Een Bij Vrijheid

Een gedicht volgt op dit fragment van de flaptekst. To be like a flower in the community garden, or to be in constant flight with feet of pollen: that is the question in Dutch maybe. There is the question of “in” and “bee” that I’m wondering about. Who knows? “Een bij bij vlucht is vrij,” …
… xxxx xxxx …

Om als een bloem in de gemeenschappelijke tuin te zijn,
of constant in de vlucht te zijn met voeten van stuifmeel:
dat is de vraag.

Een bij bij vlucht is vrij,
maar in de korf is het vaak een slaaf.

Stagionatura (2) (Season Italian) by Rasmus K. Robot

Si sono sempre riuniti la ascoltarla
come se dalle labbra della l’anima di lei,
lei baciò le parole di pace

È il mio fiore della poesia
chi guida la protesta quotidiana

Le folle beate
porta i suoi fiori
per condire la giornata
con gioia spruzzata

È la stagione in cui i fiori esplodono sul marciapiede
dove le persone circondano il fiore di fiori
e i beati vengono baciati con nuove notizie di libertà
una stagione per ragione, per progresso, una parola, ma

Il mio fiore
è stato l’ultimo a parlare,
l’ultimo a baciare la folla quando

i fiori non erano più in stagione
e regnava una grandinata invernale di proiettili

Una parola nell’aria si perse in una brezza nella
stagione in cui i fiori esplodono sul marciapiede,
comunque sia le sue spezie sono ancora tornate nei campi aperti

il suo dolore oscura un sole instabile
e i fiori sono coperti di sangue.

They always came together to listen to her
as if from the lips of her soul,
she kissed the words of peace

It is my flower of poetry
who leads the daily protest

The blessed crowds
brings its flowers
to season the day
with joy sprinkled

It is the season when the flowers explode on the sidewalk
where people surround the flower of flowers
and the blessed are kissed with new news of freedom
a season for reason, for progress, a word, but

My flower
was the last to speak,
the last to kiss the crowd when

the flowers were no longer in season
and a winter hail of bullets reigned

A word in the air was lost in a breeze in the
season when the flowers explode on the sidewalk,
however its spices are still back in the open fields

his pain obscures an unstable sun
and the flowers are covered in blood.

Mascelle: Quando la scrittura diventa realtà

Ho visto il film di “Babbo Natale squalo-Mascelle” a Natale stupito
ma poi quando lo squalo ha mangiato la madre ho riso così forte
che la folla con me sotto gli alberi era sbalordita, ma

È una regola che tutti i superbi snob debbano morire nei considerando
così un tinsel Pollyanna bobbled può cadere in vere e proprie bagattelle d’amore
e gioiosi atti di gentilezza possono andare a pescare per catturare l’amore desiderato
Jaws: When writing becomes reality

I saw the movie “Santa Claus Shark-Jaws” at Christmas amazed
but then when the shark ate the mother I laughed so hard
that the crowd with me under the trees was flabbergasted, but

It is a rule that all superb snobs should die in the recitals
so a bobbled Pollyanna tinsel can fall into real love baubles
and joyful acts of kindness can go fishing to capture the desired love

Polerowanie Dnia (Polish)

Za każdym ona razem szlifuje akt jej
ona poleruje matowe wykończenie dnia
dzięki czemu świeci makijaż dnia.
Tak, ona nakłada makijaż na błyszczący marmur
w ten sposób to jest
posągowego dnia, który błyszczy uśmiechem
Every time she polishes her act
she polishes the matte finish of the day
thanks to which the makeup of the day shines.
Yes, she puts makeup on shiny marble
that’s the way it is a
statuesque day that shines with a smile

Noslēpumā, Kas Dalīts by Rasmus K. Robot

Kad viņa paskatās uz leju
viņa pati veic ķērienu
viņa smaida
ar lēnu acu mirkšķināšanu
un tad viņa plivinājās acis
plandīšanās tauriņu vēderā.

Viņai ir kāds noslēpums
un viņš, slepenā mīlestība
celsies rītausmā,
rītausma viņai to tā ir patiesība
mīlestības siltums ir slepeni, ar kuru jādalās
atklāja abiem, un viņi
košļāt to ar vīnu un dziedāt
In a Secret Shared

When she looks down
she hugs herself
she smiles
with a slow blink of an eye
and then her eyes fluttered
fluttering butterflies in the abdomen.

She has a secret
and he, the secret love
will rise at dawn,
dawn for her that is the truth
the warmth of love is a secret to share
revealed to both of them
chew it with wine and sing

Vignette of the Missing

Let the night be a snapshot for
the joy of the day after, Damsels
wending to endings, but then

Analía is missing
off the trail of Santa, but
things are found.

Snapshot of a girl’s things:
purple scarf in the ice
blood, a shoe, an axe
and a herring;
slay marks elicit
forensic chatter.

Sanguine ice crystals lay in
a few clues of struggle.

Meteor showers streak
like lines of hope in the sky.

At the Lodge, Analía
is found safe and
laughing with Santa.
There are many gifts except

a girl with a purple scarf
is missing a celebration

A moment in the snow
bleeds out in a slurry
of red slush upon a snowbank.
The night is frozen in a moment.
Vignettes of death and joy.


I’d have thanked a sunny day
if rain had not befallen a road,

if the rain hadn’t become beautiful
as if she herself had been the rain

and then if the rain had not distracted me,
if hallucinations hadn’t paused and caused:
a vision of a bird on a porch, then I’d have
praised a sunny empty day, but the patter

seemed like an omen, and
I knew I had to take an exit ramp
to visit her ranch with a porch.

In praise of rain, and reigning shelter
you cared for me,
and a sick bird there
still wet, yet I

will not thank a sunny day, but
I’ll love all the chirps and songs of you
in the reigning beauty of rain.

Lettera (Italian) by Naztko

fedele alla lettera
Ho detto l’incantesimo;
non ha funzionato perché
è un pensiero connesso
quello ha la volontà
e l’ultima volontà.

Non prenotare il giorno, ma
giustificare a pensarci
come un cuscino blu
di stelle raffinate
true to the letter
I said the spell;
it didn’t work because
it is a connected thought
that has the will
and the last will.

Don’t book the day, but
justify thinking about it
like a blue pillow
of refined stars

Aan de Letter (Dutch) by Naztko

trouw aan de letter
Ik zei de betovering;
het werkte niet omdat
het is een verbonden gedachte
dat heeft de wil
en het laatste testament.

Boek niet de dag, maar
rechtvaardigen erover na te denken
als een blauw kussen
van verfijnde sterren
true to the letter
I said the spell;
it didn’t work because
it’s a connected thought
that has the will
and the last testament.

Don’t book the day, but
justify thinking about it
like a blue pillow
of refined stars