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Their Songs



Once upon a time

You were like a butterfly

Here and there and everywhere

Now you are stuck in a wheelchair


Once you sighed day in day out

“Why must I live so long?”

Now you’re blissfully content

You don’t remember

What you’ve ever said


You live in a foreign land

Like most in the dining room today

The piano plays soft melodies

Of bygone years, I feel my eyes

Well up with tears


The young nurse’s belly carries

A new life, a new beginning

Amidst the very ending

My tears keep rolling

Down to my trembling lips


The nurse keeps smiling

Her words are sweet

“Come on love, up you go

One two three, well done

Hang on to your walker, dear”

The old soul, half her size

Slowly shuffles on


I shed one more tear

My wet eyes I wipe…

The piano played

Their songs and mine

Once upon a time



 © irina dimitric  2013.




0 0 0

The Thief and His Kingdom

Touches that rob, 

they murder the self; 

when betrayal becomes King.

Fractured self deviates, 

becomes a stranger apparition;
hidden in closets, 

dusty cupboards, 

and within dirty linens.

Until the ghastly corpse decomposes,
into flesh bit figments;
of a confused mind
and imprisoned cracked soul;
left to wander,
with the thief of all thieves,
the King of stolen souls.

0 0 0

if i pen pretty words 
secreting scarlet scratches
my scars unseen
would you believe
my mind beautiful? 

0 0 0



confused, edgy 

staring into nowhere

anywhere but down


cool, crisp air up on the roof

should I be here? 

sidestepping, backtracking

a halfcircle turn, 

then, a voice...


'go back...'


halfcircle back

toward the ledge

look down, now

wondering - what if?

so tired...


so i step -

into blackness; no bottom, no movement 


i step -

no drop, yet nothing stopping my tread  


i step -

a fog lifts, my mind begins to shift


i step -




I don't know next what happened,

but i do know that

I'm now a stepper - a stepper! 

not a looker 

at ledges

i'm renewed too,


with my wings

i can fly 

wherever i want -




0 0 0


The wind blew past my hair

It's more like a blew past the air

and into the bottom of this void I stare

I wonder and I ponder

Was it right to have jumped?

2 0 2

Otis Cookes the Blues

I was born by a dead river
In a government high rise tenement
And just like its brave little roaches
I’ve been running in the dark ever since

It’s been long-term unemployment
Lord, I can’t even keep up with subsidized rent
Brother I know Change must’ve got high and lost its way
Whenever we’ll get to see it isn’t going to be today

Can’t afford one 3D movie pass and popcorn
Downtown mall is too far away to walk
Ran out of minutes on the cell; can’t even talk
Never been this broke since the day I was born

It’s been long-term unemployment
Lord, I can hardly find my way to tomorrows
Change is on vacation and the Blues is working
Overtime, my life is rife with the ghetto sorrows

I ran to the East Coast because I heard it was cool
But it was either be a streetwise tool or a hustler’s fool
Then I ran to the West Coast to marry and settle down
She took the house and the kids, left me a homeless broke clown.

I was born by a dead river, in a government tenement
Broke as the ten commandments, I’m barely eking out the rent
Now I’ve kids, alimony and child support payments too
It’s been a hard time becoming; I was born to sing the blues.

0 0 0

Everything we wanted is out there still

Waiting to surprise us and undermine us and hide from us

disguised as a curse disguised as a blessing disguised

as decisions

The trees are wrapped in lights and the air is frigid

We wear coats and I drive from house to house cheeks red from the heat

The bed is stripped clean to the mattress and the house is colder without you

I can’t sleep without my mother in the next room and I spend my free time

folding clothes mindlessly following the creases

pouring coffee for strangers who clutch books like newborn babies to their chests

And all I want is to bare the awful stuff inside my chest like a prize

Here, here is the sloppy throbbing mess you wanted to see,

here, it is bleeding and raw and sensitive and if you touch it too quickly

it will cause a collapse 

but here, this is it, you can have it

or your share of it,

this is where my father put his words

and my mother put her wine

and they both left it there in the house where I grew up 

and out of.

Do you still want it? this miserable beating heart jumping beneath 

sallow skin 

It is bone and breath and blood

It is mind and matter and mayhem

It is what you wanted the clean wrapped package of it

the light and bright above the heaving dark disaster

Laughter canceling out thought.

I am crying into my mother’s arms but really I want

to be in bed watching mindless television

Or escaping into words being sung

Or asleep and unaware 

Of how a throat feels when it is raw and thick and desperate to stay

happy or indifferent or dispassionate 

or whatever

but it is crying 

it is bleeding

it is pulsing

it is passing

it is passing

it is flying

maybe it never needs 

to land.

1 0 1


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2 0 2

kefir and coffee


for thee: 

one-two-three - 

easy stevie, chase, don’t embrace the skeevy 

pace past the pockmarked parks of darkness 

no stress or duress, just check and recheck your starkness 

with your infinite jest and requests of the infinite mind 

be kind and rewind your gloom and doom grind

you've ground down small minds from small towns left behind

unbend your yin, unfriend criminal fools subliminal trends 

koans of zen blend and mend a moaning mans yen  

with methods your kin used to comprehend sin 

be a good friend to make a good friend, then

laugh, submerge your wrath in an allopathic gin bath 

chart a graphed path of your craft using new math 

avoid fiends fixing on bricks or coke keys to get kicks 

tricks getup, get setup, hicks nixing race mixing…shutup!

sit up and yearn to attain, pet projects need their do-lists slain

get’r done then reflect, it's the least I’d expect for you to expect 

to peep le be-you-see with thee in the warm, calm breezy…


for me: 

two-two-three - 

four off the date of my human crate’s first gait

on my fated spate on this sphered tectonic plate

no ingrate, mate, I'm true-blue and I shoot straight

i’d hate to rue you, my new crew, a rare chosen few

spitting lyrical voodoo in a select milieu

of like minds of like kind who left behind the hyped grind 

who ground into musty dust the old crusts of mistrust 

and must slam their poems or spontaneously combust 

in explosions of tone and of meter and rhyme

with their shit so refined, and their essence sublime 

strike the word shit, I'll use the word stuffing 

no brag in my swag so don’t think I’m bluffing  

puffing on blunts leads to fronting and stunting growth 

so the grunt you’re confronting is just me punting ‘em both

takes effort abstaining, maintaining, no joking 

you don’t hear me complaning, just waning the toking

low vice a low price for retaining the clarity 

for seeking, retweaking what’s foul and what’s fair to me 

fresh airing, karma repairing and daring to be

the wondrous bloom from the root of my family tree 

on the cusp of this eve in the two-oh-one-three -