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Best Poems Written by Helena Plahcinski

Below are the all-time best Helena Plahcinski poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Helena Plahcinski Poem

THE RAIN SAILED the DATE IN the CALENDAR

The night submitted to me as it celebrated my weakness,
selflessly we shared sorrow,
poisonous tears flowed from the pupil of my eye,
I curse my reflection in the glass of the balcony door,
my weakness I strengthen with pain,
the laughter from the apartment next door
admonishes and suffocates,
it testifies to the solitude among four eerily walls
grieve with me,
there is nothing left of me,
only a sinful soul along with tired body,
and the skin destroyed by the corrosive rains.
 
the voices of the underworld are calling my name,
they echo the letters in the order they were born,
words of prayer laced with your name slide down my lips,
they crawled inside me and created an internal storm,
on my body are written the names
of all the victims of my internal wars,
how many times have you killed me
and brought me back to life,
immortality became my mortal sin.

Details | Helena Plahcinski Poem

Story about the moon, sun and a star

the sun was burning with love for the moon, 
and the moon shone so brightly just for the sun. 
they would ever see each other for only a split second
before the other one disappeared with the others arrival, 
a love in passing by, but not fleeting. 
and Sirius as the brightest star, 
dimmed every night, more and more 
- the star has fallen for the moon, 
despite the unrequited love, 
and proposed the eternity of love to the moon, 
but the moon remained forever stuck 
in that one second illuminated by the sun's rays.

-	I'm not shining anymore, my moon. I finally am a fallen star.

Details | Helena Plahcinski Poem

love from the underground

you are calling for me 
with sweet melodies 
from the underworld,
"Oh Persephone come back to me" 
imbued with sobs,

negligently i slip into your arms -
how dantesque of me to 
conjure an inferno upon me.

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You left with the first autumn leaves

Your hair smells 
of conifer forests 
and the Michaelmas summer 
that I nurture on my palms.

Winter is looming,
they cut down the trees.

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SWEET TALK WAS SOUR IN MY HOUSE

The lemonade I drink is sour,
reminds me of my childhood,

the sugar was not spilled before my feet,
while I was conquering the barren land of life -
on which I was walking,

mom and dad say the sweet life is expensive,
but we always had sugar in the kitchen vitrine,
I guess for guests, what do I know.

Come to think of it, this lemonade is full of sugar.

Details | Helena Plahcinski Poem

converting the pain

that sugar-coated suffering 
was once only bitter pain, 
the poetry you turned it into - gave it sweetness.

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Belonging

You walk the streets of a city that is not yours,
and you hid within its walls
even though you came here because no one knows you.
The night is cold and you don't hide under an umbrella,
as the moist air fills your lungs,
and your socks are wet from the rain,
no one knows you and yet you are hiding from someone,
from something,
and you let weakness loose.
 
It is pouring with rain
and it pours from your eye,
l o n e l I n e s s
And there on the damp streets of the old town
you realize that you cannot escape from yourself,
you will return home
because they still know you there.

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The disease of the withered soul

It's three in the morning - the grave silence breaks my soul,
the glass on the coffee table is empty,
obliviously I water my soul, it will bloom too.

Some birds are chirping in my chest - they sound like cuckoos.
Old stories bequeath the saying that when they cry,
they shed tears that heal all diseases.

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sinner

the darkness i feel
crawling up my skin
and fillin up my lungs like
a cigarette smoke
after first inhale
is breaking my bones
taking my breath away like the death upon me
my soul being given to a stranger
who i recall being my lover
bequeath me this darkness
as a reminder that we are still alive
in body because my mind is shut
this living corpse that is left of me
will swing with the wind in your direction
and beg the god for forgivness
for the love i felt for the devil in human form
and still seeking for your touch

Details | Helena Plahcinski Poem

tragic prodigy

You have the Florentine beauty of the soul,

with pale fingers as if made of snow,
you play nocturne farewell melody
on my ribs as if they were a harp.

and your renaissance soul 
will conquer this simple one of mine,
and it will not remain of me
nothing but an outline in your past 
that will complete your Shakespearean tragedy.

A picturesque depiction 
of self-destruction, 
after capitulating to beauty.