I don’t think I am a poet. Nor do I think that I can write anything like a


But I do know what I feel when I walk by the river – that’s when I get emotional. When I feel the smell of water.

I really ought to learn to swim some day… then I might swim something for you…

In this TimeOfMadness, when Mr. BadAndVicious and Mr. ViciousAndBad are making the world go around, when everyone knows their Rights and has an Opinion of their own, but has no idea who lives next door, and wish ‘manny happy returns of the day’ by phone, I don’t think it’s a sin to write poor poems.

Besides, why should I bother to write good poems… Would I know if they were good?

Like wisdom – when you think to yourself how clever and wise you are, it’s like squeezing the soap a little stronger. It slips from your fingers – everything has its limits

.Like your patience, I suppose…


- to my friend, Mr. Slobodan Amanovic,a painter from Knin -

whence so little
peace in silence
truth in words
reasons in justice

I toy with words
as with people

and there’s all sorts

laughter is missing from the joke
talk falls short of communication

and there’s less and less air
in the wind
as the dust chokes the throat

and those who know
don’t seem to want to say
have the houses been forsaken
or it’s just that people have left

shouldn’t toy with words
as with people

humanitarian aid?
welcome to the real world
my friend
we like to eat meat
(but we don’t like to see the blood)

although it must be hard to reach
the end
and find you’re only half way through

my friend MadeOfStones
flaming tongues crash the bones

while the mountains fall
sigh like a poem
cry like a rhyme

To my unkissed darling…

- second hand poem -

cannot be free and be happy
there’s a meaning
if you’re looking
for a meaning

and they wander
by blazing desire
and spent with passion
they fly
from their primal ego

cannot be free
and be Me