stretches
the feeling to its toes
the words don’t come by easy
I am not ashamed to say
that sometimes I do struggle
and verses
As words flutter in my head
into a Brownian motion
the meaning of that thought
waves good-bye to the second
(so
does
the
poem).
I am once more
forced to intoxicate myself
with the most deluding and
one day I\'ll die
(probably young enough to remember)
and all those people
I never heard from
in years
will rush over
to say what a great person
I really was
that I used to be such
a
he knew how to sustain my gaze
(like a dissertation)
and every time he talked to me
my hands would caress each other
in hiding
(one of them pretending it was his)
I was quivering around each
A new cultural event organised in London by Diana Varbanescu would like to invite you to meet a young and talented Romanian writer and artist born in Braila, Romania in 1981.
Bogdan Tiganov
Tiganov
caterpillar tracks move slowly
biting the dust of
foreign land
uniforms and soldier boots
follow
then find their way home
wrapped up in flags
it’s a beautiful sunny day
and those
In this household there’s far too much noise!
...your mobile, your pager, your palmtop, your laptop, your desktop, your land-line, your radio, your plasma screen, your mp3, your screw driver, your
3.59 am
a monitor
two parallel lines
like a road going nowhere
a mother sits on
a hospital linoleum
by her side
death kneels
politely
holding a child’s hand
*P.I.C.U =
weather and society
bipolar cousins
hang out and
hand over leaflets to the masses
here you are, they say
it’s all in control
don’t panic
and we don’t
we drink Grolsch
buy lottery
(Article by Diana Varbanescu)
In the beginning of August we would like to invite you to meet poet Marian Stan!
Place: The Kensington Bar & Kitchen, Russel Gardens, Kensington, W14 8EZ,
nothing’s changed since you left...
I butter the toast and take my vitamins
every morning
the postman drops the mail
at 11 am sharp
on Tuesdays I listen
to my favourite programme
(the one
crossing borders
+
*traveling (into) light
(2)
empty pockets
tired fists (in)
droopy eyes (on)
some other promised land
(blah-blah)
large ?monitor/ gate(way)
+
this
...
they belong here
a nipple on our love’s chest
pierced by suspicion
smothered in dream
and silence
we lay on this rotten bed
of thoughts
day and night
alone/ restless/
you weren’t there to see my life
open up with a right click
in a new window
you were out on a piss
playing pool in the pub round the corner
luck staring you in the face
like a torch
and
Alas, my love, you do me wrong
words of a king
demons of a man
seeking refuge into the heart of a woman
To cast me off discourteously
Anne
you, truthful subject
yet only true to your desires
For
jealousy is the woman in red
Jimmy Choo and Dior
through her veins runs lava
she’s got double standards, big eyes
and one purpose
she crosses the street
through your shoulder blades
and
in the pub across the road
men and women are drinking from
carefully polished glasses
and the beer is as cold
as the loneliness that makes them gather
their lips are practicing group
music is filling me up slowly
particles of sound sinking
under my skin
in places I never knew
I existed
I’ll never make it!
I’ll die touched by the hand of a bunch of strings
holding tight to my
“..to keep their love you keep pretending ” Jim Morisson
I squashed a butterfly in my hand
pretending
its blue was a sacrifice
to the sky
I killed a baby snail with my
If you are not a Londoner and you always fancied a visit to the magnificent city, (the largest in the European Union), I believe I have just found the best reason why you should start packing:
The
this minute is killing me
is undressing its time slowly
rounding its seconds
at small and regular
intervals
it doesn’t even know that
it’s mine
it’s going to be over
it will never come