Archive | April, 2016

Whiskey In The Jar

18 Apr

Only she knew what happened
and how it ended.
It was gone with the evening wind.
Their precious love was pretended.

Now only misery was left.
In her evening delirium,
sitting near the bar,
drinking her smooth whiskey in the jar.

What happened, she asked,
is our paradise lost?
Why am I no longer your diva,
your Goddess, your Eva?

The bar will close in a few,
the window is wer from a morning dew.
She felt her inner voice within,
insatiable power to not give in.

Her lust for some illicit move,
made her order another booze.
Her husky voice called out for barman,
one more, brother!
She slapped the bar with her palm down.

So what now? To hunt him down?
To make him look like a clown?
But how it helps me, she asked.
To forget everything about the past…

The fear from adronitis was too high,
the comfort given from all sides
was not easy to buy.

Let’s turn it around, she thought,
so that later in years she could say,
it mattered that I fought.
For me and my better future.
Cheers to that !

This poem was written for

Tanka for Sunday Evening : Hidden Island

17 Apr

image from

once upon a time
she was my secret island
far away from land
we belonged to each other
never wanting to turn back

When We Were Young

17 Apr

I am the one who took you to this place
You told me you loved it
We were like crazy children,
jumping up and down
the real world was far from us,
we lived in our own cocoon.
Forest was the safe alley for us.
The only home that we knew.

One day you flew away from our cocoon,
saying you want more than this,
wanting to become a part of something.
I never heard your voice again.

Now I am alone,
lying in our rocking net,
waiting that you vanish from my heart,
waiting for that strong bond to break.

Nobody would believe today
that we lived alone out there.
I am the proof of that,
for I am still here,
sitting in the community of trees,
resting my old bone.

I’m a tree that grows hearts,
one for each that you take.

This post was written for Writing Prompt #155 “Collage 21” | Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie

Tritina Poem – The Crown Full of Trees

16 Apr

Deb Gibson, Canadian Artist, Kilarney, acrylic on canvas

In my dream, there’s a calm river
washing the above towering rocks
with the crown full of trees.

Strong and toxic green are those trees
reflecting in the crystal clear river
that covers and hides slick rocks

These old and still aging rocks
envy the beauty of those green trees
admire their reflection in the river.

Only the calm and silent river, slowly bathering the rocks can never touch the beautiful crown full of trees.

This post was written for

Raging Power

15 Apr

image from

boiling from inside
only I know it’s there, hiding
waiting to expose
to show it’s raging power.

Hear my great roar, 
comming out of my chest,
calling all the great spirits
to help me overcome my fear

TLT: Unbearable Lightness of Being

14 Apr

photo by Jesse Orrico

“Play some nice song, father.”

Priest sitting behind his old piano, turned to his parishioners. He smiled and played first tones of their favourite song.

The good spirit of the day floated across the room. It was one of those days when you feel the lightness if being…

This post was written for TLT challenge.

Traveling Alone

14 Apr

Google images


I travel alone every day.
I wake up every morning,
thinking of how to survive the day again.
Coffe is my first savior.

Trafic already pumps in its usual speed
and I am wondering
if today is the day that I can forget you.

You departed in the foggy morning.
Leaving only memories for me.
We used to travel together,
every day of the week.
The same bus, the same road.
Dark shadow is my companion today.
And each day.

So now I travel alone.
Thinking if how to survive these routes.
Nobody to talk to,
nobody to argue with.

But I’ll be fine.
Today is a good day.
In the distance of my days I see
that at the end
I’ll be fine.

This post was written for

Native American

13 Apr

found on

They taught me to be strong
They taught me to be courageous
They taught me to never give up.

We, women of this tribe
we must be mothers
we must be sisters
we must be wives.

We must support our men strongly
in time of battles and wars,
We are sending them to the battlefield,
but they are returning to our arms again.

We are there in their good times,
we never go away in their bad times.
We, women of this tribe
we must stand firm.

They taught me to be strong,
they taught me good.
For I feel no fear.
My destiny will be fulfilled.

This poem was written for


No Way Out

12 Apr


Albert Finch

“Oh my God, oh my God, they are home!” Emily got swamped by horror.

“What do I do? What do I do?” she desperately tried to find some place to hide. As a miracle from heaven the door of an old wardrobe opened with squeaking sound… She jumped to the wardrobe and tried to make as little noise as possible.

 Emily didn’t expect anybody to be at home. This was her only opportunity to find the truth about her family’s murder. Police finalized the investigation and did not find anything. No weapon, no trace, no nothing? Really? She could not accept this as an end. And so she started her own investigation.

There were a few people she suspected. And the biggest candidate she had on mind to be convicted was her ex-boyfriend, crazy psychopat who recently ended his stay in psychiatric clinic.

She sneaked into his home and was determined to find some evidence. But as soon as she started to search his office, somebody came  home.
She listened to the voice of her own fear from within the wardrobe. A person was approaching the office. The door slowly opened and he came in. The silence in the room was oppressive.
Suddenly the wardrobe door opened and there he was. Standing in front of her smiling. His face expression was calm and cold in the same time.

“So this is how you pay back all that love I gave you during our years together?” his voice cutting the tick air.

His hand aggressively grabbing her arm was the last thing she remembered…

Well… I don’t know how did I come up with this story, but here it is… :D…this time it is little bit longer.

This post was written for



Tanka For Sunday Evening : The Melody

10 Apr

found on

old record player
playing sweet melody of my youth
music sways in the air
balm to my old and tired soul
memories are floating in