Love
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This poem was read at Serendipity Writers Organization's Valentine's evening event at Cloggs Coffee Shop in Dewsbury on 14/02/24
My eyes are blinded
But I can see love,
With the voice of love
I can walk
And hands that belong to love
Give peace to my soul.
20.04.22
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This poem was quoted at Josefs K café/Bradford at Beehive poetry evening on 23/11/23 and at Serendipity Writers Organization's Valentine's evening event at Cloggs Coffee Shop in Dewsbury on 14/02/24.
More roses
You will need
To bury our love,
More tears
You will need to spend
To cry them out
On its grave,
Our love will hang
In steady wind,
Lingering in a forest
Where we used to
Kiss each other.
17.11.23
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This poem is an edited version of the original poem that comes from my novel ‘A Letter To Heaven’, chapter 19. The original was written on 13.07.23.
It was read at Serendipity Writers Organization's Valentine's evening event at Cloggs Coffee Shop in Dewsbury on 14/02/24.
Our love will never fade
As we get older and older
From our hearts, it’s made
Becoming bolder and bolder
While our lips will meet
We’ll walk shoulder-to-shoulder
While our hearts will beat
Our hands will be linked together.
08.02.24
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I created this poem being inspired by the workshop ‘Blue is the light that got lost…’ hosted by Gaia Holmes. Kings Cross Library, Halifax, England. I attended it on 24/02/24.
I read it at Rhubarb Poetry evening at Triangle Pub in Shipley, Bradford on 28/02/24, England, and at the workshop ‘Blue is the light that got lost…’ on 02/03/24.
Stop my burning heart
Go into blue flames,
Hush it
Telling it
No more blues,
Cradle my tender heart
Quietly,
Gently,
Softly,
Without you,
It will go blue.
25/02/24
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I wrote and read this poem at Serendipity poetry night, at Josef's K cafe, Bradford/England
I read it on Beehive Poetry evening at Josef's K Cafe in Bradford on 15/04/24.
Will you live with me,
When I have blue vibes,
Will you love me,
When the sky
Won’t be blue,
Will you talk to me,
When Heaven turns
Into pitch-blue hell.
29/02/24
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I created this poem being inspired by the workshop ‘Blue is the light that got lost…’ hosted by Gaia Holmes. Kings Cross Library, Halifax, England. I attended it on 16/03/24.
I read it on Beehive Poetry evening at Josef's K Cafe in Bradford on 15/04/24 and in the Serendipity Extraordinary Ordinary anthology book launch at Lawrence Batley Theatre on 21/04/24.
This poem is dedicated to my wife Nana and it is based on the way Ellen Bass wrote her poem Indigo.
I wish my mind wouldn’t be so blue
Back 2004. I wish.
I desire we would split.
And go in different directions remembering our gold blue summer.
It did not happen then.
We argued and loved, we ripped and stitched together
Our fading love
Until there was nothing left.
I could scratch 12 years in a chimney.
And another two while we finally split – officially
Documented in the court books and somewhere
in somebody’s history.
Then I saw her online. I wrote to her.
Her reply came late.
As the moment on the day, I met her.
She sent me a text – I put on my lipstick. I’ll be late.
It was not such late as I remember now – just an hour,
But in total, I waited for her for 16 years.
16/03/24
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This poem is dedicated to the rock that I brought from Lanzarote on 30 January 2016.
It was written at Gaia Holmes's workshop at Kings Cross Library, Halifax on 27/04/24.
He fears. He doesn’t want to lose me.
My voice and footsteps around him give him endless peacefulness.
He shrinks when a stranger touches him
He wants me to be next to him.
I assume.
Loneliness. Lost attention.
My death would kill him.
He wants my warm heart to feel next to his cold dark skin.
His headless body wants to sense my heartbeat.
Other eyes bring him dreadful dreams. Nightmares. Coldness.
My presence is his safety and an invisible protective wall of concrete rocks.
He wishes I would have a sun’s long life.
I am his
Endless protection from evil hands, thoughts, desires, hate.
27/04/24
White door
The poem is written at Gaia Holmes’s workshop at King Cross Library, Halifax. The poem was written for my grandad.
The poem is based on The Blue Door by Ted Kooser.
It recalls memories of my grandparent's flat in Latvia.
I hear breath behind this door, and silence.
Steady footsteps and wood logs placed into the fireplace
The fire crackles and brings warmth
Longing for me to come back. My longing
For my still being there.
Scruffy white door, painted last time I assume
1902 when the house was built.
Single-glazed massive window with wide wind sills,
Light brown turntable music player with its speakers tuned facing back garden,
My grandad glancing at the door
And guess it was me who came home,
White door with a plain metal handle
Door hook and eye latch stopper from inside
To stop sudden strangers walk in during the night.
It is the door in a dark tiny corridor
Which I tended to touch a million times.
04/05/24