Plimbare prin verde

Mai ales tampla ta cea stanga

Ascunde taina zvacnirii tale

Intr-o armura de otel

Verde si cruda,

Cruda si verde.

M-am furisat in somnul tau

Si am cules-o

Cu mana mea cea dreapta

Cea ocrotitoare de tample,

Cea pastratoare de taine.

Mai ales causul pieptului meu

Ascunde taina golului ce ma locuieste

Intr-un cuib de oase

Verde si crud,

Crud si verde.

Te-ai furisat in inima mea

Si ai cules-o

Cu buza ta de jos

Cea ocrotitoare de saruturi,

Cea pastratoare de zambete.

Despre jumatati

Vorbeste-mi in jumate de masura

Despre jumatati de adevar

Vorbeste-mi cu juma de gura

Despre saruturi in raspar.

Retrage-te in jumatatea ta de viziuna

Tranteste usa-n urma ta

Si stinge jumatate de lumina

Ferindu-te de umbra mea.

Ah, fereste-te, caci de te prind

Te spulber, jumatatea mea,

Apoi intreaga ma aprind

Dansand salbatic pe cenusa ta.

The sound of silence

It sounds like the symphony of the wind

Embracing every  leaf of every tree

In a whispered tango of green.

It sounds like the sleep of children

Unfolding every soft corner of the room

 In a quiet reverie of dreams.

It sounds like the touch of lazy fingers

Sending shivers down to my tired bones

In a secret ritual of forgiveness.

It sounds like the beat of my heart

Awakening the other woman in me

 In a silent storm of remembering.

The bear room

Healer of all, come blessed one,

Come by this hospital

Where brave children

Speak in the foreign language of their bodies.

Come by this room they call the ‘bear room’,

Where my daughters led the way

In their dis-ease.

Come by their beds

And whisper into their sleep

As they drift off to dreamland.

Come by their hearts

Where the greatest of stories

Are yet to be unfolded.

Come by my side

When you’re all done

And teach me to heal. 

Make up your heart

There must be something to poem about today.

Poem about those morning dreams that slipped away

From half closed eyelids drenched in sleep;

Poem about the floor so deep

That it pulls your love down to your feet

And makes your heart as soft as clay

As you step out of bed and say

May this be the day, oh, this is the day

My heart’s made up, I must obey.

There must be something to poem about today.

Poem about the rotten emptiness that wears away

A woman’s longing heart to sleep

Inside a sea of tears so deep

That she grew fish scales on her feet

And drowned inside her house of clay

Before she found the guts to say

I’ll take no more, this is the day

My heart’s made up, I must obey.

Oh, there must be something to poem about today

Poem about the heart that melts your heart away

And wakes the angels from their sleep

To sing the lovers song so deep

It burns beneath the dancing feet

Of sinner men with faith of clay

As they fall on their knees and say

I’d never thought I’d see the day

My heart’s made up, I must obey.

Dedicated to my little sister, with love.  

Midnight in my room

It is close to midnight in my room;

The noises of the house have gone to sleep.

I can hear my heart beat and my bones stretching as my feet kiss the floor,

But the house is alive, talking in it’s sleep

As it dreams of dragons rushing through it’s pipes

and children coughing in it’s sheets.

Then, the quiet settles in, down from the basement to my mind;

I pour some wine, and it is pink,

Like my fingernails, like my heart, like my breath, like the clouds on my walls.

I loosen my grip as I breathe out the fight

That has kept me awake for so many midnights.

So I start to notice my room as my second skin

As it bears my bruises and dreams, my chaos and my peace.

I look around inside my room as I would look inside myself;

A simple inventory, to mark the surroundings

For Colonel Buendia, if he ever comes back to visit.

I see I see because there is light inside my room

As I light my cigarette, I remember to light my inner fire as well

The one I promised him I would always, always keep burning

so he would find his way back to me,

I promised him.

There are two candles burning my room,

one for my soul,

one for the soul of my house

That shelters my room, my second skin, and all of the bodies and souls within.

There are flowers, wild flowers, picked from my garden, lilacs and wood-lilies

And borrowed flowers, orchids and nameless weeds

All pressed against the window of my heart, looking out, for sunlight,

At midnight.

There are paintings on the walls of my room, the home of my soul.

