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Simona Dancila Poem
I can see it in your eyes:
Autumn Leaf in Paradise,
and I fear for all the trees
full of stupid theories
about never-ending summer
while The Big Hand holds a hammer
above all fragility
and I wonder if you see
Autumn Leaf in Paradise
softly glowing in my eyes
like an answer and a seal
in the last tree on the hill.
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Copyright © Simona Dancila | Year Posted 2014
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Simona Dancila Poem
the rain becomes autumn
and autumn becomes rain
there is a Gold Surviving System
(GSS) around the brain
with unexpected creatures
who lift the modern burden
of being so involved
in glass rotating hours
curriculum vitae sleep
and we call this LOVE
and we fall in a drop
among yellow leaves.
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Copyright © Simona Dancila | Year Posted 2014
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Simona Dancila Poem
Mimetic kinetic imagery
of a blossoming Aprylic Me
riding a white spring
at three o”clock in the morning,
lucid hours on a yellow line
so far in Monday”s emptiness.
He”s calling, he”s trying to imitate an owl
an Egyptian Spirit-
he”s just my poor alternative ego
alone
under my grandmother”s sweet soul
in a warm cosmic kitchen.
And now the Sun is melting this poem
and solid objects can be seen
I activate my resurrection
in this mechanic haloween.
Copyright © Simona Dancila | Year Posted 2014
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Simona Dancila Poem
leave me tomorrow,
kiss the door outside
take a flying Zebra for a Butterfly
why stayin together
in a crystal-clear Stupidity
with green and pink arrows
meant to create a Galaxy of Hope
somewhere
between two black cats
(obviously family)
leave me tomorrow
stay out of Africa
let it be
remove your yellow toothbrush
from My Eternity
face the Mockingbird better than Humboldt did:
(second confirmed nesting in country ever)
an Adult is just an altered Kid...
Copyright © Simona Dancila | Year Posted 2014
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Simona Dancila Poem
The earliest thought- I was a blind rock: mineral feeling of an uncut idol, my pressed wings induce a false sleep. I don't trust me as part of a building because my frozen nerves are still related to bloody business and my stability depends on old things' roots. Like a snail in the memory's spiral I make slow circles in a Levantine tower, living places are overlapping to form an upright native land, a growing mirror with all my moments in a wintery evangelical succession, annular heads raising from a well where peoples' liquid mind mix. I can hardly bear it, wearing fancy clothes I try to cover the mythological Meat, the inhuman side of the flesh, the anatomic stains. Drinking tea I clean my conscience, oh, lovely furniture and fine art objects, do you realize that I'm completely happy in your abstract presence? Do you realize that you keep my eternity in precious fragile eggs? You bloom at the end of the matter, you touch the other sky, the brown heavy sky polished by silvery cats-indefinite slippery ideas about beauty, the intimate effort of a deeply ploughed woman in order to cicatrize herself. The meadow's malachite door is open, I can see the primary glaucos mass of terrible friends, butterfly marrow, the viscous veins of raw angels, my negative steps under the ruined house, our unforgettable bodies swimming in the magma. So, I'm a resting beast between fish and bird, nothing is totally seen or totally heard, this light Protection, the transparent humanism is the only glamour of the organism.
Copyright © Simona Dancila | Year Posted 2014
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Simona Dancila Poem
I produce old silk flags to undulate the mist-
I”m just another Torturated Body from the East
I take the Medicine and try to resist
among Big Mammals, fighting with a spoon
I put one foot on the Moon for a catatonic walk
and the other foot on the street
to sustain the back
under a yellow skirt
wearing an orange shoe
that gives a great stability
by throwing out sweet glue.
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Copyright © Simona Dancila | Year Posted 2014
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Simona Dancila Poem
That was not a windmill, it was
a beautiful wings-cutting mechanism
with a vitreous red peacock inside
who puts a solar edged Venice afternoon in motion
in a gentle blue square
into which we stuck our wings
so that our heavier-than-air bodies could happily flutter
with one thousand and one flexibilities
on the ethereal geometry above the roofs
where pharaonic flags pompously glorify us
as large cosmic objects pushing comets towards the others
in a fireworks game of our honeymoon…
and, suddenly we found ourselves down:
no, it was definitely not a windmill!
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Copyright © Simona Dancila | Year Posted 2014
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Simona Dancila Poem
I keep brightening my Goal
with my soft dusty dog soul
gray-and-yellow heavy fringes
waving
jazzy movements
in a white wine atmosphere
so many disquiet shoulders sustain
this little heaven called Mental Bar
drinking colours directly from the rainbow
to complete the circuit
with the pale semicircle
which is the brain filament of a naked poet
before the surgery
and after a holly lifetime trying to digest
the stone cross which keeps the body up
which keeps the democratic convention going
along the poor streets inside him,
internal pilgrimage towards a shiny Self
fed with big ripe words
about nothing
late summer afternoon
white paper around me
to keep my dusty dog soul
in clear purity.
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Copyright © Simona Dancila | Year Posted 2014
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Simona Dancila Poem
it”s the softest stage of fear
in a fluffy atmosphere
and the Kiss is flying low
upon the face of the snow-
you can build a nice career
if you study all the beer
wearing the brown uniforms
of demoted unicorns
and the black eyes of a Saint
who will literally faint
in such burning Poetry,
just like me,
oh!
just like Me!
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Copyright © Simona Dancila | Year Posted 2014
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Simona Dancila Poem
I found Loneliness dead
between two daisies
and suddenly the wind
pushed the whispers back
inside the soul
and I started to talk dandelions
to myself:
I love you...
Such a fluttering idea,
it's like eating white vitamins
from the Moon,
innocent population will think
that a Ghost raped the sweet clover buds
and Shakespeare- this ambiguous God-
will write a new tragedy
soon.
Copyright © Simona Dancila | Year Posted 2016
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