Romulus Câmpan Maramureșanu

Trespassers, that’s what we are on God’s minefields ... -1st poem - from the volume(s) "DEFIANT HOPELESSNESS, The Dark Side of Asperger's Autism Reflected in my Poetry, Copyright © 2022

"Beautiful (soap) bubbles we are; endlessly rejoicing in one another's myriad of colours, just to fade into a last ghostly flicker as we silently burst, leaving behind, only the short, tear-touch

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I was somewhat reluctant to publish a note about the publication of my third book, mostly because with this volume I reached into the depths both unattainable and also undesirable for many writers.

I encounter each and every poem ushered into my heart by voices of unseen muses, nurturing them, raising them, and accompanying them onto pages of old-fashioned paper, by old fashion, black, and

It’s all a lie, our birth into this world. Mourning should have welcomed us, late, but perfect companion for all the sweat, tears, blood, and “doctor, doctor, the baby’s not crying…” Tube in,

They moved the midnight mass, to early morning; scarce priests, sad undertakers to another realm, crucified failures, transubstantiating, drifting ecclesia with no one at their helm. It's

Alone, like a stranded morsel of bread, in a park where pigeons have grown teeth, “you’re marching on a faulty staccato”, she said, “you half-burnt crust with no dough underneath”. And it hurt,

At odd wars with every grain of sand, relentlessly screwing its way from in between the colourless longitude underneath my tired eyelid, through the haunted solitude of my tormenting

Emanuelle, called her last known dog. A small, franchise variety of shepherd dogs... Her toes were frozen outside ill famed taverns, where lurking memories of former gentlemen, mingled with

Another, smaller seagull paced across the wooden ashes of yet another sunset... No waters followed, feathers scarce, like unrepentant memories... Again, alive it seamed, so selfish,

I peeled myself away from time. Away from every little, wicked portal of uselessness opened between agonising trees and falling drops of water... I've seen the principles of physics falling

Imagine their roots... Abiding deep like hands With fingers grasping every inch of dirt... Long, curling nails avoiding stones, And bones, and rotting earthworms. Mean tentacles with

As previously mentioned, hopelessness must be deliberately inflicted -and to a certain extent accepted- in order to exist. Thus neither hopelessness nor hope should be considered as "normal", simply

A "brother" can remain "big" only until the narrow bridge into adulthood has been crossed. Beyond it he should remain what we all should be to each other: simply brothers. As time and eternity are

"In the beginning, god..." I don't care if you believe or not. I don't... care. Let's just pretend we do... care. For now. So high above or below, From the magnificence of his

One day, When far away Shall draw so near As to resemble oneness, When all the fallen leaves Shall turn as pages Of another realm, When time alone Shall stand as stone cold witness Of

"To hang on from day to day and from week to week, spinning out a present that had no future..." G. Orwell No one knows where, or when it starts, as no instance can be recollected neither of

As I was writing this essay, "We the people..." came to my searching mind. Looking it up where available, I understood history's tireless farce in producing written proofs of power's insatiable