Poems and Tales from Romania | Page 5

Eve, as moles can't see but know how to dig, people can't feel but know how to hurt."
Three years later, yet don't count on the date since our calendar is relative, a tormented Eve, naked but not cold, wrote these in a state of deep hunger. The Adam in her bed had gone hunting. And, like a beauty sign on the face of the sky, the Honey Moon was singing, "How does the poet feel in front of you, inhabitants of Eden? Naked, she is completely naked in her irrepressible nakedness, she feels naaaked..."
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What We Call Bedtime Worries
They are some sort of feelings, thoughts or just figments of ideas that some people cannot sleep on.

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The following poems are connected to the above story.

* A Poem To Eve
Open Doors
A windy hallway. Me, wearing a raincoat And grabbing your Arm, Umbrella. A boat. Parallel visions: sunshine in my right eye Where the Emperor is bleeding: O, Helios, don't die! Sunbeams in my fair hair. A Feast of Light. I am soaked in my sweat. A Flesh Delight. While baking in my own juicy despair.
I am a mellow Apple: O, Eve To feel is to believe. To give is to receive. Go take that bite...and live!
Dark forest in my left eye. The hidden sky. My hair is the dying fuse the waters reject. A blue forget-me-not. A thought. I am fading. I am raining. No complaining. Prodigy of Love flowing Through my rivers of sweat. My skin is wet.
I have lost Direction in Time's Incineration. Black Waves and Wavering. Digression. I ask Fate about keylocks while striving for Choices. Where am I, Tower? Blind Doubt rejoices. Am I the heiress of Shiver? My fingers quiver. I'm crawling on the ivy of Frustration.
You, manly power, go build your home right there. Don't move within my world. Don't steal my perfumed air. Hush...I'm thinking now...The history's repeating. Strange body alchemy: three words and Chemistry. It has to do with angles. And soul geometry. Flesh tapestry. The cycle is completing...
Death is resurrection. Circle of Perfection.
Now man go round the corner - walk on tiptoe - Don't burn my lawn - sleepy at dawn. Don't step, but fly. Don't ever lie. You must have high precision With my gangrened indecision This is a psychic Soul incision. Tower of Babel - babbling hearts - I am your Queen. The queen of Spleen.
The Apple grows black velvet sin beneath its shiny skin.
Postpone my quickening: O, Love I know a language in which pain Does not rhyme with rain. Hold back. I praise my brain. Let the earth drain. The sun is bleeding on a sunny day I pray. I pray. I pray. Three times. One single way.
O, Eve The slaughter of the faithful daughter.
I say here today I am the proof of your dwelling in me. The bay tied with a golden sand leash to the sea. My flying fish. Your wings vanish...sh... I stay aloof...so die in me. Obey. And yet I cannot be. My sea is energy. My warmth is life. I am designed to be the Wife.
My Destiny's mutinies. Someone close at least one door To my soul. My life: a hole. You are my earth. I am the blindness of your mole.

* Eve to the Honey Moon
When the Moon sleeps I die I'm the Moon's Open Eye

* Eve to the Apple-Trees
All the friends I got are trees All the birds they got are hopes All the hopes they got are songs All the songs they sing I write

* Eve to the Honey Moon Again
Be patient with me, Sister Moon All the doors to the Convent are closed Someone left me locked outside In this world.

* The Impassioned Eve
I am fire-haired I am flower-hearted Now in bloom I am love-possessed

* Eve To Her God
You gave me locusts of desire You gave me mountains of fire
Godly gifts
I burnt my rotten fruits On Cain's altar.

* Eve To The Dark
You are the horns I grow You are the thorns I hide You are the secret Call You made me fall.

* Eve's Fear
I'm not afraid of the dirt I am afraid of the Great Unwashed And I want to wash my fears away With their tears.

* Eve's Desire
I want you to be the prisoner of my quick sands

* The Promises Of Eve
I will shape your dreams I will kiss your fears I will drink your tears After-Moon...

* Eve About Her Poetry
My poem is one second long. Like a breath. To its beat I belong. The rest is death.

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Story #2
The Story of Lake Dimbovitsa
[The Wonderlanders]
This is a story whose roots are lost deep in the recesses of time, before such stories were actually written down, but rather passed, a generation at a time, sometimes even skipping entire generations that either were not interested, or who merely forgot, as time was quite