Poetry Blog by Olga Gerke

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Andy N on Cougar (Tue, 19 Oct 2010 08:20 am)

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Andy N on New evolution (Wed, 29 Sep 2010 09:55 pm)

Andy N on Your body (Mon, 13 Sep 2010 08:13 am)

Cynthia Buell Thomas on Your body (Sat, 11 Sep 2010 01:45 pm)

on Vodka (Sat, 11 Sep 2010 12:06 am)

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After he was cougared at the bar

when they finally got to her flat

He expected

Dim light, pink feathers

predatory purr, fluffy cufflinks

anti wrinkle cream in her bathroom


They came in. She checked her e-mail.

They shared a spliff from yesterday

half a bottle of wine

and favourites

on youtube


Later on they struggled

To work out w...

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Dumb energy


Students coming to town

Seem to be old and timeless

like autumn leaves

Dumb energy of circulating

and finding cheap booze


Polish folks coming to town

Seem to be lost

How many ribbed cotton vests can you buy?

How many high boots and tight jeans?


Dumb energy of circulation bores me

There should be something else

(Like Swansey, only big...

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New evolution

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Some of younger guys

That I knew

Are developing

A double chin


But my junky friend

With transparent teeth

Still looks  the same

As 5 years ago


It’s sad enough

when dinosaurs

Are ageing

But I can’t get used


To laser beams

And spaceships

Becoming obsolete

In front of my eyes


Maybe it’s time

To sweep o...

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Your body

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After thirty years

spent on planet  Earth

You are still able

to look at your body

with boyish admiration


Look at me

Isn’t it wonderful

How my body works?


In the morning

In shower

Staring in the mirror

You move your shoulder

Army of lean muscles

working under smooth skin


Isn’t it wonderful

How my body works?


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Even when vodka

is being drunk properly –

Straight from the fridge,

In one gulp

And with bread


Something is missing

And something is hinting

That drinking –

when you are alone –

is so sad


Man has created

one thousand and hundred

Flavours and shapes

for decanters and such


But vodka is vodka

Washed down with sadne...

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Jackie Chan painting

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Yes, Leonardo was awesome

 Don’t know about the rest

 I do my Jackie Chan painting

 That’s what I do best


I start with charcoal and paper

all neatly  stocked on the chair

 And Cathy is there sitting

 Or Mary or maybe Clare


 But five minutes after seven

My room looks like a battlefield

 I add some gold paint and s ketchup

 don’t ask, ...

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Art for art's sake

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A portrait with a brush and a skull.

A landscape with a mill and a soil

You step into emotional lull

 Then into multicoloured turmoil


You  pack all familiar things:

Your canvasses, brushes, palette

You start to forget - and it winks

You start to avoid – it’s  too late


They browse and might even buy

You stop – they just stare away

It’s be...

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Beauty in boots

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Are faces ours or are they eternal?

Do we rent masks, are liable for loss?

I’ve seen a beauty, turning heads and stirring

She was so calm and dusky like a rose

 In a garden of decay of our leering

But she was less eternal than we thought

Who knows what petty thoughts were domineering

In the pretty head of hers, and lovely throat

Was throbbing with beginning...

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Poet's socks


A poet forgot to put on his socks


All day along he mumbles and croaks


And comes up with a quite passable  verse


 It might be not brilliant, but I have  read worse


You’d like him to wear his socks and his tie


But then in his mind a poem would die


…I struggle sometimes to  keep up with both  things-


To clip my toenails an...

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Dead smelly fish and fragrant women

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Dead smelly fish and fragrant women

The easiest two things to paint

Maybe in sky we all get even

Where a beauty and a  sin will  meet


Dead smelly fish and fragrant women

They lie so naturally on the cloth

Dead smelly fish and fragrant women

You can have one or you can have both


The mermaid springs to mind - and lingers

I could have mar...

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A kid playing in his corner

Ordered  not to disturb the adults,

To find something to play with,

He is big enough for that


He builds castle-tent-ship

 Out of chairs and a bedspread

 And it sails into the sea,

 Proud and lonely


(he is casting glances to the room:

Have they brought  in the cake already?)

He is getting bored, frustrated, dre...

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Here are just a few contradictions

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Here are just a few contradictions

Between something and something

Forming itself in the void

No things, no verses, no noise

Just contradictions

Buds of fight, nuggets of worry

Ancestors to tears,

Spears, bullets and guns

Before the warriors are born

Sparkles in nothingness

Premonitions of war in emptiness

Then- Boom! – a first Thing is born


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You think I am talking in English

You are not so sure

After a couple of lines

Maybe you have misheard

Maybe it is a coincidence


I am like an elephant artist

I paint not knowing that I paint

You may admire it or admit

That my paintings are worth something

 But you will feed me anyway


Speech, hum, song, noise, words

It drifts from one ...

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Sunny treacle

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The world that’s full of light

Of  laziness

Of languor

And treacle of the sun

Through the funnels of green leaves


Your hunger, at arm’s length

Like leopard in jungle

Pretending just for now

To be a lazy cat


To be enjoying it

one needs  a bluesman’s soul

Would I construct my paradise – like that?

Forever and forever – for today?


