17 by Felix Rian Constantinescu 2020

17 Felix Rian Constantinescu 2020+ The talker The talker the chalker alone in dark matter Sits in t auditorium of his spirit himself heard The talker the walker empty like ballsoccer Yukhatangue alone bride dressed in wolf and glee Tale of prophecy of one's spirit be raven alone Even flight of bone spirit beauty and mourn Eagle in sky's cage man in rat's rage and Silence of the wings speaking with the wind Silence is flight abideness is might bear is right.

The Crucifiction Any guitar is a crucifixion and they know it the guitar players Benigne or spleenly but that's the idea you grow a branch on Which the song or the soul is crucified another thing what else JD is walking on diamonds without even knowing it but doesn't matter There is something fictionesque in singing with a guitar in Hands Like in a whale hunt you know you will never pursue ouside your bed So a plus or a cross take it what you want was the rnr nowadays dead as The Owl postmodernism.

Fur Elise I sometimes wondered if Fur Elise has any words and if so what are they?

Or is it just some piano fiddling for a young beautiful tragic Girl Of the 1800s the age that built the Pogany castle in decay by robbers and vagrants now But I will never know lest some musical mentor lets me know the fact of it Now it's night and I am afraid to fall asleep I dreamt Marx and timetravel in a row So like the drowning man I clench of a thought of a song of a forever dear dead Three notes remain in my literary concerto with its chords and naturals We didn't find out about Ludwig van Beethoven's piece Should we never find out about the oratorios of our souls?

Memory. To CPC to Dr. Zhivago the Dead Innocent I first awoke at 00.00 & in my dream it seemed I fell asleep under my Laptop Then I had a thought and wanted search a video about Karl Marx the philosopher I don’t lie to you Jerry I was terrified but at that moment I was Miss Stewart P&P

Then Karl Marx with his Andersenian the-never-of-it and the vision became Memory And I wanted to post it underneath the wikipedia page of that Karl Marx Buddha In which Kina explains softly her dream that was what was I touched Another realm another World an other reality I read 8 on the phone to a friend before bed It all started with At scary but then the dream structure fell more and more soothing And I believe now Aphex Twin and Karl Marx are one in my painly awakening.

Settling Always settling always finding a new aboding place Always fighting our enemies always hoping for the day I try to imagine it retroactive the places we've been & Came from some named some uncertain like the Turks Or the Gaelic ballad or the God of the Goths unmaimed This became our life settling after settling after settling Still part of us is from here with the purest Ottoman Luxembourg blood in us just peasants from Trajan still We were in a constant migration w t sheep and Schytes.

The blue shirt. Impressions on a certain mama's death celebration It was the 21st of July 2019 and I set to go for the second Thyme as in 2017 to the home of my Lover to speak to her But instead I spoke only with her mother a rich luxurious self-imposed abusive character I didn't tell her what day it is and She misused me a bit Telling me that her Daughter is about to get married to some guy and that She has Her friends I told her that no matter what my attitude won't change and then something happened She gave me a cardboard box with two coffins of long cereals and chocolate Telling me She took it because She thought a poor man was asking for alms Because in the Love's hurry I've taken Father old jeans and blue shirt.

If I were a boy. The poem The Hong Kong singer plays t microphone as a nuclear missile An archaeology of was and potential disaster She beyonces Her name is uncertain I knew it once though She voices China And it's true btw but I tell you when She took t mic up in the sky It was beyond comprehension I mean art ut pictura poesis but How much 5 thousand years in one Girl and her voice eternal Good for an amethyst record to be sent on Vega in the Lyre Well now the show is over & I don't think I'll ever see Will again Though She sings like Tatanka Yotanka's white horse forever.

A man and his horse A Roma a Gypsy you might say unwillingly though he’s as white as you white bread A genuine talent for horses and music for one thousand years long since Mongolindia He walks down the street dragging his horse after him like a priceless Child of Guesses

Offspring to be cherished and loved and adored and looked after like a weeping Baby ‘Hey, hoe, hey’ he says easily to the horse as they return on the empty street I live on The two of them wait for something in this April afternoon in the nut-tree sheep street Other horse people top by the white star on the horse’s forehead of ebony mahogany In the street the horse is the centre of attraction and he understands humans behavior The man I know since ever is happy in his rough life with his newly summer zero haircut.

