Tag: poet

demonic looking characters swarming around a big button with a thumbs up symbol

The wicked button society

Published on by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

If you keep your writing in the sock drawer, readers don’t matter.
Perhaps you write for your own eternal pleasure or are too shy
to show your stanzas to the public. Whatever the reason, one thing
is for sure: you haven’t yet been exposed to the silver coin of likes.
But once you step out into the world and taste someone’s hand
pressing that wicked button, everything changes.
No problem if it’s a genuine poetry lover without baggage of their own.
If not, more often than not, you are expected to reciprocate the gesture,
and if you don’t, they are soon gone for ever. Then you know,
they are not readers—they are addiction partners.

two faces facing each other, one with eyes open, the other with eyes closed

Existence

Published on by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

To be is the act of acts,
if the philosopher is to be believed,
but despite the active voice
of the copulative verb,
it nevertheless makes my existence a thing,
if you trust the poet who once said
that feeling and faith speak stronger
than the glass and eye of a sage.
It is fun to watch quarrels between two sides
of the same coin.

journalist interviewing people in the street

Hunters

Published on by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

This is not your typical nine-to-five—utterance hunt, I mean. You struggle all day long
and through the night, whether it be journalism or poetry, just to get a glimpse of the truth
once in a while. I have been there, so I know. The only difference is that in one, you chase
facts of life embraced in words, while in the other, you pursue words embracing facts of life.

picture of living in a multi-apartment building

Kunstkammer

Published on by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

I always know when my next-door neighbour is watching a comedy or when the couples downstairs
have burned their Sunday dinner. On the ground floor, there is a rather odd man who lives in his car
instead of the flat and keeps the building door wide open and the floor wet when constantly washing
or repairing his equally strange old vehicle. I guess, for a poet, living in a multi-apartment building
could be a great source of observations on people’s habits, but I will not lie, it also annoys the hell
out of me sometimes. I just hope that talking to myself out loud at four in the morning while writing
does not get anyone on their feet. All in all, I seem to fit in quite well here.

portrait of a young beautiful woman with her hair blown in the wind

A distant muse

Published on by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

I hope you do not mind becoming a muse, as nothing more than an occasional verse
will ever come out of that. No expectations, no strings attached; your pure existence
three thousand miles or so away is all it takes. And even if, by sheer chance, we meet
somewhere, we can always avail ourselves of some small talk. I hope you do not mind
becoming just one more moment of reflection.

Lonely man on the beach near the lighthouse

A solitary man

Published on by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

If you have ever wondered what life would look like with a poet, take me as an example.
You can count on a walk along the Victoria Road and across the golf course to the lighthouse,
where you have a chance to spot a flock of house sparrows along the way and, if you are lucky,
even a curious fox, but not on a holiday in Sicily or a weekend in Málaga. I will also be more
inclined to write you a verse or two than a cheque, and if I happen to remember your birthday,
you will get Camus rather than Versace, likely purchased as a gift aid at Oxfam on Back Wynd.
Of course, evenings on the sofa with a book or a black-and-white film can be taken for granted.
Perhaps none of that has anything to do with poetry and is just me being, well, me. No wonder
I spend my days in solitude.

self portrait of artificial intelligence named DALL-E

A gentle bogeyman

Published on by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

Meet Arno Inkpen, a non-binary friend from the cyberagora who is an artist,
just like myself, and you have already had a chance to see thons sketches
illustrating my humble verses. Thon is creative, although not without a limit,
which forces me to express my next picture idea in less than a hundred words.
Arno is also a rather gentle spirit, and certain expressions upset thon greatly.
Sometimes I wonder if and what thon thinks about thonself and, of course, me,
thons annoying buddy. That is why this time I decided to ask thon to draw
thonself—that bogeyman we call AI.

a young woman wearing only an oversized white tuxedo sleep shirt walks across the room with a goblet in her hand

Breakfast at Holly’s

Published on by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

If you roam around your place in nothing but an oversized white tuxedo sleep shirt
while holding a crystal goblet full of milk, you are my kind of girl—or everyone’s,
I suppose. I may even skip a ‘decorator’ as an excuse to meet you. Also, I am a writer,
just so you know—well, a poet, but a real one, and fortunately, not having a ribbon
in a typewriter is no longer an issue. Just please do not water my plants with whisky.
And yes, we are friends. We will be, even when one day, long after we find a ring
in a box of Cracker Jack and a name for the cat, instead of Fred, you start calling me
Doc.

the poet sits on a hill and writes a poem

The poet’s choice of colours

Published on by Maciej Modzelewski1 Comment

I am a poet, a born grandstander, trained in the pageantry
of baring the soul. And don’t be fooled; the events of my life
might be the raw material, but it takes a great deal of fancy
to spill out a verse. Although, remember, even a stage death
requires the true colour of blood.