Tag Archives: Iron poetry

Together

Give your heart
but to whom
Shall desire.

Allow your joy
to be received
with greatest care
and tunes of innocence.

Strengthen the bond of yourselves
but to surpass
the nameless peril
of Deception.

Name the mirror
in which you catch
the single moment
of deep, ungrateful
Love.

© Iulia Halatz

(An old story from 2017)

Art by Dani Soon.

Solemn Zeros – RamJet Poetry

Perfection in verse by RamJet Poetry:

“In summary, there was purpose
prefecture, pandemonium, permanence
fingers frayed the stitching
ignominious example in grocery-cart aisles
uncommon disorders frequently populating
the deserted isles
unexpectedly, the vase fell from the table
untouched it shattered
flowers and pottery scattered across the floor
as galaxies flowed into void…”

ramjetpoetry.wordpress.com/2018/09/30/solemn-zeros

Self Addressed Stamp Envelope – Erich Michaels

Lettered feelings to the artist as a young man by the amazing Erich Michaels

…”I wrote a letter to that young wanderer
Using my address from that time
Across the top: Erich Michaels (adolescent)

In it I said:
Yes…she will break your heart, but…
Enjoy the ride
Also, don’t block out her name
She deserves better than that
That tattoo will be a regret
Not just because it’s needle and thread
Bottle of India ink, prison-chic
But because it doesn’t represent you…”

Read all imperfect feelings written in perfect words on A Global Divergent Literary Collective: suddendenouement.com/2018/08/03/self-addressed-stamp-envelope-erich-michaels

A list of wounds

We are all broken flowers
We have seen the moon smiling
The waves crashing
The shimmer and thunder of springs
The blazing lightning of pain
When regluing the chinks in our hearts
a hundredfold again…

We have seen the tremble of a leaf
in mid-November
When it falls
and lies defeated
like giant spiky stones
we shuffle our feet on
and bleed…

How do you heal a wound?
First you burn it
in agonizing awe
Then you stitch it
with words in threads
that last
more than the last
Spring

© Iulia Halatz

Art by Vladimir Kush.

I am delighted that five of my poems were included in the Sudden Denouement Anthology Volume I. The anthology is now available on Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk.

Song of Spring

Written for the Anthology Volume I: Writings from the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective.

Spring is a princess
without voice
only fingers
to mix colors
in the rainbows.

She’s got a vessel
for the softest fragrance
pressed in archives
in the Library of Scent…
There are plums
the cherries
and the blooms of vines
escalating
on the earth’s shelves…

Anyone who writes down
to Spring
is simply wasting
a leaf of scent.

No one is ever so poor
as not to write up
music
to all the shades of Spring
and to the dancing stars
to give a gift
of chaos…

© Iulia Halatz

I am delighted that this poem was included in the Sudden Denouement Anthology Volume I. The anthology is now available on Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk.

Buried moon

Buried moon, buried moon
Who to talk about at noon
When dreams are plundered by light
And powdered in gold and charcoal dust.

Crescent fairies are sad in the rouse
and at falter to surmise
the scanty slumbering traces
that led stupors into trenches.

The owners of the light
Do not know its might
and the pleasure of the sun
to astound and burn above…

Buried moon, buried moon
I want you soon…

As to play my feral dreams
around the all surviving tunes!

© Iulia Halatz

(Reposting an old poem)

Art – Buried moon by Edmund Dulac.

Sun chokes the atmosphere

Sun chokes the atmosphere
Moon dies and takes
the truth and breath of you
Stars inscribe the sky
and determine
who’s alive…
What are your dreams?
Ask your heart
and put an old wish
to the slaughter.

Wild is the conspicuous green grass
that tells itself
to reach the stardust smell of spring.
Old is the key
that keeps away the chains
and charms unfathomed
to open a new gate
As you wear another’s
beating heart
melting in
and dripping of blue lust
Not knowing when
to destroy the dark
and say:
I am saving the meat
of my dreams for you!

© Iulia Halatz

Art by Konstantin Koborov.

Persephone’s dusk

Why can’t we
sleep with the Gods?
be with them
turn their thoughts to foam
touch and revere
their lapis lazuli skin
until myths flicker in the cave

and the earth booms at their voices
The rain from Olympus
is the fog in the valley.

Life is not all lovely thorns and screaming butterflies.

 
© Iulia Halatz

Art by Gervasio Gallardo.

Happiness

…Happiness is the uncle you never
knew about, who flies a single-engine plane
onto the grassy landing strip, hitchhikes
into town, and inquires at every door
until he finds you asleep midafternoon
as you so often are during the unmerciful
hours of your despair. – Jane Kenyon

Happiness is immaculate
and wordless
Happiness is the fire person
Burning for your path
Lighting like the moon
dense and bright and alive
Hoovering on the alphabet blue
of the world
Uncovering a soul into desire
Pulling out a Love
that dissolves and finishes…

Happiness is the love
carved into the bark
that kills pitfalls and
feeds the unicorn-green grass.

Happiness is a father
that lived oceanless
for a daughter to grow
tied to the oceanside.

 

Art by Hansol Choe.