The trickster Plays his own version of Guajira on some instrument mostly 2nd hand guitar In the street just asking for your little change a five USD would be perfect He is te trickster always asking you to do what he never tried or cared about I won't deny his poorness in spirit formostly for not going to work or study Always with the same stupid guitar and harmonica hanged on him Thinks he's that Bob Dylan artefact without Bob Dylan's ugly friends And I miss you is heard now on every club woofer in the world wide web A mooche always borrowing or asking for when not stealing this is the trickster Plays his own version of Guajira on some instrument mostly 2nd hand guitar.

Last Girl She is the Last Girl in this homophilic world that destroys With her pure pomegranate cheek and natural red Mouth like the kiss of a stone breast with her pine long Arms and piano hair and worked hands cooking and In the fields potatoes and corn mostly and some wheat And vegetables tomatoes and radishes and lost hope For a family in the dying world she vraiment is the last Girl of our age beautiful and ignored mocked & passed-at to She knows to sing and paint and drive and to Childbirth No one really wants this Empress too soft to delicate Like a poppy intense purple flower what is it for but beauty?

Last Girl I She is the Last Girl in this homophilic world that destroys No one really wants her with Her pomegranate cheeks And natural red mouth like a mouth of kissing stone The pixy on the Danish shore awaiting for Her Love Forever forgotten forever dismayed unloved uncared for The last girl of our age like a protected mountain white owl With her long piano arms red from cooking and fielding Hands potatoes and corn and whet and rye and tomatoes She is an Earth spirit/ She knows the value of a seed.

On Securitate. To Iuliu Maniu I tried for a lifehurt to grasp Securitate and I hit the power Always the argument of the clenched fist and baseballbat But now they prove themselves powerless and afraid The Mighty Mutts of our Age always drunk and beating And cursing thanks God for corona that we see now Who’s in charge – God – and that’s all that there is about Them no thought no remorse no regret only alcohol And terror for 73 years now ought to wrap them up And for one time I will say I am not afraid of them.

Two Eagles and a Guitarist Look two Eagles in flight above us in the Sky And a quirky Guitarist knowing all the 400# We forgot about Easter this year almost most Of us the Eagles and the Guitarist sing in Sky At the beginning of a tragic decade Jesus is The name again and his Beatitudes of bloodwine The wings are large covered with eyes and keys Good for the Seraphim to sing at as a Lyre + This words I'd wish most to send into space...

The Vesper in 9 moves I am you Daystar you are me Vesper Decades separate us like brick walls We are in Sighet Morse signaling I-am-your-Love ; You-are-my-Love Now people shared our life for 2 months Once I wrote I am desperately in Love 8 years ago in 2012 that is a long time Now i'm jaded whatever that means I just wait for the moon to rise in 5 years.

The martyr What's a martyr well my Father is a martyr More even than Stephanos the first martyr A master and a martyr of faith and blood So what's left of your B+24 Liberators now?

The gnats of death buzzing over Bucharest Like in Jules Verne but so real and hard Like a life passed under the shadow of t bomb And here we are refugees among the simple

And heretic that will won ever understand.

1 hour & 16 minutes to Simple Reason I wrote ten really good lines and I feel like God again as in my youth I generated a poem that would last though I believe it’s Godsvoice One hour and sixteen minutes after I wrote it I reread with wonder As Dad used to read his published poems poetry is a Genesis true You take eight nervous cells and make a song of two stanzas Like a silent written rosary for Mother Mary at 6 in the morning I believe our brains like giant synaptic medusas or the torpedo fish Cutting and shortcircircuitting until brushed with melody by Salome.