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Wild swans

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The girl is mute

The nettle stings and bites

The prince is handsome,





The labour is immense

And chance to win is slight

But we are patient –

 in the cave and garden


We‘ve chosen not to get

 But gracefully to be

 I am your swan

 You are my silent seamstress


Whatever I receive

It’s shorter b...

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Between the lines

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Your attention span is ever-narrowing

And I don’t have space where to breathe

‘cos I exist in reminiscence

I exist in creases of  tease


I exist in only sub-surfaced  words

 In between a mumbling and a dream

 And how do you expect to listen to me

If you want it to be curt and trim?


If you want everything to be straight to the point

And I exis...

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Whatever happened to Baby Jane?

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Whatever happened to Baby Jane?

 She’s doing fine, she’s doing fine

 She’s looking nearly half her age

 She ‘s 50 now

 Still in her prime


Whatever happened to Baby Jane?

She has moved on, started a few new things

She’s doing yoga, she teaches drama

She wears jeans, no ringlets and rings


Whatever happened to Baby Jane?

She has  grown up, ...

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Finding my way

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It was so hard for me

To get to love

When I got there

I fell into a slumber


As hard as death

on a hot exhausting day

As light as promise

not to live without you


…I stumbled in my half- sleep

On your dreams

On shoes and bottles

from your door to bedroom


I hardly noticed photos

On the wall

The ones where you are alone


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It didn’t occur to them

That his sleep should be private

They gathered around his cradle, cooing

When he was five

He was already older

Their glances on his skin

 Hardening like a bark


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Too shy to play

I’d rather live aloud

Too shy to guess

I’d rather make mistakes

I’d rather live in  darkness

Than in cloud

As calm, as one is

 Past his own wake

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Negative checklist

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What makes you tick?

What makes you  tick the points?

What makes your sad?

What makes you laugh again?

I’m careful not to learn all these things

So I can be your silly singing bird

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backup plan

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We were never taught to grow old

Were tricked into  lingering more

 They managed to get us distracted

 Believing  there’s a window or door


There’ s something that soon they would find

There’s way to explain or escape

Turned out – she had the same dream

This girl in vampire’s black cape


They brought us and broke us like bread

I sit in the mid...

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Pandora, Prometheus and all that ancient Greek stuff

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Where we got all the skills, all the crafts,

all of the wisdom, and failure, and bluff?

Can’t anybody look but above?


Of course it should be a reluctant gift,

something that was not ours, but if

somebody took it by stealth, lucky thief…



What was his name? Starting with P?

Prometheus, - 10 letters, horizontally




And where w...

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In every disguise

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I keep saying it’s death that we tamed

Locked in cells, now keeping at bay 

 I keep saying it’s fear that we ate

 Now you can switch it on, kill or play


I keep asking how cool is your art?

All you need is your Coke and your mouse

I keep saying why don’t you feel loved?

He can see you in every disguise


I keep saying – don’t listen, just look


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Sad cow

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What’s the  point in painting  if you are not cute?

What’s the  point in writing  if you are not loved?

You are just a sad cow waiting to be milked

Nobody is interested

Only cows who are even sadder

Grey  drippy cows, whining in rainy fields


In one-click culture

We  still want to be rich

In t-shirt and jeans culture

we still need personal in...

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Loved for being me


Celebrity culture

(click here, see my naked photo)

I want to be loved not for something

But  just for being me


You are not interested in my words

You are interested in me

Or rather in yourself

how you would look  if you were  me


Or if you were Victoria Beckham

Or a vampire

Or an astronaut

Somebody in spotlight

Universally loved


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Chickens are counted in autumn (Russian proverb)

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Some people after 40

Start to read only Latin

Start to move very slowly

Start to frown when their kids playing


I find it very cowardly

To love only eternity

To lean on things well  proven

And to wait 'til it's autumn

And all  chickens are counted


Some people over 40

Still go to parties

And dance under moonlight

And laugh very ...

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Is art a job or a play?

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Is art a job or a play?

I tiptoe to the kitchen

While you are asleep

Trying not to clink my brushes

Trying not to jingle my words


I am playing while you are asleep

Your breath even and deep

My art is a basement

To your sleeping breath

And I have it all for myself.


My art is a hidden floor

Abandoned house, empty room

 With little ...

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My cells can’t listen to heartbeat


Too big for them, too loud


As I can’t see that bit of sky


behind this bit of shroud



There might be a hole behind the sun


 I see a peaceful  evening


My cells are cancelling themselves


But you still call it “living”

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How much of death

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It doesn’t matter much

How much of death

You carry in your heart


 I carry a whole  garden

You carry just a branch

But we are both quite far


 From that unblinking child

 Who’s glittering with yolk

I ‘ve seen him at the bus stop

slowly dancing, smoking


He doesn’t have a tiniest seed of death

 Inside his heart

 So he can smoke...

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First attempts of something

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She said “I’m already 40”
And held silence
Like a tray for donations
Luckily I was quick
I showered her with sounds of surprise
And disbelief
She was pleased, but suspicious
I thought she was used 
To similar response – but quicker and louder




Being slightly ridiculous 

Being slightly misplaced 

I am standing in one of those places

where ...

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