Some of which I painted:

Like the portrait of my soul friend holding my new daughter;

Like the portrait of me, the selfless-me, the soul-me, the wise-me,

with her Romanian blouse, her bat and her pelican,

smiling over the other me, the self-me, the proud-me, the hurt-me;

Like the drawings of the shaman and the maya priest;

Or the drawings of little cute animals

that I made while I was pregnant with my first born

and that still hang on the walls of this room from the time it was her own;

Some of which were painted by other women:

Like the portrait of me smiling so gracefully and tenderly

That it makes my heart melt every time I see it;

Like the twin of the two paintings we received in our weeding day as a gift,

The one I took away with me when we separated and divided paintings;

Like the sketch of the letter ‘L’ in old story books style

That my father gave to me when my first daughter was born

And I named her after my mother, ‘L’ for Lili;

Like the drawing of that very same daughter, pinned to my wall

A family of peacocks:

mother peacock,

father peacock,

daughter peacock, and baby peacock

and all sort of egg peacocks waiting to hatch.

There are also pictures, all sorts of them:

Like the one of a woman’s belly, wearing a white dress and a red apple;

Like the one of my mother, Lili, wearing a white lily in her hair;

Like the one of my sister holding a bouquet of sun flowers in her arms

I know it is her, although you can only see her feet, her hands and the flowers,

I know it because I took the picture

And I remember that day, and the clothes I wore

and the love I bore inside my heart

as we were walking together to my grandmother’s house;

She was still alive, that day;

Like the one of me and my daughter

sitting on a wooden bench facing the blue sea;

Like the one of my beloved smiling at me

On that very first day he took me sailing

For my very first time.

There is my altar,

with it’s crystals and angels and tarot cards

by the looks of which one might say I am a witch

burning locks of my hair in my Tibetan bowl

together with my fears and old pacts I chose

to no longer keep,

together with my tears as I weep

about hurts I no longer need;

with it’s embroiled phoenix bird and it’s owl

singing a perpetual song to all of my spirit animals;

with it’s jar of sea water and sea sand

reminding me of the gift of silence

and inner space, forever in me;

with it’s new pacts written on tiny pieces of paper

that replaced the old ones that burned

like the one stating that I now trust men

and that I now deserve ecstasy;

like the one reclaiming my power;

and the one proclaiming my love for me.

There is my drum,

The one that has guided my amazing dream journeys,

The one that came to me through the gift of my beloved,

Custom made for me be the mystical drummer man

Who died shortly after crafting my gateway to the Underworld

And to so many other-worlds that I have visited

Lead by her sound and my intuition;

She watches over the entire space, ever so gracefully

Ever so powerfully,

Waiting patiently

For me to pick up her stick and

Embark on yet another amazing adventure

To the realm of the soul

And to dream it back home

To me.

There are my brushes and colors,

My white canvases and sketchbooks

Also patiently waiting

For me to respond to the call of my soul;

I haven’t touched them in months,

Not since I quit school

Not since the call went silent

Not since I have been searching for a ‘real’ job

That earns a living

That earns autonomy,

That feeds children,

That allows for rooms like these,

Not since…

There are my books,

My soul books,

The ones on the shelf,

And the ones on my desk,

Like ‘The women who run with the wolves’

Always close to my heart, close to my womb,

The wild woman’s bible,

Her instruction manual,

The one that has found it’s way to me

In unexpected ways.

There is my meditation pillow

Where I sit back

And just breath

In

And

Out.

There is my reading chair

That used to be my rocking chair

And breastfeeding chair,

That I’ve only used once to read

Some of Plato’s dialogues

That made me wonder…

There are my four agreements

Glued to the wall

Next to my reading space,

So I never forget

To never assume anything,

To always speak my truth, be impeccable with my word

To always do my best,

And the last one, the one I always forget,

I have to turn around, and read it:

To…

Not take anything personally.

Yes, the hardest one to remember,

Always.

There is my calendar,

Frozen in March,

With Audrey Hepburn playing golf,

The month my beloved walked away,

There was a full moon on the 23d that month,

Also the beginning of summer time,

The change of hours,

The change of minds,

But never the change of heart.

There is an icon of the Madonna,

Beholding her child,

Reminding me of compassion

And the eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.

There are endless scribbles on countless pieces of paper

Scattered around my desk,

Scattered around my mind,

Scattered around my past,

My mourning labor,

My own death ritual,

That of letting die what is supposed to die,

That of burying what is dead,

That of bowing to death as I bow to life,

As I bow to my beloved,

As my torturer, my teacher,

My soul.

