Marina likes to play
She holds the universe as her toy
Her fingers radiate
On the frenzy of the vibes.
Marina, Motherina, Baba, Mum!
Reflect upon what your life has become:
Born in Harbin to refugee Russians,
Tossed out by Mao, with mild repercussions.
Aussie girl, country girl, raised by grandmas,
And grandpa and parents (both pains in her ****).
Small school, to high school with penguin-ed nuns,
Bespeckled and bikeless - childhood is done!
Went off to college at Melbourne Uni,
Made friends, stole a goat and earned a degree.
Entered the workforce for airliner doomed,
Later a teaching position assumed.
Married a beardy fresh in from Hungry
(also a Russian circuitously)...
Moved to the suburbs - East of the border,
Had a few children (not in that order).
Two in-laws out back, who helped with offspring,
Replaced by her mum, who started writing.
Son and two daughters, she raised to adult,
Some better than others - not all her fault.
Each offspring took flight, with their other half.
All but the youngest, who forged her own path.
Some grandkids were born, they grew up a bit,
Throw in some church stuff and that's about it.
San Francisco Jazz Afternoons
Carries me back to those special Sunday afternoons with you.
The striped awning Jazz cafe, our very unique,ibeloved rendezvous.
The smell of the glorious, scents of the Pacific Ocean,
Those brown flirtatious huge eyes,lashes, my West Coast sensation!
My diamond engagement ring glittered like rainbow butterfly wings.
Memories of Coltrane, Davis, music that made you my heart laugh and sing.
San Francisco, always the beguiling, mystical jewel of my heart.
Everyday people who loved peace,jazz music, discourse, finest coffee and art.
You later, bought a fresh, intoxicating gardenia for my ebony bobbed hair.
Do you recall later, Union Street in The City’s, moist, foggy, sensuous air?
The spiritual City, was indeed our forever souls', sparking, galaxy prime,
We were both as daystars, walking its winding streets, so totally divine!
1/9/2024
San Francisco Jazz Afternoons
Carries me back to those special Sunday afternoons with you.
The striped awning Jazz cafe, our very unique,ibeloved rendezvous.
The smell of the glorious, scents of the Pacific Ocean,
Those brown flirtatious huge eyes,lashes, my West Coast sensation!
My diamond engagement ring glittered like rainbow butterfly wings.
Memories of Coltrane, Davis, music that made you my heart laugh and sing.
San Francisco, always the beguiling, mystical jewel of my heart.
Everyday people who loved peace,jazz music, discourse, finest coffee and art.
You later, bought a fresh, intoxicating gardenia for my ebony bobbed hair.
Do you recall later, Union Street in The City’s, moist, foggy, sensuous air?
The spiritual City, was indeed our forever souls', sparking, galaxy prime,
We were both as daystars, walking its winding streets, so totally divine!
4/13/2023
Ah, my Marina Queen!
You, who reigns over the Marina with grass
so tantalizing, so verdantly green.
Holding costly homes that gaze over the
San Francisco Bay,
I adored the music of fog horns, and
could listen to them hight and day.
We all blessed by a mystical, silent drops of fog!
Embracing the Marina and we, your most serene
residents ......all night long!
No tourists on the huge lawns, run!
They. unknowingly believe Pier 39 and souvenirs
are far more fun?
San Franciscans know the city far better than a
sleazy tourist attraction.
They love the unknown jazz and coffee haunts.
Smiling at one another in delightful satisfaction.
The overpowering scent of Eucalyptus trees,
The Japanese tea garden.
Souls that are totally free!
12/3/2022
in the name of living art
pushing the limits risking it all
i put myself out teetering on every ledge
i stand where everyone can see
my nakedness flaunted as body art
i dare to expose my vulnerability
my passion lusts boldly for innovation
an unbridled vision steers my powerhouse
flashing artistic flair of feral imagination
hardcore inspiration with no map or guide
driven by the spontaneity of it all
never sure what outcome to expect
living on the edge of nonconformity
concepts blasting boredom out of existence
an animal survival instinct is what drives me
my art is a living organism
i’m radical no matter what the cost
i don’t care for labels but
at my core i have the heart
of a bona fide performance artist
AP: 2nd place 2020
meow meow
meet ginger tabby
she's the shy, timid one
watching from 'cross the street
meow meow
meet frisky calico
he's the mischievous one
who paws at your feet
meow meow
meet fluffy siamese
she's the glutton
waiting for a treat
meow meow
meet hairless egyptian
she's not so friendly
who claws and retreats
meow meow
one more cat before we sleep
here at cat's marina
so many cats to meet
Zzz...
MARINA ABRAMOVIC---I AM STRIVING TO LOOK INTO YOUR SOUL
I’m in, I’m there let yourself go;
I AM STRIVING TO LOOK INTO YOUR SOUL
Each of us, look at us;
I see;
Sit down before
I look at you blink twice;
I stare as I share
My soul vision
My soul opens to you;
Through my eyes I view;
Look into my eyes;
Witness to my soul;
Blink once if you’re alive
Twice if I’ve entered;;
Look into my eyes;
The entrance to my soul;
Together we’ll stare;
Is it heaven or hell?
