Meena

Meena sits by a chimney and looks down from the roof. Meena sticks out her tongue. The roof yawns. Roof, move a little bit, roll me down, like an apple from the tree. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville, 2011

E-books

You can not read them, when low on batteries. You can not read them without computer and Internet connection. You can not read them in the bathtub full of suds. You can not read them on the sandy beach. You can not listen to them, when driving a car. You can not buy them at books sale for a dime and take them back, when finished. You can not, as Dr. Seuss says: Read them here and there. You can not read them everywhere. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville, 2/20/2012

Poetry

Go on, publish your high brow poems nobody will read, but another high brow readers. Circulation is 2,000 copies. Nobody reads poetry anymore. People rather listen to the songs. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville, 2/27/2012

My ego

My ego is a size of a mole, and like the mole I wish to crawl into a deep, dark hole. I am brazen enough to write in language I didn't master. I still want to write and live happily after. I thought I have something to say, I might bring something new, to ad my two cents to this overflowing culture. My deflated ego says: shut up, your stories are lame. You are to late, everything was already written. You can not bring and say anything new. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville, 2/21/2012

Second chances

A man, or a woman divorces, remarries, or stays single. Chances depend on choices. Have a second helping of that wonderful meringue pie, then and now? To risk to gain more pounds? Blew up first chance, and ruin second chance, he goes for the third one. "Give me another chance." Chances depend on choices and bad habits. Something has to change inside. In that case the second chance might work. Otherwise, it is a waste of effort and time. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville, 2/12/2012 POW! assignment

Search

"Did you find, what you were looking for?" Years of searching, years in the dark, years of growing up stretched out ... The books, which I borrowed from your library ... In that time it never occurred to me one day I will be passing on my way to the work the house where John O'Hara lived and wrote. "Did you find, what you were looking for?" What are we searching in our teenage years? On the streets of the City of Pottsville I found myself. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville, 2/21/2012

Little boxes

Little boxes were hopping steps down. They were just empty cardboard boxes bouncing in Stribro down stairs and out from the town hall. You whistled a song: "Little boxes" and the song enchanted me. The boxes were dancing in the middle of the town square around the water fountain. The wind whistled "Little boxes ..." Next morning a garbage truck picked up sleepy cardboard boxes and took them to the city dump. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville, 2/20/2012 Translation from Czech