There is my midnight dance floor,

My fortress,

My temple,

My window to the outside,

to the neighborhood,

to nature,

to the sky,

to God.

There is my glass slipper,

Abandoned by the door.

In this room, I walk barefoot,

Naked before the mirror on my wall,

Transparent,

Luminous,

Forever longing,
Forever singing,
Forever dreaming,
Forever dancing,

Forever whole,

Forever in love.

At midnight in my room,
My second skin,
The home my soul lives in.

Song of the Iron Lady

The iron lady looked at me

From up above her curtain.

So, what's it gonna be, she asked,

Befalling the uncertain.

She rolled the dice on our behalf

To forecast the most somber,

A bleak subscription to a past

Where ghosts forever wander.

So either stay and wait on him,

Forsake your dreams of wild,

Indulge your master's every whim,

Portray the angel child.

Or either go and turn your back

To the life of hopeless battle

Between the poles of light and dark

Where all your bones would rattle.

I'm gonna do my best, she said,

To even out the odds,

By flight into the cuckoos nest,

By mercy of the gods.

But don't delude yourself, my girl,

Pretending to be sane

Is like pretending to be kind

To entertain the pain.

So did the iron lady sing

My heart to a safe haven

Where life and death together bring

To birth the iron maiden.

Back

Settling back into anger

Nesting back into old habits

Crawling back into the dark whole

Pulling back the blinds

Yelling back at the pouring rain

Cutting back on stillness

Pushing back love

Looking back for answers

Keeping back from moving forward

Sitting back at the edge of reason

Driving back and forth to the house of pain

Holding back on my tears

Dreaming back my soul

Back home

In between

In between yesterday and tomorrow

I have a dream of a man

Standing in an empty house

In between suitcases

In between the inside and the outside

Looking out

For love

In between cigarettes

I find shelter and food in a lady’s house

A loving space of nothingness

Where my stories flood

In between earth and sky

As I watch the time

Go by

In between my daughters

One burning with midnight fever

One spying with midnight fear

I’m watching over me

Watching over them

In between thoughts

In peace

In between choices

I linger for a while

Forgetting who I was

And what I was supposed to do

Letting go into the infinite space

In between my legs

I do

The choice

The fool took out his paper to read the horoscope.

What is your sign, he asked me before he jumped his rope,

Don’t haste to make decisions while on a deadly slope

For as you wish for freedom and as you vow your hope

You may just tempt Temptation and may her grace provoke.

Think twice before you do it, that’s how the madman spoke

While putting on his red cap to go out for a smoke.

I see two doors before me and still, I sense much more,

I’m bound to choose my freedom in spite of any door.

Ah, this is the moment I have been waiting for,

The moment that I have longed for, that I’ve been craving for,

The one I have been living and mostly dying for,

Yet the one that most alarmed me, that shook me to the core,

The one that brought me deeply and safely to my shore.

It doesn’t even matter which door I’m gonna choose

For I’ve unlocked my power and I’ve replugged my fuse

I have reclaimed my freedom, I have disclaimed my blues;

I’ve jumped the leap of faith and I have paid my dues;

I’ve broken free from prison and I have changed my views;

I’ve peeled of every layer, I’ve mended every bruise,

So with you or without you I’m walking in my shoes.

Mother and daughter

I sat today in a circle of women, mothers and daughters.

My daughter sat beside me, so did the spirits of grounds and waters

The winds and fires, in a circle of flowers.

I led the journey into the heart of a mother’s touch

The ground of a mother’s love, the wind of a mother’s song

The fire of a mother’s temper, where nothing is ever too much.

I felt the presence of my own mother, as I stroked my daughter's hair

The way she used to stroke mine when I was a child,

The way all girls should be taught to embrace their every layer.

I taught them how to braid their hair in three

By the earth, by the sky, by the sea,

Unlocking body, mind and spirit, by joining them together in pure simplicity.

I remembered that sometimes the most precious lessons

We offer our daughters are the ones touched yet not spoken,

To touch each other’s hair and melt in evanescence.

Connecting to the core of our feminine essence.