Gawking at my face;
Look into my eyes
Seemingly out of place;
Piercing a smirk;
My souls giving birth;
In Awe…
I stare
Yes, I’m here
Them eyes demise..
Demonized???
Stare a tear shed;
My eyes bleed a clear breed…
Are you there? (Here?)
Blink twice;
Shaken head;
Reach out hold hands embrace;
Captives glances captured claps approval
Release departs;
Wipe those tears away from your eyes and heart;
Inhale chosen eyes;
Open to watch and share others glance and stare;
12/29/18
For Contest “ Marina Abramovic”
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
They sit, seldom still, naked
yet not silent - beckoning,
like a wind chime concert
of tapping halyards,
wave slapped hulls and
groaning lines where freedom hints
to their captains, "To sea, to sea".
My dream of yesterday I'm calling
under caress of a plush plaid,
What was that? And who won? Who's falling?
Who was defeated? What is bad?
I think again, I change my thinking,
Anew I feel the sweetest pain,
Say, was it love of just a winking,
I have no word for it again.
Who was the prey? Who was the hunter?
All is contrary, it is mad,
Siberian cat has got it under
that caress plaid.
Who, whose hand was the ball in
in our duel of self-win?
Oh, say, your heart or mine was rolling
and bouncing real.
So, do I want it, do I need it?
What did it show?
Say, did I win? Was I defeated?
I do not know.
23.10.1914
P.S. This is my translation of poem by Marina Tsvetaeva
Look like a guy but I think like a girl
So ladylike, it makes people hurl
Easy to be sleazy when they've got filthy minds
We stick to stereoides, chicks are not blinds
Guys are not meant to be flirty
Never unmarried after thirty
I love your Boxer queue
I'll be flirty for you
Is there any possibility
You'll quit gossiping about me
Men don't have insecurities
All they say is
"Blah, blah"
Guys they never boyfriend me
Because I fall in the lust category
Men's calories are insecurities
All they say is
"Ya ya ya ya ya"
Guys, oh guys, we are born to lead
Guys are proud to the seed
Good men of great speed
Oh their mothers must be proud
Making money, standing in the crowd
Calm down, I'm not going to steal your boyfriend
No need to brand me between these lies
Calm down, I'm not the marital end
So quit burning holes in me with your eyes
I like that you are ill, but not by me,
I like that I'm not drowned within your fever,
that heavy sphere of earth will never be
ran out under the feet of us like river.
I like, I can be funny, yes, i do,
to be so carefree playing not with phrases,
and do not blush with wave of shyness anew
in time of touch of our sleeves as blazes.
I like, my presence doesn't make you stop
to hold somebody else in your embraces,
you don't predict me burn without some hope
in hell, because I kiss the other faces.
That you're my tender do not call my name
so tender in daylight and in night hours,
that in the silent church the candle flame
won't sing us hallelujah with the flowers.
I thank you with my heart and with my hand,
that you don't know me, but you love me tender
for my serenity of night in lonesome bed,
for our rare meetings and their splendor.
That we don't walk in night under the moon,
There's no the sun above our heads, it's *****,
that you are ill, alas, not with my tune,
that I'm not ill, alas, by you, my dear.
P.S. Translation of poem of Marina Tsvetaeva
the Storm rages in your hair
made of sand and lovely gold dust,
crabs and camellia
surge on, delicate
you're born like this
the Storm rages over the contours
of your body suchlike swallow's
made of amber and pearliness
and quicksilver tinge
now surge on, delicate
you are the Maelström
the Storm rages through your
fingers like honeysuckle rods
and late at night
I'll be your mirror
so surge on, delicate
'cause you are the Maelström
MARINA OF 270 DAYS
So happy, young and beautiful she was
In her simple pale yellow wedding gown
There before the altar she stood
Angelic and pure as the morning dew
In her shyness, obeisance and humility
Serenity sensing a tempest anchored
Here in the vast ocean of dreams
Life in its infinite wisdom and betrayal
Chooses paths to us mortals unknown
Life within the sacred womb
Waits for sublime light to shine
A call went out for a mid-wife to rise
Nature, mother of all living things
Indifferent to circumstances shed her tears
Bathing blissful valleys, mountain and hills
She must wait for the torrents to slow
For the crossing had wings of death waiting
But the flow predictably would cross allow
On the opposite shore hope and fear reside
Between pain, cry and fading hopes
The river of blood was slowly running dry
A last breath; of a mother and a child .
And in her death
She was a poet
Images of her past
Skipped through her mind
Her dead child, her friends, her lovers
Paris, Russia, famine
But images of eternity
Led her to eternity
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