Sunday, December 11, 2011
Ants
Spaghetti tin
was full
of spaghetti
eating ants.
I threw the can
into a garbage bin.
Little black ants
do not have coats,
hats and mittens.
They will freeze
to the death
tonight,
I hope,
because I don't
want them
in the house.
It was very cold
night.
Little black ants
froze to the death.
Little shriveled
kiwi seeds
in tin can -
one hundred thousand
of them.
Copyright (c) Marie Neumann
Pottsville, 12/11/2011
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Water
Water
bubbling
clear water
running
over the reeds
and rocks.
Little brook
hurrying
to the river.
Cold water
in the Spring
flooding
meadows
changing them
into spongy
squelchy
surface
creates a lake.
I am looking
from the forest.
I know
I can not cross
in this time
of the year.
Water owns
paths and
once dusty
roads
dominates
water
clear
powerful
water.
Copyright (c) Marie Neumann
Pottsville, 12/8/2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Baby Jesus
Baby Jesus arrived
on his wings
and he said,
and he said ...
I'll give you a s...
this year.
Czech folk poem.
Translated Copyright (c) by Marie Neumann
Pottsville, 12/6/2011
on his wings
and he said,
and he said ...
I'll give you a s...
this year.
Czech folk poem.
Translated Copyright (c) by Marie Neumann
Pottsville, 12/6/2011
Saturday, December 3, 2011
New year resolutions from point of view of common Pennsylvania bear
I have to eat now for two or three anyway since I was frolicking whole last summer with another bear from Hawk Mountains. Somehow he found his way to Pottsville and we had some good times together. He is on his way back to his den in Hawk Mountains. I hope he eats well, avoids hunters and survives this winter, because he is coming in the Spring time again.
My fur is already short and sleek. Mother Nature takes good care of me. Provides me with free winter and summer clothes.
So I am eating well. There are still plenty of berries in the woods, and since I am also carnivore, I do not turn down small game.
I took plenty baths last summer, but for some reason, I can not get rid of fleas. I have to swim more next year and drown them.
I have to avoid hunters at any cost. Here they are coming again and brought barking dogs with them, so I have to sit on the tree all day again, or hide in the swamp. It is hard to take care of some one's stomach, when there are madly barking beasts following my scent.
I'll be rising new cub next Spring, so there go my resolutions about the writing. I tried to write into the sand bank last Summer with my claws a poem about white clouds, rustling trees and trouts' bodies shining in the Sun, when they are swimming up stream. Then a wave came and washed out my poem and scattered letters in the wind.
The end.
Copyright (c) Marie Neumann
Pottsville, 12/3/2011
My fur is already short and sleek. Mother Nature takes good care of me. Provides me with free winter and summer clothes.
So I am eating well. There are still plenty of berries in the woods, and since I am also carnivore, I do not turn down small game.
I took plenty baths last summer, but for some reason, I can not get rid of fleas. I have to swim more next year and drown them.
I have to avoid hunters at any cost. Here they are coming again and brought barking dogs with them, so I have to sit on the tree all day again, or hide in the swamp. It is hard to take care of some one's stomach, when there are madly barking beasts following my scent.
I'll be rising new cub next Spring, so there go my resolutions about the writing. I tried to write into the sand bank last Summer with my claws a poem about white clouds, rustling trees and trouts' bodies shining in the Sun, when they are swimming up stream. Then a wave came and washed out my poem and scattered letters in the wind.
The end.
Copyright (c) Marie Neumann
Pottsville, 12/3/2011
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
The head
Bring me his head,
bring it on the plate
and I shall faint.
Keep it as far
as you can
and his body will follow,
will follow,
will follow ...
... everywhere
looking for a soul
it doesn't have.
Copyright (c) Marie Neumann
Pottsville, 11/30/2011
bring it on the plate
and I shall faint.
Keep it as far
as you can
and his body will follow,
will follow,
will follow ...
... everywhere
looking for a soul
it doesn't have.
Copyright (c) Marie Neumann
Pottsville, 11/30/2011
Monday, November 28, 2011
Where shall I find you?
Trash can
full of cigarette butts,
where shall I find you,
my dear?
You'll find me in an attic
hanging laundry
on the clothes line.
You'll find me
in the hen house
collecting eggs.
You'll find me
in the barn
on the top,
or all way down.
You'll not find me home,
I don't like to be alone.
Copyright (c) Marie Neumann
Translated from Czech (also copyrighted by me)
Pottsville, 11/21/2011, 11/28/2011
Reunion3
She accepts and puts her snow shovel and a broom away. He offers her his arm, on their way they pass big grey mansion to the main entrance.
"What is your name?" she asks.
He answers, but she doesn't hear it and doesn't want to ask again.
"What is yours?"
"I am Margaret."
Again something stirs the old man memory.
"My wife's name was Margaret. We called her Margie."
They enter the hallway of the big house cluttered with gardening tools, pots, broken furniture, working bench, even a saw and piles of the wood.
"Nobody comes here anymore," he apologises and leads her to the kitchen. She sits at the rectangular table covered with red and white checkered plastic table cloth.
He brings two bowls of hot vegetable soup on the table. She is looking at the white bowls with a blue rim and remembers:
"We had a whole complete set of them with cups, saucers, even a turin. It was my wedding gift."
They eat quietly soup and bread. Then he brings coffee.
"Do you have a family?"
No. I don't remember."
"What about children?"
"Yes, I had three children. It was long time ago."
"I had three children!"
"Boys, girls?", she asks.
"Two boys and one girl. What about you?"
"I had the same. What are their names?"
"Danny, Scott and Angela."
"What a coincidence! My children have the same names."
He is looking at her left hand with a wedding band.
"Are you married? What is your last name?"
"My name is Donegal, Margaret Donegal."
"I am also Donegal."
A light of recognition comes into the old woman's eyes.
"Tom, is it you?"
Their hands meet on the table.
"When we got separated?" he asks.
The end.
Copyright (c) Marie Neumann
Pottsville, 11/21/2011
"What is your name?" she asks.
He answers, but she doesn't hear it and doesn't want to ask again.
"What is yours?"
"I am Margaret."
Again something stirs the old man memory.
"My wife's name was Margaret. We called her Margie."
They enter the hallway of the big house cluttered with gardening tools, pots, broken furniture, working bench, even a saw and piles of the wood.
"Nobody comes here anymore," he apologises and leads her to the kitchen. She sits at the rectangular table covered with red and white checkered plastic table cloth.
He brings two bowls of hot vegetable soup on the table. She is looking at the white bowls with a blue rim and remembers:
"We had a whole complete set of them with cups, saucers, even a turin. It was my wedding gift."
They eat quietly soup and bread. Then he brings coffee.
"Do you have a family?"
No. I don't remember."
"What about children?"
"Yes, I had three children. It was long time ago."
"I had three children!"
"Boys, girls?", she asks.
"Two boys and one girl. What about you?"
"I had the same. What are their names?"
"Danny, Scott and Angela."
"What a coincidence! My children have the same names."
He is looking at her left hand with a wedding band.
"Are you married? What is your last name?"
"My name is Donegal, Margaret Donegal."
"I am also Donegal."
A light of recognition comes into the old woman's eyes.
"Tom, is it you?"
Their hands meet on the table.
"When we got separated?" he asks.
The end.
Copyright (c) Marie Neumann
Pottsville, 11/21/2011
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