Ancient traditions and popular creations of Hațeg County. Dad's book

It's a book worked in more than 40 years of teaching And I suspect it was mixed about me by Dad like 'Lara' Book an intelligible expression of Love and it will take More than 200 years maybe 300 for the book to be Received in the human psyche Romanian and Universal Cosmic until the book will become part of humane soma Sir I think I know it is Another dictionary about me like in the Andrieș song and most of dad's poetry books Are about me Neantia Unlife of the world Heralds of silence A. 29th March 2020 Angels in sneekers

I found Rachel's Tears at an antique bookstore Maybe in 2006 2007 and read it about what i Heard was done in America in the year 1999 B back t I was a Nam guy I couldn't understand Now at 21 lightyears distance I myself say the Tale of the 13 martyrs and 2 abused victims t Guys that done it but now what catches t eye Is Rachel Joy and her Skipper Cassie Bernall

I am convinced that in their bloodearned Skye They still wear sneekers and jeans yellow swshirts And kaki camouflage cashmeres angels in Nike Still reading everything worthwhile coming up Well that's the howl of America some Girls In Pocahontas tribe in Salem in Amherst Columbine And I wonder did Emily Dickinson wrote on it And what She who knew all flowers by heart.

Backyard Ceremony. A Prayer

She bothered me everytime from 2012 then married one 7 years later one day after mama's death memorial day She had a backyard ceremony because I don't know t half of it It seems i'm not of t woods yet never will be w her husband 2 I tried to help this Schumacher b it seems I couldn't never will As Kina says in her Memory I'd like to think t they'll be or try I know somethings about Rabindranath Tagore a man despise & I am not my Father LaHaye never was with all my imprfctnss So She married in Church of Christ and still kept her cribnotes.

Consecration

The consecration of your body must be willed It does not just happen you must search it for And it lasts a lifetime no matter what comes in Your life it is the most important thing in you I should say if you are not a poet don't bother Do what you are and something you are a ' A soul spit by God so why do you look for great?

Be what you are but consecrate yourself to God As a basilica and really nothing else matters. + Didactic poem

History began in Mesopotamia with Sumer A kingdom of black heads came from North

Then there was Akkad an empire and idiom Then there was Assyria with Ninive and Jonah Then Babilon then Medopersia then Macedonia To Indus then Rome then Lord Jesus Christ And now Alisa I believe you can find your way What else is to say planet will end when hit By a comet and there will be an endbeginning.

Enrico Botinni Romanian poet laurate + Mircea Cartarescu is de verdad a gifted poet and that says all In an age where the only viable alternative and I mean it was Protocronism he was the most articulate with The Opening Movement after the Anemone Latzina and the guys K books I do not want to deny Protocronism as a Neolithical man I am I just want to state that he was in the other field and you cannot Say which was time which was space and together w Nedelciu He is certainly t most gifted new & industrious poet 1978+2000 Nobel or not vanity of vanities just a dynamite tycoon goldface And a potus of dollars but as Tracy Chapman sangwrote we Write for respect and compassion and posterity among fellow Human beings I believe posterity is more important t anyprize.

Epistle about mama She did Cry two times at the hospital looking at me like a swan over her bed and leaving saying that I will return tomorrow morning/ they called us from the hospital in the night but I couldn't face the truth + the funny thing is because mama always tried to find the jocund side of death when her Mother died She went to the Merry Cemetery here in Transsylvania that when I went to the chapel in the morning I just knew she is on the other side to Jesus... and Măicuța Domnului as she said and i calmed down a bit too much people say. I count/ 21+22 nov. 1947 ten minutes before midnight + 20+21 July 2011 fifteen minutes before midnight/ Did i writ fifteen or fiefteen?

20 martie 2020 EPoetry With the EPoetry it is possible to write more and perhaps better You read more poets and inaccessible before even t news got E So we must realize that we are in a realm very serious and take It as such write serious read publish be read and that’s it the

Poems will remain like a glacier cut mountain witnessing myth.

Flowergirl

Plays some guitar electric as her long hair Making her look like a Galaxy as in a poem From Argentina She is the Flowergirl with Hair full of pollen and indigo bumble+bees We all liten to her song but there's something More much More a Nora Lam Motherly Cry As if Flowergirl is bearing the world in her eyes Because Soul is all that we are not stardust.

