I.F. Kobjelska Poems
- Red Red Red is the colour in which I release scream, Or ...
- Not Weasel Anymore Not weasel anymore. Changing my weasel ...
- Visiting Lady Just Unneeded Sound of phone is bound to my ...
- We Are Like Eyes That Can See ...
- Not All Of Them Are Black Night pout to white morning. ...
- The Toes On My Feet Were Blue ...
- Morning Pillows I don´t have regrets about letting dreams, ...
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Comments about I.F. Kobjelska
Red is the colour in which I release scream,
Or at least just little sound between echo,
Dust hidden under dolly´s tiara,
Drinking forbidden jim beam.
Red is the colour of escape, freedom and flight over the mud
She can waltz and crawl in same rythm,
And still she´s lady wearing cap.
Just run through honey chimney,
Pull your hands and slice fame down,
Red is strong and still she´s feeling
How heads is dropping painful sound.
In mousy streets, in autumn coats,