Amintește-mi Trandafirii

Roses my dear

Mai zi-mi o dată ce erau trandafirii. Parfum?

culori topite către margini

de soare

––– de toamnă. E iarnă. Azi. Ieri nu

am visat vocile

vibrau corzile viorii sub degete lungi, subțiri,

albe cozi de stea căzătoare. 20131027_59

Și totuși ce erau, spune-mi răbdător

cine erau culorile acelea

umpleau camera înaltă

până la tavan fără să urce pe scară ori

pe pânza țesăturii

baldachinului unde ieri nu

am visat corzile

vocale lunecau pe geamul mansardei

lângă locul de joacă al lunii. Octombrie

s-a dus în trecut.

Erau oare ei

acei copii maturi de timp

petrecut cu tine

––– atunci

Iar nu-mi amintesc unde sunt trandafirii


––– culoarea pământie a toamnei.


Photos – Paula Gecan


Of Love – e. e. cummings

Nude back

i like my body when it is with your

body. It is so quite new a thing.

Muscles better and nerves more.

i like your body. i like what it does,

i like its hows. i like to feel the spine

of your body and its bones, and the trembling

– firm-smooth ness and which i will

again and again

kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,

i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz

of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes

over parting flesh … And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new.

Photo – Paula Gecan

Tomorrow, Remember Today

Remember the light

Have you remembered

how many times you’ve said

Good morning

Good night

or Hello Home?

I’ve counted and recounted them

fearing that you might have gone.


It took one word

that’s all it took

to turn seasons in the past

and when you wouldn’t stop

but kept on saying more

I felt that this is real,

I felt that this will last.


And then I saw you.

You gazed at me with thirst

you had too little words

for all the thoughts and feelings

for all the songs and pieces

of last year

last month

of last Wednesday,

for what your heart stands witness.

I trust you will remember

how many times you’ve said

Good morning

and Good night

and dearest Hello Home.

You’ll hold them closer, darling

past times are now returning.

Nobody goes alone.

Photo – Paula Gecan


Melancholic still

Black and white melancholy

I could see in the leaves

what was visible in the clouds

A kind of you from distant sounds

a seashore of oblivion

a land of dreams

you drift upon

gaping the gulf of yesterday –

– a birthday on a Saturday.


I dared look deeper in the darkness

through the grey mist of growing fall

trying to at least touch the era

of former you –

maimed by your words

and by my songs.


You’ve always seen in whites and blacks,

smiling tenderly at my colors,

you’ve loved your blue

perhaps you’ll still do

once scent from oceans

floods your thoughts.

Photo – Paula Gecan

Wounds of Summer


I can’t close my eyes

not even for a season

Autumn is here.

The chrysanthemums flourish

on dusty streets –

it’s only for the time when

the dead awake

to light the marble towns

and maybe a bit longer afterwards.

Not all, but some

watch hollowly, with empty eyes

the flow of life

walking near by

conjuring them;

‘cause yes, it’s autumn.

You shouldn’t die

not now, not even next year

not in my mind

or in the world’s;

not in your heart

nor in the stars’.

Let autumn kill, and let her rebirth

the leaves and flowers and the sounds

of birds

of waters

and of spring.

Let winter bind the wounds of summer.

Photo – Paula Gecan