Be

I forgot how to just be

Nothing to do, nothing to see

Reconnect and disengage

From all the screens in front of me

Just be

Light a candle, feel my pain

And just listen to the rain

Doing nothing, being all

With no queendom left to reign

In vain

So, I will cut it short today

Shut down this screen and move away

From the outside to the in

I have no words left to say

Anyway

Intermezzo in the City of Angels

She seats in between worlds with the children of midnight, drinking wine

Because it makes her feel more poetic, she claims.

She seats in between flights, in the stillness from between thoughts,

Savoring the essence of her being.

She catches one thought by the leg and pulls it closer.

‘What if’, she says to herself, ‘What if when I’m with someone

I shape my boundaries to meet his limits?

Then I must be careful who I choose to be with,

For he will shape how I perceive the world, how I perceive my self’.

‘Stay with me some more, my love,

We'll share some laughs, we'll share some memories’ she says.

She sometimes feels to urge to gather more, afraid it won’t suffice

But she then remembers a time and place

Where it felt so easy and natural to be a woman

For the sun and the sea would show her the way.

Her journey has made her tough around the edges

But soft in her core, where fear rises with the tide like the moon.

The fear that she would not again be able

To unveil her true essence.

She has not given in to that fear, though

For she embarked on this journey no matter what

For the sake of the journey.

She realizes that she carries the sea within her, always.

Still, she wonders at times if Wise Woman

Would whisper in her ear in her time of doubt

And if she would be able to listen in spite of her old ally,

The one who can make her irresistible to any man.

Yes, perhaps that is her only question

As she buys herself a pair of old navy pants,

Definitely not very flattering to her feminine figure.

What was she thinking?!

Maybe that she could hide for a while inside those pants

Remembering to forget, instead.

She questions her instincts, for she feels nothing.

‘Is it bad’, she asks herself, ‘Shouldn’t I feel something?’

But she embraces her nothingness with nothing but grace.

For she looks in the mirror and she sees the force within her

It is there, guiding her every step, her expression, her very being

She is the art, she knows it while she dreams for a while

Of a world were every being would come to realize that they are their own art.

But she sees the beauty in the world just as it is.

She know that it is this simple:

All we have to do is just to manifest whatever it is there within

From a space of love.

There is nothing to change, nothing to fix.

Relax and breathe into whatever is.

She sees herself in this very moment, in between flights, in between worlds

And she recognizes the gate to all possibilities.

And it is not just about the plane she is about to board.

She recognizes the potential in each moment for the miraculous.

She knows that she does have a choice in each and every moment

To what she gives birth to from within her core, what she brings to the surface

What she offers the world.

Oh, but she is indeed a woman.

She plans and schemes like any woman would do.

Is he suitable? Will he let me down? Will he open himself to me?

Will I feel connected to him? Will he wait for me?

Aaah, but at the end of the day, she laughs at all her little plans and schemes.

She laughs as she feels right at home.

She allows for life to surprise her

For she has come to realize that as long as she shows herself exactly as she is

She will carry herself with grace and ease no matter what life offers.

She will become a channel of love and wisdom and divine grace

Without ever planning on it.

Oh, yes, she had read these things in all sorts of books before

But this time is different, for this time she reads them in her gut

In her womb, in her heart.

So what if she longs for her man to claim her

To ravish her wide open, to feel her and adore her to her core?

So what if she is on the verge of falling in love,

Ripe and ready as a fruit longing to be picked?

For at the end of another day, she knows

That the unshakable liaison is the one between herself and the source

And that is the only thing that is truly real.

It is the place where we all come from

It is life and death, it simply is.

She has shown me this and much more.

She is my beloved, my inspiration, my friend

She is the One Who Knows

She is Wild Woman, Wise Woman, Divine Woman, Skeleton Woman, Pure Woman

Sitting in between flights, in between words, in between thoughts, in between worlds.

She is also me and I am also her.

Foregivness

As I went in the sleep of trust
And laid down all my guns
I dreamed my calling back to life
Let all spells be un-cast.

And as I saw your face today
And melted in your eyes
I touched the scars of every gun
And bullet gone astray.

You dropped a tear in my hand
I felt it reach my heart
Forgiveness has a salty taste
That bounds all wounds to mend.

As you forgave and shed your tear
So I forgive it all
And I let go of every chain
My grief, my hate, my fear.

You offered me the greatest gift
The final sacrifice
Oh, how I've waited all these years
To finally make the shift.

And as I felt the shift inside
I had to ask again
If you are sure we need to part
Or is it just your pride.

