Marie

Some call me Maria.
Don't call me Maria.
I am Mary.
Don't call me Mary,
call me Marie.
It is the same name
like Marietta, or Miriam.
Somebody wrote a book:
"Marietta in the night"
I remember a title,
but forgot,
what it was about.
They called me Marushka,
when I was young.
When I grew up
I became Marush.
For my Slovak pen pal
I was Marienka.
In German I am Mariechen.
In Russia Marusia,
or Masha for short.
In South Bohemia
I was called Maika,
the same like one bug,
I know how it looks like.
My fifth grade teacher
liked to call me Maruna.
For my seventh grade teacher
I was Mara.
I became Marianka in Prag.
My boss called me Marzenka,
when he brough homemade
venison goulash.
My hungarian friend
is Marika
and we write
our name the same.
I became Marzena,
when I wasn't nice.
I went by many names
and turn my head
to all of them.
Just don't call me Marzena.
Marzena is bad news,
when she comes home drunk.

Copyright (c) Marie Neumann
Pottsville, June 2010

How I met my first Englishman with whom had a longer conversation

It was late Spring. We were picking ripe strawberries in the fields near Norwich in England. I decided I need a decent swim suit for my work and walked on the road to hitchhike to the nearest town, with a pocket Czech English dictionary in my hand.
Earlier in the year I was exposed to first sixteen English lessons. I have to admit I didn't absorb even those lessons well.
I walked on the road. I didn't know how far is the nearest town and what is its name. I was walking and an Englishman stopped in his lorry. Somehow I was able to explain I need to go to the store. He asked me what I need to buy. With the help of the dictionary I was able to answer a question. He stopped in the front of Woolworth. I said "Thank you" and "Good bye". I purchased one piece, green swim suit. Somehow I remembered the road we came to the town, and was ready to hitchhike back. I met the same Englishman again. He tried a conversation, but, for my limited vocabulary, his attempt failed. He had a pig farm, because he oinked a lot. Except Czech pigs go chro, chro and not oink, oink. He dropped me back at the farm, where I lived and worked.
He showed up again at Saturday dance. We were officially introduced by one young man from Yugoslavia I took English classes with. We danced. The conversation in English language didn't develop and I was a such piece of wood it didn't occur to me we could flirt. I left the dance, met outside Janusz, who just purchase a new, powerful flashlight. For a while we were gazing at the stars and then I went to the bed. So I didn't befriended the Englishman and went back to my mama.

Copyright (c) Marie Neumann
Pottsville, January 2011

If I were Cupid

If I were Cupid I would work in the bakery. Working in the night and going to bed early in the morning. That night I must make at least hundred hearts. Which one to whom, lets people sort it out. If I were Cupid I would work in the green house growing velvet roses all of them in red color. I would be out of business, because all flowers are shipped from far South. If I were Cupid I would move to South, dance flamingo and sing all year around. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville, 2/11/2012

Ethics

Who is a winner? Who breaks ethics, of course. She doesn't follow the rules. Here, grab it, take it, it is yours for taking. Victims taken by surprise quietly complain: It is not fair. How far you can hear their voices? Meek, quiet, silent voices? Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville, 12/10/2011

Fulfilled dreams

I told you all of my stories and nothing is left. To leave? There is nowhere to go. It is quiet. The dreams are fulfilled. There are no wishes left. It is time to live and to be happy. How? Without dreams?! Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville, 1/27/2012

Babes

Babes on caraway seed, and I am innocent. Babes for lunch, babes are tempting little rascal. Babe on the lap, babe for a dinner. Babe is trying her little claws. Babe sinks her claws and I am one with no experience. Babe isn't looking for an infidelity. Babe is preparing her nest. Catching on fire like a bale of straw, you may have them all. Don't worry, you shall go with the babe, too. The babe defends herself: All men are free for taking. Copyright (c)Marie Neumann Pottsville, 2011.

What are you going to do?

What are you going to do? Sell the stars by bushels? Sell the river to the fish? What are going to do? Sell the monkeys to the zoo? Make the World to be a better place? Better for whom? To ease a pain? This is what you can not do. To make money, because money talk? To leave everything as is, because the things usually work out themselves? Somehow. What are you going to do? Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville, Summer 2011