Zbirka je odabrana kao najljepša na anonimnom Webstilus natječaju 2014. godine.
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Nagrađena poezija i finalisti na međunarodnim i domaćim natječajima
The award-winning poetry and finalists, the international and national competitions
Silver Bells
Leaky gray stone bite
White lilac love
A diary page
Wild plum
Golden grape-vine
Poppies are red in the night too
Exordium
I, softly formed clay
Declaration of love of life of poetry
Midnight hours
Autumnal Solitude
Između bijelih i crnih tipki
Eh, pjesnička dušo
Knjiga poezije Korijeni
Second prize winner | Artella's Poetry Gardens Of Fame for
May/June, 2007
Silver bells
I am sending you
a box made of rainbow's light
shaped after my heart
and inside you will find dried freesia flowers,
a barefoot gypsy girl
with silver bells around her ankles,
a piece of silk cloth, of flowery design
(to dress her, or maybe not),
a pebble from the crystal pond
and one blade of grass from its shore.
A tambourine for merry music,
and my voice to sing to you.
My palms to feed you honey and wine,
fresh baked bread and pieces of cheese,
one apple and two oranges.
Red lipstick to write a poem for you on the cloud,
my kiss scenting of mint,
butterflies to build you a waterfall of love,
a garden full of pansies and lilacs,
violets and wild strawberries,
necklaces of dew
and a dove with her soft amorous coo.
And a lock of my hair,
tied with our dreams.
Best Poem Award | The Creative Writer
Leaky gray stone bite
I saw it on the shore
washed
and kissed by the silvery
illuminated clouds,
fed with salt,
silent
and always hungry for much more...
Like an open mouth, it was
a leak, on its surface,
and water dripped out -
Cold night, soup of life.
My feet hurt with its bite,
blood, absorbed and gone
deep, cold pierced surface,
with water elusive whisper
and wind’s high, laughing scream.
Then I add just one
lonesome, unfaithful tear.
Nothing was there in the night,
people had gone
but I wasn't alone.
Ocean was mine
I had my own scare,
I had my own leaky gray stone.
With calm dawn and lights
it becomes
a book of time.
Finalist | 2006-2007 9th. International Poetry Competition IPC
Mattia
3.place at Preditors˛&Editors pool - 2007 - category Poem
5. place at Preditors&Editors pool - 2007 - category Poet
Top 10 Preditors & Editors
White lilac love
Evaporating buds tint soft spring’s light
while lilac waits, and then explodes in style
effusing colors hidden in the white.
I, in the garden, happy is my smile,
inhaling nature’s scents and its sensation
touching my true love’s petals so fragile.
A breeze’s lullaby and soft vibration
is dandling flowers which on branches huddle
and gently kisses wreaths into creation.
Then sudden memories... I need to cuddle...
beneath the lilac’s bush with shadows meeting,
I melt in your embrace, my flesh a puddle,
My pain profound, my lungs a life defeating,
my heart is lonesome, longing, softly beating.
*This poem is published in the book of poetry White lilac love
Finalist 2007-2008 | 10th International Poetry Competition
A diary page
Window.
Wooden wings
keeping the grey sky
framed within square patches of wet glass.
Evening.
The silence following the rain
brings me the smell of salt
and whispering sea voices
with a first star's light.
Eyes.
At the edge of view
I saw you sitting,
then your feet moving on the red carpet.
With you
I rolled under the blanket.
Finalist 2008 | 11th. International Poetry Competition IPC Mattia
Wild plum
When the mind drifts
to trace
the wild plum blossom’s scent
and thoughts ramble
between wild
never severed branches
I come
with the sweet springtime air
to set on your palm
white petals
and promised kisses
with the sweetness
of ripe indigo fruit.
First prize | Artella's Poetry Gardens Of Fame for
July/August, 2008
Golden grape-vine
Gold grapes trapped within your mouth,
sweet smells of childhood summer
on your fingers.
The narrow place between market benches.
Scents in the air...
With eyes closed I can see
spots of sweat on your t-shirt,
in the basket
onions between spices
tied with white strings,
five tomatoes, garlic, dill,
parsley and thyme...
carrots, only two.
In the pot, chicken soup.
Two of us
connected like Lady and the Tramp
with
the
same
soft
noodle
before our lips touch.
Just a dream...
Depression hard, dense and hot
like dark summer clouds
entered the windows
in the middle of the afternoon.
Between my fingers mashed potatoes,
my revenge on innocent vegetables.
I miss you.
Feelings like the sacred oil on water,
never fading never ending always growing,
like grape-clusters on the golden grape-vine
at the entrance to my sanctuary.
Finalist 2008 - 2009 |The 12.th International Poetry Competition IPC
Mattia
Poppies are red in the night too
The child in me still lives
the magic of it,
my green, barefoot dancing walk
red spirals and circles,
ballerina style
alongside the poppy fields.
Hush...
don't touch
the soft trembling petals,
let them bud,
breathe,
blush
their springtime red
inside the ripening autumn,
let them drink the dusk,
the sun
into their velvet hearts
and dance with me
because
poppies are red in the night too.
Honorable Mention Prize | Artella's Poetry Winter 2008 Poetic Idol
Competition
Exordium
I was trying to write you a poem,
to impress you with my words.
...
Along the river's foaming crest
dancing sparklets lay imprisoned
in the droplets,
waves dandling them like a mother’s arms.
