Zvonko Taneski – POEMS

* Author of the Month *

END OF THE SECRET

I am Macedonian folklore lover

Over there one awaits – even to the grave.

I will wait for you 100 years

And each day shall be June

And you shall watch out

The others to fall asleep

Ahead of us

So that you can tell me

About your own sons, and me to you about my daughters

And about the two Persian cats with big furry tails

I will wait for you 100 years,

But not any longer than that.

SHE’S WET

Entirely wet on the mattress

Lies the dreamed woman

Murdered

By the alarm clock

Clogged SONG

In memoriam

I throw away your

Already really last

Box

Of cigarettes

Making love after drunken night

We’ll be washing our teeth early on

And we’ll be standing long before the mirror with foam in our mouth

We’ll taste our own embarrassment

You will merely ask me early on where you have put your watch

And I'll ask you

To turn on the radio, speaker of the morning news

That will inform us about the thousands of students

That had left home for the holiday

And she’ll tactically say nothing about our last night in the modern boarding school

Early on we’ll feel

Very abandoned and we’ll come outside

At the noisy streets

Searching through our pockets

While we seek out the lost time

And the valid passenger ticket

The wind will blew empty – handed

As unemployed postman

And joyfully will blow away

Crinkled card with hastily written unnecessary address

And so it will be so uncomfortable

To split apart with you

And to rely on

The cold window

In the bus

And to keep silent

Nonetheless we talk a lot now

All sorts of confessions are passing through our throat

Just as easy as drinking cups,

So that our words can be perfectly

Mixed up

And we’ll fly somewhere up

With no sense that

Hence we’re creating the new man

Tendernesses WITHOUT WARRANTY SHEET

To those that for the people

Create beauty,

People usually behave badly.

...

Each and every revolution eats its children, but firstly

It will well – fed them.

...

At the same time as the automobile, the marriage corrodes as well.

...

Whoever has luck at cards,

Will lose nothing

Well at least while divorcing.

...

With the spread of feminism

Even the muses incline more to the authoress than

                To the authors.

...

Very often we agree

About what will be tomorrow,

And then we disagree

About what it was yesterday.

...

In moments of weakness

We’ll say:

"I'll eat you out of love" –

And we immediately lay a criminal act at our door.

The gap is growing.

Tendernesses are being sold

Without any warranty sheet.

Once I were sitting on the same table with a true surrealist

He were telling me

About the voice of the blood

About the reflections of the wind

About the agitated muses

About the stones that burn

At the same time his eyes were closed

And breathed rapidly

I listened to him carefully

Without blinking my eyes

And in spite of the fact that

He made my flesh crawled

The first academic class

You have to start all over again,

From the beginning:

To overvalue the book of knowledge

And to acknowledge:

Hard work is the price

 We must pay for success.

NO MORE CENSORSHIP

No, my love,

I will not put on a condom.

THE AMBULANCE

Night, telephone exchange, the moon is fading away.

Dead paramedics

Are sleeping on their toes in the ambulance.

THE SKY

Before I read the poem at the festival they warned me that

Here one can become a star. In no doubt, post festum.

Several performances, I thought, so that one can create even a sky,

Adorned with stars. Constellation that shimmers.

That’s right: applause from the audience will carry you away,

It will inspire you (expression of time, right?!)

It will raise you up to the pedestal. Then you’ll charge tickets with consumption

(Or wine tasting) in your sky.

It wouldn’t be just whichever event for the others,

You’ll become a privileged individual with mystic character.

Suspicious one for the higher authorities, one of the chosen few.

Because even the sky (honestly) is a mystery,

Unprecedented miracle. Quick escape, filled with risks.

Returning to the stage of our acne.

Before leaving the sky you’ll return the ticket to the smile. 

Revenge lies at the bottom of the wine glass – tit for tat.

Setu, November 2018