Biography of Ivana RadanJamnicki
I am Ivana from Croatia but I live in Czech Republic. I work as a foreign languages teacher, I love languages and cultures. In my free time I like to dedicate to arts like writing and drawing, painting, crafts, sculpting, singing, dancing and others.
I write because it helps me see things more clearly, sort things out and it brings me to conclusions. I like to learn about myself and I like to develop, change and grow. I try to take everyone as a teacher and everything as a lesson.
Dear reader, please be my teacher. Speak honestly what you think of the things I write about, even if you don't like my work. I'd love to hear you comment and see you rate my poems. Share with me if having ideas and ask me if having questions. I will always honour your time and effort for having having helped me on my life journey.
I deeply wish you the same light, beauty and guidance to follow you through. Have the best of luck in your writing, contests and whatever your dreams are. Enjoy life, enjoy art, enjoy your thoughts, enjoy writing.
Ivana RadanJamnicki Poems
Fun. Laugh. Sun. Warmth.
Illusive Christmas Present
This is going to be the first time for me to give such a Christmas present. We are going to be alone in the room. It is going to be quiet and safe. The candles will be lit. Their smell will be mixed with the smell of Christmas cookies.
I am soaking in each move your lips make Envying each bite you are having Envying that tomato bursting out in your mouth Envying the little pieces of meat
When you and I and many others We and Ourselves Get tired of other people’s constant demands for explanations And tiring conversations with a dead-end When want to leave the long analysis or what each one of you has said, meant or done
The Orgasms That Want To Be Given
The orgasms that want to be given And shared Uplifted from within a year of getting to know you And all those „ohs“ and „mmms“ that you provoked
I have told you About what has troubled me And the disclosure Of what I long considered as true so matter-of-factly
Yes I am fearful Yes I may even be a coward To go for my dreams or fight for my feelings Yes I may get scared of getting to know you
Invades my body Panting and puling Possesses the space around me Without having really touched me
I once knew the way What to do Felt the pull towards And felt the time was right
So there will be no more of that sweet agony I won’t know the different stages of hardening of your tongue Or how your hands would play with my nudity Always striking by the surprise
There’s a strange circular motion Repeating the old madness And going back to that old behaviour Telling me you are the one to fulfill my desires
Poems That Didn'T Want To Be Written
I’ve heard of poems that didn’t want to be written Because if they wanted to, they would be judging They didn’t want to be written For if they did, they would be accusing
Was that all with you even true Wasn’t I only trying to develop it Afraid of losing your attention Maybe I needed your praise
When getting tired of spending most of your time by yourself When finding no one to be around when you want him to When you can’t reach for anyone’s closeness When sad and want someone to talk to
So there will be no more of that sweet agony
I won’t know the different stages of hardening of your tongue
Or how your hands would play with my nudity
Always striking by the surprise
No getting to know the occasional rough touch of your beard
I can’t think what part of my skin and body would miss it the most
Is it the belly? The thighs?
And how can I let go of the sound of your shallow breathing
Or panting onto my neck