Nicolae COANDE Poems

He turned around and said - I have known everything
but I came too late.
Now in the age of iron, no message enlivens
my voices
...

Poetry means nothing to the rat harassed by the cat.
Life is more precious to him / precious is
his filthy skin
and he runs at the speed of sound to escape. When the lightning
...

at first, the woman with a manly voice spoke.
nothing memorable.
life surpassed us long ago, chlorine vassals
of the water where stupidity washes its calico,
...

Bismarck said: poets and prostitutes, you can have them for money
anytime.
Auden muttered - indisputable like death...
The Devil can mimic anything - it seems to me that's what a disciple of Guénon wrote.
...

The day has passed. There are dogs outside. I could rise
and emerge pale like the light at Dendrah.
I have descended so low if I must write
I come from the inferno of work, and the violent hands
...

I don't remember when I first came here,
as if I have been here since the beginning of time in this filthy neighborhood
where a burnt tongue whimpers in moldy kitchens.
I feel better now in my cells in the dead-end,
...

There are gypsies in the heavens and a suspicion that poetry is now
A letter from thieves to thieves, a code for those who want
To conceal to the gentle people the presence of truth in the world.
Let us scold them for that and for everything that doesn't fit
...

Those who can imagine him a Jeweler, they are surely right
Just as those who believe he's an unbeatable IT specialist or a hacker (does he not joyfully break the codes of impregnable security agencies?)
I believe his infinite time is made of what he systematically retrieves:
gears of the human clock when the one in his room breaks one fine day
...

On the salt alley, a few walk in silence
there is one within me who rushes toward them
I pose emphatically with a beer in hand
bulletproof vest, Teutonic shield
...