Forgiveness progression

to God1234 This is no story my ancestors on both sides were used to use abuse imprison & execute innocent people Well that’s gonna change better than execution forgiveness and when we do it we’ll call U tell U why It may be a total failure in the beginning but step by step stone by stone fail by fail it will engulf you all Our forgiveness and this is the Emperors’ Way I too wanna be painted in Orthodox walls with my family After all my forefathers liberated primary church fought for Christ and died as martyrs for him at 12 Well I guess I wrote my verses so now a little bit of background from my parents I am from St. Helena And from my Mom I am from Jeanne d’Arc a Polignac the produit of a 7th century marianic shrine and Myself and Mom’s revelation should be researched very seriously by Vatican instead of White pigeons.

Goodlands

Until the Tesla engine gets Agro you can forget about tractors The bull ploughing like my writing + everyday } until a sudden Death and leaving your fully restored land to your family this Is what I write for in this Goodlands named Great Romania + And we will get it again mark my word only that if you peasant' Work that blasted land your forefathers died for again and again Go with the sheep to Thessalia do what it's expected of you work And mangy as you may be your head will b full of gold princess.

I'd give you a flower

I'd give you a flower but flowers not pure enough And no diamond or crystal is true light for you So I am giving you the spring of my spirit With its waters of my chestnut eyes Like the quietude of a river of amber Still like a lake of lead These are my flowers these are my amethysts On them you may walk like Christ.

Ill People

A sane person will never understand the ill one Especially a family member always embarrassed And hiding the past with the care he should help So there are many ups and downs in your ill life And you don't know what is worse hospital or home You just have to resist forsaken by all like Jesus All the sane people have is their pride and orgulho But it does not matter son you have to accept them It's part of your somatic energy your illnes life Love.

In Love with a brain

12 years had passed since I'm in love with a brain As big a Calcutta Berlin London and St. Petersburg altogether I would talk as God if i'd describe Her with her quick sinapses of sage I knew then this Girl is going to harness my brainlessness Wilt guide me stalker me like a wise Bible I never read thouroughly Through and to so I wait for her to come like a Star As if I am one of the Magi in love with Her Too much pearl in that gene pool Jerome would say and walk away.

Inward life

to Mr. Steven Sassmann Poet of Truth & Math I sleep the sleep of the Byzantine Empire full of prayers and mujaheddins of Vlaherne sons I pray and never finish to the Adormition to the Apparition to the Miracle to Love Mary In my inward life I am Constantinople the city of Religious Freedom of blessednessness Monks pass by me and shut up piously have you remembered the angel came again?

Edicule is now holy a Greek temple again and I am a Joan of Arc Cassandra preaching And not quite getting God in my hand the city is esprit by the Moon of my dark eyes For a centuries the Greeks prayed to Jesus and Mary here for another Ottomans 2 God It was a Turkish Convivencia & even m forefather Constantin Brâncoveanu died for Gold Like I die for the quietude I gather inside like a Mother or like a honey worker bee but one Must live for something I fall into myself like Angel in Latin America never seeming to find Equilibrium like in the old years I write and read and write and read look at a flowerphoto Or a quaint poet & sleep my inward life fool of dreams & repose after another poetic drill.

Mocking the Sacred Body My Heart is a trampled rose by the feet of tanks And vanity a black rose one of kind breathing blood Day after day year after year decade after decade And war is no heroism but murder like my family We got accostumed to murder and be killed so We continue 75 years since the war is over over Nobody really cares not ranchers not city people And i am not a horse but a rose blak + in its jaws But my letter and algebra covered petals rise day By the moment only to be crushed and dashed again The next second I am a rose as big as mama s room .You cannot enter too much if you are wise Father.

Musical Auditions

As a Child my Father never brought me no instrument but taught me symphony At the radio or tape or vinyls we made musical auditions as he called them & Maybe this is my craft to just listen to the music and be transported by it somewheres

Like a heresy or a dogma of art and woman’s beauty like Love unrequitted always Because of social taboos and family but for God to continue we need Love So just lie in wait in this mudddy Verdun for the remaining years to pass so we Can take our Girl and just Love her like a porcelain Lass mama used to receive From pupils and maybe my Love is like caolin like myself a bit Mongolian but Christian devout virtuous sage wise and maybe I know why it’s Love do you boy?

