Mastodon Poems from Hungary by Gabor G. Gyukics - Gabor G Gyukics - Writing - Sensitive Skin Magazine

Poems from Hungary by Gabor G. Gyukics

they’re not afraid

a paper lampshade swayed
illuminating a well laid table
as the guests
shuffled around the stove’s mouth
that let the soot fall back down in
from the brick chimney

the host
knocked out the dottle of his pipe on the strip floor
left through the window softly
letting his wings spread around the chimney
leaving the small crowd of people
drinking leftover liquor

the host watched them
with unwashed smiles
showing his barbed-wire teeth
to the smoke of his pipe
as the guests
are trying to figure out
their own departure

can’t accuse a woodcock to be incogitant

when the weaver ants started moving
they did so
because something made them move
then a blue jay was affected by them and started flying
that effected a burrowing owl and
other animals got moving also
human animals too
were all doing their idiotic
and occasional
pleasant actions

for every cause has its effect

shift positions to ease the dying of bees
to ease the river running
the wind blowing
the trees answering to it
by dropping their seeds
to get in to the spiral
of circles of shifting

a day on earth

The bloody carcass
of the dead dog
that missed the fox
was raided by army of ants

they carried to storage
every morsel
in extended order

the poacher
didn’t touch the carcass
he trampled on
the anthill

aim and look aside

the night watchman swears
the train never goes to places
where the river has no recollection
where the valley is the watch-pocket of the hill
where the pitapat sound turns to music

the train only goes to
where there are
possible offerings

where god
looks aside

acoustic shadow

you are stepping on flowers
and gravel
among the railroad tracks
while your pursuer
are closely
gasping behind you

the arriving train
sets a barrier before them

their fidgeting feet
are visible behind
the clattering wheels

while you stare at
the train
from a water ditch
as it’s leaving all of you

as of today

the railroad man with the yellow flag
and a long handled hammer in his hand
steadily walks around the empty space
the wagons left behind

along the railroad
reaching over the border
thousands of foot prints
confiscated and thrown away
clothing and personal belongings
among them
a police helmet
stuck between the rails
trampled on


while running
the whirring of the sole of your feet
is the silent sound of a cave

the sky is angry
because it can’t catch up with you
with its tricks practiced
for hundreds of millennia

only those
can see you
who are about to die

down here
with straight up spine
cajole the unexplainable

and when the lightnings
are asleep
your silence is hiding
in the sound of thousands
of thunderings

nothing indicates
when it
appears again

–Gabor G. Gyukics


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