poetry – Page 41 – hidden pilcrow

Pencil sketch - skinless men walking in a line

Watching from the sidelines

Published on 13/04/2024 by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

Life always seemed to be outside the realm of our expertise,
and as unrepentant as one can be, we thrived on the idea
that any seemingly genuine feeling other than all the anguish
that one could muster would turn out to be nothing but a façade,
so instead we have been collecting stains since time immemorial
and, ever eager for a gaze into the abyss, continue to do so.
But what’s most bizarre is that we truly intend to celebrate
our forlorn retirement as if we were mere spectators
in this panopticon.

The game of colours

Published on 06/04/2024 by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

What are the odds of getting one double-yolk egg,
let alone a whole box? One in a thousand, I read,
and yet the latter happened to me just the other day.
You have to admit, I must be one lucky bastard
or an unlucky one, depending on the superstitions
we follow. Speaking of which, I have always wondered
why blue is considered better than red and white imposes
its supposed supremacy over black, brown, and yellow.
After all, in the game of colours, nothing lasts but the dire
shades of pale.

An oil painting of a bedroom with a window and shadows of people on the wall

The shadows

Published on 30/03/2024 by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

The shadows outside my bedroom wear names other than mine,
but at least we still share the sentiment of having one.
Also, we all measure time, although I’m not particularly fond
of manipulating it, even if only twice a year.

The shadows outside my bedroom are keen on collecting proverbs,
as they look good pinned in a display box on the wall.
Well, as long as guests don’t mind the smell of naphthalene
and glossy reddish-brown stains on the pinning stage.

The shadows outside my bedroom preach kinship with the sun
yet practice fluttering around the glowing, coiled filament of tungsten
I come from. Sometimes I wonder if, behind closed curtains,
they simply cease to exist.

A watercolour painting of a city on a moonlit night and a skull

Reality

Published on 26/03/2024 by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

Nothing is real but reality in a watercolour
fog washed with the secretions of the graveyard
shift, like the yawner’s mention of a scarlet dawn.
Is it the fool moon mocking the street lamps
with reflected light that holds terror for one,
or is it the crunch of pebbles with each tired step?
And while the outline of meals has long lost its meaning,
they are still necessary to keep up appearances.
After all, any of them could be supper.

Surreal oil painting depicting a group of people around an hourglass with sand and people inside

A rude awakening

Published on 01/03/2024 by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

In the river of yellow umbrellas,
the rain swims with frantic crawls,
as if plotting wet shoulders were barely enough.
But even if the sky forgives the reflection
and the wind forgets the manner,
once they learn that forever has a pretty short shelf life,
they will realise all that’s left is to count
the grains of sand stolen from an hourglass
and be cautious.

And just like that he came

Published on 16/09/2023 by Maciej Modzelewski2 Comments

I can’t remember the last time I tasted marzipan,
or anything as sweet, for that matter.
Sugar has become one of those guilty pleasures
I can’t afford anymore. I envy the time I could eat
whatever I wanted and as much as I wanted,
and everything burned off without a trace in my waist.
I guess that’s age for you. But it’s not all bad.
There are things that only came with age, like the fact
that the all-consuming greed for new is finally gone.
I’ve learned patience and appreciation for the moment.
And back then, I would never have understood the words
of Professor Falconer. Now I know—I’m a single man too.

a white van parked on the side of a country road with a mountainous landscape in the background

Taxonomy for beginners

Published on 16/09/2023 by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

I can’t be a crazy cat lady since I’m a man,
and I don’t have even a single cat, but that’s a minor detail.
Living in the north of Scotland, if anything, excludes me
from the bon chic bon genre.

I could always have become a white-van man
if I had bothered to get my driving licence first.
And, of course, there is always the obvious choice—
a Polish plumber.

A word of advice if you are in a similar dilemma:
whatever label you choose, make sure it’s clear.
People forgive you anything but ambiguity.

A large black cat stares at a man in a suit and top hat practising yoga - oil painting in the style of René Magritte

All the trinkets of my day

Published on 16/09/2023 by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

I like that brief pause at the dust jacket flaps
before the serpentine sentences call me
to follow their long stretches and sub-clauses
introduced with all the althoughs, therefores,
and whiles pulled out of the conjunction hat.
I like the cat’s morning yoga for atheist classes
before the obligatory glass of milk-and-water bliss.
I like a furtive one last sniff of the night’s remnants
hidden in my pyjamas before I wrap myself
in the armour of an everyday suit.
And there are a few other trinkets like that,
but the point is, if there is a silver lining to life,
these would be the closest.

A man standing on the bank of a parting river - an oil painting in the style of René Magritte

Like pebbles lying on a riverbank

Published on 15/09/202315/09/2023 by Maciej Modzelewski2 Comments

There is no point to life or value
beyond that of a pebble lying on a riverbank.
These could only be created between us, but only just,
since all we do is supply the necessary dose of meaning in life
to keep us going—not the meaning of life itself.
And by the way, let’s leave aside any notion of happiness
or morality as distinct concepts (have there been many lives
as meaningful as Judas’, to look no further than Christian mythology?).
So, asking about the meaning of life is, in itself, meaningless.
And as for meaning in life, just think of the paradox
of future individuals.