Nanophotography

Did you say A truth I can’t describe in your eyes? I am sorry it’s just me Like in nanophotography I use microscopes lenses to see inner+reality The portrait of the soul like in iconography based on the miscellanea Of a few biographical facts old saint or young martyr I look for details

Did he have a staff or a book in hand bearded or nezer buried or lifted up To God and like Sylvia Plath I keep arriving to him the giant submarine Carrying debris and prophets like a kangaroo carries her youngling pup And the discovery arrives that there’s a lot of maternity in God it must be.

The Labouring Old For my Father the Orphic Poet God left him alone with anow 38 Autistic Child that cannot help much Nobody helps him and he gets older and older a tragic fact of Life It’s not that he hasn’t have any offspring b/t fly like Creangă bumbles A war victim too biggest war victim i ever knew a ww2 infant + ’ My mama went out and died young like all her saintly forefathers 63 The number of poems in Poesii 21 XII 1883 nevermind it’s a teacher’s Thing but my Father lives his labour alone like an AIDS person or a Leper psalmist Love won’t help and ithurts and my brothers are away Seems like forever in their perfect lives but that’s their destiny too Maybe this way digne he saves himself by caring and pardoning Decius And Negro Jim like an old school Emperor or philosopher He works In silence alone unvisited unloved not angry just sad like Tatanka Yotanka.

29th of March 2020 The Peasant Poet

to Mirko Virius’

I am not a poet I am a peasant My laptop is a ploughing tractor My Internet connection gasoline I cultivate the brains of people I plough and spade their hearts In the winter I stay w/ my letters In their rememberance yearly They do not speak to me considering My poetry my autism my simple Genius of the brown wheat field Of their sad eyes in the unconscious Wind I am rich I have all these Golden hearts to tend to like Young Hans the flowerman Sacrificing himself for a higher power...

I hope that one poem one rune Will bloom into an unknown heart So that mansoul can continue.

The Poet

Lives for the characters of the Latin alphabet For the vowels and sounds contained in it For the poetry of unknown people in distant centuries Yet after a life long strife a tombbook of poems It’s all that’s left here The poet might save himself in other sphere The three spheres that form the Circle And Poet still.

The Stream

A stream engulfs our world like Ireland Iceland Groenland To pass it you have to walk on the mountains of water We are a pair of locusts sitting by this written leaf + Freedom is a Gift not a self help realization I think I made Antarctica more clearly no I must take medicine So I will end soon it was an honor to be contemporary Though I recommend to carefully read the Biblia for the Flight we all have a cold stream to pass and pass it we shall

I want to see you again young and happy and saved.

Unworthiness God I feel unworthy before you and men A sinner and don’t know how shall come to you In what tearsome state with what eyes words?

What shall I tell you in the reckoning day I only pray ever since my first word mercy I don’t deserve to become heaven but made for me O please save us for your perfection Amen.

Vintage to Bunyan Internet chokes in it there are vintage guitars photocameras matchboxes purses jewelry and books And all good for nothing for instance a Praktica on film without objective or an English manual 1953 But it has the stamp Vintage so they let them go like a at chordless piano on the road for some snubs Who made garbage selling a business everything without use or point gets muffled there for commerce Even this letters have the mark Vintage like they are obsolete good for nothing maimed Latin though Honestly I recognize three writs Fatherly Hebrew homemade Greek and perfect Latin the cross play INRI + as for all shit selling things like silver coins greedy stamps or unearned military decorations Let them be they’re Herod’s and to Herod they will go with all their vintage life in a real Inferno.

YouTube Turntables Recorded Music

There are some music buffs on the internet that record quality vinyls That’s all that they do just play music as in the old days at dancehalls And looking at that record plugging around you see them the old now Dancing softly in the Golden Age getting to know each other and now Marrying at the end of highschool or college a more wise era it was To take price in a Woman or a Child to never leave or not love yea That was the ideal and the world and I do not want to rewrite Epigonii The beauty of the past which as Kate McLaughlin writes Could be again…