Fractured light from sky and clouds
crawled on the strand
touching it with broken fingers...
What are you doing?
I am writing you a poem.
About me?
No, it is about a river. And about a girl.
Oh, I thought it might have been a love poem.
But, it is a love poem.
I can't see...
Wait...
There was a girl on the shore, singing songs of desire
drawing hearts and writing her lover's name on the sand,
while the wind was following her voice like a choir,
barefoot she was standing on the river’s strand.
She was feeding ducks and frogs and fish
thinking only about the time when she will meet him,
her eyes gleaming, in her heart a wish...
the sun floating over the water like a gold burning Seraphim.
At night, warm sand was her pillow,
with morning her soles kissed by the river's billow...
While stretching her arms to hail the morning sun
she found on her finger a ring made of wet river's spear,
she was licking her lips before breakfast,
her teeth sunk deep in a fresh pear...
...
Pear? Where does the pear come from?
And where is this river now?
This poem is not consistent to your promise...
But it is. Everything is at the same place.
At the beginning and at the end of the poem.
And where is love?
At the same place. At the beginning and after the end of my life.
Wait... wait... you are teasing me, how to read your poem if it is endless?
From the beginning to the end of my love.
Finalist 2009 | The 13.th International Poetry Competition The
Mattia Family
I, Softly Formed Clay
In the air
the scent of salt,
white jasmine
and oranges in bloom.
Slowly,
I emerge out of your wishes,
out of the cradle of your palms.
My skin smoothed by your touches.
You created
the sound of my sighs.
The warmth of your breath,
your strength and gentleness
are consonant
to my body’s light
and shadows.
After you
nothing can change
the curves of my flesh.
Here I am,
every day you call me
to be born again.
Poem of the month Jun 2009 | Author Meeting Place Poetry Competition
Declaration of love of life of poetry
I count the days by newborn suns and a fading star,
wild flowers bloom, and leaves of shady shine,
old thirst for love turns to a blaze in my life's jar.
Your orchard trees my bed, my life, my spine,
my sprouting wreath you'll never merge to tar,
my fingers climb and twine to it as growing vine.
I count the seasons by the ripe fruits you gave me,
from early springtime cherries to autumn apple pie,
your touches mended the debris of a broken key.
Bright rainbows take the place of a once grey sky,
wind fills the sails of vessels floating to the open sea.
I count my life by breaths I found inside your age,
and ticks of hearts, the sounds of life we freely share,
the scents of herbs, of rosemary and thyme and sage.
And many secrets of yore, to us so dear and rare
we laid together in the book, the place of a sacred page
tied up with bows of ribbons red to words of love and flare.
Finalist 2011 | The 14.th International Poetry Competition The
Mattia Family
Midnight hours
Finalist 2012 | The 15.th International Poetry Competition The
Mattia Family
Autumnal Solitude
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Pobjednička pjesma za mjesec siječanj 2014. na natječaju križevačke
Udruge pjesnika i pisaca
Između bijelih i crnih tipki
Jesen se budi u kolijevci između grana breze;
lišće miruje dotaknuto bojama jutarnjeg mira.
Slušam glazbu, teče sjetna, lebdi i prosipa se
nevidljiva, između bijelih i crnih tipki klavira.
Poželjeh ritam da bude življi, možda i plesni;
u oku suza zaiskri, rub usana lažno se smije.
Zvukovi dodiruju mog srca najdublji kutak
tamo gdje još radost i ljepota života se krije.
Na grane dašak sleti, poigrava se kao pijanista;
glazbu prirode čujem kako teče iskrena i čista.
Godišnja doba imaju svoj početak i završetak,
život lagano kaplje iz svakog obojenog lista.
Čini se, na trenutak, da zrak oko mene treperi;
najljepši dar to je danas, rasplesana zraka sunca.
Glazba još uvijek se čuje, pomalo sve tiše i tiše,
duša mi pjeva i plače, leti slobodna do vrhunca.
U oku mi jezero zlatno, na vodi mjesec blista;
trenutak mira, tišina, nepročitana knjiga u ruci.
Likovi žive, vole se, pate, okrećem novu stranu,
more sanjam kao brod u svojoj posljednjoj luci.
Pjesma koja je na natječaju križevačke Udruge pjesnika i pisaca u
natječaju "Vi predlažete, Vi birate - ljeto 2014." osvojila
jednaki broj bodova kao i pobjednička ljesma te joj je po odluci žirija
dodijeljeno drugo mjesto.
Eh, pjesnička dušo
Eh, pjesnička dušo, ti između leda i vatre,
pomalo nestašna si a opet tako nevina.
Živiš, opstaješ u neizgovorenoj tišini,
putem ideš sama, punim vlastitih krhotina.
Opijena iluzijom hraniš se, trpko je voće
ostatak bez slada, mirisa i životnog soka.
Na usni riječ neizgovorena, lice ti blijedo,
suza oštra zarobljena je u dubini oka.
Pjesnička dušo, živiš između leda i vatre,
nestašna si pomalo a opet nevina tako.
Dišeš, opstaješ u neizgovorenoj tišini,
po krhotinama vlastitim nije hodat lako.
Dušo moja, razapeta posred leda i vatre,
čujem kako vrištiš do neba i glas tvoj kad je tih.
Zar stvorena si ti da u svemu išćeš ljepotu,
zar baš moraš riječ, suzu svaku, pretočiti u stih?