But by the time you spoke your word
I had already seen
The answer written in your heart
Inside your every chord.

It was the word of God I've seen
The miracle of grace
I am so happy we're alive
Don't wake me from this dream.

The sleep of trust

I wonder if the feeling of unsafe

Was born in your left eye

The one you used to spy on me

Where all my secrets lie.

What have you seen there after all

To make you want to leave?

Was I not worthy of your love,

Nor my love worth to give?

Was it the man that touched my skin

Or was the man that touched my soul

The one who knew before you did

That I long to be whole?

So did you come to realize

That it was you I sought

And it was I who felt betrayed

That you could feel me not?

Or have you ever come to see

That it was you I chose?

In spite of all the doubts and fears

It was by you I rose.

It was by you I learned to trust

You taught me to let go

To trust my longing, trust my gut

To trust my inner flow.

If I am ready to move on

Or plan it just the same,

I do so with a loving heart

With no one left to blame.

And as I lock the doors tonight

After the storm has passed,

I know I do not lock you out

For I am safe at last.

KM 139. Seagulls cry.

Here we go again

Still without a plan

Waiting by the phone

Frightened to the bone

Seagulls cry outside

The shadows collide

Guardians await

Down by the estate

Where minds go to fry

And love goes to die

They’re waiting for you

Though the seagulls flew

Backwards to the light

Just before the fight

Forward to the shore

Long after the war

Saturday, I

feel scared but act brave

forget my dreams

make breakfast for the kids

wash the dishes in someone else’s house

go for a windy walk

light a cigarette

read about making love to God for a while

realize that I am not enlightened

breathe in

reach out to someone

feel useless to someone else

call 911

make lunch for the kids

wash the dishes again

give in but don’t give up

put the baby down for a nap

breathe out

light another cigarette

call my sister

scroll facebook in vain

lie down on the floor

feel my body

feel lost

play with the kids

buy a cheap bottle of wine

drink some

make dinner

feel scared and act scared

cry

tell the truth about how ignorant I am

cry some more

call my sister again

stop crying and comfort my daughter

pack and wash dishes again

move to yet another house that is not my own

feel safe

put the kids to sleep

drink the rest of the wine

try to write a poem

can’t

try again

still can’t

bite a nail

just write about my day

even if I fail

there’s beauty in it anyway.

Cantec de dor

Du-ma ie pe campie

Si-mi arata locul

Unde ceru-mi canta mie,

Unde curge totul.

Oi inchide ochii,

Ma lepad de rochii;

Ma lepad de piele,

De toate-ale mele.

Oi impleti cosite

Cate trei suvite:

Una pentru muma,

Pentru muma huma;

Una pentru sora,

Pentru sora luna;

Si-una pentru fiica,

Focul din ispita.

Apoi mi-oi lua zborul

Sa imi gasesc dorul

Prin semne cusute

De nimeni stiute.

Call me Wild Woman

It takes a wild woman to make a soul gardener,

For she sows her dreams for just the right seed.

It takes a wild woman to make the soil fertile,

For she goes down on all fours and ploughs her heart barefoot.

It takes a wild woman to make the moonlight glow,

For she carries the dark side of moon within her womb.

It takes a wild woman to make a ribcage crack,

For she knows just where to strike her shovel in.

It takes a wild woman to make the water source,

For she gives her tear fully and completely.

It takes a wild woman to make the seed sprout,

For she sings her song giving flesh to the bones.

What does it take to make love to a wild woman?

It takes a man who tries not to tame her, 

For he learns to name her and call her by her name again and again;

For he sees her true nature and does not give in to the urge of running away.

He will stay.

Manic

So, let the craziness begin.

Fasten your seatbelt tight within,

Unchain those ghosts that cling to you.

Oh, what a journey this has been.

You asked me not to intervene.

Am I the perfect heroine

Or am I nothing but a fool

Who plays the dead man’s violin?

I wish I knew the mortal sin

Inherited through blood of kin,

So I’d repent and be released

From living deep under your skin.

The grace of solitude

The lights are out and you’re not home

I write my poem all alone

Writing with my heart in the dark.

It’s written on the walls, written on my skin

Written in the silence in between

Drumming in my ears full of tears.

It’s everywhere I look to see

The bloom of the magnolia tree

Finding grace as I take some space.

The light is on, you’re still not home

But I no longer feel alone

Turning on the magnitude of solitude.