poems not poems



sitting on a stone in a circle looking at the sky, looking for a rainbow restlessness in my soul, but why, who knows the rainbow did not appear, it doesn't rain at all suddenly I burst out laughing, I don't have a rain coat after all.

legs walking through fallen leaves rustling and crackling , with a sure step leaves used to be green for a long time up on the trees now resting on a cold ground legs walking through a colorful autumn carpet leaves in yellow, brown, red, where is the beginning and end of this story of mine.



to be a goose in a flock of wild geese, to fly around the world, not just walk the roads, which is a must to be at least a feather in a wild goose's coat I'll be merry for a while, I'll come up with feathered tricks oh wild goose, lend me the joy of flying for a bit...

strong wind blowing, sweeping all the rubbish into a basket. it put out the candle on a table, it danced in the barn. whistling a song - I'll burn the rubbish in flames, howling over and over again, I'll draw a picture in the ashes.